Tomorrow, as this posts, will mark fifteen years that I have been a husband. They have been the best fifteen I’ve had yet, and I’m looking forward to more than fifteen more of them. (I mean, I might not make it past 57–not everybody does. But I still look forward to more, even if I acknowledge I may well not get them.)

There have been problems, of course; there could hardly not be. There have been strains. Some of them, we knew to expect setting out, my wife and I; we were both in grad school when we wedded, and I was still in the folly of my youth. (I’ve grown out of it; I’m now in the folly of middle age.) Some, we couldn’t’ve foreseen. Some, we’re still managing. None would I want to face without her, and none of the time with her would I give up to avoid them.

Tree though I am not, I can be a little sappy at times. But if not about my wife, then about whom (other than my daughter, whom I only have because of my wife)?

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