What a year that was

19 Nov

Yesterday was my one-year wedding anniversary. I observed it in the spirit of our deliberately short-lived marriage — not with the ex-wife, though I posted wishes on Facebook — but in Maryland, a new marriage-equality state, with my new boyfriend at his home.

Will it be my home soon? It’s too early to say, but he’s already set aside a few drawers for me. Normally I’d have reservations about a long-distance relationship, but I have to come to the Washington, D.C., area — by far my best market, as often as possible, so I like our odds better than if he lived in, say, Idaho. And I like them a lot better than if he were any other guy or if circumstances other than art had made our meeting possible. (No, he’s not and never has been a client. But if I was still at the Houston Chronicle we’d never have met, and even if we’d met I’d never get to see him.)

So yes, I’m still keeping my ex-wife’s name attached to my own, for marrying her did, in its way, complete me. Not because she’s my other half, but because — among other reasons — marrying her may have led me to him. It certainly led to my integrating the various parts of myself in they hadn’t been before.

We’ve just finished packing for a road trip to Cleveland, where we’ll visit the Cleveland Museum of Art (I’ve always wanted to go) and James Garfield’s grave (he’s a presidential history buff). We’ll be spending his birthday, which happens to fall on Thanksgiving Day, together. And I’ve got more to give thanks for than ever.

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