Check on Your Friends Who Are Married to History Buffs

That man wearing a tricorn hat, playing the fife? No, I don't know him.

Oh say, can you see SF’s fireworks? Most people couldn’t!

Many of you probably know that this past Independence Day marked the 250th anniversary of the United States. But how many of you knew this a whole year ago, on July 4th, 2025? That's when my husband Cory first started talking about plans for "THE semiquincentennial" around the dinner table. Those plans included ordering an authentic Continental Army uniform (the Continental Army was the American army in the Revolutionary War, obviously) and traveling to Washington DC for the celebration.

Cory: "Actually, the Continental Army was just one of the colonial military forces. Lots of local militias in the mix too."

Neither of these plans materialized, thank God. But this is the sort of stress you live under when you're married to an American history buff.

Being obsessed with American history doesn't necessitate any particular political affiliation. At least in Cory's case, his passion transcends tribe or creed and prevents him hitching his wagon to either elephant or donkey. He's also not patriotic in the popular, flashy sense of the word. He doesn't engage in hot dog eating contests, wear clothing styled after the American flag, or go to monster truck rallies. Instead, he cultivates a great deal of awe for George Washington and is capable of being moved to tears by “The Star Spangled Banner.” Not because he holds sentimental notions that America is the greatest country in the world. (Cory: "It might be. It depends on what you're measuring.") He is simply deeply infatuated with the American Experiment and what made it work--how a democracy emerged from the world's largest empire.

Cory: "Don't write 'democracy!' Most of the Founding Fathers were pretty opposed to democracy as we understand it today. 'Mob rule.'"

Cory also isn't insufferable by any means. In fact, I'm one of the few people that know the extent of his American history addiction. He hides it from others for fear of looking a know-it-all. And perhaps for good reason, as he does know a lot. He's read nineteen books on the Revolutionary War era alone.

Cory: "That doesn't seem like that much. People are going to think I'm an incompetent idiot!"
Cory: "Also, what are your criteria for these books? Andrew Jackson was a kid during the Revolution, but he was very much shaped by it. I've read three on him alone!"

The factual knowledge, to him, is incidental. What he's really after is a deeper understanding of what America was meant to be, how it has grown and changed, and how this applies to living in America today. Though I should warn you, asking Cory what America was meant to be will get you an earful, whether he knows you or not!

Despite the lack of Revolutionary War uniform, this year's Fourth of July descended on our house with much ado. It began with Cory re-reading The Declaration of Independence, which he has in a printed book that also includes the US Constitution, given to him by his fifth-grade Social Studies teacher. He knew I wouldn't stand for an oration, so he read it quietly to himself. But by lunchtime, he could no longer contain his reactions to America's founding document—a document he has read countless times before and committed large portions of to memory.

With neither invitation nor transition from a related topic, he began:
"Are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness truly unalienable rights? What makes them so?"
"Is it really the right of the people to abolish an unjust government?"
"King George wasn't all that tyrannical. He was quite progressive for his time, you know."
"Was this rebellion from Britain truly just? Would I have joined it? I may have been a loyalist!"
"This reminds me of that book I want to read, written by a soldier in the Continental Army..."

I used to have little tolerance for these history tirades that possess Cory from time to time. If I'm being honest, sometimes I still can't stand them. I don't care about American history. And on a deeper level, sometimes I don't care about much at all. Especially when I was sick, I lost much of my ability to care about "superfluous" things. How could I when survival seemed to take all the energy I had? I found life to be a drag and nothing to be all that interesting. But now, after I've recovered, Cory's extreme interest in various topics—he also loves marine mammals, theology, and jazz—reveals something in me that I don't want to see: Though I've healed physically, much of the blah-ness of illness remains. It's as if my husband sees the world in full color, while I see it in shades of gray.

I envy him this. I love him for it, too. And lately, I've been trying to use it as a reminder to pursue awe and wonder.

So while I don't always have the patience I should, this past Fourth of July, I decided to listen to everything that Cory had to say with real patience (though still not the level of enthusiasm he wanted, I'm sure). After all, there were worse ways for him to express his enthusiasm. He could have marched around our rather unpatriotic San Francisco neighborhood playing “Stars and Stripes Forever” on a fife, for example, or staged a re-enactment of the Battle of Brooklyn on San Francisco's Bernal Hill.

Cory:"Maybe McClaren Park instead of Bernal. Either way, you could't really do the boat evacuation bit without shifting to Baker Beach."
Cory: "Can I give a disclaimer? Most of my knowledge of Revolutionary War battles are the ones George Washington fought. I know very little about the Southern theater. But don't worry, that's next on my reading list!"

After lunch, we stopped by a bookstore so Cory could look for a biography of Rutherford B. Hayes. Hayes was the 19th president of the United States, in case the name didn't immediately ring a bell. It only rings a bell for me because Cory has been looking for this biography for over a year, in preparation for the next phase of his effort to read a biography of every president in order. Yes, Cory knows about Amazon. Buying from real bookstores when possible is part of the deal. I don't know why.

Cory: "Please tell your readers to be on the lookout for Rutherford B. Hayes by Ari Hoogenboom. Leatherbound copy preferred."

Remember what I said earlier about Cory having many interests? After the bookstore, we went out on a walk and the conversation shifted to a newer, different one. It's also the first interest in which Cory and I equally share, and one that's teaching me how to see the world in full color.

Me: "I'm thinking an aquatic theme. Whales, fish, etc."
Cory: "No nursery is complete without a framed print of Washington Crossing the Delaware. It's aquatic!" 🧠

Washington Crossing the Delaware

We all have a billion things competing for our attention these days. If this newsletter is adding too much noise to your life, click here (then scroll down) to unsubscribe. No hard feelings, and hope to see you around!