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Regular readers of this blog, friends and family and anyone who has seen The Cinnamon Girl and me together knows something about us: we kind of enjoy being in one another’s company. We just spent a terrific weekend in Washington, DC, doing exactly what we like to do:
- Enjoying good food (LeMadeline, Fishers Farmers Bakers, Lauriol Plaza)
- Seeing sites we want to see at the pace we want to see them (National Portrait Gallery, the Spy Museum, Mount Vernon, both Air and Space Museum locations)
- Walking, walking, walking
- … and, talking, talking, talking.
Ostensibly, this trip to DC coincided with The Cinnamon Girl’s birthday. It was, in theory (because I break rules and gave her a few other items) her present, but the real present is mine. The real present is her. The real present is her presence.
I am not writing this on her actual birthday because, while some dates count, it seems to me we actually might be better served counting some dates like the dates I’ve been able to spend with The Cinnamon Girl, like the dates I’ve been amazed by her intelligence and beauty, like the dates she’s made me laugh, like the dates she’s dazzled me with her humor, like the dates she’s made our children into the young adults they are, like each-and-every date from the time I fell in love with her until yesterday- her birthday – today and tomorrow.
How many July 10ths doesn’t matter. Those dates don’t count.
Counting each day with The Cinnamon Girl in my life, that matters.
It counts higher than I can ever reach.