Binderama60for60

Today is our 10th anniversary

Yes yes, I know what you’re thinking: “Doug, are you really going to publish a blog about your marriage. And surprise your Wife with it? On your anniversary? That sounds like a really bad idea.” Heard.

Here we go!

Christmastime in Virginia, mid-aughts. It was one of our first visits as a couple to see my Parents. One morning I awoke to the sounds of Mary and my Dad already up and watching television downstairs. They were gabbing and jiving about whatever old TMC movie Dad had cued up. It might have been “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” As I headed down to join them, I heard Mary drop the F-bomb. To my Dad. In fun but with gusto. WTAF! I hastened my pace down the stairs to defuse the situation, but apparently my Dad was familiar with the term and laughed along, out loud. A few hours later, when Mary brought home fresh oysters from Wegmans and shucked them for my Folks for lunch, Dad was sold. I was too. Still am.

Awright, let’s get serious: if not for Mary, I would probably be dead or deranged by now. Or both.

I am so grateful to have her in my life. I treasure this human, this person, my Mary. Honey. Babe. Baby. She’s easy on the eyes. She’s smart, intelligent and educated, and moderately woke. She helps to keep me engaged (or at least awake). She drives me to stay healthy and active, and she faces strong headwinds at all times. She whips up some mean chow. She makes me laugh, think and grow. She helps me express myself and share. She makes me mad. But you know me: focus on the laughter.

We cook together, travel together, raise dogs together, shop, walk, drive and celebrate together. We’re pretty much together all the time. In fact, we’ve only been apart maybe 20 days in the last five years. By that, I mean we wake up together, go to sleep together and spend most of the day together. Before that, we’d each spend weeks and months on the road. And yet, it’s never boring. Okay, we sometimes get bored. But we do it together. Just last week, Mary described this sometime disposition as “happily bored.” Yep.

Her highest compliment for something I’ve done or created is, “it makes me smile.” I like to make her smile.

We’re having a good ride

Speaking of rides: on this, our 10th anniversary, we are on a roadtrip somewhere between Michigan and Arizona, as part of our now-biannual migration from home to home. I wrote this last week, so I think we’re in Bentonville, Arkansas, a place Mary’s wanted to visit. If we’re not, more stories to come. I hope we’re celebrating at a Steak & Shake tonight. Or maybe an Applebees or Chilis. Or an Arby’s, Canes, BK, DQ, Buc-ees, Taco Bell or Sonic. She’s low-maintenance like that. But she won’t deign permit KFC within her olfactory perimeter.

To be sure, when we get back to Scottsdale, there will be an emergency date night or two at Nobu across the street. We miss expensive fish.

We met “cute.” Eventually

The first time we met it was 30 seconds of face-time while staging an event in New York City. She was on the client team. She agreed with me on some aesthetic matter of no significance. It wasn’t that cute.

The next time we met, a few weeks later, it was the opposite of cute. We were embarking on a week of site surveys for an upcoming Intel tour of South America. The survey entailed visiting five far-flung cities in five short days. A hectic and fragile itinerary, to say the least. When I met up with our group at the departure gate in Miami, I re-introduced myself to her. She gave me the once over and asked: “where’s your luggage?” When I explained that I’d checked it, she was not pleased. “Do you know how much time we’re going to waste waiting on your bags?” I did not.

Fast-forward four days, probably on the flight from Lima to Caracas. We were sitting together in first class with a couple of pisco sours, watching “Notting Hill.” A few feet under us in the luggage hold was my checked bag, now crammed with all the stuff Mary had amassed along the way: venue swag and collateral and a few bottles of wine from Argentina and Chile. I had become her mule. It was getting cute.

Yada yada yada, we became good friends and continued to work and travel together. She bought me a season pass to Great America near Intel HQ so we could ride rollercoasters. Odd, I thought. I reciprocated with a pasty tiara. Over a business dinner in Las Vegas, she’d expressed fascination (and envy) with a woman wearing one at a nearby table.

One of my fondest pre-coupling memories is of being in Beijing and meeting Mary for a jet-lag-induced stroll at dawn. We walked to a nearby park, already well-bustling with locals exercising, meditating and enjoying a beautiful morning. We heard strains of “Moon River”–my Parents’ song–and followed it to its source: an asphalt lot with dozens or hundreds of couples ballroom dancing. It was a powerful vibe. It was a good morning.

And then yada yada yada, things happened a few years later at the JW Marriott in Hong Kong, and then, yada yada yada, we moved in together. Probs not how we’d explain it to the grandkids. Won’t be a problem.

The next few years were fun but fraught. We spent time in Mountain View, Willow Glen and Sunnyvale (the first house we bought together). While Mary was gainfully employed through most of it, the great recession kicked my butt. It was cruel and relentless. I was staring down failure, depression, bankruptcy. Then my Dad passed, her Mom passed, my brother passed, all in a short time (and there’s been a lot more loss since then). Every time, Mary was on it; she had a go-bag and reservations in a matter of minutes–even in the middle of the night–in order to get with Family. She’s a planner and I’m a worrier. I think that’s what hardened us and made us appreciate more than ever that we truly needed each other. We’re good for each other.

We called ourselves “partners” for 10 years. That works in California, but in other places we got questions like, “what kind of partners? Law partners, business partners?” Even my Folks asked us how to introduce Mary at church. “Friends,” I said.

We got married

I staged one of the worst marriage proposals ever. I won’t describe it here (it’s actually hard to relive), but my bigger regret is that I dragged a couple of Mary’s talented nephews into it. Yeah, so anyway, she eventually said “yes.” It might have just been “ok.” Anyway, it happened.

Ten years ago today, we were married at the base of Camelback Mountain near Scottsdale. We chose that venue because Mary’s Family spent many Thanksgivings in the area; her parents were snowbirds for years. The resort’s restaurant, T Cooks, was also a fave of her parents.

We kept the gathering small, just close Family and friends. It became even smaller when peeps canceled at the last minute. Who does that? They know.

We lit candles on the altar to honor those who weren’t with us in life but with us in spirit. Mary’s nephew Ben officiated. I hear it was good. Unbeknownst to us at the time (we were a little distracted), a hummingbird hovered over the altar. I’ve been told that’s a thing, and hummingbirds have become our adopted spirit animal.

We’ve adapted

I was 50 when we got married; for me, it was my first. I think that our maturity and the wisdom and emotional callouses we share are what makes us work. We’d led full, vibrant lives apart, suffered our bruises and regrets before we met. I know Mary won’t like this, but I think we were two well-meaning, high-achieving, flawed shnooks who found each other in this big world. At last. And it’s working.

We’ve grown and adapted, together. I’ve heard that the most stressful life events are the loss of loved ones, moving, job change or loss, financial pressures. We’ve run the table on those. We’re on our fourth and fifth residences together. Our fourth dog, with Bowzer. We’ve endured a number of jobs and career disruptions. Lots of funerals. Our last trip to Hawaii (yeah, we’re done). A few health scares but mercifully few, so far. Some of the other known stressors, like divorce and birth of a child, don’t apply. Never will. As for retirement, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there–maybe in our scooters and walkers. Stop honking!

And we still have some knock-down-drag-outs every so often: too salty or too citrusy, too cold or too hot, too loud or “what?”

We still get up early to greet the day, read the papers, do our puzzles, feed the dog and exercise. We walk a lot, on the beach and to the lighthouse in Michigan; we stroll the ritzy, dog-friendly mall when we’re in Scottsdale. That sounds way more idyllic (and boring) than it is. Full sensory-excitement: knees crack, backs crack, I limp on occasion, people drive too fast. The muzak is loud.

Otherwise, we don’t go out as much as we used to. If we do, it’s to a farmers market, a dog park, Lowe’s for whatever and, soon, Nobu for happy hour. No matter, we’re home by 9:30 to put on our loungers and watch crap TV or maybe a movie or Frasier. There might be popcorn or chocolates. Then I fall asleep and Mary goes to bed. Then I go to bed. The dog figures it out.

We still laugh and relish our time together. All of it. Every frigging day. Day after day. Happily bored.

And happily 10 years married. Love you, Honey. Baby. Babe. Mary. You.