Sunday, June 8, 2014


Thirteen is a portentous number. Perhaps because there are twelve full lunar months in a year, with the leftovers serving as an odd 13th, it has been an object of numerology and superstition in pretty much every culture. It even gets its on seriously cool word: triskaidekaphobia. The fear of 13. I love saying it, because of the way it rolls off my tongue.

I’m not a superstitious guy, so I have tended to embrace the number. When I can, I use 13 as my soccer jersey.

Thirteen is also the age at which a Jewish boy comes of age, or a kid becomes a teenager.

Whatever the reason or the belief, it isn’t an everyday number.  

Today, June 9, I celebrate 13 years of marriage to my best friend, the lovely, intelligent, and sweet Amanda Joy.

Thirteen years ago, I walked down the aisle with my bride to the strains of Mendelssohn’s march. No mix-up of identities, but I do suspect we had a little of the wild pansy in our eyes at the time.

Soon, we set off together - as we had done before - but with a difference. Our lives were now together.

There is a lot I remember from our honeymoon, because we had a delightful time. Hawaii wasn’t in our budget, so we just took a few days on the Central California coast - a place we both still love. Like our future trips, it contained explorations, good food, and of course the best company possible.

Amanda at Julia Pfieffer Burns State Park, on our Honeymoon

I remember driving through Atascadero. We intentionally forewent the silly bouquet and garter toss, but Amanda still found a garter somewhere or another, and I hung it from the rearview mirror. We got honks and thumbs up from a few people. I wonder if they thought I had eloped with a bridesmaid.

It was thrilling and yet foreign to check into a hotel together. Husband and wife. Only one bed needed.

The one thing that still sticks with me, though, is the sweetest part of starting married life together. Before, every night, we would have to part. I would go back home and go to bed, and wake up by myself.

For the first time, though, we fell asleep in each other’s arms. And woke up lying next to each other. That first morning kiss, with our tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

Perhaps I still love this so much because I can’t take it for granted. Amanda works two night shifts a week, and she doesn’t join our camping trips, so there are plenty of nights that I don’t get to hold her. But still, more often than not, we drift off to sleep together, and see each other as we open our eyes. It never gets old. My best friend, my lover, the one I always wish to wake up to. Thirteen years. And, I hope many more to come.

Amanda at the LA Music Center, on our (slightly early) anniversary trip this year

This was one of our favorite songs while we were dating:

Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong

You know its gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through

Happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was neverending
Wouldn't it be nice

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true
Baby then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do
We could be married
And then we'd be happy

Wouldn't it be nice

You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But lets talk about it
Wouldn't it be nice

Good night my baby
Sleep tight my baby

 I’m a hopeless romantic. Here are past anniversary and other mushy posts: