Happy birthday; I'll be home soon

Some dates are special. Today is one of those.
It’s my wife’s birthday, and it’s a big one in the grand scheme of things.
And I won’t be there to celebrate the occasion with her.
That’s because I’m working overseas again on a project intended to promote international free press. That may sound like a lofty goal, but when you weigh it against missing your wife’s birthday it seems a little puny.
Connie and I met in 1968, 47 years ago by my count, on the day before her birthday.
She was a freshman in college. I was a sophomore.
Our paths had crossed a couple of times, but we didn’t really know each other at all.
It had been — to say the least — an eventful spring.
Martin Luther King had been assassinated. Lyndon Johnson had announced — in the face of an insurrection within the Democratic Party — that he wouldn’t seek re-election.
And downtown Richmond had blown up. A natural gas leak under a sporting goods store full of ammunition transformed the downtown.
Those add up to a pretty remarkable landscape in which to get to know the woman you would marry.
The circumstances were pretty mundane.
I’d made arrangements for a guitarist buddy of mine to audition with a group that involved my roommate and another good friend.
The guitarist buddy had been interested in Connie and invited her to his audition. I was there trying to play entrepreneur/impresario. Both of us listened for a while, then I suggested we go for a walk.
That led to getting a Coke together and walking her back to her dorm.
Two weeks later I asked her to marry me. She said yes.
In between, however, came her birthday party. And I wasn’t invited.
Though I may have been on the social radar after our Coke date, I wasn’t really part of her social circle. So when she and her friends and an assortment of guys I didn’t know went out sledding and partying, I stayed home.
It must have been a rollicking party, and I’m sorry I missed it.
But I figure we’ve made up for that over the past 47 years.
So, today, even though I won’t be home where I belong, I’ll be celebrating all that has happened since: Our wedding in 1971, only a week after she graduated from Earlham; our decision in 1974 to move to Jay County so I could accept a position at the newspaper here (the plan was to stay for two years, but we have stayed for more than 40); the birth of our twins in 1977; surviving the blizzard of 1978 with tiny twins at home; the birth of our youngest daughter; the loss of our parents; three addresses in Portland, one rental and two houses; health scares; Connie’s journey back to college to get her master’s degree; dozens of vacations together in New Hampshire; sunset cruises; mountains climbed together; walks in the woods; dishwashers emptied; home improvement projects argued over; trees planted; trees cut down; birdfeeders filled; books discovered; art collected; concerts relished; and many moments far too intimate to share with you here.
You get the picture.
So, I’ll just leave it at this: Darling, happy birthday! I’ll be home as soon as possible.