Anniversaries are strange things to think about. Maybe it’s because I’m so obsessed with time and its passage as a musician, but I would rather perceive time spatially than as a linear grouping of numbered boxes on a page telling me what month and day it is. That all seems arbitrary and unmagical to me, the kind of thinking I reserve for monitoring my bill payments.
And the history of the Gregorian calendar defends my line of thinking. (I’ve been obsessed with calendar evolution for some time—the original working title of “Come Out Wherever You Are” was “The Fall Of The Roman Calendar,” and thank god that didn’t stick.) I for one can’t imagine a year without also picturing myself puttering around sideways on this rock while we are all hurtling around the sun at something like 18.5 miles per second. And though I do understand the scientific fundamentals of gravity, it still freaks me out that my coffee mug will just sit still on the table with all of these astronomical acrobatics going on.
My wife and I met for the first time on this day in 2006, and I have to laugh at the smallness of the number five as it pertains to our present anniversary. We celebrate both anniversaries every year, but this is the one we consider the “real” anniversary, if the truth must be told. Even though it took us another year-and-a-half to get married, that’s all event planning and paperwork to me. I married her the second I saw her, and it still seems both like I’ve known her all my life and like I just met her. She’s somehow been inserted into all of my memories, always there, a panglorious inevitability.
As Einstein put it, “When a man sits with a pretty girl for an hour, it seems like a minute. But let him sit on a hot stove for a minute and it’s longer than any hour. That’s relativity.” Well, the last five years feel like a minute, and I owe all of that to my pretty girl.
Once more around the sun, my love!