This will be the very first Spring Bernie and I will have been able to spend together.
We met in September of 1974, briefly, and went on growing closer, engaged in December of that year, and married the following April. But in order to get married, he had to find employment, and we were in Pennsylvania, where spring comes in late late April if they're lucky, and May usually. So by the time Spring rolled around that year, he was working.
We've often wished we could have been little kids together, to have time to just play. We would have only gone home for meals and sleep. I would have got him in trouble, getting muddy and wet in the creek, and he would have led bike hikes as far as we could ride.
Now, things have changed. He and I are not separated by jobs, or three hours of road travel (we grew up far apart in PA). Instead, we go to bed at approximately the same time, and get up at approximately the same time. We go to the grocery store together, to the bank, to the office supply, to the library. We'll ride bikes together soon (after the bees settle down to their pollinating job), and see first morning showings of new movies, irresponsibly having popcorn and Coke for breakfast.
Today we went down to the river again, after it had warmed up a little. I wore knee braces so that I wouldn't have to stay on the level, and we trekked off the main trail to a path that runs along the edge of the river, passing by a lovely sandy beach near a swamp where frogs will soon be singing songs of love.
No worries, no "We have to keep it short or you'll be too tired at work." No hurries, no "We have to go before eleven because you have to leave early because of the traffic."
We've been lovers for 36 years, we've been husband and wife; we've been partners and co-workers, mom and dad, Dziadzy and Gran ... and now we get our wish: to play all day long if we want, kids together at last.