As I mentioned the other day, Mrs. T and I are spending the week in Cleveland, seeing shows and hitting museums. We are, amazingly enough, quartered in a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, about which much more later. Unfortunately–or not–the house in question is Web-unfriendly, so any blogging I do this week beyond the routine and regular almanac entries, weekly video, and theater-related postings will be catch as catch can.
I say “or not” because Mrs. T and I are greatly looking forward to having a bit of time to ourselves. We were married a year ago tomorrow, and we’ll be celebrating our first anniversary by seeing Noises Off, the funniest play ever written, at the Cleveland Play House, having what I hope will be a very nice dinner, and reveling in the always-special experience of spending the night with Frank Lloyd Wright. We’d just as soon not invite anyone else over, if you know what I mean.
I make regular mention of Mrs. T on this blog, so I expect you’ve long since figured out that our marriage has proved to be a rip-roaring success. She wouldn’t want me to blather on about it, but since she’s asleep in the next room and doesn’t know that I’m writing these words, I’ll add one thing more: I never expected to be as happy as I am now, and Hilary is the reason why it happened. I met her a bit less than three years ago, a few weeks before I fell victim to the illness that nearly killed me. I had already come to the reluctant and unwelcome conclusion that I would be spending whatever was left of my life flying solo, and by then I was starting to wonder whether that time might be short. Instead I fell in love, got well, got married, wrote a biography and an opera libretto, and discovered that there was much to be said for embarking on my fifth decade.
I am, in short, a very lucky man–but meeting Mrs. T was the best piece of luck I ever had, and I don’t expect to top it. Or want to. Or need to.
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Our Girl and CAAF will be taking it from here for the rest of the week. See you next Monday.