Happy 40th to Me and My Sweetie!

Forty years ago today I went out with my future husband for the first time. He was in a band called Quiet -- he played bass guitar -- and he invited me to one of their practice sessions. We'd known each other since he moved to my area the year before. He lived in Park Ridge briefly when his family first moved to the U.S. from England, but he didn't really feel at home until he started attending my high school -- known as "the hippie school" back in the day.  

I'd always been an Anglophile, thanks to early indoctrination by Agatha Christie and the Beatles, so I knew the instant a new English guy arrived at our school. We both worked on the school newspaper and we were both solid Beatle fans. It wasn't long before we became friends.

For a long time, that's all it was. Of course I "noticed" him, but I was still in a long-distance relationship with a boyfriend who had moved to another state and he (future husband) seemed to be dating a good friend of mine. I knew they were friends, but didn't feel comfortable asking either of them if it was serious. Because I was just a friend. Right.

We were interested in a lot of the same books and music, and we talked a lot. He started calling me to tell me about concerts he'd been to. We carefully avoided talk of significant others. This was friends talking, nothing more.

But he told me -- years later -- that he would drive by my house a lot, and he often appeared in my dreams. I felt that my boyfriend and I were growing apart, but I wasn't sure he felt the same way. Because of that, I never thought anything would come of my interest in my English friend.

On April 18, 1970 everything changed. I went to see a lot of bands perform - I wrote about them for our school paper - so on the surface it was no big deal when he invited me to watch his band practice. But of course, it was different and we both knew it.

I remember watching something on TV about Paul McCartney's new solo album. I've checked back and it appears the official release date was Friday, April 17, 1970. We both remember listening to "Maybe I'm Amazed" and being completely knocked out by it. The words of the song also clarified a few things.

So anyway . . . April 18 has always been our "real" anniversary. I broke up with my boyfriend the next day and a few weeks later we attended our senior prom. I went to England with him a few months after that and in October 1971 we got married.

We still have the Beatles and a love of England in common, but we are opposites in soooo many ways. Somehow, it still works. When he's out of town, I'm excited for him to come home. I'm always happy to hear his voice on the phone. He is the best card giver ever. He was, and continues to be, a wonderful father to our two kids and the best husband in the world. Well, in MY world, anyway.

Forty years. 14,610 days (give or take two days). 21,037,950 minutes. And maybe I'm still amazed.