A Year of Us

New Year's Day was spent very briefly swimming in the frigid ocean.
I commented that the water was so cold that I couldn't feel my toes, while you believed that not only could you feel your but that I can't feel my toes at the best of times and that it is an area I could vastly improve upon.
We sat together in the hot tub afterwards even though I had a sneaking suspicion that you were encouraging me to either stretch more or at least get a pedicure.

I surprised you with a huge bouquet of fabulous red roses for Valentine's Day.
You blushed and compared the flowers to your glowing heart. I took exception to this, saying that your heart was less red and more pinkish or reddish-brown and that the heart only appeared red because of all of the blood and that though this was a mistake that many people make, as a nurse, you should know better.
You paused momentarily, placed the roses in a vase and then smacked me on the head with your heart-shaped purse which, while quite painful, drew a bit of blood reinforcing my point in the first place.

Spring came and we went to the park to fly kites and enjoy the newly warm weather.
Laying down on the top of the hill, I believed that the clouds looked like fluffy, friendly, cuddly animals while you felt that although the clouds indeed looked like animals, they were either wild, had long claws or would be the kind that would be fairly standoffish and would either be fairly blase about being pet or would probably run away.
I was silent the entire drive home partially because of your lack of playfulness when interpreting clouds on a lovely afternoon at the park and mostly because I knew you were right in your assessment.

With April came showers and we threw on our rain boots and went for long nature walks greatly enjoying the fresh air and the new foliage.
We walked in silence one day, only broken by your poetic exclamation about the peacefulness of the forest. I agreed that the surroundings were both lovely and serene, but felt that this collection of trees and flora were better described as woodlands than forest and that this revealed some of the limitations of your vocabulary.
We laughed over it and then you blindfolded and abandoned me in the middle of nowhere leaving only a trail of breadcrumbs as my clue to get home.

Then there came our friend Michael's art opening featuring paintings of nothing more than series of concentric colourful circles.
I commented that Michael is clearly a huge fan of circles. You disagreed vehemently, believing that he is obviously using his art to make a strong, biting, commentary about the lack of ethics among the candidates for mayor.
We both shrugged and walked home, thinking the conversation was over, but when you awoke the next morning, you noticed that I had drawn fairly vindictive and childish circles with permanent marker all over your clothes and your mayoral voter registration card.

We make our trip to the zoo stopping for the longest time outside the orangutan exhibit.
You laugh and remark that the largest orangutan bares a strong resemblance to my brother. I smile and agree, as the resemblance is quite striking, although I do feel that it is totally unnecessary and mean of you to always bring this up each week we come to the zoo, as you know how sensitive and protective I am of my hairy brother.
We will both remember this time at the zoo because my brother, while performing humanitarian work in Africa, will abruptly run away and join a colony of orangutans.

We spent the summer picking berries and sitting in our yard eating salads tossed with a variety of tasty vinaigrettes. 

I commented that the dressing was excellent as it featured a balsamic vinegar that tastes as if it had been aged for 15 years, while you said that it had clearly only been aged for 10 and that it only tasted as if it had been aged for 15 and that that is how it is with a really good balsamic vinegar.

We smiled knowingly at each other before I went inside and flushed all of your medications down the toilet.

We were enjoying the relative coolness of a late August afternoon by taking a walk in the park.
After a short walk, we sat down to enjoy a picnic lunch and you quickly express how annoyed you are by all of the wasps. I look around while munching my sandwich and claim that they are definitely not wasps and instead are one of nature's treasures, the bee, and that you're mistaking them for wasps is both uneducated, pedestrian and not at all surprising based on your track record for misidentifying animals of all shapes and sizes.
We hastily got up to leave but not before you muttered under your breath how elite I am.

When the calendar flips to September thoughts turn from beaches and parks to school and work.
After a long day at work, I decide to whip up a stir fry. I feel that the perfect stir fry is equal parts spicy and delicious and would make a rustic and solid, if not great, addition to a menu at a local restaurant. In between mopping the sweat off of your forehead and gulping glass after glass of cold ice water, you croak that I must have a very high tolerance for spice, be slightly delusional and take a fair amount of pleasure in making you suffer.
Watching you lie on the couch in a post-meal sweaty stupor, I do feel badly, and after you recover I plan to treat you to a horseback ride as it seems like the thing to do.

Last fall, we formed our own book club and enjoyed reading and discussing literature.

At our meetings, you would wax eloquently about books that had themes of overcoming hardship, coming of age and the illusion of power while I felt that these same books were banal, trite and overly-cliched all the while being fairly uncertain what "theme" actually referred to or where I had put those books in the first place.
Those long afternoons curled up together on the sofa with our books were among the most romantic, perplexing and frustrating times of my life essentially acting as an ongoing reminder that I should have paid more attention in school.

The winter came early this year and we spent the afternoon throwing snowballs at each other, laughing.
After a good hour of defending myself from your overly-aggressive attacks I loudly complain that this feels like a war. You stop and disagree, saying that it is more of an onslaught or a blunder verging on a military disaster on my part than a war, before continuing to pummel me to the ground.
You come up to me and offer a hand in truce, which I gladly take, before you decide to sit on me and use me as a sled to go downhill to where our car is parked.

The holidays are upon us and good will and celebration is in the air.
You come up to me at our annual Christmas party and give me a hug and kiss saying that it is amazing that another year has come and gone. I return your hug and nod my head wistfully claiming that the year itself hasn't actually come and gone as it is more figurative than you seem to realize, before claiming "look, it's over there."
You smack me playfully and lovingly on the head, and more forcefully on the shoulder stating loudly for all to hear "I hope you are gradually becoming either less literal or more attractive as time goes on and yes, I fully understand that time is not actually going anywhere, but I am. Find your own way home."