The State of this Union, 2011

A few years ago I mentioned that the U.S. State of the Union Address bears personal significance for Partner and I, marking that time, lo these many years ago, that we started our wanderings together. This week, President Obama’s third State of the Union Address had me counting on my fingers.

Seventeen.

Seventeen years of sharp right turns, overabundant grapefruit, and sleepless nights. 

In no particular order, here is a less-than-scientific accounting with which we might measure our seventeen years:

— 3 states (one of them twice)

— 4 cars (ok, two cars, one truck, and a Eurovan)

— 1 murder trial (neither of us) 

— 8 abodes (five apartments and three houses)

— 7 incisions (I lead by one, but do not hope for advancement on either side)

— 1 parachute jump (no, not me)

— 1 frog (may she rest in the compost pile)

— 4 hand-knit sweaters (three for me, one for him; he’s bigger)

— 1 nose ring (that one’s me)

— A handful of messy breakups (is there any other kind?)

— A bucketload of bagels (boiled, of course; chocolate-chip from time to time)

— 4 high schools (all him; three as teacher, one as oppressor)

— 3 institutions of higher education (four degrees and a certification)

— 3 Sonars (eeny, meeny, and miney)

— A mountain of books (and counting)

— 1 red and blue dye job (still not me)

— The infinite hope that we can put together at least another seventeen years (preferably with 100% less criminal justice system and 100% more intellectual engagement).

Love you, babe.