Devil's Dozen

In the Old Country, baker's dozen, 13, is known as devil's dozen, in keeping with the number's status as bad luck of course. I have to say I was never on board with castigating 13. In fact, I am rather a fan.


A devil's dozen years ago, the party was still going pretty good. The ceremony was supposed to be at 3 (invitations said 2:30, to account for Jewish Standard Time), but ended up being slightly later. With the pictures and the cocktail hour, the party didn't get started until close to 6, but six hours later there was our band, playing way past the hour of contractual obligation. The band leader is my aunt and uncle's friend, but still it was way nice of them to stick with us. Particularly considering the discount we got courtesy of the friendship. I've never known time so packed to move so quickly.

A dozen years ago, on our first anniversary, I was supposed to be in another city, at a conference, by myself. In fact giving my talk the very day of the anniversary, so not so much with the skipping possibilities. The first is the paper anniversary. So I left JD a paper gift, in a dresser drawer-- a plane ticket to the Conference City. Before I bought it, I talked to his employer to make sure he could have the day (he worked in a small office, and they were swamped). I told him where to find his gift that morning. We were broke then, so I got the cheapest ticket I could find. It had JD flying in very small planes, very very slowly. It turns out that he ordered flowers for me, to be delivered to the hotel. He ended up delivering them himself. We went downtown to a nice restaurant I remember only vaguely now. The food was good, I remember that. I think it was French.

Five years ago late afternoon-ish I was coming back from a workshop in yet another city. JD picked me up at the airport in a car the lease for which he signed that very day. I was told that Monkey had taken a test drive in it, and that she approved. We had dinner that night in a restaurant we keep meaning to go back to. (Damn, this means we haven't made it back to a place in FIVE years. Exciting lives we lead. On the plus side, though, since I saw the place out the car window not two months ago, it also means the restaurant, which was a new business at the time, has survived for over five years. Good on them.) The next morning I had to be at a hospital by 6am. My friend Natalie was having a C-section, and her husband, a big, tough guy, wasn't sure he could do the delivery room thing without moral support. He did fine, though he forgot his camera in the before-and-after room. Hence, I was the one to take the first pictures of the little guy.

Four years ago it was JD's turn to start the day elsewhere. He was in the City Where I Hate to Drive. I was driving up to meet him after his conference session for dinner and a play. I had a nice dress with me, and I was driving my shiny new five week old car. With a stick shift. Which feature was half the point of getting that car-- I've had it with the tyranny of the automatic transmission, aka my otherwise exceptionally beloved previous car. I left home in what was supposed to be plenty of time, and for a while it looked like I was even going to be early. But then there was traffic, and I was getting nervous and pissy. And trying to change lanes at the traffic light, I scratched another car, one that, it seems, was sitting much farther to the left than I estimated. Yup, with my own, barely five week old car. When I finally made it to the hotel, I got ready faster than I remember ever getting ready for a fancy evening out. Record time, I tell you. We still made it to dinner (cab), though I think we skipped appetizers. That was so we could make the show. Which we liked. Though not as much as the show we saw the next day, having bought the tickets based on nothing more than "this sounds interesting" and the fact that they still had tickets the day of. We sat in the first row for that one.


Tonight, now that my sister and BIL, themselves married a year and a day and gracefully sharing their anniversary cake (gotten from whence their actual wedding cake came from-- sneaky, I know, and a hell of a lot smarter than keeping a cake in the freezer for a year, no?), have left for their own humble abode, I am the only adult in the house. The first time in thirteen years we are for real not together on our anniversary. JD is coming back tomorrow, and a make-up celebration is in the works. I thought I was going to be fine. I told him I was going to be fine. And I am completely and totally fine. But I have to admit that it feels weird not to have JD here today. What do you think-- a force of habit? ;)

It's past midnight now, as I finish writing. So happy day-after-anniversary to us! (And I am off to catch some Zzzzzs.)