integers

Tomorrow marks ten years to the day that Jonathan and I first met. We always get snickers and quotes from "American Pie" when I mention that we met during band camp. Yeah, yeah, "this one time...at band camp..." we've heard it all. Of course it doesn't help matters that I'm a redhead.

Ten years is a long time, people. That's more than a third of my life.

I'm really proud of us. Both my folks and my in-laws have been happily married since 1971. There are very few divorces in our families and I have to give them all some credit in our success. I don't know if there's really any secret or formula to a happy marriage. It's only been six years (not all that much longer than J-Lo and whatshisface) so I doubt that I am one to be giving out advice. I will say that it helps tremendously pick the sort of person that I did.

Jonathan is pretty much my opposite. I remarked to him the other day that we really didn't have all that much in common. At least we could agree on that. He's one of those analytical types who can sit in front of CNBC for hours, watching that ticker stream by. The price of gold and platinum are the only things on that channel I have much use for. He can sit in a deer stand at 5am, completely motionless, patiently waiting for that monster buck he's dreaming of. I just want the jerky and summer sausage. I am constantly finding little slips of paper with amoritazation formulas and stock picks all over them. Those notes could be in Greek, for all the sense they make to me.

But at the end of the day, I'm glad he's not too much like me. I can be quite a handful to deal with, and a huge pain to live with, so I try to cherish the differences.

I love you, sweetheart. Thank you for choosing that little redheaded flag girl you met at that party on Olive Street. As different as we may be, I wouldn't have you any other way.