Thursday, August 16, 2012

Absentee Anniversary

On Saturday, August 18, Becky and I will celebrate wedding anniversary # 28 . . . but not really.  On Friday, we move Logan into his dorm room at Vincennes University, whereupon we return immediately to Brownsburg, load up two cars, and transport mounds of wedding gifts to our daughter, Chelsey, and son-in-law, Michael, who are moving into their apartment in Bloomington on Saturday morning.

All in all, a crazy weekend.  Toss in Saturday night worship and two more on Sunday morning and this anniversary has all the trimmings of a frantic escapade. 

I have, however, produced an ample supply of poems for the old gal, despite my hurried cadence.  Some of these she will read (maybe) when they appear in print at later dates . . . but others I will post here next week.  Be sure to visit if you want to see how a real man proclaims his love for an old, over-worked but-incredibly-gifted woman.

Yes, we will both be absent on our anniversary this year, but now that we are "empty-nesters" our pace, our evenings, our meals, and our entertainment will change immensely.  (Don't think we won't do it.  I'm serious. EVERYTHING changes!)

Currently, our plans include getting rid of our ATT-U-Verse TV service and maybe our land-line telephone, euthanizing the cat, eating what WE want to eat (instead of worrying about our son's bottomless cravings for lean meat), eating at Wendy's more often, and living in a clean and tidy house for the first time since children entered the picture twenty-three years ago.

It's like we told our son, who asked, "What are you two going to do together after I'm out of the house?"

Answer:  "Anything we want to do!"

Somewhere in the mix of our two 60-hour work weeks husband and wife are going to bump into each other in the days ahead.  I'll hand over my stack of new material and ask my wife to read it.  She will decline (citing exhaustion).  I will write more (despite exhaustion).  And then we will turn out the lights and go to bed.

Every morning, when we rise long before the dawn, we will ask ourselves the question:  "Why didn't we do what we wanted to do last night?"

But I'm not sure we know what that is . . . 

We are, however, open to suggestions.  The lines are now open . . . .

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