It’s after midnight here, which makes it the 27th, which means I can post this.
There’s been a lot of fuss in political news about people not knowing, or arguing about, how old the world is. I just laugh at them. I know exactly how old my world is, because I know when she was born.
Happy birthday and more gratitude than I can begin to express to the woman without whose seemingly endless reserves of love, support, and patience–woo, boy, especially patience–I wouldn’t be remotely near where I am today. Or who I am today. If you’ve ever enjoyed a single word I’ve written, or a single conversation we’ve had, it’s due as much to her as it is to me.
I love you, George.
