I don’t have much to say about writing today. Actually, I haven’t spent much time writing this week at all. Today I spent most of my time doing kid-related things and cleaning the house. I raked old leaves and scrubbed the outsides of our first floor windows. I distributed popsicles and bowls of pretzels. Overall, it was a good day. Jim went to Target and got some new patio furniture, which we sat on as we drank a bottle of wine and watched the sun go down. We talked about random things and monitored our pasty skin for signs of pink from our first day in the outdoors.

Sometimes the beginning of spring seems dire and cruel, but today was sunny and optimistic, so very much like our wedding day, which happened to be 11 years ago exactly. On that particular year, the equinox fell a day later, after the festivities had ended and my wedding dress had been kicked to a mountain of discarded whatever it was made of. Our wedding day was beautiful but it rained on the true equinox, not that we knew it. By then were flying away to Belize, full of giddy disbelief at the formal rearrangments of the day before. Today, however, on this anniversary and the first day of spring after a long winter we are two kids, two cats, two cars and one funny old house down our road and it seems to make perfect sense that things fall together in just the way that they do.

So 11 years. An anniversary of due course. We ask each other jokingly what the traditional gift must be, becuase the books aren’t likely to name it. “Thumbtacks?” I guess. “Caulk,” he counters.

Either way. It’s all good.

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