I married a historian...

I’ve been trying to plan Dr. M’s birthday celebration. It’s a “significant birthday” & I wanted to do it right. I tried to plan a surprise, but Dr. M had another idea. What was this fabulous idea, you ask? Did he want to stay in a romantic cabin in Hocking Hills? Nope. How about a swanky hotel in downtown Cincinnati? Meh. A trip to the casinos? A B&B in Yellow Springs? Or a drive to Young’s Jersey Dairy for excellent ice cream? No no no.

I married a historian. I feel slightly lied to because at the time that we met & fell in love he was in seminary. I was bracing myself for life as a church worker’s spouse. I would have been GREAT. No? Really? Whyever not? The Dana Look? Hmmm. Anyway, he saved me from that fate by finding a different kind of calling. This calling is something for which he’s quite well suited - & it saves me from trying to be nice all the time. After all, it’s kind of expected that a University professor and his wife might be a little odd.

So we’re celebrating his birthday a week early at a history conference in Louisville. We’ll listen to some of his friends present papers. We’ll stay at the Brown Hotel. We’ll damage our arteries with a Kentucky Hot Brown sandwich. We’ll have some quality time in the car together. I’m looking forward to it!

P.S. I’ll try to get my Sundays in Zambia post out on time – but it might be a Monday in Zambia this week.