And Gutenberg Lived Here: Hey, Guys- So Which Genius Invented A Parsley Anniversary Already?

Today is our anniversary.

And a so-called round anniversary at that.

No, not parsley

which is twelve and a half.

(yes, I know, but believe it or not,


as apparently the only ones in the world,

I sincerely hope,

celebrate 12 1/2 by tacking a pound and a half of parsley on the bride

with a hatpin the size of a small sword.

And if you wonder where Dr Who got the idea for the celery boutoniere…)

So back to the anniversary.

Which also isn’t aluminum

(thirty-seven and a half.)

And what exactly does  that mean?

A box of aluminum foil?

the wing off a plane?

One of those aluminum pots

which can’t be used in a micro.

And which supposedly causes Alzheimer’s.

(So you can’t remember how many dishes you have washed in the last …..years?)

Not that it’s about things.

Well, sometimes it’s about things.

Like the famous toothpaste tube cap.

But mostly,

It’s about memories.

Like washing dishes.

After a party with forty friends.

And singing at the top of your lungs

while your husband sleeps the sleep of the host who keeps up with his guests in cups of the good stuff.

But it is also about cups of tea,

served, if you are lucky,

by a naked butler,

named Harald,

when you are too exhausted to get out of bed.

Or are celebrating a special remembrance day

with the good tea you dragged back from a trip to London.

Which reminds you each time you brew

of the bizarre little things that make up a marriage.

Like a huge lightning storm in a park where you took shelter in a tea room

and almost drowned in the stuff,

good as it was,

while trying to wait out the storm.

Working an extra concert you don’t really want to do

to pay for a present for a fifth anniversary.

Or taking a walk in the snow,

trying a shortcut,

and being chased through waist-high snow

by huge German shepherds

the dogs, not the people,

although the others also exist,

as you try to climb a fence to get out of a lumber yard

before the dogs make wood pulp out of you.

Or all the funerals,

and operations,

and cheap vacations as students

that turned out to be pure gold in the memory department,

and drew you both closer over the years.

And the math conferences where you are seated by languages you speak

and end up confused in six languages at the same time

because you don’t know the French for a Cauchy sequence.

Or the concerts, concerts, concerts.

In freezing churches,

freezing cathedrals,

over-heated halls,

standing in front of a huge majestic altar in long ski underwear,

(under floor-length black, of course)

since you are standing on an air vent leading to the unheated catacombs,

and hoping against hope you get done in time before something down there decides to explode.

Or one of the bishop’s hats (with skull)

drops on you.

Interesting, exotic, bizarre, weird,

sometimes tedious,

often at the edge of my strength,


all in all,

I think I’d do it all again.

Happy anniversary, love.

copyright 2016

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