Happy Anniversary, Steven Robert
August 11, 2005

It was a lucky set of circumstances that brought a goody-goody Janet together with a bad boy like Steve, 4 years my junior. The fact that I was not scared by his pre-married status, and he wasn’t scared by my schoolmarm persona speaks to the wisdom of avoiding snap judgments. For that one brief shining moment, we were financial equals, and I mean that in a poverty-stricken way. I had purchased a condo, which I referred fairly accurately to as my slumdominium, and my remaining income was insufficient to supply more than one outfit. I can remember buying a teal sweater with toggle buttons, and rust cords at Winkelman’s in Royal Oak. I added a silky shirt with a whammo-bird collar. It was my only “look” that fall, and not a good look as the accompanying photo attests. Fortunately for me, Steve was consistently garbed in brown corduroy pants, a gauze shirt, and a teal sweater. We looked like twins, but lacked the finances or the desire to avoid this embarrassment.

I am sure that he was amused by my little abode with its second and third hand furniture. I had stripped, repainted and re-purposed a batch of hand me downs that deserved to be throw me outs. There was no air conditioning, no decent appliances, and a twin bed. There was a 10 year old shaggy dog with a nose that was falling off, and teeth that were falling out. I guess it looked like heaven to him, because he started talking about marrying me on our first date. Of course, I was wise to this ruse. I played hard to get for at least a few days. Well, maybe one. Soon we merged our assets, and embarked on the continuing adventure our life is.

Steve was big on modern conveniences, and soon I was cooled downstairs and upstairs by window A/C units. His big bed migrated to my bedroom. For my birthday, Steve bought a freestanding dishwasher. For Christmas, he bought me Farberware pans, just like his mom’s. Carol is an excellent cook, and I cannot make the claim that I ever used those pans to advantage, or kept the copper bottoms shining. But it was a nice thought. Steve threw in canisters, just so there would be something personal. He has come a long way in the gifting department. In point of fact, he has come a long way in every department.

When Steve had the chance to move to Chicago, he asked if I would go. Nope. I refused to give up my home, my teaching and my law school without a permanent relationship. I guess it could be said that I asked him to marry me. He scheduled a farewell tour for himself in order to finance an engagement ring, and sold the slumdo ON THE AIR (with all his nice improvements) for just what I had paid for it. He forgot that he was not on the deed. He was taking no chances on a change of heart.

27 years ago today we formalized this union. There have been good days and bad days…hell- there have been good YEARS and not-so-good YEARS. The one thing that is absent is regret. We have a joyous life, and God has blessed us with healthy and productive sons. They are compliant enough that we are able to sleep, and engaging enough that we continue to laugh and learn from them. I go to bed every night aware of the blessing that puttered into my life in his turquoise Suburu.

It is hard work, being married. You have to choose love, and then you need to guard and nurture it. You need to forgive, and definitely forget. And you need to do these things every single day, so they are a reflex. Some days it is magic, some days it is mundane. It is always a delicate balance of what you can give up without losing yourself. In the long haul, it is comfort and companionship, relief and reassurance. It is love, fertilized by gratitude.