Happy Anniversary.

Today is our wedding anniversary.  Forty-one years ago today,  I was in Charlottesville, heading for Sarge's for breakfast with one of my college friends. I was stopping at VNB to withdraw some cash (these were the days before ATMs: how can that be?); was packing my little gold Toyota with all my worldly possessions (would that I could fit them all in that kind of space now!)preparatory for our long drive to California, where JC was stationed; was going over to my professor's home to change into the dress (that I had made myself--the pieces laid out and cut on the Biochemistry Department library table); and then, make my way to the University Chapel. But I digress.

Anniversaries aren't about remembering the day (though it was a great day...) Anniversaries are for looking at the times between: how far we've come and who we've met along the way; how we've changed, and how we've stayed the same; who we were and who we've become. I can't cover all that in a single sound-bite on a single day, any more than I could relive all those years. But I can talk about the person behind those changes, behind that growth. JC.

We have been together far longer than we've been apart. We are each other's best friends, and, while I grumble and disagree and sigh and roll my eyes occasionally, I wouldn't be anywhere else WITH anyone else, at any other time than now. Why? Hmm. Living is easy; analysis is hard--but...

1. He makes me laugh. No one is surprised at this, but it's not all funny stories when you're married. Things go wrong. I've been tired, discouraged, impatient, angry, frustrated--the whole gamut of emotions. And yet, he makes me smile.

2. He made me believe in me. Forty-one years ago, I would never have dreamed that I could host a dinner, plan a party, paint a room, plant a garden, entertain a child...And yet, I've done all these and more because he believed I could. He gave me the support and confidence I've needed over the years to get through all my doubts and shortcomings.

3. He taught me about people, about the importance of thank yous, and paying attention to every person you meet, every day.

4. He is a wonderful father. He is there, he is available for our daughters--and always has been. He traveled for most of the time they were growing up, but every night, they talked to him. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he called. Sometimes I think it was less for them and more to keep me sane, but he called. And when he came home, he brought stories for them: cab-driver stories, gleaned from whatever taxi he stepped into, about where the driver was from and what he did there and how he came to the U.S. And the girls had a globe to point to all those places. And whenever they had an event--a play, a recital, an award ceremony--he was there.

5. He is kind. I can be mean, I can be selfish, I can be suspicious--he's not. Just NOT.

6. He helps. He has always been the premiere vacuum person. He does a better job than I do. He takes out the trash; he does the dishes (this is where my eye-rolling comes in because he washes the dishes thoroughly before he puts them in the dishwasher; but, why complain? He's doing the dishes and I am not.) And since retiring, he does the laundry as often as I do, and is doing some cooking as well.

7. He appreciates what I do. He THANKS me for making breakfast, for picking up a prescription, for dropping off dry-cleaning occasionally, for making a jell-o salad that I know he likes, for folding laundry...I may be a lot of things, but never taken for granted. And if I draw a blank on what to have for dinner, he is quick to say "Let's go out.."

Sure, he has selective hearing sometimes. I am sure he has issues with my quirks, plentiful as they are. I suspect he has also rolled HIS eyes at some of the events I've dragged him to through the years, and some of the crack-brained ideas he's gone along with to please me. But, on balance, he comes down decidedly on the good side of things. Far more than I, I fear.

Somewhere along the way (and it may have been JC who said it--I'm willing to give him the credit) we adopted the line that marriage is a bargain--and the secret of any happy marriage is that BOTH people think they got the best of the deal. He may think he did, but he's wrong. I KNOW I did.

Ten Books

I hesitate to mention it, but I've noticed the glimmerings of one of those FaceBook things that ask you to answer a question in detail and pass it along..you know..that "10 Things You Don't Know About Me" or something like that? This one is "Ten Books I Could Never Get Rid Of".

This one strikes at the very heart of my family. ALL of us have far more than ten books we can't give away--or at least, we never seem to be able to get down to ten apiece. Setting all that aside, what books would I keep if I had to pick ten of my collection?

Some people (in fact, even I) at first glance would start looking for books that they would read again and again, or would go back to repeatedly. The Bible, Shakespeare, Don Quixote...books that never grow old, that have a seemingly inexhaustible font of wisdom. The more I thought, however, the more I came back to the fact that I have a slightly different relationship with books. I re-read, of course. I consult. I look up facts. I read books for pleasure. But, for me, books are more than information. I like books for their feel, for their smell, for their comfort value. I can always remember the stories; I can usually call up the famous quotes or the clever descriptions. Books aren't THINGS, to be numbered and weighed against each other. Books are friends.

So, who should accompany me to a desert island? Who should I spend my waning years with? Who do I want to have hanging around my house indefinitely, kibitzing on my life and reminding me why I'm here? Oh, boy.

My circle of fictional friends is probably pretty strange. I want Louise Penny's whole village of Three Pines--even Ruth and her duck. I want Parker's Spenser and Hawk, because they entertain me endlessly with their wisecracks. I want Dick Francis' composite character--Sid Halley in all his incarnations, because each of them teaches me something. And Laurie King's people, not limited to Mary and Sherlock, because they all share a devotion to common sense. Margaret Maron's Deborah Knott, and her NY cousin, Sigrid Harald..Sigrid because she has known tragedy and has managed to overcome it. Can I sneak in Elvis Cole and Joe Pike? In their own ways, they set the bar for us all. John Lescroart's gang of policemen and lawyers out in San Francisco would be a great bunch to have around as well. And Richard Jury (so good with children) and Melrose Plant (if only for tea.) Phryne Fisher for her fabulous clothes and irrepressible sense of fun...You see? It's hard to limit the guest list  when you're planning a book party. And I haven't even started on the poets I'd like to have drinks and dinner with. Imagine the conversations!

So don't ask me to start winnowing through my lists and my shelves. As long as I have a house, my friends are welcome there. It might get a little crowded, but when you're rubbing elbows with the greats, who cares?

Hello?

My daughter, the blogger, just posted a cartoon from Grammarly that purports to explain why the blogger gets no comments on his/her blog..and it concludes that the major magnet for comments is mistakes. Hmm.

My daughter's blog (kayorzech.blogspot.co.uk) is pretty interesting and entertaining, I think (over and above the precious pictures of my granddaughters, believe it or not.) She writes about Americans living in Scotland and the cultural adjustments they are making, the sights they are seeing, the food they are eating, and all the other 'inconsequentials' that are SO consequential when it's YOUR life they're talking about. (Read it--you'll like it.)

But...now that I've wandered off my point...she hit upon one of my pet bugaboos. Every time I post an entry on my blog, I watch the record of 'hits' I get. I know there are some people who read what I have to say (thank you all) but I have no way of knowing who, unless you comment. I don't know if you like what I'm saying, are infuriated, are even reading it. All I know is that you opened the connection.

So--if I could crawl through the wire or surf through the ether and find you, I'd try to start a conversation: what do YOU think? am I way off-base? did I make you think of something (other than "I waste far too much time on FaceBook")? Are you a friend of a friend? Do I even know you? Unlike the peripatetic "Like" on FaceBook, your 'hit' doesn't even tell me your name. It may not always be obvious, but I try to say something to a blogger or a post-er other than blindly hitting the 'Like' button, other than simply reading the blog and moving on. Sure, it sometimes means  deciphering some picture 'so we know you're not a robot', but that's a momentary irritation. 

Were it up to me, we'd all go back to writing letters. (Remember learning in school how to write 'friendly letters' as opposed to business letters? I'm dating myself.) I LIKE writing letters, but, even more, I like GETTING letters. Facebook is my outlet for that particular weirdness. Every post is a 'friendly letter'--or, more often, a friendly post-it note stuck on my door. And every reply, every comment is like a little friendly note in response. Even the 'like' response is welcome, though it doesn't engender the same kind of 'You've got MAIL!' enthusiasm in my heart.

Therefore, I declare today (whatever day you read this) as "Make Yourself Known Day". Write a comment, reply to an e-mail, respond to a blogpost. It doesn't even have to be mine. I guarantee you that most personal blog responses are not as ill-mannered, unintelligent, grammatically ignorant, and narrow-minded as the remarks left on most FaceBook articles you might encounter. (At least I hope not!) And, in addition to all that, you'll make your favorite blogger's day.