Today’s our wedding anniversary. Last year Manny wrote me a sonnet. Over the years, he’s written me seven poems as gifts. This year he gave me flowers. What I give him is traditional but transitory.
This year he couldn’t write me a poem, because when he wasn’t writing about finance or seeking and securing a job writing about finance, he was writing query letters for his novel, CELEBRITY BURNING. Even the greediest wife must realize that nothing quashes the possible stirrings of romantic poetry more than duly composing query letter after query letter after…
In addition to our other forms of celebrating, we’re seeing Chekov’s “The Seagull,” on 13th Street tonight. I’ve never seen it or, to be truthful read it, although I know it’s one of the Russian master playwright’s famous comedies involving suicide. And I know that’s only part of what makes Chekov a great genius: comic suicide. With luck, tomorrow I’ll note a few other parts without worrying about all the great genius works of Chekov criticism.
Of course, being married to Manny is greater luck than I deserve. Really, it’s a lot more than luck, which comes and goes. Manny I can count on, always.
Belated Happy Anniversary! The flowers are gorgeous. They even make the Duncan Donuts look glamorous! :)
Posted by: Jennifer | April 14, 2008 at 10:58 AM
Thanks, Jennifer. That Dunkin Donuts has become my private reality show. It gets busier all the time, with an interesting breadth of humanity that spreads wider and wider, night and day.
Posted by: Kathleen | April 14, 2008 at 11:15 AM
interesting breadth of humanity that spreads wider and wider...
I'm guessing you meant their hips as well. :)
Posted by: Jennifer | April 21, 2008 at 09:11 AM
Jennifer, In fact, I avoid looking at that and a counter helpfully obscures anyone's girth until they step outside. Lately, a new group of foul-mouthed guys has taken to shouting at each other under the light post right outside at 3 am. They shout the same old curse words at each other, and at one particular (quiet) women so furiously, that I was sure they must be 21 years old, tops. But when I parted the curtain: these yahoos, shouting with their mouths full of who knows what artery cloggers, were all pushing 40. Or, possibly too much time at Dunkin Donuts works turns them into Rip Van Winkle night after night.
Posted by: Kathleen | April 21, 2008 at 09:22 AM
How did I miss this? I came here looking for your peace globe and noticed that I'd missed your celebration post. This is so sweet. Congratulations to you and your Manny.
He wrote you a sonnet?
Swoon.
Posted by: Mimi Lenox | May 18, 2008 at 04:00 AM