25 Dantastic Years

When I first met Dan he was practically an albino (although I could hardly talk, one of my nicknames was "fishbelly"), and sported a Lionel Ritchie-ish bright red afro-mullet, courtesy of his sister who was a cosmetology student. She'd talked him into getting a poodle perm. He already had curly hair. But he was funny and nice and a member in good standing of the group of degenerates I hung out with. We all worked at this Steak House in the mall. My uniform was a double-knit polyester burnt orange and harvest gold mini dress-- with nylons. Rockin'.

I had a boyfriend but Dan and I became good friends. One day over drinks at one of our hang-outs (a strawberry daiquiri for me-- classsyyyyy)-- (he'd cut off the mullet-fro by then, thank God)-- I looked up at him and "BLAM"-- I was struck suddenly and irreversibly in love with him. I knew it because I felt really sick to my stomach all the time, was obsessed with spending as much time as possible with him (not very hard since we shared an apartment with his brother. I had my own room.), and even would secretly watch him sleep. (I know-- kind of creepy.)

I had a boyfriend to get rid of, but once I did I was still afraid to let Dan know about my giant crush on him because I was afraid maybe he only wanted to be friends and I'd wreck it. (Duh). I drove my girlfriends nuts and played "Wouldn't It Be Nice" by The Beachboys constantly and mooned disgustingly over him for several months. Then one night, really late, no longer able to fight our gravitational pulls, we just started making out like crazy and have been plastered to each other's sides ever since.

I was nineteen, just two years into my super wild era. He was twenty, had no real aspirations, but was nice, funny, real, and never tried to toss a rope over my head. We were a perfect match.

Now it's been 25 years. He's been with me fat, thin, blond, red, streaks of purple, streaks of blue, string and bells and bits of hippyish paraphernalia woven into dreadlocks, brunette, laid up, laid out, sober, not, half-crazy, the rest of the way crazy, and all the while he's pretty much always been the same old Dan. A little mellower with age, both of us thank God. (Getting chased by the cops stories are only funny when you're in your early twenties.) I know he'll always be there for me, and me for him. It's a nice certainty. I've found I really like normal.

But not too normal. We always manage to keep it interesting. For a while he insisted on wearing this get-up for working around our place. Shades of AC/DC. Shades of Opie.

There's always plenty of work to do, and he's one of those guys who wants to always be busy, but we joke around all the time. That seems important. Really it feels like the glue kind of.

This admission feels really weird because when I was younger I'd have seen it as some kind of sell-out defeat, forfeiting my power somehow, but I like how he mans-up and fixes stuff and takes care of me and our place. I never thought we'd ever fall into traditional gender roles, but it's kind of happened. I look at it as a nice deal, but am careful to appreciate it not expect it, and to maintain my self-sufficiency.

Awe-- How could I resist that smile. That's my rockin' sister in the background. She calls him "the third sister" which is well, um, nice.

Since moving to paradise he's been so happy. The place we got is very much like the setting of my novel, a dream place we never even imagined existed-- a patch of woods smack in the middle of a small town, below the bluff along the river. The town above doesn't even know we're down here. Our neighbors in the only other house in the fifteen acres of woods we share are artists too.
As I've told you my niece and nephew LOVE Dan. Megan has been in orbit since birth pretty much. He's always been generous with his time when they visit. As you can imagine paperdolls wasn't his idea, but there he is bless his heart.

This is my rockin' nephew. We butt heads big time because he doesn't recognise my authority even a tiny bit, but I love the kid and he's going to drive his parents nuts being a giant rebel and I'll be there in his corner fighting the good fight. Dan is one of his peeps.

As you can imagine the art crowd was always overjoyed to see our glamorous "art-mobile" rumble loudly to the curb. He's helped load in and out more art shows than I remember and never diminished what I do even when I hardly made a dime. He's not really into art. When I first started he once looked at a sculpture and said, "That one must really be art, because I don't get it at all." I could tell him I wanted to take up the highwire and he'd go along with it. He knows I need elbow room to keep the wheels from falling off, and he likes to think someday something exciting may happen, and knows it will have to come from something I tried. I'm the risk taker. He's the rock.

I forced him to pose like this. He'd kill me if he knew I was putting all these pics of him up, but haha-- too late. He stacked all these logs all by himself. He's not a big guy, but mighty, with a mighty heart, and kind eyes, and he's still my best friend.

Does he bring me surprise flowers or call me throughout the day "just because" or look deeply into my eyes and ask me what I'm thinking-- no, hello, he's a dude! But he scrapes my car windows off in the winter and makes me laugh every single day. He thinks a bowl of cereal is fine for dinner, is on the same page as me in all the important ways, and has played for keeps. Ahh love.

Thanks Dan.