Wednesday is our third wedding anniversary and Maria is taking me off to some secret location for one day, which is our usual  celebration. That are two days in my life that are deeply etched into my consciousness, the birth of my daughter Emma, my wedding to Maria. We got married in the big barn at Bedlam Farm, about 80-100 people were crowded into the barn, it was raining. I date my life to two periods, before Maria and after.

For more than two years, I had been pestering Maria to marry me. I knew she wouldn’t, I knew she wasn’t ready but I wanted her to know how much I loved her, how much I was committed to us. Every time I asked her – on walks, in restaurants, at dinner – she would look at me and smile, and say “no, thank you.” Then around the 500th time, she began saying, “maybe, not now, thank you.” One day she rocked my universe by saying “yes, ok.” She was ready. I was terrified she would come to her senses and find somebody better, handsomer, saner, younger. I did not see myself as a good catch. I would not have blamed her if she did.

But we just seemed to fit, and set off in the Theater Of Chance Together. Three years. Maria has given me a reason to believe in the afterlife, I want to spend eternity with her, I think it might happen, we are soul-connected and perhaps souls don’t die.

But for the moment, I have to interrupt this ode to love, I’ve got a good fever and am shaking like an October leaf. To bed. More later.