Eighteen years, give or take

I met my wife Barbara a bit more than 22½ years ago (though she doesn’t remember it; she stood out more in my memory than I did in hers, what with the big metal prongs sticking out of her broken leg). We would have been sitting next to one another taking a midterm exam in Darwin Stapleton’s “History of Science Fiction” class about 22 years ago today. We were at a Halloween party on Murray Hill Road 21 years ago, after I finally got a clue and asked her out. And we were married 18 years ago today.

In all the places where our plans and expectations and reactions to the world’s uncertain offerings have taken us since then, it has been my honor and pleasure to have her at my side. So many do not learn what it is to have a real helpmeet in their lives. I am blessed to say I have.

I don’t have the customary blogger’s wedding photograph scan to paste here. Maybe that’s for the best. We should wait and trot it out in the year when those fashions finally come back into style. On which anniversary we will surely still be smiling knowingly at the follies and foibles of the young, together, just as we are now.

Happy Anniversary, Barbara.