As I mentioned last week, there are three W’s in my life—William, Writing, and Walking. Today’s blog deals with all three, and this deals with W #1.

First off, I’m writing this on December 21st. It may be the shortest day of the year, but it’s also Bill’s and my thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. For those of you who don’t know the story, we met on June 21,1985, at a widowed retreat where we learned that our first spouses had died on the same day of the year two years apart. In terms of the grief process, however, we discovered we were very much on the same page.

At first our conversations consisted of comparing notes because our families had gone through similar tragedies—losing a spouse and a parent to long-term illnesses. We all, kids and parents both, had had all our hopes and expectations for our futures snatched away from us, and that gave us a lot to talk about. Before long, however, we found things to laugh about, too, and being able to laugh again was a miracle in and of itself. We also found we came from similar backgrounds, having been raised in families with solid Midwestern values and beliefs.

And then a complication came into our talks when Bill began hinting around that he wanted to be married again. I told him I was sure he would make someone an excellent husband, but I wasn’t the marrying kind. I had tried marriage once, and it turned out I wasn’t very good at it. That stance lasted until early in October when he was offered a job in Grass Valley, California. I was devastated at the idea of his leaving town, and that forced me to face up to the fact that if all I really wanted was a meaningless relationship, I had no right to be upset that he was leaving. A day later, when he asked me to marry him, I said, “Okay, when?”

To begin with, we planned on getting married the following summer. Turns out summer was way too far away. Next we talked about Valentine’s Day, but our preferred minister was already booked for that. Then we learned she would be in Seattle for Christmas, and so December 21st became the day in question. At the time, people asked us why the big hurry? Some thought it was too soon—that this was just rebound situation for Bill especially. A few of the very nervy ones went so far as to ask if we were pregnant. No, we weren’t. The truth is, we’d both lost what we’d always believed would be our futures. Now, with no idea of how much time we’d have together, we didn’t want to waste a moment of it.

It was a wonderful wedding even though Seattle was going through a serious fog event at the time, and some of the guests, including my parents, weren’t able to make it.

Back then, we hardly dared hope we’d have this many years together. So today, on our 38th wedding anniversary, I’m still glad we didn’t waste any time getting to the altar.

Next up is W #2—Writing. This week negotiations concluded on a new contract with HarperCollins, one that that means I’ll be writing books well into my eighties. Some people find that astonishing. “Don’t you want to retire?” they ask. “Aren’t you tired of working?” The answer to both of those questions is NO and NO.

Thanks to my readers, for the past forty-plus years, I’ve been living my childhood dream of becoming a writer when I grew up. Someone told me once that if you find your passion, you won’t work a day in your life. And that’s been true for me. I love writing. When I’m doing it, the process doesn’t seem like work. I love interacting with my readers. I even love writing this blog. So yes, I’m not stopping just yet.

And finally W #3. Inside steps seemingly take forever. Outside steps are invigorating. Today I was outside walking in chilly but sunny weather—sunny with a few patches of low-lying fog.

I grew up in the Arizona desert. I always thought rain and fog went together. Then one September morning in 1981 after moving to Seattle, I walked to a morning networking breakfast in soupy fog. When breakfast was over, I was astonished when I stepped outside into blinding sunlight.

Today, as rays of the sun cut through the fog and lit up the front lawn, I was reminded of a poem I wrote back then, on that ultimately sunny day. At the time I was still struggling with the emotional aftermath of my divorce. The poem is called Fog.

I walk in fog.
Its velvet touch
Caresses me
And hides the hurt.

Beyond the fog
The sun shines
Clear and bright.
I must keep moving
I have earned the light.

It was another four years before the light, a guy named Bill, came walking into my life. Thirty-eight years later, he’s still here. Which is why this is a very Happy Anniversary.