Today is my fifty-third wedding anniversary. (And please don’t misread. I have not been married fifty-three times. Only once.)
My wife, Nita, is a heavenly blessing. With her Quaker upbringing and unflappable nature, she could easily have been a suitable match for a million other guys. The same cannot be said for me. Given my willful, often abrasive, ego and artistic temperament there is only one person I know who could tolerate me for all these years. Her name is Nita. (Shame on those who thought I’d say “Raquel Welch”; you don’t joke at a time like this.) And for that I am eternally and fervently grateful.
When I was a kid, our family had the tradition of unwrapping one present on Christmas Eve. Now, on every December 24, Nita and I open another year of life together—the most cherished gift to offer each other.
Here’s to Nita, the one, the only undisputed love of my life.
(If you know Nita, please don’t send this reflection to her. She might be tempted to reconsider the field of those one million other guys. And that would break my heart.)
