It's finally lighter here. Finally February. January is always the toughest month of the year for me--I'm closer to a bear asleep in my snow cave than anything else. And then the days slowly get longer, the sun lingers and I feel the need to wake again. The house gets cleaner, the dishes at dinner more elaborate and new projects start to emerge. And just in time to celebrate our first married year.
Yesterday I climbed to top of the three-quarters wall between our kitchen and sitting room to hang the new book-wreath I'd made. Michael was summoned with a saucy tone to help hold the ladder when I realized I just may die by falling through or off the wall. He came and helped, quietly reserving judgment until I was back on the ground.
I bring up that story today because it's the perfect expression of this first year together. I have these burst of energy that lead to odd (but fun!) actions and Michael manages to make sure we both live through the experience.
While I'm uncomfortable with expressing mushy feelings publicly, I feel the urge to somehow memorialize my feelings on our first anniversary with a mind to honoring him to the world.
I'm not sure how I've done it but I've manged to find my perfect partner. I knew some of what would make him perfect for me. Some of what works are things I'd never have imagined--his softness, for instance. The silly man can't watch a compelling dog movie without shedding some tears. His sense of play, of making sure we're not too focused or too serious too often is a surprisingly wonderful compliment to my often frantic need to accomplish without reason.
And a million other things, small and large, that make up our relationship. I don't want to posture like it's been a perfect year, as though we magically entered a world without conflict or problems but we're pretty good at 'fighting' with each other an disagreements are resolved so much faster than I'd ever anticipated.
It seems as if we have this whole life before us, as one, that I can't wait to fill up with memories.