Friday, February 19, 2010

My February Anniversaries

I’ve missed a few “anniversaries” this past week. I blame it on Scott’s broken ankle – I’m out of my routine. In truth, I’m not really big on anniversaries to begin with.

I know, I know, I celebrated the anniversary of my blog, but that was mainly because I needed something to write about.

Scott and I got married many years ago, two days before Christmas. In retrospect, that was an ill-conceived plan. I have a hard enough time gifting for Christmas and then suddenly I had an wedding anniversary to contend with. For the first many years, I simply forgot about the date altogether.

Eventually I decided to move our anniversary to a new season entirely. My aunt did this with her birthday – moved it from whatever wretched time of year it actually fell to her favorite time of year: autumn. That move worked out well for her, so I decided we would employ a similar strategy for our anniversary, moving it to April 1st, which is an anniversary of a meaningful moment in our courtship, and which, conveniently, falls nowhere near anyone’s birthday, including that of JC.

One of the anniversary dates I forgot about this past week was February 12th, the anniversary of my quitting smoking sixteen long years ago. I did not quit stoic cold turkey, but rather kicking and screaming – a pregnant woman weaning herself from her most beloved vice in the hopes that someday her offspring would more than make up for the loss.

I was telling someone just today that Scott’s ankle break has left me with what feels like a hundred untended to tasks. I’m so overwhelmed by the catch-up that I spend most of my time avoiding it all and just playing online Scrabble. I recalled that in the old days I would make lists – good, hardy, productive lists – and those lists would keep me focused. I would sit down at the dining room table with a paper and pen, a cigarette and a cup of coffee, and I would organize my days and weeks and life.

Without the coffee and cigarettes, my list-making has never been as productive. It’s hard to believe, but I really haven’t gotten much done in the last sixteen years.

The other anniversary I completely forgot about is that of my dad’s death. I’m not so good with numbers, so I’m not certain how old he’d be right now. All I know for sure is he’s been gone far longer than the last time I had a cigarette; longer than the 25 years I’ve known Scott. It’s hard for me to believe that he's been gone nearly two-thirds of my life. So long that I can no longer remember his voice.

1 comment:

  1. That last makes me very sad. I remember when we became friends, and within about a half hour of our conversatioh you told me about your Dad, playing guitar (as I did) and how much his death meant to you. People always tell you what's really bugging their butt within the first half-hour of genuine convesation. You did, back then, 20 something years ago, (or okay 15 something) and it touched me. And the fact that you bring it up again here, and have brought it up before, means it is still alive. His voice...his voice sounded