I met my wife Bar­bara a bit more than 22½ years ago (though she doesn’t remem­ber it; she stood out more in my mem­ory than I did in hers, what with the big metal prongs stick­ing out of her bro­ken leg). We would have been sit­ting next to one another tak­ing a midterm exam in Dar­win Stapleton’s “His­tory of Sci­ence Fic­tion” class about 22 years ago today. We were at a Hal­loween party on Mur­ray Hill Road 21 years ago, after I finally got a clue and asked her out. And we were mar­ried 18 years ago today.

In all the places where our plans and expec­ta­tions and reac­tions to the world’s uncer­tain offer­ings have taken us since then, it has been my honor and plea­sure to have her at my side. So many do not learn what it is to have a real help­meet in their lives. I am blessed to say I have.

I don’t have the cus­tom­ary blogger’s wed­ding pho­to­graph scan to paste here. Maybe that’s for the best. We should wait and trot it out in the year when those fash­ions finally come back into style. On which anniver­sary we will surely still be smil­ing know­ingly at the fol­lies and foibles of the young, together, just as we are now.

Happy Anniver­sary, Barbara.