Journal, September 6, 1977 PM

<Yesterday Sofia and I celebrated 6 months of marriage. It in no way seems like it’s been that long.> I skipped out of work at twenty to four to take a bus downtown & buy roses. At 5 PM I was received at our apartment door by a vision in yellow. <Sofia had a candlelight dinner on the table, and was waiting for me all pretty & perfumed.>

I felt like a bum with 6 kilos of rice in a bag under one arm, my shoulder bag of odds & ends over the same shoulder and flowers in the other hand. I had on a grungy blue T-shirt with stretched out neck & a pair of well-worn blue jeans. Still she treated me like royalty, so I couldn’t complain.

The meal was excellent and we had both wine (domestic) and beer (a bottle for the two of us) to go with it. <Sofia’s “inventions” nearly always turn out delicious (and always are at least edible), but her roast beef in beer sauce was especially fine, with rice, garbanzo beans & tuna.>

We made several toasts to ourselves & our future together.

<Sofia’s mother is starting to lobby against our going to the States, not to me but to Sofia.> She has gone as far as to say she looks on it as a punishment from God for sins she’s committed, having her daughter taken far away from her. <She tells Sofia she should try not to get pregnant because it could be hard on her if she goes to the States pregnant. She adds that if Sofia should become pregnant she should do everything possible to convince me that it’s better to remain here. I think she’d almost rather see Sofia pregnant & near her.>

So far we’ve been lucky as Irishmen with the prophylactics. <Sofia has an appointment with a gynecologist September 26, and we’ll try to get pills prescribed again.> Even if she does, she won’t be able to start taking them ‘til late October. So it goes.

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