Yesterday was a pretty good day, and today wasn't so bad, either.I'm celebrating my anniversary, you see. At least for another twenty-eight minutes. Even though my dearest one is snoring loudly beside me, I'm still delighting in the fact that, seventeen years ago today, my best friend came to spend the night, every night, for the rest of our lives.
You wait for me while I shop. Patiently, you wait; resting in the car or sitting on a park bench or playing solitaire on that jazzy little phone you have. You wait for me.
You laugh with me. I make self-deprecating jokes, and you puff me up with your laughter. I make you-deprecating jokes, and you laugh just as loudly. I love that laugh, that smile, with the deep dimples you so generously shared with our youngest daughter. I love that you laugh.
You spend time with me. Your first priority is always me, always being with me, always thinking of me first. Don't think I haven't noticed, because I have. It only looks like I don't notice because you spoil me in that way, always giving your time so selflessly to me. I love spending my time with you.
You think I matter. You listen to my thoughts, and my opinions, and my worries, and my ideas. You don't ignore me or belittle me when I need to air my frustrations. You listen and you advise. You support and you uplift. You're my best counselor on this earth. I appreciate that I matter to you.
You teach me. I know nothing about things like football and molecules and algabraic equations, but you're willing to teach me. You tell me what first down and eight means, and I try very hard to understand, because what is important to you is important to me.
You indulge me. You know that I want a pasta maker so you spend a whole afternoon and a whole 'nother evening shopping with me, until we find the very perfect one, and even when you're completely bored and totally sick of the whole idea, you still advise me. And when I realize that the one I want is just too expensive, you explore eBay and call to me to show me what you've found. You care, so you indulge me.
You like my food. You were the reason I learned to cook. I hadn't cooked a real meal before I started dating you, and when I realized that we weren't going to have money for dates, I decided that I would woo you with my food, and I bought my very first cookbook. I made you bread and pepper steak and chicken cordon bleu and pot pies and stuffed tomatoes and vegetable grinders and french fries and anything else I could think to cook. And you loved it. It makes it so much more fun to cook, because I know that you will gratefully devour what I've made for you, and you'll tell me how it can be better, or that it's just perfect. I could stand in the kitchen all day cooking just to hear your satisfied approval. You let me feed you, and that feeds me.
You cuddle me. I remember the time, when we were dating, that you fell asleep on my couch while I took that terribly agonizing phone call, and when it was over, I needed your hug, so I curled up next to you, and without even waking, you opened your arms and pulled me close to you, gave me security and encouragement, even while you slept. I'll never forget that.
You talk to me. From the very beginning, when we were just kids gabbing on the phone, I knew that you and I were two of a kind, people who loved to converse, to pick each other's brains and share ideas. When we started dating in college, that whole experience came flooding back, talking on the phone from dusk to dawn, knowing that you'd fallen asleep on the phone, listening to you breathing, waiting for your alarm to startle you awake. Hours and hours of discussions about religion, faith, belief, music, love, relationships, the future, the past. And it continues still. My favorite pasttime is talking with you, planning with you, dreaming with you, working things out and solving the world's problems with you. I love how you talk to me.
You tolerate me. And all of my wacky ideas, and all of my animals, and all of my eccentricities. When I have an idea that's completely and totally wrong, you don't (always) discourage me. You let me pursue it, let it run its course. And you never, ever, ever say, "I told you so." You're so tolerant of me.
You appreciate nature with me. You stop to look at the stars. You call me to the window to see the hawk. You stroll with me to check the bluebird houses that you built with the kids. You marvel at the sunrise and the sunset. You laugh at the goats, talk to the cats, cuddle the dogs, feed them all. I will always remember the day that I was trying to decide whether we should destroy all the clover in the yard, because I thought that maybe I needed a "barefoot" lawn that the kids could run around on without worrying about the bees. I didn't really want to do it, but I was feeling the pressure to "look good" and thought that I should plant a real lawn with real grass. You called me to the porch to see something you described as "amazing," something you really thought I needed to see. And though I was busy, I stopped to come look. The entire lawn was covered with tiny little frittilaries, hundreds and hundreds of them, alighting on the clover before they continued their journey to who-knows-where. We kept the clover.
You encourage me. When I have an idea or a goal or a dream, you tell me to pursue it. You help me, give me ideas, get lost in the dream with me. Whether it's a coffeehouse, or a houseconcert series, or a book idea, or a blog, you give me the courage and cooperation to pursue it.
You desire me. I know that I get embarrassed and often reject your compliments, but I honestly appreciate how you tell me that I'm beautiful, and you reach out to hug me, and you kiss my face, and you compliment me, and you oggle me. I've had a problem with my appearance for so long that your words are hard to believe, difficult to accept, but I'm working on it. And I'm finally getting to the place where I can believe that, even if no one else thinks so, you think I'm beautiful. Thank you for desiring me.
Of course there's more. But I have to save some for the next seventeen years.
Here's to you, and to us. We've known each other longer than we haven't. We've been married almost half as long as I've been alive.
Happy seventeenth anniversary, Bo. I love you very, very much and can't imagine life without my very best friend.
