pomp and circumstan(tial) evidence

so i hear something went down on friday...

in our world, it was my 5th post-transplant clinic.

i have nothing against pop culture. but, for some reason "the marriage of wills and kate" titillated me about as much as scrubbing a toilet.

without cynicism, i concede why. after the horrors of japan, the uprisings in the middle east, the natural devastation in the american southeast; not to mention the fact that our president is a FOREIGNER (give it up, trump); we're all in the mood for a little glamor.

[actually, if trump and palin take 2012, we'll be fleeing back to canada faster than canadian geese snowbird in the other direction...]

but glamor manifests in the most curious of ways.

in a 3 minute sound bite, i saw the dress (divine!), i saw the kisses (2!) and i saw the petulant flower girl clamping her ears shut (adorable!). flapping flags, homemade hats and boisterous brits blowing best wishes from every corner of their nation.

[makes for a pretty picture, non?]

but pictures are frozen moments, already past. and to me, the newlyweds are strangers. and england is thousands of miles away from the hallways of cedars-sinai.

while a frenzied press deciphered their silent exchanges, we analyzed conversations of a different kind.

"your creatinine is beautiful. it's 1. (normal range 0.5-1.4). increase your gengraf to 100 mg twice daily and lower your prednisone to 10 mg daily. and your urine infection is gone".

[cut to: screaming crowd gone wild...or that might have been just me.]

in 1981, lady diana married prince charles. curled enraptured upon my danish grandparents' couch, i surveyed the technicolor, eye candy as fodder for gab and gossip, but never once did i crave it for myself. for this 12 year-old, it resonated as deeply as a biography on ronald reagan.

[and we all know how di's marriage ended.]

by then, my father was gone, and my crystal ball revealed fairy tales are meant to be delighted in; not imitated.

there is only one marriage i have ever truly admired. and on july 6, my danish grandparents will have been married for 70 years. bedstemor and bedstefar. but 70 is a number, static. their love has always been active. homemaker and fireman/carpenter by trade, they are a unit of unassigned roles and undefined boundaries. one picks up where the other leaves off. they walk the walk. they are a team.

they are my heroes. heroes are defined by action. by effort. by work.

[and not by the delicate beadwork on a designer gown...]

so now i add a third hero.

for despite kevin's utter reluctance to embrace this label, i am pigeonholing you, my sweetheart.

my prince exists. he's wears jeans and caps, not luminously, polished uniforms. chugs diet coke from a bottle, sips not from cristal-filled flutes. and lavishes me with the warmth of affection, attention and admiration; not the hollow companionship of icy jewels.

[although we have hit up tiffany's a few times...]

but his true crown jewel lay literally and figuratively within himself. and he gave without condition. with an object no bigger than a fist, i can see the world again. without private jets or royal yachts or stretch limousines.

[a gift you can all give. free. and priceless.]

ours is a continued recovery, fraught with pain, strained patience, yet peppered with laughter. we escape, not cruising the avenues of ol' london town in glistening, plush carriages; but rather, perusing the aisles of trader joe's; pushing our sanitized cart, simply reveling in the ability to be present.

but to be present is work. hard work.

so when the royal couple celebrate their 70th anniversary, i'll be waving the union jack faster than a java junkie sucks back a frozen frappuccino. but until then, my heroes need to prove themselves.

[and the proof will be in the bread pudding.]

but btw, this picture totally rocks...