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February 14, 2004 - Saturday

 Ten Years Plus

After you’ve been together for something like 10 years, Valentine’s Day begins to lose its romance. And that’s okay, because the romance has to be in there somewhere for you to hit ten years in the first place — you just don’t necessarily have to cue it up on pre-packaged holiday demand. It’s an undercurrent, not a tide.

For Beth and I, Valentine’s Day has moved beyond the dozen roses and and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates and romantic dinners. We’ve streamlined it: now we’re down to just the gifts. In fact, we exchanged gifts at 12:02 last night because it was technically Valentine’s Day and we each knew what the other was giving and we didn’t want to have to wait any longer.

I gave Beth a black cashmere pashmina. If you’re anything like me, you just said “Pash-whatta?” That’s what I said when she told me she wanted one for Valentine’s Day. (And there’s a tip for you from inside a 10-year+ relationship: Ask what she wants. It’s the only way to be sure, and you’ll fuck it up if you try to wing it.)

So, yeah: Pashmina. You can’t even find a definition for it online. Trust me, I tried; I was going to provide a link. So let me give you the Chuck definition: A pashmina is a big-ass scarf. Or maybe a small-ass shawl. Picture a normal scarf, then dope it up on steroids so it’s two or three times as wide and half again as long. Now give it stupid little fringy ball thingies on the end. Now put traces of wool in it and charge an outrageous price. That’s a pashmina. And now Beth has one and is very happy. (10 years plus. I’m telling you, guys: ask.)

Beth’s gift to me was a wristwatch. It was the perfect gift because it’s what I told her I wanted. I even sent her the link. (10 year tip again: Tell her what you want. It’s the only way to be sure, and she’ll fuck it up if you don’t.) I’m wearing it now, and Beth has been very diligent in following my instructions to ask me throughout the day “What time is it?” so I can whip my wrist around and show her the fabulous face of my fabulous new watch. (We also spent a bit of time in bed last night huddled deep under the covers. No, not for that, you pervs! It was so we could admire the fabulous luminous hands and markers on the fabulous new watch in pitch darkness.)

So those are the romantic gifts we exchanged to demonstrate our love. And tonight we fulfilled the dinner requirement of the holiday by taking Zoe and her friend Katie out for barbeque. It was just what we wanted.

Ten years plus. It’s not about greeting card romance, it’s about just … being. Together. That’s what makes your Valentine last longer than a day … and happy.


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 Uncle Chuck Redux

I don’t talk much about my extended family here, but I will today because I’m an uncle again. My sister had her 4th child — a boy — Thursday, making me the afore-mentioned uncle x 4, and also making Zoe a cousin x 4. She’s very excited by that.

We went to the hospital today to see the new addition to the brood. They don’t have a name for him yet; they’ve pretty much settled on Will for the first name but the middle name is up for grabs. Much hilarity ensued as everyone threw out suggestions: Knot, Won’t, Call, Burr, Son, Derness, Kommen… The new dad commented on the increasing laxity in naming as they have more and more kids. With the first one, naming it was a solemn affair, heavy with import and tradition, and the name had to be perfect. Now he’s down to Will Knot — and liking it.

Young Will * himself didn’t provide much in the way of entertainment — he mainly just laid there like a lump and snoozed. It was his 2-year-old big sister who filled the cute baby requirement. Zoe brought her a toy duck with a spring-loaded head that wobbles when you shake it, which prompted my brother and I to start shaking it madly while singing Outkast’s Hey Ya: “Shake it, shake it, shake, shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture!”

This did not amuse baby Kay, who got very upset and stomped her feet and declared, “No! Shake it like a DUCK!”


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