Is it a year?

In early February 1974, I was having dinner with Iris and suddenly she looked at me and gave me a sort of dreamy smile. I asked what she was thinking and she said she was remembering all the things we had done together last year. We talked about our stumbling steps to build up a relationship and how it had changed from a chance encounter to a committed partnership. We had both changed over the last twelve months. We had become part of each other and we were as near to being man and wife as we possibly could be.
We had done quite a lot last year as events in my blog has shown. Iris had been to places she never thought she would see and I had taken a great delight in taking her there. We had been to Cornwall, East Anglia and Scotland for holidays and I had taken her all over Derbyshire for several weekends. I had introduced her to friends both personal and those from work. She had a wardrobe full of dresses and clothes she would have never dreamed of wearing at one time. I remember her reaching out her hand across the table to take mine. She said, “It will soon be St. Valentine’s Day; do you remember?”
I asked her “How could I possibly forget?” That was the time we had first made love; it was in front of the open fire. I told her that we would make St. Valentine’s Day our official anniversary, which we did every year from then on. Even now, 26 years after her death, I still remember it.