2018-12-20 18:54

25 Years

My wife and I met twenty-five years ago today. I was invited over to a friend’s apartment to meet her. She ignored me the entire evening. No hello, no eye contact. Absolutely nothing. Instead, she was forehead to forehead with a friend, analyzing a VHS tape of the modern dance concert she’d recently choreographed.

She was utterly unapproachable. And I could see instantly how smart, articulate, beautiful, and most of all, strong she was.

Some stories belong to the breath, not to the pixel and keyboard. Some stories need the counterpoint of digressions and indignant amendments, of interruptions to refill the wine glass or the bread bowl, or to choose more music, album by album. They need the bustle and patience of a long evening, the wood and steel rhythms of a well-provisioned table.

So. To hear the rest of the story, you’ll need to be seated across the table from us, favorite beverage at your elbow, and all the time in the world. And perhaps a story or two for us in exchange.

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