On my third try—after a long lay-off—I got marriage right. Charlie and I have been together for fifteen years, and I don’t hesitate to say we are happy.

The two of us own land in the middle of a logging forest in Amherst County, and this year our tax assessment jumped an alarming 250%. Charlie got up at five this morning to drive down, meet with the county tax assessor and politely ask why. Then he’s going to chainsaw some downed trees into firewood. He plans to be home about dark.

Here’s the deal: with happiness comes the possibility of the loss of happiness. I’ve felt fear of such a loss hovering in the back of my psyche ever since Mr. Charles drove off this morning, giving me thumbs-up out his truck’s driver-side window. So, it’s going to take some work, but to honor my faith in both HP and my sober state, I will spend this day trusting that Charlie will be just fine.

Fear, I’ve long thought, is the devil’s voice. There are lots of really healthy things that cannot live in the same heart with it, and one of those is sobriety! So, Mr. Fear, Kapow!!@##!!! Take that!! I will live today in a state of trust.

And I’ll make sure the candles in the window are lit before the sun goes down.