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Wednesday, April 17, 2013


Thirty five years ago today my wife and I had our first date. I was 28; she was 23.

We had dinner at a restaurant in the Atlantic Highlands. Then we drove to South River to hear live music, an acoustic guitar player who sang; his act was a lot like mine at the time. I don't remember much of our conversation but after noticing how nice her hair smelled, I do recall asking what kind of shampoo she used. Her answer ("Whatever's in the shower") enchanted me. Later that night I told her I was going to marry her.

She's away this week. Earlier today I began wondering if this was the first time we've been apart on this date. Now as the day ends, writing about anything other than that first date would make me feel lonely. 

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