Anniversary

Several significant events in my life took place in the evening in U.S. Central Time, including my birth and my wedding, which means I celebrate them on a different calendar date in Italy, thanks to a seven-hour time difference. (By celebrate, I mean maybe have a pastry. The holidays I make a big deal over are things like “Death of Rasputin Day,” where I gnaw a piece of toast into a man shape and throw it into a river.)

It’s an interesting reminder that when we’re talking about time, we’re talking about space. An anniversary is a visit to an orbital landmark, so to speak. I worried for a second that I was miscalculating this, because Pescara is about 5,647 miles from Dallas and I didn’t take that into account (partly because that’s surface travel and not a straight line cutting through the globe). But since the Earth travels about 1.598 million miles per day, that’s not even a rounding error.

So: Here I am today, as close as I can be to the place I was when I got married, and simultaneously on a different continent.

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