My Ross

He is funny. This is a fairly big part of who he is. He is witty and quick and clever. He delights in making me laugh, and he does it constantly. I am so pleased when I can make him laugh in part because he's so damn good at making me laugh. Sometimes it's just because he does something funny. Sometimes we amuse each other with crude humor. But Ross is so clever with words that he can come up with puns and witticisms on the spur of the moment, and then turn them into poetry, sometimes.

He is sweet. He says sweet, simple things. He says, "Thank you for tea," EVERY time I bring it to him. He is so aware of those small gestures. He lets me know when he misses me.

He is intelligent. We both love science fiction, a genre that in my experience tends to attract a fairly smart crowd, but it is by no means the end-all of our reading experiences. He reads voraciously, a habit that we indulge in together on a daily basis. He understands how things work, and loves to figure out how things work. When we first got together and he discovered that I had a subscription to Scientific American, he said, "You're cool."

He loves music. He can be so descriptive about music that he loves, that I can't help but love it too. He has real passion for it. He can wax rhapsodic. He doesn't play, but understands much of how to play.

He has mechanical sympathy. He understands cars and motorcycles in a way I never will. It's a medium that he knows intimately, and he can dive into a project and know that he'll be able to deal with any issue that comes up. He has confidence without arrogance. He has passion for it. He has such admiration for the history and sweat and thought that have gone into every design.

He's waiting for me to come to bed, so I will end this for now. But I could go on. There's a lot more to say.

My Ross.