Happy Thirteen

Thirteen years ago it was just him and me - and it really was just him and me - getting married in spite of the doom-sayers: "You can't marry him, he's a Catholic." "You can't marry him, he's divorced." "You can marry him, he's too old for you."
Just as well I trust my own judgement.
Thirteen years and all of them happy.
As Beatrice said this morning: "Happy Adversity Mummy and Daddy"

Divine Intervention

I always wondered what it would take for my husband to suffer from feelings of possessiveness. We don't really have that sort of relationship which probably just as well since we spend so much time apart...
It's been a fortnight since the children and I left him behind in Bahrain. "I don't really miss you," I told him by phone, "Everyone's being so kind..."
The bachelor farmer down the road had welcomed me back with a bunch of flowers. The man from the garden centre gave me a camellia bush when I went to buy apple trees. Male friends from school have been stopping their tractors to chat - one brought me duck eggs, one offered to plant the apple trees ...
All this Nick accepted without comment. As I say, he's not the jealous type.
Until last night when I remarked : "The minister winked at me in church..."
There was a brief pause, then he said: "I've been thinking I might fly home next week to see you. You've been on your own long enough."