Seven Years Hitched

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Did you happen to catch Sesame Street this morning? Maria and Luis were trying to celebrate their anniversary in the park with a quiet picnic, but they kept getting interrupted by people singing about laughing or staging impromptu game shows or hulaing. Yeah.

Saturday was our seventh anniversary and Lady Steed spent it sick in bed. Not that it mattered--it started with my parents in town and included the Big O and I gone much of the day on vital errands. Et cetera.

By the time Lady Steed was finally cognizant and not fully baby-involved, it was time to go to bed to collapse in sleep. We still haven't, you know, exchanged gifts or sly glances or anything of the sort.

Last year's anniversary?

We moved.

When we first were married, I could foresee no excuse not to make each anniversary an occasion. So far, not so good.

But inconveniences and practicalities obscure the greater point: that we are married and love each other and are going strong.

Lady Steed is woven into my person like gold on a blue ribbon and I need her.
Lady Steed defines my being like sun falling on newly sprouted clover and I love her.

It sucks--it really really sucks--that we couldn't go to, oh, Prague on Saturday, but we are together and one and we love each other.

I love you, love.

And with luck I'll be home by seven.

Maybe we can, I don't know, sit on the porch and share a peach or something. That would be nice.