One Year of You

-----=====JANUARY =====-----
(Happy New Year, darling)

We have some great adventures in store for the next twelve months. We compare our "to do" lists. We're both looking forward to the New York trip to see Jenny this summer. I'm not looking forward to your company sending you to Europe for a month this fall. What am I going to do without you? I look at your list–do you really think we'll be able to afford a new car this year?

-----=====FEBRUARY=====-----
(Your birthday)

We go out to our favorite Brazilian steakhouse. Halfway through the meal, that idiot ex-boss of yours shows up with his creepy girlfriend–the one who looks about 17 years old. I am afraid that you seem a little sad. On the car ride home, we gossip about those two and we start calling her "Britney"–I have to pull into the Bennigan's parking lot until the laughing fits subside.

-----=====MARCH=====-----
(A dream finally comes true)

That piece I wrote about New Orleans is getting published!! A real, live publisher called and they are going to add pictures and everything–after all these years, I am getting paid for writing! I beam with pride (I know it is only one piece, and maybe a fluke, but the guy was really enthusiastic). You break out that bottle of merlot that Jerry gave you for Christmas and we savor it and share our dreams for about the millionth time. I guess a few of them are actually coming true.

-----=====APRIL=====-----
(A lament for poor old Buster)

Buster–I've never known a sweeter, more loyal dog. We bundle him off to the vet's at 7 AM and they spend two days trying to save our old friend. But his kidneys are shutting down, and we have to make the hardest decision. They let us hold him while they euthanize him and I don't think he's scared at all. Later, I hold you in my arms as you cry. You write an email to our friends that is a beautiful tribute to old Buster. I think you should publish it, but you think that might be exploiting our old pal, so it remains with our circle of friends, a loving tribute to a wonderful companion for twelve years.

-----=====MAY=====-----
(Sunrise, Sunset or New York City–holy shit!)

Jennie looks so grown-up in her new apartment–our own professional woman! We feel like such a couple of small-town yokels here in the Big Apple. She wants to show us the sights and feels a little disappointed that we can't do and see EVERYthing. But the only sight we really care about is our little girl. I make sure we are alone before I let emotion overwhelm me–the last thing she wants to see is her old pop crying on Mom's shoulder. Our little girl is so grown up! How does it happen so quickly?

-----=====JUNE=====-----
(Who says getting old is all bad?)

Walking in the park on a glorious Sunday morning–the sunlight plays across your red tresses, revealing a glittering field of gorgeous little threads of pure silver. I know you aren't sensitive about it and I tell you how sexy I think it is. You scratch me under the chin, where my beard is going white. We kiss under the evergreen trees over by that little pond we love so much.

-----=====JULY=====-----
(The miles can't stand between us)

Twenty-eight years together and we've never spent a month apart? They are flying you to Vienna for some damned thing, and I'm going to miss you terribly. I stock up on DVDs of MythBusters and Monty Python and I resolve to clean out the garage.

The night before you leave, we get that Rock On book with all the rock star pictures from the old days. We start making up imaginary captions for the pictures, just trying to make each other laugh. There is this picture of Jagger and you do this voice and say "Ey! What's wrong with me pants?" We laugh until we are sore.

I am a good cook, but it is so boring cooking for one. I subsist on takeout, pasta and frozen dinners for the most part. You come home to a husband who is bored out of his skull and a garage that is spotlessly clean. Not to mention the work I did on your study. And the kitchen. And your bathroom. Thanks for coming home safe and sound.

-----=====AUGUST=====-----
(Fun with our best friends / Petty theft)

Pete and Linda come over for dinner. Pete shares his idea for an online music database and we stay up 'til five in the morning helping him flesh it out. Then we sleep until the afternoon. I hope this idea gets off the ground–once we got through with it, I must say, it was pretty damned cool! I hope we never get to old to have nights like that.

Later that month, some jackass steals your purse out of the front seat of your car as you are in the gas station. Stupid thief, you were carrying your billfold with the cards and the cash, all they got was some cosmetics and tools. Still, that old purse–the one that you got at the marketplace in Santa Fe ... I feel bad about that and we go on a purse hunt to the craft malls. We find you a good one, although nothing can replace that tough old New Mexican thing.

-----=====SEPTEMBER=====-----
(In sickness and in health)

I am sure it's just a cold, but I'm down for three days; fever, cough, the whole nine yards. I am such a huge baby–getting old really stinks.

And yet, you treat me like a king and tell me that you are happy to take care of me. You sit with me and read to me from that funny Christopher Moore novel whenever I feel rotten. You do the voices and I laugh and feel a bit better. Next time you are sick, I'm not going to forget how kind you've been to me–as if I ever could.

-----=====OCTOBER=====-----
(She buys me cars)

I can't believe we have a new car! Well, a used car. God, it's beautiful, deep red with black trim. I beg you to drive it, I mean, you are the one who paid for it. You're too in love with your Civic, you say, and besides, you'll drive it sometimes, but I'm the one who does all the highway driving.

At work on Monday, Dick (the prick) tries to make some kind of 'thing' about a man whose wife buys the cars, but I use that tactic your brother told me about. I just look him in the eye and repeat "What is it you are saying?" until he finally slinks away. If it means getting to drive this car, they can make 'kept man' jokes all they want.

-----=====NOVEMBER=====-----
(The fight / My birthday)

The month starts with one of those once-a-year arguments. I don't even remember what started it. Of course it is ugly and sad and we sit in the den and smoke a pack of cigarettes apiece and try to sort out why this is happening. And of course we could be doing better things. And of course the whole experience leave me feeling like a heel. At least I can count on one thing–despite your nearly photographic memory, you'll never hold any of it over my head.

All is forgotten by my birthday. I don't even care that all our favorite candidates lost. We drink daiquiris in the back yard, then go inside. We make love for a long time, the way we seldom find the time for these days. I whisper in your ear every true feeling that I can lay bare and you shiver and moan and climax repeatedly. Later, we lay in each others arms, weak as kittens, snuggling in the afterglow of the passion.

-----=====DECEMBER=====-----
(Our 27th anniversary)

If we counted from our wedding date, it would be our 25 year and 3 months, but we've never done it that way. We count from the day when you snuck off to go to a movie with the quiet guy who spent all his time writing fantasy stories based on his D & D games. You got so badly grounded for that.

We drive out to our favorite German restaurant and eat schnitzel. Then we drive to the shore and look at the stars, knowing that another wonderful year together is just about to begin.


"Well we all have a face that we hide away forever
And we take them out and show ourselves
When everyone has gone
Some are satin some are steel, some are silk and some are leather
They're the faces of the stranger but we love to try them on—Billy Joel, The Stranger