They would have been married 58 years today. Hard to believe, but not hard to imagine. I imagine they would have been good years.
I remember when they were married for only a decade. I was nine then, my mother 31 and prettier than any mother I knew: tall and thin with dark blond hair, which she claimed was hard to curl but it always looked perfect to me. She wore dresses every day. And high-heeled shoes. And a hat and gloves to church every Sunday.
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She said she doesn't love him anymore.
She said, ``I don't feel the way I used to. He annoys me. He won't do what he's told. He whines all the time. And there's the issue of his hair. It's everywhere - all over the rugs, all over the furniture.''
But she still loves him, I know, because when he went missing the other night, she called in a panic and insisted, as only someone blinded by love could, that he wasn't lost but that he had been stolen.
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Kids do it all the time. Maybe that's why they're happy. Rain or shine, summer or winter, they wake up every day, eager for the day because the world is their playground. The littlest kids are the happiest. A book entertains them - or a pot, or a sliver of sunlight shimmering on the floor. I watch Adam, who is 4 months, smile at his mother and follow her with his eyes…
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Natalie Babbitt created this day. Not intentionally. And not really. She simply pointed out in her wonderful children's book ``Tuck Everlasting'' that ``the first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless and hot.''
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