Calendars never lie. If it says that in 2007 Aug. 7 will fall on a Tuesday, you can pretty much believe that it really will. Because like so many other truisms such as "There's no crying in baseball" and "Trix are for kids," calendars never lie.

Or do they? My wife seems to think that mine does.

Oh, she doesn't dispute the fact that Aug. 7 will indeed be a Tuesday . . . or that Feb. 14 is Valentine's Day or that Christmas falls on Dec. 25 this year. But she does take exception with the list printed on the back of the calendar - that chart that lists anniversaries and suggests the appropriate gifts to be given at different milestones.

Take 2005, for example. We were celebrating our first anniversary on Aug. 7, and I checked the list on the back of my calendar to find that paper is indeed the theme for that marriage milestone. She was quick to point out that it must have been a misprint. "The appropriate first anniversary gift," she said, "is a diamond."

Hmmm. I always thought that the diamond anniversary was the 60th, or at least the 10th on the modern list . . . some anniversary well down the marriage path. She corrected me by saying matter-of-factly, "Nope, it's the diamond anniversary."

Well, that was in 2005. So last year, I decided to check again. But before I could, she said, "Oh, don't bother. The second anniversary is also the diamond." No doubt about it: We're definitely looking at different calendars.

It's funny, though.

Randee and I were married for 32 years before she passed away, and I don't remember celebrating one diamond anniversary. Now Natalie and I are coming up on our third anniversary, and this will be the third time that diamonds are part of the celebration.

I remember that back in November 1971 - when Randee and I celebrated our first anniversary - it was a different story. I was true to that calendar in my first marriage. I bought Randee a nice card, and I don't really remember but I'm sure it had a beautiful sentiment inside. It was a good thing too, because a beautiful sentiment was about all I could afford at the time.

I don't really remember the second anniversary, but I'm sure I remained consistent with the calendar's traditional gift chart. Cotton meant I could use our S&H Green Stamps to go with something romantic like a new set of kitchen dish towels.

But a diamond? I don't think that was ever in the cards for Randee.

According to my calendar, paper is followed by cotton, leather, linen, wood, iron (uh, the metal, of course; even I wouldn't be stupid enough to go with the steam iron), wool . . . the list goes on year after year before any sort of jewel - let alone a diamond - starts to twinkle.

Natalie, though, seems to have a different list. It starts with diamond on the first anniversary, diamond on the second anniversary, diamond on the third . . . and so on, ad nauseam. Sure it's the same thing every year, but the thing is, for her it never gets old.

"Oh, it could be something different," she conceded. "A diamond necklace one year, diamond earrings the next, a diamond bracelet . . . "

"Uh," I interrupted, "I think I get the message."

So this year, I decided to try something different and, in my opinion, very clever - tickets to a Giants game.

I suggested the idea to her friend Virginia, who didn't really get it at first.

"Yeah, a baseball game," I repeated. "Remember where baseball games are played? On a diamond! Pretty clever, huh?"

"Oh yeah, real clever," she agreed, quickly adding, "but let me make one suggestion. When you take her to that baseball game, there'd better be a diamond pendant in her box of Cracker Jacks, if you know what I mean!"

Paper, cotton, linen . . . life used to be so simple.