El Bandito, aka It's About Time

Because...

I thought about lifting jote's post about her marriage almost wholesale, because she said it so well. About growing together, or on parallel paths. How lucky she was, how lucky I am, that those decisions made in our youth have nurtured our souls so well.

Where do I start this?.A power outage an eternity ago. Or maybe... six months after that, when with all the drama and passion of the young, I made him promise to some day ask me to marry him. I don't think I ever expected it would happen. But we rewrite those stories too, don't we?

Maybe the reason I'm having trouble starting is that I want to

believe this, this partnership, this marriage, transcends a beginning, or an ending. It's a story in the middle and it will always be in the middle because it's constantly evolving.

Today is El Bandito's birthday.

We were so very very young when we met.

I never would have predicted where we are now, in so many different ways.

He has always made me laugh.

But now? All it takes is the right word, the inside joke, the raised eyebrow or the ridiculous expression, and I am laughing so hard I'm breathless.

He has often made me melt unpredictably with a small gesture. A hand on my shoulder, the way he brushes my hair off my face.

He supports my crazy ideas (and I'm full of crazy ideas and crazy plans, though I tone down my adventuresome imaginings for him sometimes.) Ideas that say I want to learn trapeze, or how to blow glass -- neither of which I could have ever conceived of trying without his encouragement. Ideas that say I want to try canyoneering, or how about we go up this mountain? Can we try this alpine route? My hiking whims and outdoor needs have led us to silent alpine meadows and treacherous rocky ledges; his love of urban landscapes have brought us on city adventures. Sometimes, he reels me in.

We complement, in ways I could never have imagined.

We sometimes complete each others' sentences (other times, he grumbles at me for not finishing mine).

There's no perfection here. There are scars and frustrations and grumbles of daily life. And yet? There's nothing I would trade this for (though he might wish I was a wife who did the dishes more frequently or made dinner rather than fancy desserts).

Happy Birthday, El Bandito. I will always be grateful for the gift you are in my life.

For the laughs

For the synonym-toast and acrobats

For putting up with my tossing my book onto your pillow when you're up later than I am, because I'm too lazy to roll over and put it on the nightstand.

For never objecting when I decide a friend needs to be fed.

For fighting through your acrophobia when I decide the best hike we could possibly do requires a mile stretch of narrow, slippery ledge.

For putting up with me in the dark years of my dissertation depression.

For butternut squash pizza and a bottle of wine.

For the way you're constantly thinking about your latest idea, whether work, or project, or even video game. I tease you about your obsessive nature, but I also love you for it.

For loving me.

For love—I would

split open your head and put

a candle in

behind the eyes.

Love is dead in us

if we forget

the virtues of an amulet

and quick surprise.

-- Robert Creeley