2

Never thought it would happen–in fact, I’d made my peace with it not happening–but two years ago, it did: Paula and I stood in front of the altar at my home church making our promises to God and each other, then we walked confidently down the aisle and into an uncertain future.

We were both unemployed at the time, she having closed down her business six weeks previous, and me having walked away from a great job to come here to Wisconsin and be with her and her daughter. (The unemployment didn’t last long; the very next morning after the wedding I was offered the job I have now.) She was living with her mom; I still had my apartment in Cedar Rapids. So, though now married, we spent the equivalent of a long weekend together, then she went back to Milwaukee, and I back to Quakertown.

Six weeks later, we moved into the little house on the big, shallow lake and started our lives together for real. It took me about a month to get used to the reality of somebody being in the bed next to me every night. I grabbed sleep in fits and starts; at work, I guzzled coffee like it was free beer. But the joy of the waking hours more than made up for the burbling sleep, and anyway, now I get my six hours without interruption.

I can confidently say we’ve not been at war with one another. Skirmishes, yes; put any two independent-minded people under the same roof for a couple years, and they’re bound to disagree about something. But we’ve done a masterful job of adapting to each other’s eccentricities. I, for one, no longer pine for the days when I bought onions by the bagful, because I could cook with them fearlessly. And she has learned that, in fact, not everybody reads just one book at a time. Some of us feel inadequate if we don’t have three or four going at once.

Now, here we are in the burbs, three short weeks from welcoming the one who will (eventually) occupy the fourth chair at our kitchen table. In celebration of this most wonderful day, we’re reversing roles: She’s at work and I’m not. Tonight, we feast on the fatted hog, with plenty of hickory smoke certain to be involved, and we celebrate the fact that we found each other. There is often great joy in finding what you weren’t looking for. Happy anniversary, hon.