I am home alone tonight, and my husband is out with another woman. They had dinner, and I imagine by now they are dancing. Today is our 22nd wedding anniversary, and I have never been more happy to be married to this man I’ve been calling Jif here. His name is John. That doesn’t give away too much, does it? He can go back to Jif tomorrow.
March 12, 1983. Apparently, I had a Hassidic hairdresser, who only knew the one style…
Tonight, my husband, John, is square-dancing with our beautiful, brilliant, irreverent daughter, at the Girl Scouts’ Father-Daughter dance. He and I will have, God willing, many more nights for anniversary dates. Father-daughter dances are precious and few, so I happily gave up my special date night to these two fabulous creatures whom I love more than words can say.
Like so many of the things God does, I don’t know why. I don’t know why He hand-picked this man to be my partner, my lover, my best friend, my hero, my baby’s Daddy. But I know He did. I don’t know why, but I get to walk through life beside, and wake up every morning beside, the best person I’ve ever met. The most honest, the most honorable, the most decent, the most reliable, the most forgiving person I know. The person most likely to know the right thing to do, and to have the courage to do it, in any situation. I don’t know why God gave me this gift, but I know that’s just what John is, God’s gift to me. After 22 years, he still laughs at my craziness, he still makes me laugh, still alters my states, and still tells me often that he’s glad he married me.
And if that’s not enough, he’s the best Daddy I’ve ever seen. I was going to take a picture of LG’s little finger, to show you John’s second home, where he lives, very tightly wrapped. But you get the picture. And that is as it should be. I wish every little girl could have the experience of having a strong, loving Daddy wrapped around her little finger.
…practicing their promenade…
In all these years together, we have been through some wonderful experiences. And we’ve been through hell. And there have been moments when we’ve felt like we had nothing at all we could count on, except each other and God. And in those moments, that was enough.
This is a song, written by Billy Joel. I love lots of love songs, but I always come back to this one when I think of John:
You’re My Home
When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home
When you touch my weary head
And you tell me everything will be all right
You say, “Use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night”
Well I’ll never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone
Wherever we’re together, that’s my home
Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike
Indiana’s early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you
Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home
If I travel all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There’s a roof above and good walls all around
You’re my castle, you’re my cabin and my instant pleasure dome
I need you in my house ’cause you’re my home.
You’re my home.
Happy anniversary, John. In my native language of Hillbillian, I would say, “I’m plumb crazy about you.” My granny would have said to me, “You’re plumb crazy even when you ain’t about him!” Both are true. If I were a famous actress, or a famous anything, I would stand up on a stage at an awards show, in a pretty dress, and tell the world how wonderful you are. But this blog is about as close as I’ll ever come to telling the world anything, so here I am, in jeans, at the keyboard, telling as many people as I can. I’d like to thank you for your love, and I’d like to thank God for you. (They’re playing the music that means I have to shut up now…)
What Was I Thinking? 