Angelica Elixir Revisited

     I'd nearly forgotten about this one. I was running through the archives of my wife's sorely neglected blog yesterday, when I came across this gem. It's a rant, to be sure, but it's also a testimonial of sorts. 

     As I recall, she really was skeptical -- almost obnoxiously so -- when I mentioned my interest in alternative medicine to her. Like most Americans of my acquaintance, she thought "that woo-woo oriental stuff" was equal parts bullshit and superstition. (I found the attitude more amusing than I did galling -- and make no mistake, it was galling -- because I'd put the "woo-woo oriental stuff" to very good use trying to make a good impression on her when we -- uhm -- developed "short-term religious memory-loss" during our first few weeks together.) The skepticism (which I suspect, given what I now know of her personality, was tainted by more than a grain of outright contrarianism) vanished when I relieved a headache by manipulating a few pressure points, and having her drink a decoction I made on the spot. 

    After that, she came to me whenever anything ailed her. She's a bright one, Mags: take care of the "small stuff" before it becomes "big stuff." And if my limited skill and knowledge don't pass muster, she has the option of calling on our friend, Bruce -- the most skilled and talented healer I've ever had the privelege of knowing. 

     Now I've mentioned that she's bright, but sometimes, she's not that bright. I mention this because our sixth wedding anniversary passed the both of us by, with neither of us alert enough to note its approach and departure.
     In part, the oversight owed itself to our situation at work. When Darden Restaurants took full advantage of the plum Obamacare dropped on corporate America's plate by sodomizing its employees, we had to procure insurance one way or another. Although I'm at least semi-competent at treating minor and mid-level ailments, I'm not a surgeon. 'Nuff said. When she and Darden parted ways, I played upon a good reputation and cordial relations with staff and management alike to the end of getting her a job. In short, I did for her what my "big sister," Jodie, did for me twice -- once in '89, and once in '04. In the process, I courted the same risks. 
     Yeah, I suppose that is a slight exaggeration. Back in the day, Jodie was really gambling when she hired me. As it happened, though, she saw something in me that I didn't see in myself. Fifteen years later, I was equally desperate -- but older, more responsible, and infintely more confident in my ability to prove my worth, were I given a chance to do so. Knowing Mags as I do, I wasn't braving a tenth-part of the risks Jodie assumed when she staked her good name upon her endorsement of Yours Truly. 
     Seven months later, Mags is #1 in both zone and district -- but at a cost. 
    For my part, I'm just me. Having spent the last ten years working for my boss, I've become very fond of the man (he's Irish), and am therefore more than willing to work extra hours or clock in on my day off when the department finds itself on the wrong end of the slings and arrows of outrageous understaffing and incompetence. 
    Unfortunately, we take our responsibilities very seriously (Don't we Virgoes just piss you off something fierce?) -- hence our failure to note our own anniversary.

     I mention this because it serves to demonstrate -- quite conclusively -- that neither of us is as bright as we'd have others believe we are. And I'll apply said character-flaw to our initial (and very turbulent) courtship. I began dating Mags in March of '07. In April of the same year, my father finally lost his five-year battle with cancer. As one of his primary caregivers, I was the one who checked his pulse and respiration, etc., and pronounced the final verdict upon him when Ma -- at zero-dark-thirty -- asked me to have a look at him. More superstition, I suppose, but the fingertips and the mirror were rituals, formalities. More "woo-woo oriental stuff," as I suppose, but living human beings may have imbalanced qi, overactive qi, deficient qi, etc. A dead man has no qi. I could have entered the room blindfolded and ear-plugged, and drawn the obvious conclusion. 
    At 07:00, I sent Maggie an IM, to which she immediately responded: "I'm on my way." Five hours later, she arrived. She stayed with us for a week, during the course of which she rendered invaluable service by way of attending to the the loose-ends that render dying in the "Land of the Free" nearly as complex and annoying as trying to live therein.
    On the first of May, I asked her to marry me.
    She consented, and the rest is six years of history -- the most enduring romantic relationship I've ever managed.
    In July of '07, we attended our first Animal List BBQ together. I'll spare you the gruesome details, but I was three sheets to the wind when the plane kissed terra firma in Denver (AirTran pulled the "Oh, we're overbooked!" bit on me, but informed me that for an additional eighty dollars, I could upgrade to first-class. I grudgingly consented, but evened the score by taking the piss out of them in food and booze. "Hey, y'all said that drinks were free in first-class, right? I thought so. Now get me another fuckin' shot of Ardbeg -- and do it quietly. I hate being interrupted while I"m reading..."), and thirty or forty sheets to the wind by the time we crashed on MacYoung's futon.
      Mags and I had also had an especially horrid fight the day before the event, which served only to complicate matters -- in the sense that hatchet-blow to the skull tends to complicate the cognitive process.
     When last we'd spoken, she was so infuriated with me, she took the enlarged printout of the photo I'd sent her, taped it to her heavy bag, and beat the shit out of it. She then fed the crumpled remains to Conor, who tore it to shreds. Unfortunately, she'd mistaken ardor for competence.
    When we paid our respects on Lewis St., she challenged me to a fight -- never considering the possibility of a causal connection between my ability to relieve pain and my ability to inflict it.
   I declined her challenge -- but offered her a "make-up date" when we left the Wild West.
   She was impulsive/foolish enough to take me up on it, and the two-second match is also history -- all the more so because I was cold-sober when I granted her request.

   More about this later. I have catfish nuggets to fry.