I wrote this as a note to yesterday’s post and then deleted it. But the concern is here again today. Although I don’t think about a particular year until I begin to write it, I worry that the years are about to get boring. I remind myself that each one is already whatever it is and that the task I’ve set for myself is just to spend a moment with each one.
1985: I like work, but the hours are killing me. Each day there’s too little time with Kathleen. In March Cal asks me to marry him in the kitchen of his house–in front of the sink. I love this. I love him. I say yes. We open champagne and sit on his front steps and talk about the future. I interview in Columbus and choose Cal’s firm. I think I work part-time even at the beginning–until two each day–but that may have been only later. Kathleen’s visits with T will dramatically increase if we move more than 100 miles from Atlanta. Columbus is 99 miles away. There’s the wedding June 29th, the honeymoon in Italy, and moving in to Cal’s house. Kathleen starts four-year kindergarten in the fall. This Christmas it’s T’s turn with her. In Columbus, there are arguments–there will always be arguments–but more importantly there’s this: Cal and I build fires we don’t want to leave so we drag our mattress from the bedroom into the living room and we don’t have to.