My blogpost stats page informed me that this post would be my 512th post. Given that my favorite date of the year is May 12, and that a significant and eerily coincidental events have taken place on that date, I think it's only fitting that I use this blogpost for my favorite subject.
Advice given to would-be authors is to write about what one knows. Taking that advice for this blogpost, I'll write about the woman I know and, moreover, the person I like the best. My wife is the best person I'll ever know. No saint is she, and she'd be the first to admit that she's not perfect, but she's the perfect woman for me.
There are myriad adjectives that can aptly describe her: Intelligent, witty, gorgeous, creative, strong, loyal, passionate, snarky, playful, religious, musical, caring, fun, nurturing, patient, courteous, kind, caring, supportive, considerate...I could spend all day listing the wonderful attributes my wife has. I suppose any husband in love with his wife would do the same, but I'm right about mine. That I'm so fortunate in life is because my wife is all the wonderful things I describe, and then some.
We met in an...unconventional way. That's a story for another time, perhaps. But if one were to know the story of our courtship and engagement, one would realize what a resolute woman Karen is. She defied society and tradition, not to mention her family, to be with me. She put up with our dire circumstances, not to mention my shenanigans, to stay with me and eventually marry me. She put up with my family's neuroses, never fearful that the lunatic strain would manifest itself in me. Well, at least I don't think she's fearful of that happening.
With Karen I've seen more of this country in nine years than I'd seen in the previous forty-seven. I've been exposed to new traditions, old communities, different lifestyles and exciting novelties. She's a fearless liver of life who always wants to experience as much as she can.
Much like our Mother, Karen will thoughtfully remember something someone told her and present the person with what it was that person was seeking. Oftentimes, she'll focus her attention on a thing that is viewed by society at large as less than beautiful -- bonsai trees, English bulldogs, me -- and fall head-over-heels in love with it. She champions the unfortunate.
Despite this, she bristles at compliments. If I tell her "You're beautiful," her immediate rejoinder is a hearty "You're beautiful," which I decidedly am not. If I remark that I'm strong, she dismisses the judgment as being silly. Yet, if anyone knew what she went through with her auto-immune diseases, he'd be amazed that the cheerful, pleasant woman before him was up all night with sick headaches, belly issues and sundry other symptoms. The number of pills she has to take is overwhelming; that she hates to take pills only adds to the indignity.
It is trite to say that I'm a better person because of her, not because it's untrue but because anyone says that about his love. But it's true. Make no mistake: I'm hardly a changed person; I'm better than I would have been had I never met my wife. I'm calmer, more patient, less prone to act out -- although Karen would debate me on that last one. I'm more interested in doing things that I'd never done before, if for no other reason that it makes Karen happy. For one, she says that she has oodles of fun when we dance, when the fact of the matter is that as far as dancing goes, I'm barely more mobile than a statue. I think it's the risibility of my efforts that provokes the glee in her, but she'd say otherwise. No matter. That she enjoys it encourages me to try, my surgically-repaired hips notwithstanding.
She is the love of my life, the center of my being. I will love her beyond the end of time, not just forever.
(c) 2017 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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