Today was 42 years since our wedding day and 43 years and 8 months since Paul and I left a Christmas party together on December 23rd 1967 and didn't look back.
Last night we agreed--just dinner together--no need for any more fanfare than that (not even a card)--and a movie at home afterwards.
In the morning I glanced at a pile of movies on the coffee table in our den. I picked them up one by one and looked at the descriptions. No "action movies," among them. When he joined me downstairs he said, "I tried to get them with you in mind, Love." I smiled because he knows me well, and anticipates my taste pretty perfectly most of the time.
We finished breakfast and then I called England to let Mum know what day it was. Pre-stroke she would always call. The Dutch tend to consistently honour special occasions with a card or call, but now we call so she won't be disappointed that she missed it.
Rob answered the phone, surprised but pleased to hear from me midweek. He chatted for a few minutes on speaker phone, telling Paul that he had taken his diet up a notch. He said, "I'm working on more frequent, smaller meals. I've mastered the more frequent part--now I'm working on the smaller."
Then Mum came on, her dear voice saying a happy, "Hello."
"Mum, it's our anniversary!" I said.
"Oh, is it?" she replied, "I didn't know it was today."
"That's why we're calling. We wanted you to be part of it."
Later on we sat across from one another at The Pickle Barrel. I told him that I loved him for the way he takes care of his family, and how much I had admired his wisdom and leadership qualities ever since I first met him. "I saw those things in you right from the start," I said. And I waited in vain for him to respond in kind. How I wanted him to tell me that he loved me.
I almost missed it, he had done that from the first thing this morning.