When I married my husband in the last century, he was officially 10 months younger than I, not too much, but still beyond the “ideal” marriage-age-gap of the southern culture I grew up in. So, even though he was very handsome (for whatever reason I never saw that as important and besides I thought good–i.e., faithful, men always wore thick glasses and eventually went bald–I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone except him because he was very intelligent, and he laughed at my jokes! With all the strikes against us, my being from the south and he being slightly tan and from a maybe at-one-time s***hole country according to “some people”. I figured we’d need a good sense of humor and turns out I was right!
To get directly to the “meat” of this conversation, you’d think being 10 months younger, his memory would be better than mine! Au contraire, mon ami! We BOTH went through the whole day with our normal retirement routines–he to the gym and me to the hair salon, then home for lunch, and a little news to make sure we weren’t at war or that we hadn’t missed an important announcement from the justice department. I’ve found the drone of cable news becomes a great source of white noise to take small naps with. Dinnertime came. Still there was no thought whatsoever that we could have been out at some nice place having a gourmet dinner and drinking anything stronger than my usual southern “sweet” tea as we relished leftovers for dinner.
This morning as I was enticed from my bed with a strong coffee aroma drifting into the bedroom, I heard a voice coming from our office opposite the kitchen. “Happy Anniversary” Laughing at our forgetfulness later, Hubby messaged our daughters “Hey, it’s okay that we forgot our anniversary (49th) yesterday, but not okay that you two forgot also. Dad”
Wedding anniversaries are pretty big deals back home, especially milestones ones. I was thinking at the time we married that we were both too old (I’d just turned 27, and he was technically younger at 26) and that we’d probably never live long enough to celebrate the “really big ones of 25 and 50.” I felt so old and wise at the time, and quite certain I wouldn’t last as long as I have. Now here we are, just one year away from the really BIG one! (Note to daughters, this is the one where you are to collectively send us on an exotic trip since neither of us have nearby family to come and throw us a big party and celebrate in style! ) God willing and the creek don’t rise we’ll both still be around for number 50. However, I’m counting on HIM to remind me . . . after all he’s 10 months younger!
In the interest of self-restraint, as well as fulfilling a duty to my health to control my blood pressure, I’d decided not to get into politics in my blog posts, but dammit! All the events of the last few days (or year and a half–or all preceding campaign years, what the hell) have conspired to make me assert an alternative: I will only resort to politics to reassert my freedom as an American–because I still can! Can’t be sure that will be true much longer!
I’ve been poking around in here the past few days. It’s made me sorta miss coming here. Wonder if I should might start coming here again once in a while. At least that way anyone who happens by here will know I’m not dead yet. Hummmmmmmmm ! 
My Wintersong 