The most important things

      Admittedly, on the face of it, my husband and I are virtually polar opposites (or so he would have you believe), as he recently noted on the occasion of our 55th wedding anniversary.

      But on some things, we’re so alike our children would readily attest to how predictably tedious we can be.

      When one of us is alone with either of them, we often ask the exact same questions and respond the same way—almost verbatim. When we’re together, we often respond in unison, in near-perfect pitch. We finish each other’s sentences. How obnoxious, eh?

      True, I can’t abide seeing a movie several times in a row the way he does, but I’ve seen most of those same beloved movies many, many times—just not in succession. (And when he suggests naming our fiber-optic cable Gort, I agree and respond knowingly “Klaatu barada nikto.” All you ‘50s movies mavens will get the reference, of course).

      Our hands-down all-time favorite movie is “Casablanca,” which we’ve both seen dozens of times. If either of us walks into a room while it’s on the screen and happens on the scene where Rick nods approval for the band to play the Marseillaise—and the French drown out the Nazis’ singing of the German national anthem—our Pavlovian response is instant tears.

      We both laugh hysterically at our favorite scene in the old TV sitcom “Taxi,” despite having seen it so many times that we know it by heart; or most episodes of the classic British comedy “Fawlty Towers.” (Neither of us can say the word ratatouille without the other adding, with great feeling, “He put Basil in the ratatouille?!”

      We laugh a lot.

      We frequently make the same jokes, often with dark humor.

      In fact, dark humor has helped us weather many a rough period in our lives together: from our years as young marrieds in New York City in the ‘70s, to becoming new parents in Paris, to enduring assorted trials and tribulations amid the joys in southern France, to returning—with difficulty—to our home country (but not our hometown).

      Astonishingly, we die-hard New Yorkers have now spent more than half of our lives in the American South.

      Like most of our friends, we love to travel. But we have always shared a strong attraction to international travel. I’m not sure there are any places in the world we wouldn’t want to go to if we had unlimited time and money, which of course we don’t, so travel decisions can be wrenching for us.

      We’ve been fortunate to visit many regions and have a long list of favorite trips: Haiti, Turkey, Thailand, Prague, Berlin.

      But for experiences, we each love France and Greece in the same different ways—that is, France with the special affection reserved for an old, dear friend whose charms and flaws you know intimately (after living there for nine years), and Greece in the way you love a special new friend whose company you crave and can’t even think about any flaws.

      We also share the same preferred way to travel. We’re not backpackers or adventure-seekers, but we typically shun group tours if we can handle the language and culture and opt for going off the beaten path.

      When we’re in a city, that mostly consists of walking, often aimlessly, for hours, just enjoying exploring a new place or a new neighborhood in an old favorite. Our happiest memories often entail happening on a street market or discovering a unique spot and finding ourselves in interesting conversation with a local.

      Sure, we’ll hit the must-see sights, too—the museums and cathedrals and historic buildings—but those things are often fit in around soaking up the culture.

      Some people would find it boring. Us, never.

      When we’re in a rural area, we find the prospect of car rentals too stressful and would rather take long-distance buses or trains. Once we get to a village, we’ll happily wander up and down every lane and alley, often finding extraordinary vistas. We’re both suckers for water and mountains and sunsets.

      Perhaps most important, we both care deeply about our friends and family and often instinctively come up with the same ideas for subtly helping or pleasing them. We’ve known most of our good friends for decades—several for most of our lives.

      We both talk incessantly (except in a group, for me). Our whole family can talk about a favorite subject ad nauseam: a trip, a meal, a funny incident. Chances are many of our old friends have heard most of our stories multiple times. They’re kind enough not to show it.

      If we were each married to anyone else, we would have driven our partner crazy long ago.