She talks to wolves...

When Andy and I walked down the aisle, "Seasons of Love" was meant to be our theme. It wasn't, unfortunately: the church didn't consider it "sacred music" despite my light-hearted attempts to argue otherwise. It is still the opening number on our wedding mixtape. (Our recessional was Beethoven's Ode to Joy.)

Now that it's our first wedding anniversary, the sheer aptness of having "Seasons of Love" as one of our wedding songs strikes me all over again.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets,
In midnights, in cups of coffee?
In inches, in miles,
In laughter, in strife?

This year has been measured in 9:00 AM mornings, waking up to find Andy already out of bed and hanging out in the den in an attempt to keep the cats from tumbling around on the bed and waking me. Most mornings, I would then seize his Mr. T voicebox keychain and summon him back for cuddling with the dulcet tones of Mr. T growling "DON'T MAKE ME MAD! GRRR!" or "DON'T GIVE ME NO BACKTALK, SUCKA! Quit yo jibba jabba!"

This year has been measured in phone calls while the sun set over the I-75, telling Andy about my classes as five o'clock traffic kept me crawling home at a snail's pace. It's been measured in midnights of good cheer, flush with the inebriating effects of whiskey or vodka, and in exhausted midnights of academic stress and harsh self-judgements. It's been measured in Saturday night glasses of Irish coffee and cups of joe awaiting me when I finally made it home from university.

This year has been measured in the miles between Montgmery and Atlanta, in the miles between university and home, in the miles between Kennesaw and Roswell. It has been measured in the inches between our sleeping bodies, a measure of distance that shrinks and widens with every turn and snuggle.

These five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes have been filled to the brim with laughter, for Andy can always make me laugh. Even when I'm most determined to be otherwise; perhaps most often then.

I won't belabor my point, especially since I'm sure most of you are familiar with the song. (If you're not, do give it a listen at the link above!) I'll just close with the song's exhortation that's closest to my heart during this annual reflection:

It's time now, to sing out,
Though the story never ends.
Let's celebrate, remember a year,
In the life of friends.

Remember the love!

( P.S. On the topic of thoughtful gifts... )

Harvest festivals resonate strongly for me: the tradition of feasting well and making merry once the last of the preparations have been made for winter. The sense of building up a blaze of joy and thanks to carry us through a long night. The celebration that comes at the end of long work and preparation, the moment when you feel secure you've done what you can to shore up against what is to come.

The moments when you count your blessings and are thankful for everyone.

I am so thankful to my family: just for being themselves, but also for the support they've given Andy and me over the past year, whether a shoulder to lean on or a way to pay our bills. I am especially thankful to my mom for planning my wedding so well, to my Poppy for always being a kind and strong support, to my dad for always giving me whatever help he could. I also give thanks for my wacky, complex, beloved brothers who enrich my life with theirs.

I am so thankful to my friends: just for being themselves, but also for their remarkable talents and generosity. As always, I offer especial thanks to my dear cadhla, copperwise, crowley, void_dragon, and worshipper. These wonderful, amazing people are so often the building blocks of my sanity and heart-health. My life would be diminished without each of them.

I am so thankful to every one of you who helped me by supporting my cyber-funded projects or commissioning something from me to keep Andy and I afloat this summer. Your generosity literally means the world to us. I know that graduate school has prevented me from fulfilling some of my obligations to you, but I will. I most certainly will.

I am grateful to be in graduate school, pursuing my academic dreams. I am grateful to have been published in this past year. I am grateful that both my husband and myself are employed. I am grateful we have two beautiful, mostly healthy cats. I am grateful for all of this and so much more.

Most of all, I am grateful for my husband Andrew. He has been one of my best friends for thirteen years: we've been through transcendent joys and sorrows deep as the abyss. We've quarreled terribly, stopped talking to each other several times, written mad poetry to each other, and loved without caution.

And that was all before we married.

He has been a part of my life for nearly half my years on this Earth - I am so ridiculously grateful to look forward to that proportion changing, until I can tell our future children that more of our lives have been lived together than apart. He is my starfall knight, my welcome wolf at the door, my comfort beyond question.

(I love you, Andy, my darling.)

So, yes. Be grateful for all you have today, everyone! Let gratitude and light and love lead you through the months to come.

Yesterday, on November 10th, 2007, in the mid-afternoon, sirandrew asked me to marry him.

THE PROPOSAL

I'm sitting in a Civil War camp at the Tallassee reenactment. I'm talking with a very engaging and eccentric older man, who is also dressed in civilian clothes (i.e. not Civil War-era). I'm stashed off to the side of the camp and hidden away a bit because there was some drama earlier regarding me sitting in camp and not being dressed appropriately (even though I was a guest and not a reenactor).

Andy has gone off to a meeting of his cavalry unit (the 6th Alabama). I didn't go with him, assuming it was just a meeting to discuss what the unit will be doing in the future. What I didn't know was that they were actually doing promotions, so I missed getting a picture of Andy being promoted to Corporal.

So I'm oblivious, chatting of this and that, when suddenly Lieutenant Colonel Brien McWilliams of the 6th Alabama is bellowing my name. I freeze in shock, then say to no one in particular "Well, I guess there isn't another Deborah here." I stumble to my feet and in the direction of the call, thinking "What the fuck did I do?! I was sitting to the side, hidden! I'm sorry!"

I'm still carrying my digital camera and The Grass-Cutting Sword by Catherynne M. Valente, which I unceremoniously and thoughtlessly dump on a camp stool as I walk past one. I've come around the corner of the tents now, in the almost gloaming-like light that's filtering through these Alabama pines, and I see every man (and woman!) of the 6th Alabama lined up in front of their Lieutenant Colonel. Andy is standing next to his commanding officer.

I walk around the line until I'm standing between the line of at-attention men and their serious-faced commanding officer. I whisper out of the side of my mouth, "Am I'm being court martialed?" but no one cracks even a slight smile apart from Andy. When I have arrived, the Lieutenant Colonel hands the proceedings over to Andy.

My eyes lock with his and he goes down to one knee, taking my hand. He tells me that he loves me and asks if I will marry him. My cheeks flare red as I begin to grin, then say yes in a voice that doesn't carry far from him and me. As he stands up (and we both remove our hats to kiss), the Lieutenant Colonel, eyes twinkling, calls, "She said yes!" The entire company lets out a "HUZZAH!" as Andy and I lock lips and share breath.

/PROPOSAL.


There are pictures, but I don't have any of them yet. I hurriedly put my hat back on and got out of the way after this, letting Andy fall back into line for the conclusion of their company promotion and reorganization business.

But, YAY! Andy and I will become formalized life partners on December 21st, 2008.

This is also a pretty accurate representation of our engagement (;)):

BEATRICE

Speak, count, 'tis your cue.

CLAUDIO

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were
but little happy, if I could say how much. Lady, as
you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for
you and dote upon the exchange.

BEATRICE

Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth
with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

From Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare.