Serendipity introduced me to my first husband at age 17.  A week after our meeting he promised that we would marry some day.  I laughed out loud.  At age 27 I was his widow with two children.

I lacked a life-plan.  And on that late summer day when my children’s father unexpectedly died, helter-skelter reintroduced itself.

I involuntarily joined the Hapless Young Widows Club (HYWC).  HYWC isn’t a chartered nonprofit organization.  But HYWC does chart a rugged path of misjudgment and denial, and allows helter-skelter domination.

Ten years later, on this date April 12, I declined further helter-skelter. As the desert sun began its daytime journey, I stood in a poppy field with another man who had serendipitously entered my life and promised that we would marry some day. Of course, I laughed out loud.

Twenty-four years later, I woke up this morning to a beautiful piece of jewelry he bought for me–an unexpected surprise.  But while I spent a weekend in San Francisco learning about gray whales, he shopped and planned for this special day.

I frequently write about him.  Others have joined my reference to him as spouse.  Last week while he wandered the local grocer’s aisle, a man’s voice greeted, “Hey, Spouse!”

Why is he “spouse” instead of  “my husband?”  First, he isn’t mine. Secondly he’d rather not see his name in a New Times Roman 12 pt font or any font.  When I say spouse, it  simply says we’re partners.

And at 24 years of marriage—which isn’t that long, but we were nearly 40-years-old when we swapped promises and vows in a poppy field—today is significant. 

We survived raising teenagers, moving to another state, and starting two new businesses—and that was before that pesky 7-year itch thing. Fortunately we were too busy to notice any itching.  I read about crumbled marriages after the kids leave.  We bought an apple farm instead. Then breast cancer for me–another benchmark for marriage dissolution.  The opposite happened.  I discovered spouse to be the most dedicated husband on the planet.  He lived to make me well. 

And now retirement age.  We thought we’d buy a motor home and travel two-lane roads.  I’d write a blog and maybe a book.   But the new economy got in the way.  Rethink. Reboot. Reinvent.  The 3-Rs.

We’re back in California, right back where we started from.  The 3-Rs operate as I write. This partnership spouse and I agreed to works and remains my happy surprise.

I’m lousy for marriage.  A mountain of baggage weighs me down.  There’s also that Irish-temper that can pulse through my blood and explode like a volcano full of insane leprechauns. My habits are imperfect, and sometimes I’m  contrary just for the sake of being contrary.  But spouse accepts me for who and what I am. 

Happy Anniversary, Spouse.  Here’s to another magical 24-years together.