Last night, Kim, Fiona and I went to a friends’ house for pink drinks and dip. After the long, trying post Hurricane Irene week, even the most inveterate introverts needed a chance to hang out with friends, and anyway, there was politics to discuss.

The pink drink was a concoction made of Pina Colada mix, and assorted juices including cranberry, pomegranate, and pineapple. It was based on a drink that Kim had had during our vacation on Cape Cod, modified based on what was available, and mixed with Vodka. The dip was a buffalo chicken dip that Kim put together. We first had it at a picnic for Kim’s family, and Kim got the recipe and made it her own.

The discussion started off with stories about the storm and coping without electricity for close to a week. It had been a challenge for many, and some straight women, and a few gay men spoke of a strong desire to go out and kiss the linemen that had brought power back into their lives. Some of the linemen have travelled great distances to assist in the restoration of power, and their stories could be grist for a really bad romantic novel, or a really good folk song.

Another theme for the evening was kicking off not only Labor Day, but also the celebration of Kim’s birthday. There was a cake and a really nice gift from our friends. It led to discussions of how Kim and I met. It was a little over twelve long hard years ago.

You see, Kim’s mother was dying of cancer, and both Kim and I were trying to put our lives back together after failed marriages. I was working at a lucrative, but highly stressful job, and I approached my new found dating life a little bit too much like an executive. I read the personals as if they were resumes. The first dates were like interviews, and promising candidates were invited back for a second interview.

Yet there was another side to the whole experience. Dating can be a lot like Christmas. You approach each new date like you are opening a new present. Will this present be that magical something you’ve been longing for, perhaps not even able to describe? Or, will it be another pair of socks, or a really nice shirt? Don’t get me wrong, I am truly appreciative of the socks and nice shirts that I’ve received as gifts, but there is something more. Sometimes, there is a gift that catches the attention for a brief while before it is put aside, but the longing for the special gift remains.

When Kim and I started dating, I had been through more than enough first dates, a few second dates, and there were a few women that I saw more than twice. By the third date, Kim let me know that if the relationship was going to go anywhere, I needed to stop seeing any other women. That wasn’t too difficult. At the time, there was only one other woman I had been continuing to date. I asked her out one last time to say goodbye, but I’m not good at saying goodbye, so things ended awkwardly.

With that, Kim set off on our journey together. Kim’s mom died. We got married. America was attacked. Fiona was born. Lots of Kim’s older relatives died, and it seemed like date night had been replaced with funerals. Then it was my turn for older relatives to start passing away. Kim got Lyme disease. The economy crumbled, and we tried to hold things together.

The magic of the early days of a relationship, like the day after Christmas when you keep playing with that special toy are long gone, but they have been replaced by something greater.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

In our case, it is pattern baldness that has loved most of the hair off my head and it is Bell’s Palsy brought on by Lyme disease that caused one of Kim’s eyes to droop and her joints to get sore. “But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.”

Our finances continue to be very tight, and with the chaos of the last week, I didn’t manage to find any special gift to give Kim. Yet like the monk in the Zen Story, “The Moon Cannot Be Stolen”, there is something more beautiful, something more important. The moon cannot be stolen, nor can it be given to a thief, but the ability to appreciate the moon is available to anyone, and perhaps the most important gift is the ability to be real with the person you love.

With that, today, on her birthday, I give Kim this blog post, reaffirming our Velveteen Marriage.