Thirty-four years ago today, I met San Geraldo. At that time, I didn’t know he was a saint. Nor did I know he was descended from an actual saint (King Ferdinand III), and from a multitude of kings and queens (Eleanor of Aquitaine, for one).
To tell the truth, especially in our first months together, if anyone had told me “Jerry” was I saint, I would have laughed. Well, OK, if anyone now misses my sense of irony in these saintly references, I still laugh. However, I did immediately know somehow that whatever his flaws (and there are so few), he would be worth every minute we would spend together. If you haven’t been keeping up, click here for our history.
|HALFWAY THERE (HERE?).
SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO IN BERGEN NORWAY.
We’re supposed to be at Sandpiper’s Restaurant in Fuengirola tonight celebrating our 34th anniversary in the company of our wonderful friends. But, since the Dowager Duchess had other ideas (not within her control) about where we should be for the summer, we’re spending a quiet evening in her apartment (while she continues to make strides at Rehab). San Geraldo will cook dinner (pesto chicken and pasta) and I will gladly clean up the mess he makes in the kitchen.
I’m hoping to get back to reading and writing more regularly. Meanwhile, all my attention tonight will be focused on San Geraldo… with gratitude for these 34 years of love and adventure (and punchlines).
We’ll muddle through whatever we do…