The clock radio by our bed has survived 25 years of marriage, and our marriage has survived 25 years of that radio. I donít know which is the greater miracle.

Cindy has always had control of the radio. Thatís part of the deal. Note that I didnít say thatís part of the problem; 25 years of marriage has taught me a few things.

She sets the alarm, which these days comes on at 5:23 a.m. When we want to turn on the radio, thatís Cindyís job, and when itís time to shut off the radio, she does that too.

You see, that little Panasonic radio with the ìsimulated wood cabinetî is not as simple as it looks. From left to right are nine buttons: doze, sleep, time set (fast and slow), alarm set, selector (which itself has three options, off, radio, and buzzer), manual off-on, volume, and band.

So this morning, Sunday, May 8, when I reached over Cindy to turn off the radio, the conversation went something like this:

ìDonít touch that radio!î

ìWhat?î

ìEvery time you touch that radio you screw something up?î

ìWhat do you mean? Itís just a radio.î

ìYou always mess it up, and you know it.î

ìI was just going to shut it off.î

ìYou donít know how to shut it off.î

I paused just long enough that it proved her point. ìWell, you just, I mean, thereís this switch.î

But she had me in her sights. I was history. The truth was my hand was going to travel from left to right, from doze all the way to band, and by the time I was done groping, weíd be listening to Vance Mitchellís favorite radio station, good old 1490 AM, at about 110 decibels.

So I let Cindy reach over, and with one simple digit, faster than the eye could see, she had that radio off. Wow.

That was that, until the subject came up a couple hours later in the car. I was fiddling with the fan and heat controls, using the same dexterity that I use on the radio. Cindy reached over and flipped a knob to the right setting, and somehow the conversation was back to that darned radio. The ensuing conversation went something like this:

ìI canít believe you donít know how to shut off the radio.î

Silence.

ìI bought that radio in college.î

Silence.

ìWeíve had that radio our entire marriage.î Pause. ì25 years.î Cindy is proud of those 25 years, and I am too.

I knew I had to say something. ìOK, how DO you shut off the radio?î I guess Iíve been waiting to ask that question for about 25 years.

ìYou push the doze button.î

Oh. That made sense. ìThen how do you turn it on?î

ìYou push the sleep button.î

Now I remembered why I had never learned how to operate the radio. It didnít make sense to my logical, Mars-type thinking.

Cindy went on to explain the reason why the radio works that way, and I remembered it as we passed Hurleys, and kind of had it in my mind by the time we hit Grabhorns. But at the top of the ridge, when the wind hit the car, I had blessedly forgotten everything Cindy said. Thatís not always a bad thing, as 25 years of marriage can prove in many intricate ways.

My goal is to have this conversation with Cindy again in 2030, just in time for our Golden Anniversary.

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