Thirty Years

What can you do with 30 years?

If you're Saddam Hussein you can progressively destroy a nation, its future and the soul of its people. If you're Toni Morrison you can build a body of brilliant work, much of which will forever remain part of the canon of great American literature.

If you're me, you can spend it married to one man, fulfilling that eery but nearly always ignored prophecy of the traditional wedding vows: experiencing with him sickness and health, wealth and poverty, soaring hopes, crushing disappointments and the impertinent optimism of fresh starts. You can build a home, a family, a craft, a universe of friends (and people you thought for a time were friends but turned out otherwise), an assortment of changing or lasting pursuits, all pieced together into a mutual mission to make a difference. That is to say, you can build a life.

It's against the odds. Not many couples can hold on for 30 years anymore. And some who do perhaps gave up too much of themselves in the process. But we've made it. Thirty years today. And--here's the best part--we still love each other. Truly. Madly (well, more like sanely now, but it doesn't sound as good). Deeply, definitely.

Happy anniversary, Bob. We've already left most of the field behind. Let's go for a new record.