Vow

Dear John,

Holy smoke! We are getting married. I can’t believe it. This is just crazy.

Let me begin by saying that I always kind of liked you. It was a very innocent kind of “like.” I remember one Beefstock – I think it was the flooded one -- Jill and I commented to each other how nice it would be to find a guy like John Sharples. Perhaps it was because of all of your fancy guitar moves, or your jumping all over the stage and banging on the keyboard singing “Lawyers, Guns, and Money.” You took a real bite out of that song, and I giggle with delight now, just remembering it. I think it was simply because you were a cool and intelligent person to talk to. Sorry I can’t be more specific, honey. Sometimes it’s very difficult to remember conversations from Beefstock!

Well, needless to say, the more I got to know you, the more I liked you. That night we went to Galapagos together, we were gossiping about Paul McCartney and his new record. And here we are, still geeking out over McCartney. As evidenced in your many friendships, this discussion could go on for decades. I think this is a good omen for us.

And even though that shared Beatle passion might sound trivial, we soon found out that we not only liked the same stuff, we liked to do the same stuff, pretty much all the time. And whatever was happening at any given moment, we pretty much saw it the same way. Hang out at Freddy’s till 2? Cool. Drive miles for the perfect shish kebab? Awesome. Dirty Rotten Scoundrels? Hilarious. Jazz standards? Yum. Take me on a date where I have absolutely no idea where we’re going? Yippee!

And of course, as we shared so much time together doing all of this barflying and jazz listening and shish-kebabing, it became ridiculously clear that our deeper ideals were totally in sync. I have a lot of respect for you, John.

I am not only impressed by the depth of your music geekery – even though that level of knowledge is, indeed, awe-inspiring. I am not only impressed by your musical aptitude, in which you can play pretty much any instrument you pick up with a very uncanny intuition for how a part “should go,” even with very little direction – or vague direction – such as “like Badfinger on acid!”

I’m most impressed that in life, you have a history of going for it. You believe in what you do, and push it to the hilt, and if it no longer works, you don’t get stuck for long – you adapt and evolve.

You took your musical gift and you really went for it, living a musician’s life for so many years. I’m impressed that when it was time to move on, you earned your Columbia degree while also working full-time. And when that era came to an end, you challenged yourself yet again by going to law school in your 30s. And now I get such a kick out of seeing you lay down roots and thrive as a lawyer.

I respect you because you work hard to see the best in people. And you help me see the best in myself. You give me unequivocal boosts of confidence when my fervor lags; measured insight into recurring conundrums; and always, the best remedy ever: food and wine. Lots and lots of food and wine. Seriously, is it any wonder that I wag my tail when I see you? You feed me bacon!

And perhaps more important than the deep, complex, multilayered levels of respect I have for you. . . you make me laugh my butt off. Coffee shooting out of my nose at Zafi’s when you do your Ringo Starr impression. Fresca spraying out of my mouth when we play and rewind and play one scene of “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” a half dozen times and mimic our favorite parts. Falling out of our chairs laughing, just talking about something that happened that day.

And whether it’s one of our good days or our cranky days, you have never, ever bored me. I don’t think you ever will.

Without a doubt, each of us has been through so much in life. This is a polite way of saying that each of us has kind of been around the block. So be it. I would do it all over again, if it led me again to you.

I’m so happy we have the chance today to gather all of our loved ones in the same room, and have a big party, and get married.

I love you!

Erica