I was going to write this glorious paean to the woman who has stayed with me all these years. Then I realized I don’t have to do that. Suffice it to say that my family members call her “Saint Kathleen”.
She and I were married on this date 35 years ago, at the Catholic church in our little town – or, as my mother-in-law still calls it, “the scene of the crime.” As I kissed her cheek when I left for work before dawn today, I realized that I love her more today than ever before, and I didn’t think that was possible.
You know, there are a whole lotta things I love about being single (after a long and miserable marriage), but when I read stuff like this, it makes me kind of wishful.
You are a bad, bad man! I want to drink beer with you.
We’re celebrating tonight in a way that has become traditional – I am fixing dinner, we’re opening a bottle of wine we bought last summer just for this occasion, and we will call our sons and talk with them. That’s it.
And, judging from the things you’ve said about your sons, you have some really good things to show for it. Congratulations. Here’s hoping for many more good years together.
Well, we got married in the Catholic church, but I wasn’t (and never have been) Catholic. In fact, we had both a Methodist minister and a Catholic priest officiate. Hence my mother-in-law’s description of the place.
