Fourteen Years and Counting

Today is our fourteenth wedding anniversary. On Saturday, we picked out cards for each other at Target. Anniversary cards are especially hard for me to select. Do you go with the funny? Do you reach for the sincere? Where is the card that says, "I am equally amused by and enamored with you," and could it have a chimpanzee on it? 'Cause I like cards with chimpanzees.

As I type this, there are two squirrels on the tree outside, chasing each other round and round the bark of one of our trees, creating quite a distraction as I try to write. I don't think they are married yet, because it's 2:47 in the afternoon. Married squirrels usually chase at night, on the weekend, when the baby squirrels fall asleep early and there's nothing on TV. Sigh.

Today, I searched the Internets for a quote I remember liking from Garrison Keillor on marriage. He said, "In general, the rules for marriage are similar to the rules for being in a lifeboat on the open ocean: don't crowd each other, no sudden moves, and keep all disastrous thoughts to yourself. "

It's pretty sound advice, I think. I may pass it on to the squirrels outside who have made their way to the lawn and, in the process, transfixed Lucy who can't help but dream of what squirrel tastes like. They seem as if they have no plan at all beyond the chasing. I should help them.

If I added my own advice to Garrison's it would be to pass the time on that lifeboat by doing an awful lot of talking, listening, and encouraging each other. Hold hands. Don't force the other one to play games to pass the time, because he doesn't like to play games, he really doesn't, no matter how many times you ask. Oh, and one more thing: wear sunscreen.

The squirrels have disappeared, Lucy has settled back down into the seat cushion beside me, and I am off to celebrate fourteen amazing years with my best friend. You know, right after I print off this blog post and staple it to the tree. You're welcome, squirrels.