You are my witnesses

Years ago, when I was still active in Rev. War re-enactment we were camping at Colonial Williamsburg (CW). A couple of times a year CW invites re-enactors to camp out on the big, manicured to-within-an-inch-of-its-very-life lawns and a couple hundred of us would answer that call. We'd pitch tents and live (within a few standard diviations) like Rev War soldiers and campfollowers (watch this space for a long, edifying post about *that*).

Anyway, part of living - more or less - like Rev War soldiers involves sleeping not on air mattresses and modern sleeping bags but on wool blankets with hay underneath. I still insist that the reasons that people who sleep on the ground get up at the crack of dawn is because the cold, hard, lumpy ground makes sleeping a pretty hit or miss affair. I, personally, am grateful for the opportunity to give up the farce of restful sleep and just get on about my day. Wearing stays is easier than trying to sleep with a semi-buried rock under your hip.

Well, because the re-enactment gods sometimes smiled on the First Maryland Regiment (1MR), one of our members, Marty, would usually be the first one up and he would make coffee. He'd boil coffee grounds and chicory and (iirc) a bit of eggshell, which shouldn't have been heavenly, but was. And it was definitely first come, first served. So there I was one fine morning, wandering around with a steaming mug of Marty's coffee. I ambled over to John to say good morning - mostly because I am exceedingly fond of John but also because he wakes up more slowly than I do, so chirping at him in the early AM really entertains me.

He saw the coffee cup. His little ears perked and his eyes opened wide. Even his beard stubble quivered in anticipation. "Is that Marty's coffee? Did you bring me a cup of Marty's coffee? Because if you did, then I'll love you forever."

"Forever? Really?" I started to hand over the coffee. I would have been willing to share anyway, but the promise of eternal love, I mean, who can resist that?

"Well, not forever. For a little while. At least until I finish the coffee."

No coffee for John! I pulled my hand back and moved out of his grabbing range.

"Forever!" he cried "I'll love you forever! I swear to G-d!"

Mollified, I gave him the coffee. And, generally, he has loved me forever ever since.

Of course, this was an informal little agreement between the two of us, so it might have been hard to hold him to it had he been unwilling. But last week, I got an e-mail that included the following:

> Leta,
>
> Oh wise woman, who I promised to love forever (trying to work in under
> duress, but it never fits) I have a question only you can answer.
>
(Question snipped because it's irrelevant to this story)
>
> Help! I promise to love you forever (with a small amount of duress...still doesn't fit)
>
> John

The question, in fact, is the sort of thing that an information pack rat like me can answer pretty quickly, so I found what he needed and e-mailed back:

> Now I have it in print. And for that ye shall be rewarded.
(Answer snipped, ditto.)
> I'll love you forever, too.

And he wrote:

>Thanks sweetie!
>This message will self destruct in 5 seconds.

But it didn't self-destruct. I still have it. And now I've posted it to entire internet (or such portions of the entire internet can tolerate my logorrheic excesses), so now every one who reads this is my witness that John has promised to love me forever. Such a sense of security I now have about this, you wouldn't believe.

And another friend recently promised to be grateful - very grateful - for some triffling favor I did for him. In writing. And I still have that e-mail as well.