About a thousand years ago…oh, okay, it was 1952, Mad Magazine debuted. Two years later, this crazy wonderful magazine adopted this rather bizarre character who had been used in FDR’s campaigns for president in the thirties as their icon. i did not realize, perhaps because i would not have even thought about such things until i grew up about a year ago — okay, okay, i haven’t really grown up really — how prescient Alfred E. Neumann was in my case.

i have done my thing. Hopefully, i will continue to do my thing. i don’t have a prejudice bone in my body, at least i don’t think i do, although i do have a bias against stupid, illogic, fear, and hatred.

But a couple of months ago, i swore off caring about political positions and not judging those who get so worked up about such things.

i want to enjoy the rest of my life. i don’t think i have done too much wrong, and i have certainly earned what i have…okay, okay i was blessed with, not earned an incredible wife, two wonderful daughters, and a grandson i am so proud of my buttons might burst.

So Alfred, tonight at seventy degrees at five in the afternoon, no clouds, an ocean breeze in the Southwest corner, i’m in, man.

What, me worry?

Well, the site wouldn’t let me upload the photos. “Too large,” it read in its rejection. So my daughter Sarah made me smart enough temporarily to downsize the photos i posted on Facebook yesterday.

A couple of thoughts about the affair.

The Rose. i like everything about it.

We arrived a bit early. The door to the inside was blocked: the pandemic, you know. They had set up extra small tables outside on Thirtieth Street in North Park, a San Diego neighborhood that is being “gentrified” but i hope not too much. So all of the dining was “al fresco.”

i told the young lady at the door we had reservations but were early. She smiled and pointed down the side of the building to an empty table next to their window. She escorted us to the table and we sat, admiring the fact they had taped the menu to the window, not noticing anything else on the window.

As the two young women in the table nearby got up to leave, they walked by and asked if were the two celebrating our anniversary. When i nodded yes, they both happily said, “Happy Anniversary.” We marveled at how they knew, and they pointed to the window. We looked up and for the first time, we realized the sign on the window was just for us.

We ordered the shishito  peppers and cherry tomatoes to start with a tempranillo-based rosé for Maureen, and i even liked it, a rarity for a rosé. i began with a sauvignon blanc. At our waiter’s recommendation, we next add the chicken wings. Now, unless it’s my mother’s fried chicken or one of Maureen’s inventions where she disguises it, i’m not a big fan of chicken. The Rose’s wings were delicious. We also had The Rose Salad, one of Maureen’s favorite salads for a reason, and i added the half dozen kumiai oysters. Alan Hicks introduced me to these wonderful treats. i changed to a red wine, an Austrian wine if i remember correctly but cannot pronounce or spell, and it was great to the point i wish i had ordered a bottle to go. We finished with a  caramelized rice pudding ball, yet something else i can’t spell or pronounce, and it was just right for ending our night out.

The Rose is a special place.

Thanks, Rae and company.

i may have misled some, if not all of you, who are Facebook friends. My post a couple of days ago of the two of us at the Wine Vault and Bistro was not for this anniversary. It was from two years ago.

Today is the date of our anniversary, number thirty-seven if you are counting. We played golf at Maureen’s request and will be going to our other go-to dining for special occasions, The Rose, a wine bar with wonderful pupus, which we consider meals, exceptionally wonderful meals.

i won’t go into a great deal of information about the details of what led to this date, thirty-seven years ago. i was going to repost the story of how we met, but i’ve worn that a bit thin.

i’m not going to tell you about the first time i opened the door for her to sit in my Rx7, my proudest possession, and how she laughed at the Scottish plaid inserts in the seats.

i’m not going to tell you our first real date was going to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up Tavern, and our second date two nights later was going to see Doc Watson at the same wonderful venue.

i’m not going to tell you how our first summer was spent with week and weekend nights being almost totally dedicated to fine dining in many places.

i’m not going to tell you when i took her home after those dinners, i would have on rock or jazz, which she would change to the classical music station and immediately fall asleep for the rest of the ride home.

i’ll just let you have a taste of what it was like at 1385 Taft Street in Lemon Grove, California in her father’s backyard, including catering by the upper crust of San Diego catering Maureen had picked. It was in the 90’s. There was no real breeze as there usually was on that hill. It got a little raucous and fun. i won’t go into that part right now. i may add some of those photos later.

But for now, let’s just concentrate on a beautiful lady, inside and out, who, i am convinced is the only lady who could have possibly put up with me for thirty-seven years.

i am a lucky man.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

You might say i’ve known her for a while.

She remains more like a sister than a cousin.

i could write volumes but i will just say, i was the first guest where she prepared dinner in her new Florida home back in 1961.

She’s special.

There were many pictures of us with her brother Jon in 1944-45 when their father was on a minesweeper out of Charleston, South Carolina, and mine was in the Southwest Pacific islands. This one was in the summer of ’45 i think.

Happy Birthday, Nancy. You are one special person. Tell Bill, i said to give you a big hug and a special day.