My king, my prince

Five years ago, I married the love of my life. Last night he walked in carrying dozens of red roses with a big smile on his face. I had just picked roses from our gardens and had filled vases everywhere. We think alike. Needless to say our house smells rosy.

I love this man. It never gets old. It's a constant adventure. Life is filled with surprises and children, and family and connections and love, lots and lots of love. We woke up this morning and held each other for a long time. We drank coffee, opened gifts and talked about the wonderful party tonight at Il Cielo where we married. Our closest friends and family will celebrate with us. My best friend of 38 years and her new husband of two days, Stuart. Mark, Michael's friend of 48 years and his wife Melinda. Michael's former partners, Bennett and Danny, who have both known me since I was 23. My son and his wife and our grandson, and my sister who understands the true meaning of carrying on our mother's legacy. And the rest of our amazing family, what a fantastic bunch!

But after everyone goes home, Michael and I will continue our journey together. We're getting older and sometimes that scares me. I want to live a long life with him so I hope for the best. He promises me that we will and I believe him. He gave me several poems today that he wrote for our anniversary, but this one went straight to my heart...

Toni, my beloved
You are the woman who
Gave me back my life
Looked into my soul and found truth
Purged my demons and made me whole
You are the woman who, hating hospitals
Crawled into my bed after surgery,
Amidst the tubing and the monitors and the urinal on the bedrail
And slept for nights beside me
You are the woman who is mother to all who know you
A duck with all her ducklings who grow and spread their wings
And fly off to do great things.
Andy is right that you are the most loyal of friends and the most
Protective of family.
You are my friend and lover and sweetheart and wife and Queen and Princess.
You are the castle of our kingdom and I defend it against all, to the death.
Dragons beware that this place is sacred and protected.
I am in love as never before
And have never been happier than
Now.

Yankee yachts and lobster pots and sunshine

I took my dreams down the sea, again. Maybe it was watching my little beach cottage torn down with nothing left but the remains of my red kitchen wall and a slab of black concrete from Andy and Summer's room, but I needed the ocean.

We arrived at this little beach house in Cambria after a foggy and misty drive in the dark. There are signs that you are meant to be someone that come throughout a relationship. Driving with Michael is one of those signs. I can remember drives with my ex-husband that usually consisted of bickering, his fear of heights and just overall anxiety. We just didn't mesh well together in life, but put the two of us in car for five hours and it wasn't a pretty picture.

I took my first long drive with Michael to Cambria. Cambria is a very special place in my family's life. My mother discovered it long ago and used to come here often with friends. She and I once took a road trip here and it was one of the best times I've ever had. We have celebrated holidays here, camped here, and even held Andy and Ami's wedding here.

It was 2004 and Michael and I were dating. We were falling in love and it was new. We were both scared, but when we were together, the fears disappeared. I took Michael to the beach to celebrate his birthday which happens to fall on the same day as my daughter's. I rented a beach house with a Viking stove and gourmet kitchen so he could cook his heart out. Since his divorce, he had become a great chef and I loved being the recipient of his creative dishes.

As we drove, we talked and laughed and arrived in Cambria in what seemed like an hour. This is the way it looks when you are meant to be with someone. Things that may annoy one person may be the very thing that someone else loves. I love that Michael analyzes life and knows so much about so many things. I find him incredibly interesting and could listen to him talk forever. I also love that he's so calm and that he loves driving. He is the yin to my yang. Put the two of us in a car and it's magic. It always seems as if we arrive to our destinations in half the time that it takes. I actually look forward to road trips with Michael.

The beach house is set right on the beach in an area called Marine Terrace. It is the closest I've ever stayed on the water. We are literally right on the rocks. If there is ever a time that I appreciate California, it's when I'm at the beach. The Northern Coast is rocky and misty and beautiful. Sounds of seagulls and pelicans fill the air, and the waves crashing on the rocks is heaven. Every time a new bird flies overhead, Michael runs out to see what kind of bird it is, followed by a lesson on the history of the bird, told with a boyish grin on his face. We turned on the radio yesterday and found a station that plays music from the 1930s and 40s and found ourselves dancing in front of the picture window. We cooked some great food, ate cheese and bread and drank wine and talked.

I wondered what life might have been like if Michael were the one in the old beach house. I try not to go there because I don't want to upset the good memories. I never want to forget the skinny little girl that loved to dive in the waves or the boy who wouldn't leave his computer long enough to brush his teeth, or the little boy who only had to walk a few steps to spend time with his aunt, or my mother's face every time she watched the sunset. The house may be gone but the memories aren't. And as I watched the sunset last night, I thought of the beach house and the good times with my children and sister and mother and Bryan, and I felt lucky. Lucky to be alive to tell the memories and lucky to be creating new memories with the love of my life.

"Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories." -Terry McKay

I took my dream down by the sea...

I once lived in a house on the sand. It was torn down yesterday but these memories remain...

Ocean Ann Allen swimming with the dolphins
A little boy brought home
A hand-painted wall with Pooh and a tree
Sitting on the sand
A blue and white checkered room for mom
The art room
Carrying a little girl in from the car, asleep
Falling through a window on a rocking chair
Cliff and his dog
False alarms
Pounding on the floor for Summer and Andy
Black and white checks on the kitchen floor
Watching Fourth of July fireworks from our bed
Drawing Teletubbies with Cooper
Watching Jeopardy with Mom
A sandwich from La Dolce Vita
The Corner Store
A marriage falling apart
Sand in my bed
Watching a beloved cat take his last breath on the bathroom floor
Sand piled so high you could barely see the ocean
Hans and Sean
Calvin Johnson
Taking care of mom in her last days
Todd playing guitar and mom and Summer singing in the art room
Cooper coming to my house while singing, "lalalalalalalala"
Chester carefully walking on the wet sand
Watching out the window for Summer's school bus
Andy's very hot water bed
The suicide birds
Summer's friends performing at our house
Andy's Retreat
A bright yellow wall and a ceiling fan
Sex and the City marathons
Mom walking back and forth from her little house
A very pregnant sister
Audra, Tianna, Brittany
Hair dye in my bathtub
A visitor from Erie, PA
Early morning sounds of a hot rod leaving
Cliff's coughing
Dampness
Ami as a young girl
Cooper in his diaper with the water hose
Foggy days and nights
Crystal and Summer
Mom rocking Cooper in the glider
Mary's overnight visits
Summer's messy room
Seagulls
Morris the cat
Dennis Driscoll's visit
Pink giving birth to kittens
Dog poop in the sand
Mom tap dancing in the kitchen with Summer and Mary
A possum on my porch
The sound of waves
Attack of the prehistoric bug in Summer's room
Andy and Ami, the beginning...
The first cup of coffee with mom...."ahhhhh"
Family parties on the deck
A vegan Thanksgiving
Bryan unraveling
Three cats on the bed
Taking mom away from home for the last time

I took my share down by the sea
Paper plates and Javex bottles on the tide
Seagulls come down and they squawk at me
Down where the water-skiers glide. -Joni Mitchell

IMG_1820.MOV

From Michael-

I want to always:
Make love to you every day
Open the car door for you
Carry any package that is too heavy for you
Make you laugh
Make your eyes twinkle
Sway with you
Hum the songs that you sing or whistle
Hug you
Cuddle behind you in bed or roll over and let you hold me
Never go to bed without you
Cook for you
Eat what you cook for me
Drive you anywhere you want to go
Take you back to Italy
Take you to England and Spain
Buy you an apartment in New York
Buy you a beach house
Keep the house filled with tulips and yellow roses and stargazer lilies
Kiss you a lot
Hold an umbrella over you in the rain
Hold your hand when you fly
Hold your hand when you don't fly
Slip money in your wallet when you aren't looking
Say I love you more than once a day
Dance with you in the kitchen, dining room, living room and wherever
Rub your feet and back
Listen to you tell me all about your day
Applaud for you after your lectures
Find things you think you've lost
Give you the half of the bagel with the seeds on the top
Marry you again

"For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation." -Rilke

I wish I could have...

taken my mom to New York, Hawaii and Italy on a First Class flight
told my mother that I was in love with Michael
put Michael's hand on my pregnant belly
made Italian food for Michael and his classmates in med school
watched my mother tap dance with Hazel
introduced Michael to my father
witnessed the joy of my mother playing with her great grandchildren
bought my mother something extravagant
taken a road trip with Michael and my mom
watched my mom celebrate at her 80th birthday
seen the look in my mother's eyes at my wedding to Michael
watched my father be a great grandfather
saved my mother's life

"There is nothing to regret - either for those who go or for those who are left behind." -Eleanor Roosevelt

Expectations

PICTURED: SAINT AUNT MADELINE AND SAINT AUNT MENA
I've been thinking a lot about expectations. I was raised by a mother and father who expected a lot where family was concerned. After my Nonie died, my mother was expected to cook an Italian meal exactly like hers, every Sunday. She always did.

Considering that my mother was Irish, learning to cook like Nonie wasn't easy. It was an expectation that was fulfilled after the first year that my mother married my father and moved in to Nonnie and Poppy's house in New Haven, CT. My mom learned how to cook it all, from pasta fagioli to bracciole and she became, as she called it, "Italian by injection." She even acted Italian, flinging her hands in the air when she spoke, and often replied when asked what was for dinner, "Cappi cazzo on toast (balls on toast)."

When I married my first husband, Steve, at the young age of 18, my mother was expected to cook 600 stuffed pasta shells for 150 guests because my father didn't trust anyone else to cook like his mother. This was served in addition to prime rib, vegetables, potatoes and a slew of other foods. My mother was also expected each day to comb his hair, lay out his clothes, and wait on him hand and foot. This was something she did happily.

His wife and children were expected to go to church, even though my father only stepped foot in a church when someone got married, or had their first communion or confirmation. And then, he sat in the back of the church with his brothers and friends reading the racing form. But we went. We had no choice. My mother was also expected to convert from Protestant to Catholicism when they married. She did.

Being with family was a given. Every Sunday, we were all expected to be seated for dinner. None of us even thought of saying we had other plans. If we didn't show up, my father would hunt us down and bring us to the table. The same applied for all holidays, other people's weddings, funerals, birthdays, First Communions, Confirmations, anniversaries, and other various celebrations.

This might explain why my sister and I have expectations. Gina expects her in-laws to want to see her children and to long for them when they can't. We expect our brother to want to be with us. We want our nieces to miss us when they have not spoken to or seen us. We want everyone in our family to feel the way we do, to want to get together and hang out and eat and have fun. But times change, and that hurts. Mom is gone and we want her back. We want the family back, like it used to be.

We have our aunts in Connecticut who are the only ones left of this generation. They never forget birthdays. They send a gift to every single child in this gigantic family until they turn 18. When my Aunt Madeline was two days out from a stroke and a massive heart attack, I visited her. She looked at me and was trying to speak. "Hadel...Hadel," she said. "Hazel?" I answered. "Yeah, Hadel, it's her birday." This woman is facing open-heart surgery and can barely speak and she is worried that she had not bought her great niece a birthday present. My aunts exceed my expectations.

Gina and I wanted to believe that it is all the same in Connecticut, but it isn't. Nonie died and so did the family. With the exception of a few of my cousins, no one comes around anymore. The aunts sit for days on end with no visitors. Even the families and their immediate families do not see each other much. And I just do not get it. Since the reunion three months ago, hardly anyone has seen each other.

I find all of this sad. I want it all back, Nonie and Auntie El and my mom and dad, and the expectations. Maybe we all need to have something expected of us. Maybe they were all onto something. Maybe family really is all that matters in the end. As my Aunt Mena says, "You can't get it back."

Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse. -Clark Griswold

With the last breath, life changed forever.

Today she stopped breathing. I wrote that entry on June 23, 2003, the day my mother died. That day is also known as the day life as I knew it changed forever.

My mother used to joke that one day I would have to assume the position of matriarch of the family. She would tell me that I had to keep the family together, that it was a tough job but she knew I could handle it. I would always respond with the same answer: "You can't ever die."

We were so close. My mother, sister and I had a beautiful relationship. We were always together, we spoke or saw each other every day and we liked it that way. My mom was fun to be around. She had a way of lighting up a room when she walked in, of bringing sunshine to crappy days, and of making everything all right. She was loved by her family and friends and by anyone who had the pleasure of meeting the great and wondrous Peg. Our brother was close to us in a different way. Mom used to joke about her "Little Sunshine." She would tell us, "Your brother is different, he's not like you and Gina." On getting old, she once said that if it was up to Steve, she would probably be left on a doorstep. She always knew that I would take care of her and that my younger sister would provide the backup.

I had a different relationship with my brother than my sister. I adored him. I saw him as the polar opposite of our father, which was a good thing. While our dad wore wife-beater shirts and acted like Tony Soprano, our brother wore button-downs, never raised his voice and provided a male-figure that I could relate to. Since Steve was 18 years older than our younger sister and only 10 years older than me, we had more things in common. I liked that he did not act like my father or the Italian uncles and cousins.

I enjoyed hanging out with my brother and have fond memories of growing up with Steve. I mean, how many brothers take their little sisters to New York or to Woody Allen festivals without being forced to? When I was 17 and staying in Northern California with friends, he was told by my father to go pick me up. My father thought I was only an hour away. He drove all the way to Santa Rosa from Burbank (about an eight hour drive) and never said a word. The drive home was filled with visits to Big Sur and long talks about life. I'll always cherish that trip.

As the years went on, Steve and I remained close, but things were different. He married an all-American, Catholic girl. While my sister and I had a relationship that revolved around our Italian family, our brother preferred to keep his distance. We were told how his wife's family "didn't do those things" and he could never understand why we all wanted to be together so often, birthdays, holidays, any days. He was happy being with his wife alone, we wanted to be together. My sister and I used to dread asking him to come to a birthday or a holiday celebration. "Uh, eh, hmm," was the usual response. It always seemed like a burden.

When my mother was dying of cancer, his wife told us that they were not going to continue all this "family stuff" after mom was gone. I had no idea the extent of what that meant.

I remember the first couple of holidays after her death. It felt like a hole was blown through the family. I called my brother to ask him to come to celebrate the holidays with us and he reminded me that he and his wife did not plan to carry on this tradition. I felt as if everything my mother feared had come true, that if I did not keep the family together, it would fall apart. What followed was a traumatic disowning of the entire family by my brother. It made no sense. Only I could make it better. It was my job to make it better.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Just be

It's that time of the year again when we examine our lives, what's working, what's not. Among my list of resolutions is this one - write more. I've been doing a lot of soul-searching (I hate that term), and was thinking about my mom. She used to say that she didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up. She was 75 at the time.

I love my job. I've never dreaded going to the college, and once on campus, I'm energized by the surroundings, the energy of the students and the newsroom. Still, I wonder if there is more to life than just work. Michael also loves his work but we both talk a lot about dropping out of society one day.

I've been trying really hard to stay in the moment and not spend too much time thinking about the "what-ifs" and the "if-onlys." If only we had found each other sooner. If only we could all live closer. If only by brother realized how lucky he is to have this family. Or the big what if - What if one of us dies?

I read something interesting the other day by Eckhart Tolle. He talked about the passing of time, how we cannot watch time pass but that there is evidence all around us...a rotting apple, our face in the mirror compared to a photo of years prior. Time is passing and it's passing too fast. Michael and I have this desire to spend more time with each other, to let go of the material stuff and just be. We spend a lot of time planning our exit strategy, but how can you be in the moment if you're planning the future or dwelling on the past? That's a big challenge for most of us. So in the spirit of being in the moment, I've composed a list of the things that I know for sure, right at this moment, in lieu of the typical list of New Year's Resolutions.

1. I can be happy anywhere, as long as my husband, myself, and my family are healthy. Places do not make people happy and content. Happiness comes from within.
2. Money does not buy happiness, it just makes life easier. If you have all the money in the world, you are still stuck with yourself. It's just you with money.
3. The thing that matters most in life is health. If you or a loved one is sick, nothing else really matters.
4. Family and friends are everything. Stuff is just that - stuff.
5. We are all going to die. Worrying about how and when it will happen will not change the outcome. More reason to live a wonderful life while you can. My mother lived a wonderful life and now she's gone, as I will be one day.
6. Things can always get worse. Never say they can't. The fact that I can walk, talk and breathe on my own is reason to celebrate.
7. I don't need a lot of stuff to be content. Shelter, warm water, basic clothing, a car that runs, food, an occasional glass of wine. Yep, that's about it.
8. Laughter really is the best medicine.
9. I have one body, I need to take care of it. It has to last me through the rest of my life.
10. Life is not a dress rehearsal.

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." -Ferris Bueller

Before I was rich

Before I was rich,
I polished my own shoes,
Washed my own car,
Ironed my own shirts, mowed the lawn,
Fixed my car
Did home repairs
Ate sparingly
Weighed a hundred and forty five pounds
Napped in the middle of the day;
Took Tai Chi
Fenced
Jogged in the park with the stopwatch I bought for twenty dollars at
Feldmar.
Bought a stained glass candle holder in Sausalito for five dollars and skipped
two meals to pay for it.
Before I was rich I was happy in my melancholy, wishing only for love to
make my life complete.
Now I am rich but not in money;
I am rich since I married you;
Rich in love and in happiness.
All else is memory.
-Michael

There will never be another you

Five years ago you took your last breath. I woke up at 3 a.m. this morning and remembered the moment when life as I knew it, ended. I wanted you to go for your sake, but I wanted you to stay for mine. I couldn't imagine a life without you then, and I still can't imagine one now. Even though you were already gone, you were still breathing so I didn't have to say goodbye. And then you stopped.

Nothing is right without you. Every moment, every memory, every song, every accomplishment, I want to share with you. I miss your laugh, your smile, your dancing, your jokes, your kindness, your hugs, your voice, your eyes. I see the boys and Hazel and I think of the joy they would bring you, and you them. So glad that Andy, Summer, Mary and Cooper had the privilege of knowing and loving you. I'm thankful that Michael knew you, but wish you could have seen us together. I close my eyes and I can see you so clearly. I had a dream about you a while back and it was so real that when I woke up, I couldn't stop crying. It was too painful to let go of you, even if it was only a dream.

I want to believe in fairy tales, and God, and reincarnation and anything that can make me hold on to some proof that you are still around. Are you in Hazel? Did you bring Michael and I together? Are you watching over us? I don't know what to believe. I only know that I feel your presence every day and that you will live on in our lives forever. You were the best mother, the best grandmother, the best friend.

My only hope for myself is that my children and grandchildren can honor me in the way that this family honors you. Thank you for being my role model. Thank you for teaching me how to love and laugh, even when the times are tough. And thank you for being wonderful you. In our eyes, mom, you always have been and always will be, Saint Peg.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
-Lord Byron

Summer of love

I am approaching the end of my first week off for the summer. I have so many plans but so far I've been in a kind of vegetative state. I mean, I am capable of watching old "Sex and the City" episodes and laying in the sun for a few minutes a day, but that's about it. When the semester ends, I'm Jello. As much I love teaching, each semester sucks a bit of life out of me.

Oh the plans. I am going to write on my four blogs, put together some online editions of my journalism classes, read, remodel or move, cook, organize photos and files, spend time with my sister and her kids, visit the boys, and of course, spend time with the love of my life.

Michael and I have been doing some soul searching these last few months. We are at a point in our lives where killing ourselves at work is making less sense. We so love the time spent together, hanging out in cafes with friends, strolling, and just enjoying all of it. We especially love snuggling in bed with a good book, but sometimes work is so exhausting that we walk in the door and crash together on the sofa like a couple of zombies. Luckily, we both have the same body clocks so we awake at 3 a.m., ready to party.

I don't want to admit that I am getting older. I still feel like I'm 20, but I have to say that I do see things differently these days. Things that used to matter seem less important. I find myself asking lots of questions. Do I really need all this stuff? Do I really have to work this hard and what am I trying to prove, and to whom? Is denying myself bread and pasta really worth it? Is flying first class necessary? Well, scratch that last question.

Michael and I often joke that we would like to live in a grass shack on a beach in Hawaii for a while and just be. Or maybe take off to New York and find a little apartment where we can act like a couple of wild Bohemians, drink lots of espresso and wine and read and write books. Or maybe Paris near Saint-Germain. While these plans may seem a bit far-fetched to some, it keeps us going. Michael makes me believe that we can do anything, as crazy as it might sound. We would rather be known as a couple of old crazy people than give up.

Which brings me back to Michael, who said something to me as he left for work this morning that made me smile: "As long as I have you, I'm happy." Right back at you, sweetheart.

"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other." -Dougless Everett

I'll take Manhattan

I remember taking the train to New York City with my mother to see the Rockettes perform on stage at Rockefeller Center. My mom looked sharp and I looked pretty cute dressed in a green satin dress with matching purse, my hair in curly locks. I remember the shoes vividly. They were patent leather Queen Anne heels. Those heels may have only been an age-appropriate three quarters of an inch high, but to a 7-year-old, they may as well have been stilettos. The excitement of Manhattan was almost overwhelming. My mother, a former dancer, loved New York. When she was in the city, she lit up like the Chrysler building. She lived there in her youth and always had some very exciting stories to tell. After the show, we went out for chocolate sundaes and she gave me the G-rated version of her life in New York all the back to Connecticut. From that day on, New York was in my dreams.

Jump ahead one year. My brother was 18 and I was 8. We boarded the bus early in the morning for the New York World's Fair. I didn't sleep a wink the night before. I was so excited about the trip, especially the idea of being away from my parents. I can still picture my brother in his knee-length black wool coat and hat. He looked quite dashing. I was dressed in a plaid skirt and white shirt, with black patent leather Mary Jane's that clicked when I walked. We arrived at the World's Fair and my little mind went into overdrive. I fantasized about being alone in this city, or with a boyfriend. I even fantasized that Steve was my boyfriend. (I've always had a very overactive imagination).

By age 12, we had left Connecticut and moved back to my birthplace, Miami. I never forgot New York. I developed an obsession with Woody Allen after seeing Annie Hall (my brother took me to a Woody Allen film festival when I was 13) that I have yet to shake. I'm not sure if it was the black horned-rim glasses or our mutual love of New York, but watching a Woody Allen film became my soul food. I would get lost in the black-and-white New York that only Woody could bring to the screen, and I'd fantasize of living there one day.

How I ended up in California at 15 is another story but I can tell you that I've been trying to get back to New York since. I dream of New York. My house is adorned with New York photos and books and memorabilia. I own 19 New York mugs that I drink my coffee out of each morning. I have New York days where I pretend I live in New York. On these days I eat only New York food - perhaps some deli or pizza followed by a black-and-white cookie. I watch episodes of Sex in the City or a favorite New York movie like Annie Hall or Manhattan or When Harry Met Sally. Or some days I just dream, in black and white.

"New York is my Lourdes, where I go for spiritual refreshment." -Brendan Behan

Unforgettable

The time spent in New York with my sister was a time when my love affair with New York blossomed. We were in New York through the sweaty summers and coldest winters, we saw the tulips in the spring and the leaves in the fall. We did things that people only dream, from attending a birthday party for Federico Fellini to interviewing The Scorpions on the top floor of the Polygram records building.

My favorite memory from that time was the night we celebrated our magazine deal. Denice and Lucia came with us to Tavern on the Green. We sat in the Crystal Room and it began to snow. It was magical.

We went on to publish our infamous magazine, but gave it all up a few years later. Gina became a mom for the first time and I became a college professor. I still visited New York as often as I could and knew that some day I would live there. Now, for the first time in my life, it seems possible.

"No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky." -E. B. White, writer

New York memories

My sister and I arrived in New York on one of the coldest days in winter. We were accustomed to California weather so when stepped out into the New York cold, our faces froze. We were in New York to land a publishing deal for our magazine. We were already publishing a local music rag in Hollywood and were ready to take it to the next level.
We met one of the largest magazine publishers in Germany in the lobby of our hotel after flying all night. We were offered a deal on the spot that we later decided to pass on. We would meet with several other publishers and always begin the day the same- with a Bloody Mary, just to take the edge off. That's the great thing about New York, you can find anything you want or need at any time of day.

We found a bar in town that became our favorite. I remember the first morning that we wandered in to this place. The bartender resembled the B52s Fred Schneider. The Barenaked Ladies "Hello City" was playing on the radio. As we sipped our Bloody Marys, our stools began to shake so we did what Californian's do when things shake - run! Luckily, it wasn't a New York earthquake. It was just the subway below. At that moment, I added another thing to the "Reasons I Love New York" list - no earthquakes.

"There is no question there is an unseen world; the question is, how far is it from midtown, and how late is it open?" - Woody Allen

Who knows where the time goes

Yesterday was our anniversary. Three years. Seems like 30, and I mean that in a good way. We woke up and headed off for a day of memories. We went to Kate Mantalini's in Beverly Hills where I sat three years ago and drank champagne and ate calimari with my best friend and goddaughter just hours before we married. We ordered the same, made a toast and felt giddy. On to the rabbi's for some soul searching. "Ah, you two seem so in love, yet so peaceful," he said. Smart rabbi.

We headed over to the Four Seasons and remembered how we felt that day, all the love, all the emotion. We drank more champagne, ate chocolate strawberries and walked to the place that it all happened. Michael had arranged for the same table to be set under the arch. Rose petals and candles adorned the table, and I felt a little weak in the knees. Michael took my hand and placed a beautiful diamond band on my finger, stacked with ones from the last two years. "I would marry you a hundred times, he said."

I handed him a Tiffany box with an engraved money clip. "Who is MJB? he asked. "Stop kidding," I said. "No, really, who is MJB?" I took the money clip from his hand and there it was: MJB. (My husband's initials are MJA).On the back was written, "mi amore." At least that was right.

"I wiill take it back tomorrow," I said. "I can't believe they did this!" When we returned from Il Cielo, I looked in my purse for my receipt. There it was in my own handwriting:
MJB. As we made love, I wondered, "Who the hell is MJB?"

I am like a falling star who has finally found her place next to another in a lovely constellation, where we will sparkle in the heavens forever. -Amy Tan