he texted her 

           Idiot. Me. Happy anniversary, love, my buckwheat, my Only. #106, two shy of 9 years(it was his favorite number so he never wrote 9 out).  So happy we’re together.

as he sent it he immediately heard in his ears his daughters and son-in-law chide him Wasnt counting the months to a relationship supposed to have gone away in your teens

Maybe they went out with yours he replied but I think youve forgotten Im a numbers guya boring matter-of-fact numbers guy  

If Im not mistaken I texted you when Dig went 337337 miles

he couldnt tell them how was anxious he was for Digger to go 337733 miles  the numbers turning over under his eyes on the obsolete cammed odometer – to-day its digital shit – he didnt ownwouldnt own a digital clock or watch and dug resetting the hands of his clocks Spring(forward) Fall(back) at two in the morning

they had been106 delightful loving months

she was a creative like him and was altering her watercolourist background becoming a computer-graphics artist 

her relishing art was only second to his  they were ardent devotees 

prior to her no one in his life wanted to discuss art attend exhibits let alone could knowledgably run the gamut with him of Romanticism to Realism to Impressionism to Modernism  and the scores of mingled schools movements and collectives

she had been unexpected

they were unexpected

she was thirty years younger than he

1521,  Thursday, #106,  15  6. 17

The Turtles  Happy Together  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRCe5L1imxg