Those of you who frequent this website know my wife as a writer, a friend, or perhaps as a loyal fan. I can add to the list an outstanding wife and adoring mother. She’d be the first to admit, though, that she is just a BIT on the obsessive side.

Cat shows and a Highlander convention were but a precursor of things to come. Growing up in North Carolina on a steady diet of both classic and southern rock did little to prepare me for life with a Jersey girl who is to this day a dues-paying member of the Barry Manilow Fan Club. She had an eclectic music collection when we met. I still remember David Benoit and Michael Franks playing on her stereo the first time I went to her apartment.

Years passed, her love of smooth jazz grew, and so did the amount of time she spent on her new obsession. I contented myself with doing silly dances to her music and altering a line in a Michael Franks song (yes, honey, I really AM twelve). Next came the Capital Jazz Festival, where she made friends with the same tastes. She stayed in touch with these fine folks, along with others she has never actually met, through smooth jazz message boards (thanks a heap, internet!). She kept me abreast of her new friends’ marriages, favorite dance moves, and even asked me to help write a personal ad for one of her single friends….not that I asked.

Time spent with my wife lessened (along with our bank balance) as her concert “wish list” lengthened. She HAD to see Dave Koz. She HAD to see Brian Culbertson. She HAD to see Rick Braun. Chris Botti. Peter White. Jaared. Once she heard Michael Lington, my widower status was set. Oh well, at least I got to spend a lot of quality time with our young son. A local guitarist started calling me “Daddy Day Care.” THEN, the big bomb dropped…she HAD to go the Bahamas Jazz Festival. A well timed tax refund, along with a healthy amount of guilt brought on by my working 65 hours a week, led me to say yes.

Almost as a defense, I made the arrangements to accompany my wife on some of her nights out. Don’t tell her…but somewhere along the line, I became a fan as well. Not only are her smooth jazz friends terrific people (now please put Librasquirrel back on her leash), but the artists are gracious, accessible to a fault, and grateful to their fans. Although I work fewer hours now, I still send her out with her friends to enjoy her OTHER love. She gets a break, and I get a Big Mac. Works for me….

Earl Schendell