When the February issue of The Sun Magazine arrived in my mailbox I did with it what I do with all new issues of The Sun: put it right on the bed to read that night. I love this magazine that describes itself as Personal. Political. Provocative. Ad-Free. so much that I read it from cover-to-cover, usually in two or three consecutive nights before lights out.
Sy Safransky started the magazine back in 1974 (read the The Sun's
brief history....because it's amazing!). His monthly feature is titled
Sy Safransky's Notebook, a smorgasbord of personal insights that always pleases me. His February Notebook began with some thoughts about the 28th anniversary of the first night that he and his wife Norma spent together. Beautiful. The next vignette was the piece below, and I knew it was perfect for this vintage postcard kept by my Finnish grandmother (note the copyright 1909 in lower left corner). I emailed The Sun asking for permission to publish it in this post and Senior Editor Andrew Snee gave his consent. He asked only that I credit The Sun and link to the website. My pleasure, most definitely!
Now, The Sun website is an easy way to familiarize yourself with this outstanding magazine (I've also given links above to two separate sections of the website)......but I highly recommend becoming a subscriber in order to support this unique ad-free gem of a publication.
This, Sy, makes me sigh.......
WHEN ASKED HOW sexual passion changes with age, Sophocles said, “I feel as if I have escaped from a mad and furious master.” At sixty-four I know what he means, but there are plenty of nights when I miss the old jail keeper and wouldn’t mind being locked up again — maybe in the cell where Norma and I used to make love from dusk to dawn; or where we made love a few times a day, not a few times a week. Still, I try not to take it personally that I’ve lived this long. So I kiss Norma’s neck and brush a lock of hair from her face. I kiss her eyes. My hands have been everywhere, and they go there again. And I praise the fire that burns in winter, and the heat that rises, and the plume of sparks. And I praise the gods of the marriage bed, the cat that still meows, the dog that still barks. ~Sy Safransky