Sometimes, I can’t remember life without that man of mine, can’t imagine an existence that makes sense. For fifteen years, MTM has been the engine of my soul, steadfast believer, selfless supporter, ardent lover, best friend.

My only man.

When I think back to our first “hello” and “hi,” it could’ve happened five minutes ago. A flick of the fingers. A few blinks of the eye. But stacking up everything we’ve done, each trip, every emergency and job change and life-altering thing?

Life condenses memories into a highlight reel. I never thought I’d be with another person long enough to make a highlight reel. Seriously, I didn’t think a man would ever tolerate me for more than a few years.

And this remarkable man makes me take my medicine. He reads every first draft. And tenth draft. He cocoons me when I curl up in a ball and sob over failure. Especially since I find spectacular ways to fail.

My ONLY man.

Every day, he slaves in the kitchen and puts food in front of me. He keeps my travel straight, making sure I have cars and tickets. Without him, I’d struggle to pack a suitcase. Nobody can stuff luggage like MTM.

His stressful, demanding, sometimes maddening job pays our bills. Gives me medical insurance. Enables me to create without monetary fear.

He’s never surprised by my accomplishments. Almost like he knew I could before I did. No matter how impossible circumstances appear, he never tells me to quit.

My only MAN.

I can’t count on my fingers the number of times I’ve seen him angry. He has a bottomless well of patience. Everything he touches becomes better than it was without him.

He never takes credit for his accomplishments. I can’t drive a mile without seeing a piece of city fabric improved by his stalwart advice.

He’s a loyal friend, a giver to everyone lucky enough to be in his life.


Today. Tomorrow. Forever. I love you, MTM.


One of my books is dedicated to MTM. Don’t know which one? GET THEM ALL HERE.

true value of a moment

You’ll never know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory. – Andra Watkins

The antique piano witnessed a billion moments in its creaky life. It endured the first tentative plunks of lessons, the wild thrashings of tiny humans, the heavings of movers from there. No there. No really…….there.

It leaned its dinged wood against the wall and picked dust from stained ivory teeth. More a piece of furniture than an instrument, its stretched strings echoed with Chopin recitals, with masterful hymns, with one moment a crescendo of chords and sharps and flats.

The piano longed for someone, anyone, to crawl in its lap and transform a moment to music again.

A little boy heard its whispered pleas. He was accustomed to plonking his fat fingers and fists into the keys, his own euphoria of erratic song. An extension of his voice, really. He liked the way it transformed his unspoken thoughts into sound. Barked orders of staccato. I love you Daddy in one slow, soft middle C. Joy in a barrage of clashing notes, pounded out at once.

He grasped for joy again.

But he never expected to make music with his toes, with the flat soles of his feet. From on high, floating above the piano’s ivory lap, he stepped through different emotions, danced into the moment he made.

The piano welcomed butterfly kisses and knew she would always recall the glorious little boy. Wherever the moving men carted her. Whatever became of her sunken keys. However she landed, she knew one more moment of bliss.

Moments matter. They are the building blocks of memory.


Photograph Credit: Andra Watkins

This is part of a series of pictures about making memories. If you liked the story why not share it with your friends? Let’s meet on Facebook or Twitter. If you prefer pictures you will surely like my Instagram. I’ve collected inspirational things and more on Pinterest! Any comments? Write them below!

the true value of a moment