Happy Birthday, Baby

Jenny has stopped greeting birthdays with anything close to what you'd call a celebratory spirit.

But not me. Jenny's birthday is reason to jump up and dance, and I would if I wasn't afraid of breaking a hip.

Jenny and I met doing summer theater. I remember the first time I saw her, she was on stage rehearsing a Gershwin number. She had that long aristocratic neck, a voice that could seduce the rubes in the cheap seats, an understanding of the lyric that told you this was a woman of sophistication, wit and intelligence.

She was a star.

I was a bit character player, consigned to comic walk-ons.

And as I watched her from the back row of the theater, I knew she was the woman I would marry.

In a moment of strength, I asked her.
In a moment of weakness, she said yes.

Life has not been easy. I don't think anyone's life is. But through it all, she's been the person I could count on not to run when things got rough. That's why I dedicated Panamanian Moon to her this way:

To Jenny,

who is good when times are good,

and when times are bad,

she's even better.

Tonight we'll have an expensive dinner and come home early. It's a school night and we both have to work, but in my heart I'm taking her to Greece for a week in the islands.

Some day, she says, some day.

And some days I honestly think she believes it.

I am the luckiest man in the world.