As of today, my wife Trudy and I have been married 32 years. I’m greedy for 32 more.
Last week, without premeditation, we revisited many of the places that live in our memory. We’d flown to L.A. from our current home in Cincinnati, Ohio, to attend the Burbank International Film Festival, so it was a “working vacation.” But since we’d formerly lived in the area, including four years in Burbank, we were near many of the places where we’d loved, played, fought, and made up: my wife’s childhood home, our first apartment as well as our last before moving to Ohio with our kids, our favorite date night restaurants (Gordon Biersch, California Pizza Kitchen) and the AMC movie theater we so often attended on those date nights—where our own film was now screening!
Most emblematic of our journey together, however, was rocky Pirate’s Cove in Newport Beach where we’d sipped dark coffee from a thermos during a time our premarital relationship had grown equally rocky (interestingly, I’d also been baptized there). We wanted to love each other, but didn’t know how.
Now, just days before our 32nd Anniversary, we soared past Pirate’s Cove on a whale watching boat, heading out to open sea, no longer bound by a quaint but confining cove. We hugged the rail and each other as the wind intermingled our hair and the sun turned our faces the same coral red. “We’ve learned how to love each other,” I thought, “and we’re going to learn to love even better in the years to come.”
And that’s why I’m greedy for 32 more.