on fair rides and romance

 

the way i know i'm getting older is this:

the state fair is coming to town in a few weeks. this pinnacle of autumn that only rolls around during blue jean weather.

and this year, i'm most looking forward to the agricultural exhibits. the state's largest pumpkin. most prized horse. sweetest succotash. moistest chocolate pound cake. that, and the food. the decadence. the frito pie. the lion's club country ham biscuits with tangy mustard. that little stand way in the back with the fried oreos.

i want to peruse the grounds at my leisure. take in the hay bales used as props. the children holding goldfish in a plastic bag.

because as much as i love a good roller coaster, fair rides are a bit much for me. i think it's the speed at which they're created, then torn down. but looking at them from the sidewalk vantage point, children on them always look exhilarated and not a bit concerned about loose bolts, rickety safety straps or sparked fuses. for them, flying through the warm night, above the ground and their mamas, life is good. life is easy and full of options.

and it still is. goodness, i think it is now more than ever.

but as sensibility weaves its way into my excited bones, i'm inclined to stay grounded this year.

that's not to say i don't love a good ferris wheel now and then. nicholas sparks reinvented those bad boys for me. and ever since noah hung off the railing of one to prove his ardor for allie, those giant beasts of the carnival have taken on another meaning. they are romantic.

and at the fair, as in life, romance is worth the risk.

the kids dress up

it's been too long since i've slunk into a high-backed booth. in a narrow restaurant with dim lighting. too long since i've laughed with my eyes or reached across the table to gather your hands in my own. this was the summer of tomato sandwiches. of picnics under the pin oaks and long walks behind the house. it was the summer i lived in cheerleading shorts and you in your blue collar. days of sweat. of damp bangs. of sitting cross-legged in the grass pulling weeds from the shrubs. gathering the stalks into piles for the woods. it was a casual romance intoxicated by the sun.

but this weekend we will go. somewhere with a steak special that requires high heels. a place that warrants the extra dab of perfume behind my earlobe. maybe that place downtown where no one goes except executives. for drinks after work. i'll start getting ready hours early.

like prom. only this time, we can go home together. i can take down my hair and you can take off your jacket. and we'll find ourselves back where we began. slow dancing in the living room at midnight with my mascara on your cheek. and we can fall into bed. that part has changed.

and i'll look at you in the morning, the way your hair parts in that strange way when you sleep. and the comfort of it is what i'll love most of all. the rest is just dress up. but a girl does need a little of that now and again.

via

let's go on an adventure

i reached for his hand across the stick shift.

lets go on an adventure, i said. where to, he asked.

anywhere. i looked out the window at the field beside our house. the blades of grass were swaying in a rustic harmony on the tails of a sunday morning breeze. the window was down and the sun was warm on my closed eyes.

we decided it was too soon, only a month after our last vacation at the coast, with family beach trips coming up and weekend commitments the rest of the month. i let out a sigh of discontent.

then i looked down at the hand i was holding, and followed it up, past the cuffed church shirt and to the face of the man i love. and i smiled. because this, this very moment, was an adventure. driving to church with summer just ahead of us made me feel alive. and later that day, napping on the couch with the window open and birds chirping.

we'll go on another adventure. we're suckers for road trips to kitschy destinations like the world's largest display of pork (nahunta, n.c.). the northeast is next on our list, but it won't happen tomorrow.

no. tomorrow will hold another early morning alarm, my same white coffee cup, and the same daily grind of phones, papers and people. but if i'm lucky, tomorrow will also hold a doorstep greeting, with evening settling into the bones of our house and pablo itching to get out the screen door. i will put down my pocketbook, pull my shades off my head, and collapse into robert. maybe we'll take a walk to mama and daddy's house. or maybe we'll stay in and watch netflix with cheap popcorn. we'll talk about our days over a crock-pot creation and revel in all that is ordinary, natural and satisfyingly simple.

either way, i'm sure, it will be a most spectacular adventure.

a different sort of date night

 post edit: welcome new friends hopping over from For the Love of Blogs! What a sweet honor to be recognized for Fab Friends Friday. Fab is my favorite abbreviated word, and this is truly a testament to the beautiful power of connection that blogs foster and encourage.
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there are some days when i just want to sit in a dark theater. feel the stale popcorn fold beneath my moccasins. wrap my hands around a too-expensive paper cup, sweating with dr. pepper. sit in the middle of the center aisle.


hold hands with robert across the hard plastic cup holders. look over at him when he's not looking over at me. surprise him with my glance. and when it's over, leave. into the cold night air. the snap! back into reality. the cinematic discussions and exchange of favorite quotes serving as conversation fodder all the way home.


and on an unrelated {but perhaps, ultimately, completely related} note,


there are also times when i want to forget. about responsibility. sensibility. the fact that i have to go to work in the morning so i should be in bed, lights out, by ten.


so with that mentality, i called robert around lunchtime yesterday and invited him to a date night. a super late movie. at the cheap, $1 theater. i called between two meetings. after slurping down my vegetable soup from a can and before scarfing down my ghiradelli milk chocolate pumpkin caramel square for dessert.


and we made plans. and i was excited. and the thought of a scandalous late night spent on the town propelled me through the rest of the afternoon. {when robert and i were in college, and the fights were long and hard and the makeups were bittersweet and short, mama told me this: "seeing each other should be the best part of your day. when it's not, something's wrong."}


but then, as i sat in our den, the darkness completely overtaking the fading sunset behind my blinds, i heard robert pull into our driveway. i watched him be pulled into the front door by pablo, yards ahead and tugging on his leash.


and he gathered me in his arms and i breathed him in. the good, strong smell of a blue collar. of hard work. {when i was younger, my favorite book was "someday angeline," about a girl who liked to drink saltwater and whose dad worked at the garbage dump. and she loved the way he smelled after work and associated it with love. in a similar way, robert comes home smelling like pipes and plumbing, and i love it.}


and just like that, as quickly as they were made, our plans were cancelled.


"we don't have to go anywhere, babe. let's just stay in." i heard him whisper.


and yes. we do this every night. we sit on the couch, sometimes nestled in the crook of each other's arms. sometimes miles apart. sometimes munching on popcorn, and sometimes not.


but i declare, tonight, with its episodes of american idol and every-five-seconds nose nudging from pablo, was spectacular.


and it was still a date.


still a special, singular event.


and still the best part of my day, hands down.

my best laid plans slipped right through my hands

this is a post about good intentions thwarted. about how sometimes, no matter how methodical and planned are the events that shape our lives, chaos can sneak in. disappointment and heartache can rear their ugly heads. but sometimes--just sometimes--our plans can change for the better, opening us up to new ideas and experiences that our carefully-penciled-in-life might have missed.

i bought my pansies on veteran's day.

on that cool november afternoon, i packed pablo in the car and took myself to wal-mart, perusing the greenhouse-guarded plants with care. i wanted a hearty, strong flower, one that was accustomed to, and thrived in, the cold. i remembered mama telling me that pansies were one of the only flowers that could withstand cold temperatures. i thought to myself, hmm. that's a bit ironic, given their name.

so i picked out the largest bucket of pansies available, being sure to select the one that still had many unopened buds, so i could watch it bloom. when i got home, i divided the bucket into two little pots to hang from the lamp post outside our cottage. and i loved them.

call me crazy, but i get so much enjoyment out of taking care of flowers. i think it stems from my nurturing side, but every morning, i would get up and drag my sleepy self into the cold of the sunrise. watering pail in hand, i would gently soak their soil, excited about seeing their little blooms perked up in the daylight when i got home from work. and they always were.

but yesterday morning, my good intentions were the cause of a very bad situation. like any other morning, i watered the flowers, then headed off to work.

i came home excited as usual, certain the buds would be stretched toward the sun. but they were not.

they were hanging down, dried and shriveled. i ran out of my car and pressed my fingertip to the soil. hard as a brick. how could this have happened? i wondered. i watered them just this morning.

then i looked down. the water had turned to ice and had essentially frozen the roots of the flowers. it had all but killed them.

i quickly took the flowers off the post and brought them into my warm cottage. oil heat is expensive, but there's nothing quite like flushed wooden floorboards on chilly feet.

i placed them in front of my fireplace and let them thaw overnight. i wish i could tell you that this morning, they were back to normal and perky as ever. but they weren't. they're getting there. the heaviest buds are still drooped over, but the smaller ones have returned to their upright positions and have started opening up again. the ice melted and served as water for them.

sometimes you can't plan life. God taught me this in the form of little butter yellow and black pansies. sometimes it hands you a curveball and it's all you can do to keep your head above water. sometimes what we think is best for our life can choke it--or worse, freeze it in place.

so i'm learning. to be open to change, even though it's probably the one thing i hate more than anything else in this world. to let the natural ebb and flow of my days be a bit more sporatic. and to give it time. to let the ice that sometimes hardens over my life melt. and give way to nourishing water. time heals. people change. and life is unpredictable.

perhaps that's why it's also so gosh-darn beautiful.