Yesterday was Jeff and my's anniversary. (and yes, for those of you who got The Christmas Card, that's not his real name, but he likes his anonymity...it allows him to carry out his spy missions more covertly). It's slightly incredible to me how I went from being super single for twenty-seven years to slipping into a long term relationship so easily. Especially when at first glance it appears we have nothing in common: he's a Virginian who can trace his family back to 1634, I'm a hated Yankee who has only legends to plant my family tree in. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum, both today and two hundred years ago. But that by itself is a good indication of why we work so well together--instead of arguing about people currently in office, we fight about the policies of "T.J." versus "G-Dubs" We cook a lot together, we spend time dreaming about historical clothes and walking Kismet. Basic, domestic stuff...I guess I sewed--I mean sowed, geez--my wild oats in London. Now I'm definitely all about the domesticity. With a few occasional jaunts overseas, of course. But for right now...very happy just cooking, working and writing.
Mom and Dad were making fun of me last Sunday when I called to console Dad about the Packer's loss. Poking fun at me for being so giddy about an anniversary. Until I pointed out to them that this is the first time I've ever made it to a first anniversary. So let me enjoy it while I can. Jeff and I spent it like we do a lot of our weekends: we went out for Mexican food, then took Kiz to the dogpark and then came home and watched a movie. It's been a happy first year...hopefully, the first of many.