For the Other Half of the Sky

My wife and I are married for a not inconsiderable number of years, more than thirty-four truth be told. She has often observed it feels a lot longer than that but I've convinced myself that's because the Germans use the metric system for distance (I'm hoping for time as well).

Men are difficult people to live with. I know better than to ask my wife if that's true and she, in turn knows better than to wait to be asked, so we make an interesting team. Sigrid is the most organized person on earth; me, not so much. I'm the guy who puts the stumble in stumblebunny. And today, Valentine's Day, doesn't help a mostly mono-syllabic moron like me all that much because there's just so much candy and flowers she can stand and we passed the point of no return a long time ago.

I'm married to a woman whose reasons for marrying me I've never understood. I didn't dream she'd actually say yes when I asked her on April 3rd, 1977 (the date's engraved in my wedding ring along as is our wedding date) and to some extent I've been vamping ever since. She is my first thought every morning and the last, as I close my eyes in the evening. I was hoping this might be the year I would manage to collect the words to capture and convey what she means to me, but why would this one be any different?

I think the truth of this day, and of all our days, endures because it is constant and shared and is, in the end, simple to find and very easy to hold in the palm of your hand for the rest of your life. I'm someone who sees things as complicated because that who I am. My wife has decided to love me despite that.

I find myself returning to how Robert  Browning expressed himself and his love for Elisabeth Barrett and how John Lennon rediscovered that feeling. Direct and simple and unadorned beauty. I hope your search is successful as you celebrate today and the partner you have found to share it with as your next day in the dance unfolds.

"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be.
That was, is and shall be.
Time's wheel runs back, or stops.
Potter and clay endure."
-bill kenny