Mary and I celebrate 26 years of marriage today, and there has never been another woman to interrupt that matrimony, with the possible exception of Siri — who we both enjoy abusing.
We were on our final approach to IKEA Covina this afternoon, the only Southern California establishment selling candles in bulk for keepers of 18th century taverns. (I wonder if they are aware of this distinction?) We could see the monumental blue warehouse off to our right, but Siri insisted our destination was on our left, and she kept shouting “proceed to route,” “proceed to route,” “make a u-turn at Workman Avenue.” Eventually, she consented and quietly admitted: “arrived at destination.”
From the very beginning of our time together, Mary and I have fallen into a happy, shared sense of things. We look at each other, when someone says something really dumb, and we know we are coming to essentially the same conclusion. It’s not anything special about us; it’s just a special simpatico God allows with couples: those two have the same perspective. Let us put them together.
Mary tells me I have made life interesting for her, and I tremble at how that might be defined by an impartial judge. Many men, MANY men, tell me, “you could never do this without a wife like Mary.” I humbly agree, because I know that many men don’t have a Ruth. Many men, unfortunately, quietly suffer with Jezebels, and I got a Ruth, an Esther, a Rebecca, a Mary.
She would cringe at this praise, because she’s as honest a woman as you will ever meet — and the odds are you won’t even get to talk to her very long if you’re not real, because she’s one of those souls happy to enjoy her children, her close friends, and me.
I get choked up thinking about her.