Dear Raven,

I know, this letter is belated - but what in our lives hasn't been a bit belated?  I wanted to do this in time for our actual anniversary - like, two weeks ago - but we had so much to do, and finally got around to spending some time together, and life has been waaaay too crazy lately.  But then again, everything we are, as individuals and as a family, has been a bit belated, and hard won, and a labor of love - why should this letter be any different?

I remember the night I met you for the first time - in the hall, 2nd floor west wing of my dorm, by the alcove.  You were visiting Beth of the wild and crazy hair (11" standing straight up!), one of my best friends, and she introduced you.  I was drunk, as I was virtually every night of my sophmore year.  You had just performed at the Air Force Reserve Base, some covers and some originals, just your voice and your 12-strings.  You were wearing that white "gilligan" hat, and canvas tennis shoes with no laces.  Your blue/green eyes . . . were . . . remarkable.  Dark hair, creamy skin, and those eyes . . .

I was trying to be cool, 'cuz I was intrigued.  I wanted to get to know you, and although I could throw a ball or write a paper with ease, I had no idea HOW to get to know you, since you lived an hour or so away, and were a friend of a friend, and were just beautiful in that natural, easy-going way that you are.  And, well, showing too much interest in a girl . . .

You laughed at me, and with me, just small talk.  You looked into my eyes.  As you left, you handed me a slip of cardstock, torn.  You smiled and said, "now you can't say I never gave you anything."  It was your temporary parking pass from the Reserve Base, and I bet I still have it among all my sentimental things from college.

The next time I remember seeing you, I was a Resident Assistant living next door to Beth of the wild and crazy hair on 2nd floor east wing.  I was coming in from a serious game of raquetball, and when I returned from the shower, I heard music - the most incredible voice - it reached through the thing walls straight to my heart.  You covered Tracy Chapman, the Indigo Girls, Don McClean, Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn. 

Your original stuff drew from those influences, and yet  . . . the chords were beyond any of it, and the lyrics - took my breath away with layers of meaning. You let me sing harmony on what you were playing.  I showed you some of the music I'd been writing.  We talked all night.  Looking back, that's when I should have known I was in love.

That was some 20 years ago.  I've said before that I could have fallen in love with you simply because of your voice, but even your voice could never have been enough to keep us together, not for the lives we live.

Flash forward.  It's been nearly three years since our first kiss - the kiss which awakened me to love, and intimacy, and a whole new journey of identity.  We ran across some sterling silver rings, celtic knots engraved on the bands.  Simple and strong - they spoke to us as a sign . . . it was time to "get married," to plan the ceremony we'd been talking about for at least a year or more.

A busted hard drive somewhere has our vows recorded; there may even be some stray papers that we'll find someday among our scattered belongings.  But I remember the highlights, I think:

• We chose to be married barefoot, to better feel the earth beneath us; in our home, to allow our home to be blessed by the friends and family who chose to attend.  Your sister and some of your cousins, one of my brothers and my sister - none of our family was completely comfortable, but at least some were there. 

• One of your best friends from high school officiated - Julie.  She was the first lesbian I knew who was to be ordained - in fact, she was to be ordained the next day.  The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

• I wore my tux jacket and long black shorts.  You wore your black jumper.  Although you hate to look at the pictures of yourself, you were gorgeous.  The Giant, nearly four years old, placed the rose petals on our small kitchen table altar, scattering them methodically among the other flowers and the candles.  He had helped me build the frame for the "wedding cloth" - a colorful cotton batik throw which served as our backdrop.

• We promised to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health.  We promised to honor our paths as individuals, and to treasure our family.  We promised honesty.  We promised these things for as long as love shall last.

• We hadn't completely decided whether to seal our vows with a kiss, afraid that since so few of our guests had seen actual women kissing women, we might offend them.  So deeply in the moment, we kissed anyway - a real kiss, with passion.  Then I held you in a tight embrace for a moment. 

• Although we didn't get a "honeymoon," our friends kept the Giant for a night or two.  And when we awoke, the world felt . . . different.  More settled.  As if a foundation had been laid, and we were ready to build.

Our wedding stands as the single greatest moment in my life.

When I look at how far we've come, all we've been through, all we've put each other through, I can't believe we're still together, let alone how deep our relationship has become. 

On top of it all is the spark that has never died, the nerve that rings hard when I watch you across a room, when I watch you sleep, when I hear your voice or your fingers brush my arm. 

God, you are just gorgeous.  Every kiss reminds me of our first kiss.  Every touch reminds me of our first night together - pure magic.

And so, here we are.  Eleven years later.  Eleven, you say, is the number of transformation.  And so it is.

We are stepping into the new.  We're looking for a new home, having already left where we were living.  I'm moving into a new opportunity, having already resigned from my old job.  The Giant . . . is growing so fast, that he qualifies as new virtually every day.  And that only covers the physical world.

I may not know what tomorrow holds, but thanks for being my journey mate.  Knowing that I get to walk beside you makes me think . . . we'll get there.  We'll figure it out.  We always have.  We always do.

My heart, my love, is too full to say more; and besides, I do not want to tempt the fates to avenge themselves on us any more than they already have.

I love you, Raven.  I think I always have.  I think I always will.

Owl