Wednesday, June 10, 2009
If we are still together after this post, my Dear Professor and I will celebrate our 35th year of wedded life this December. We have survived raising 3 children (Son#1 The Preacher, Principessa, and Son#2 The Dreamer), DP's mid life career change, graduate school (I have supported him through not one, not two, but three degree programs--the man has more degrees than a thermometer!), two geographic moves, and admitting to ourselves that we have grown old enough to have our wonderful grandchildren (and grandkitties!)
I married him for his mind, his beautiful mind.
And because he was taller than me.
And because he asked me. (Hey, at 28 I was at the point in my life where it was first come first served.)
I have never regretted marrying him. To be truthful, though, there have been times when I did consider murder. (Love ya, darlin'!)
What I did not know when I fell in love with this tall, intelligent, handsome lawyer from south Texas was that I was marrying his books, too.
All of them.
I realized very early that if one of us didn't back away from the Barnes and Noble counter, we would easily surpass the Library of Congress listings in five years. Being the gracious, humble, loving wife, I volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb.
Now I just stand at the door and incredulously shake my head each time he returns from a conference with bags of books. BAGS of books. They are like Lay's potato chips--he can't buy just one!
He has books on theology,
the Civil War (hmm, how did George Eliot get in there?),
history (especially Texas--I wonder if that's where Homer got the idea for his Illiad?),
and aliens. Wait, aliens? ( Honey, do we need to talk?)
Imelda Marcos' shoe collection(dated boomer historical reference--wife of former Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos, and poster child for excess) is a drop in the bucket compared to my Dear Professor's book collection.
His books have a fertility rate that far surpasses that of wire coat hangers. (You do know that wire coat hangers propagate at night in the dark? That's why the closet is always in a tangle in the morning, and there are twice as many hangers as there were the night before.)
I am grateful that DP has an office in which to store many of his treasures. But that will not last. In a few years, my Dear Professor will be retiring. You know what that means. All those office books come home.
And I will assume my new career as his personal librarian.
Or, maybe, if the price of heating goes up, we may use the fireplace more often. (Hold on, DP, don't get excited, it was a joke, just a joke, ok?)
A beautiful mind can turn ugly awfully fast, especially if you're messin' with his books.