marriage and partnership: or grab your own towel

welcome to week 2 in our marriage series! this week's topic is "marriage and partnership." be sure to check out gina and morgan's blogs today for their thoughts, and do share yours!

when i first started my blog, i went away for a long weekend and asked my sweet friend dacia to guest post for me. she wrote about five things she's learned about living together with  your loved one. one thing she said stuck with me for its simple, honest truth: grab your own towel. she wrote:

How many of us have jumped in the shower only to realize we’re out of soap, shampoo, or have no clean towel waiting for us on the hook next to the shower curtain? How many of us then shout out across the house (still in the shower) to our significant other for these things we forgot? 

i thought about that sentiment this morning when preparing for my post about marriage and partnerships. because i find myself falling into that rut so incredibly often. for me, it takes the form of socks. i'll be in bed, toasty and warm, and robert will be right beside me under the covers, and i will innocently ask him to get out of the cocoon, place his own feet on the cold hardwoods and walk to the dresser to get me socks. or when i'm on the sofa, watching nasvhille, and i ask him to bring me some chestnuts (my new obsession). and bless his heart, the boy never complains. and i can probably count on one hand the number of times he's asked the same request of me.

but being partners means doing these things for our spouse. rising before the sun because the dog is pawing at the covers in that way that you both know means he needs to go out. making supper over the stove even though the day has been long and you need the night to be short and quick so the whole thing can be done with. bringing him a glass of water in bed. running my bathwater.

but it's when these things are expected and sought after without consideration that the partnership begins to weaken, and when the surprise of a sweet deed begins to carry less of its beautiful weight. because yes, being partners means carrying the person, sometimes. picking them up and physically, spiritually and emotionally trudging through the murk and gorgeousness of life together. but it also means knowing when, for the health of the relationship, to let him down to walk by himself. not in front of you or behind you, but right smack-dab next to you, for as long as you both shall live.

i and love and you

life is a day-by-day thing. and i like going day-by-day with you.

these words were spoken to me around midnight on monday. in a living room lit only by a lamp with handles shaped like elephant noses. and i swear, they were more beautiful and comforting than the string of noun-verb-noun that has become i-love-you. that overused little phrase. those tiny words that at the beginning of our courtship held such overwhelming weight. he first spoke them to me on my parent's driveway under the florescent flood light.

now, we whisper this sacred sentiment across the bed before falling asleep. it's the conclusion of every text, phone call and lunch date. and it still holds as much meaning and truth as it did when we said it that steaming august afternoon at the alter.

but sometimes, hearing it in a different way is just as special. i like spending time with you. i actually like you. for every long, silent car ride home after a misspeak, every grocery store tiff, misunderstanding and spat, there are actually things i truly, deeply enjoy about being in your presence.

and i like living out this joyous, terrible, hard and perfect life with you. day in, and day out. let's do this forever, shall we?

an anniversary

these are the lightning days. the flashes of busyness and hurry that accumulate into storm clouds so full that sometimes they burst, and sometimes they lay heavy across the atmosphere, their weight deep and real.

i apologize for my time away. it is busy season at work and my last semester of graduate school and a million other little things that seem so big in a day that's only a meager twenty-four hours long.

but today is a special day, and so blogging commences again. robert and i are celebrating nine years since our first date, and four since our wedding. though we were both tired to the bone and pablo was restless, we stayed up until midnight to ring in the big day. life's made in those midnight moments, i'm convinced. in those times you stay up even though it's illogical and force your eyes to see happy things even when sometimes they just want to shut the world out for a few hours.

i wrote a post for our anniversary last year. and  because words are failing me this morning and this post remains my favorite one i've ever written, i wanted to share it again. so here you go. happy anniversary, my love.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i knew him before facebook.

before the north american blackout. bush's second term. the last season of friends. love actually.

before janet had a wardrobe malfunction, martha went to prison, and ken won millions on jeopardy.

we sang along to stacy's mom and watched mystic river on the couch with my parents.

eight years have passed since that summer. that late august romance. that last first date. eight years of up-all-nights, throw my phone against the wall because i-miss-you-and-high-school-is-hard-without-you -and-why-do-i-hear-girls-in-the-background-are-there-girls-in-your-dorm? eight years of dates in cafeterias, in dining halls, in our kitchen. of bible reading and home brewing. of early morning greetings and front porch goodbyes.

we've climbed a waterfall together in jamaica, and fallen into bed at nine on a wednesday night. i've seen this man cry and i've seen a laugh rise from his gut so deep it cut off his breath. i've seen him on one knee. in a tux and blue collar.

and eight years ago today, i saw him on my doorstep. with a borrowed car and pressed shirt. and three years ago, i saw him at the alter.

and i declare, for all its hardships and trials, being in love is something more than spectacular. worth saving. keeping. remembering.

and on those nights when it seems like the darkness has won, worth calling him back for.

happy anniversary to the boy who always picked up.

thankful today

i came home yesterday morning at an hour more atuned to morning than night. only two before i usually wake. from a night on the town with my best girlfriends and my new high heels. celebrating the end of her singlehood. there were pink feathered boas, a diamond-encrusted goblet, and a chocolate cake with fondant tassles.

you were asleep, as i imagined. the old blanket curled at your feet. pablo greeted me at the door and fell to his little knees with joy on the hardwoods, stretching out beneath my hands.

i pulled up the blanket around you and left you peaceful on the couch, your arm above your head as i've come to expect. i thought you'd sleep as late as i did, and we would ring in the morning together. it was with a little sink of disappointment that i awoke at ten and remembered your weekend work assignment.

but then i drug my sleepy self into the kitchen and found your surprise. a crock-pot full of fiesta chicken, with the recipe still pulled up on my ipad.

i am thankful for nights out. i am thankful for girlfriends that knew me when i still had the gap between my teeth and my stutter was invariably worse than it is now. for the beauty they bring to my life. the femininity.

and i am thankful, too, for you. for your trust and lack of interrogation. for the evidence that you tried to stay awake for me. and for the humble act of love you left me yesterday.

i'm just very thankful today, for all of it.

if this were 03 and we were sixteen

if this were 03 and we were sixteen, i would look with anticipation to july and august. those balmy months spent without worry or school or stress or timelines. i would propose that we hop in the back of that old pickup with a box of chinese food and galllon of sweet tea. drive deep into the back fields where the wheat is knee high.

i would say, let's just drive. to your mama's or mine. to the gas station for slushies. to the golf course where you can break your third fishing rod in the weeds and tangles of the grown-up pond. i would sleep late and wake up with my hand still on the phone where we hung up only hours before.

if this were 03 and we were sixteen, i would look at you. you with your floppy hair and crooked smile. your ambition and wit. i would breathe you in and capture for good the feel of the fraying cloth seats in your volkswagon van. remember, i would tell myself. remember when the sun was setting and he was resting against the car beside you, his legs over yours, leaning back sipping on limeade.

i would bottle those times, because they were special and sacred and seasonal.

but this is twenty twelve and we are in another summer. we are older and different, but if it's possible, more in love. your hands are stronger from years of turning wrenches and tightening bolts. my hair is longer and i've noticed my knees are popping more than usual and it takes longer to stretch to touch my toes.

we've grown, you and i. oh, 03 was magnificant. it was the year of not too much, except that our little lives intersected and were forever changed. and they are still changing. ebbing and flowing and waning and growing.

even if the most romantic thing i can do for you sometimes, like last night when everything just felt like Too Much, is just bring you water in bed. know i do it with as much romance and ardor as when i leaned against you that night in the pickup and told you, "i get you." or that time at the alter i said, "i do."

i still get you, my dear. and i still do.

this morning i realized

love,

at bible study last week, when we went around the room and listed each person's gifts, i teared up before i began to speak. all i could muster was, you are a miracle worker. you make all my phone calls. every single one. what i meant to say, now that the time and space and emotions of last week have cleared, was your gift is whatever it's called when a man wakes up at four in the morning because his wife has an early meeting at work and discovered a bug in the mixing bowl and simply can't go through with the remainder of her a.m. activities until it is squashed. 

when you drug your sleepy self into the bright-as-day kitchen, your soft white t-shirt twisted around your torso, it hit me that you are innately gifted in that sense. and that i love you all the more for it.

relationship series: communication (a lesson learned at 12)

 xxx

this week's relationship series is on communication. be sure to check out gina and morgan's posts today and link up below!
 
when i was twelve, i attended the dixie classic fair with my uncle and cousin. it was warm as we strolled the grounds and now i can't hear coolio's gansta paradise without thinking about the ferris wheels and cotton candy.

i approached a man in a big floppy hat, standing in front of an oversized microphone. step right up and i'll read your mind! think of a number between one and fifteen. i stood and thought. he guessed wrong (or did i change my mind halfway through? neither here nor there, i tell you.) i scanned the prizes and settled on a lovely print of a bunch of puppies in a row that hung on my closet wall for many a childhood year.

i relate this to you to explain one thing: people are very rarely good at reading minds. my opinions on psychics and the long island medium aside, i believe only the simplest emotions, like love and fear express themselves in their purest form through our eyes. other times, words must be attached to them. they must hang on our feelings and give them shape, meaning and truth.

and i know for sure, my husband isn't a mind reader, nor am i. my favorite scene in bridesmaids is when kristen wiig and rose byrne try to show their love for maya rudolph by giving her their best "friend face" expression. that kind of look rarely works on robert. he'll wonder, does that raised eyebrow mean you're hungry? are you mad at me? maybe you want to watch another episode of "my strange addiction"? tell me!

we have to speak. to communicate. to tell each other i love you and not expect our hand hold to always say if for us. to call for no reason. to stay up and speak into the darkness. to give voice to that gut emotion that will sit, latent if we don't.

because one of my greatest fears is i will get to the end of my life with all these unspoken words stored up inside. when someone is ready to listen now, relate now, converse now.

of course, there is one unspoken rule: fine means anything but fine. even a fair clown can tell you that.

relationship series: loving through parenting

this week's relationship series subject is loving through parenting. on how to grow together while you grow and nurture a child. when i first thought about this prompt, i didn't know what i would bring to the table. of course, there's the experience i've got mama-ing my pup pablo. that time in eighth grade when i took home a "baby think it over" and cared for it for a weekend (did you know that if you turn the key in its back and prop it up against a pillow it will stop crying?) and that fateful month last may when i fostered those four kittens in the shed out back.

but parenting? real, day-in, day-out packing lunches in the morning and tucking the covers under sleepy arms at night? i haven't lived that yet. it's one of the greatest joys in my life that i still have that to look forward to. i married young and finished college early. right now i'm enjoying the interim period between those major changes and the one that will really, truly alter my life.

but i find it so appropriate that today is my sweet mama's birthday.

because if i've learned from anyone how to love and parent simultaneously, it is from my ridiculously romantic mama and dad. the ones who purposely burn popcorn because they like it that way, and settle into the couch every friday night. they used to watch VHS tapes, then DVDs from blockbuster. now the great thrill is which movie dad will bring home from redbox. technology has changed and left old trends in the past, but they haven't.

they don't pin one against each other. if i wanted something when i was young, i never heard "go ask your dad." because what dad would say, mama would say, so there was never any need. they rose early with us on sunday mornings, cooked soft scrambled eggs with cheese, and took the walk with us up our long driveway to get the paper.

they've sat at cheerleading competitions, basketball, soccer and t-ball games as we three kids have found our athletic niches. they loaded us all in the family van every summer and took us down to the beach for a long weekend. stopping at every historical site and battlefield along the way because it's fun and kind of funny.they've gotten down on their knees and prayed with me. on my bedroom floor. across the kitchen table. on a row side by side in church.

but the one thing they've taught me about love through their parenting is this: one child is no better than the other. love them all the same. every time they show my sister or brother attention, they make sure i feel loved too. they have never, ever shown favoritism. and for that, they are my favorite.

i love them to the ends of this earth and back. happy birthday, mama! thank you and dad for teaching me what love is, even when you didn't think i was watching.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
be sure to check out what gina and morgan wrote on this topic and link up below!

looking down and thinking

love,

there was an evening when we were in the car driving back from somewhere--the memory escapes me--and we started discussing our lists. the ones we made for our future mates. mine was riddled with descriptors of a man with dark eyes and a crooked half smile and a thousand other things i never knew i didn't want.

but you had only one: your wife would have pretty hands.

and though i've loved you with my core, i feel i have failed you on this.

because my hands aren't pretty. they are marred by hangnails and big cracked knuckles. when i was younger and fell in love with writing, i gripped my pencil so tightly and at such an odd angle that it left me with a permanent callus on my right ring finger. i am nervous, and bite my nails to the quick. and in the wintertime, even cold lotion from the fridge cannot turn the mountains of my joints from their crimson wash.

but there's a tan line on my left hand. from a ring never removed. that's stayed in place while i pulled weeds, cleaned our bathroom, mixed meatloaf and a million other messy things. a symbol that though my hands aren't the ones of your dreams, they are yours nonetheless.

and that has to count for something, no?

part three: relationship series: loving through

this week's relationship series topic is loving through. be sure to check out what gina and morgan have to say, and please link up below!
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i met robert on the heels of summer. it was hot and i wore denim shorts on our first date at the putt-putt course. that autumn, we slow danced under a big oak tree on the old schoolhouse square while the big band played and i told him what each charm on my bracelet meant.

we've shared eight summers since then. nine winters. one semester in college, we shared a spring of discontent. when a poster of jessica alba on a dorm room wall was enough to undo me.

we're young. we stay up late and sleep in on the weekends. we wrestle on the carpet with our dog and eat supper on the porch swing when it's nice out. it's fair weather. a breeze outside an old open window. a sunny morning melting into a bright afternoon

but there will be other winters.

there will be nights when our kids are late coming home and we stay up worried together. when i lie against him in the flannel sheets and cry so hard it's silent when loved ones grow old. when pets start walking slower and daughters start driving.

there will be other winters.

so we store up the summers, and even the springs. and on nights when it's dark and we're faced with the fact that life is happening at a rate much too fast for our little hearts to bear, we slowly release the heat. the light and the warmth. and we continue, fueled by our stored sun.

relationship series, part two: comparisons

for part two of our relationship series, i am talking about comparisons. those nasty little nagging thoughts that bury themselves in our mind and make us think for one single second that our relationship isn't valid, special and worthy. this week, we could talk about either this or keeping the passion. be sure to check out what gina and morgan have written on these topics, and link up below!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

right now, i know about four girls my age who are waking up to the coos and sighs of a newborn.

i also know of about three men wearing business suits sitting in corner offices with a pencil holder on their desks made of faux wood. who come home with chinese takeout and greet a pretty wife dressed in a cardigan and headband.

i know of women who wear their hair in pretty side braids and put laundry up on the line when the springtime hits, running indoors to wipe their feet and kiss their husband on the mouth and make dinner. who lie on the carpet with their babies and man and play blocks while records spin.

i know couples who live in new york and walk to get hot coffee and groceries, and couples who live down the road and visit the diner in our small town weekly.

and i would be lying if i said i never compare our romance to theirs. the way i style my hair to the way she does. the way he lets his hand linger on the small of her back to the way robert’s fingers interlace my own.

do they lie in bed at night and speak into the ceiling? does he bring her hot water from the stove when her bath water cools and leave her loves notes by the dog food bowl?

what do they argue about? where does he take her where he can park the car, turn off all the lights and whisper to her this is our spot. this is ours and no one can take it from us and even when our babies have babies and we’ve forgotten each other we cannot forget this place?

the truth is, comparisons are cheap. they are always exaggerated and oftentimes pointless. they limit our ability to love ourselves and each other in that deep, guttural way that romance is supposed to be lived.

so we’re still paying rent. so we don’t belong to a country club. so we shop at food lion and not whole foods. we are us and they are them. and one is not better than the other or worse. each is an island.

and really, when  you think about it, aren’t all islands beautiful?

relationships series: first post & link up: expectations

as part of our five-week series on relationships, gina, morgan and i are posting today on expectations. link up below if you'd like to participate!

my best friend pulled her legs beneath her and sat indian style on the sunday school couch.

she asked if i knew that boy robert, the tall fellow who hung around with her boyfriend. who starred in school plays, sat on the bench outside our third period class and worked with my cousin at the golf course. of course i knew him.

well, he’s interested in you. and he drives a BMW.

say no more, i told her. say no more.

he picked me up a few minutes early that warm, windy summer in august . my entire family huddled around the living room, pacing around and making small talk waiting for him to arrive. though i’d seen him in passing, i had never spoken to robert in person until our first date.

as promised, he did pull up in a BMW, all right. his parents’ white one. he apologized as i climbed in, noting the towel on my seat. i spilled water on the way over. i’m so sorry, he muttered.

that night, he took me back to his house and showed me his real ride. a 1985 volkswagen vanagon. tan brown with faded leather seats and a fridge in the back. not quite the BMW, not quite what i was expecting.

that wasn’t the first time robert would challenge my assumptions. the first time he looked into my eyes and told me he loved me as he kissed me against his car, i expected he would never break my heart. that i would never call him ugly things and hurt him. a few years later, we both broke that expectation in college, with late night phone calls and fights in the dorm room corridor. 

i expected he would grow to love my cute way of nagging and pestering. and i would learn to see how cool his velcro shoes were.

on a cool afternoon in november, i expected we were just going on a saturday drive. when he pulled out the boombox with our song and dropped down on his knee, i knew i was wrong.

truth is, i’ve been wrong a lot. expectations limit our ability to love someone for their true selves. their faults and hang-ups, and their beautiful quirks.

when i was in middle school, i made a list of the qualities i wanted in my future husband. down to eye color, hand shape and voice depth. i expected robert would somehow, though the years, become this man. i expected i could change every little piece of him to fit my requirements. sort of like a mr. potato head. just swap out the parts i didn’t like and replace them with bright, shiny new ones. ones that would never fracture or bend or fade.

but robert was never supposed to be the dreamboat. an unobtainable vision behind smoke and mirrors.

he is real. he is huggable and dependable and rugged and smells like old pipes, which has become my absolute favorite smell in the world. he is grumpy sometimes and i am rude sometimes. i wear holey sweatpants to bed and his favorite t-shirt is a thrifted hertz auto rental one in a faded tangerine shade. his characteristics are solely his, from his penchant for sleeping in on the weekends, to his love for the rambo trilogy. 

his parents sold the BMW and we now own a new vanagon. some things never change, thank the good Lord above for that. but some things do, and that’s what makes this flexible, bendable, often breakable, life worth feasting upon.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
what about you? did you go into a relationship or marriage with expectations? how did it turn out? 
 join us next week as we tackle communication. the schedule for the remainder of the series is as follows:

• Week 3: Comparisons (Or, Keeping The Passion Alive- you pick)
• Week 4: Loving Through (when the unexpected happens)
• Week 5: A Strong Marriage While Parenting

link your blog posts below and be sure to check out gina's and morgan's perspectives on expectations:

the delicate dash: a guest post

today i'm over at my friend cara-mia's space, i typed for miles talking about weddings. and marriage. and how they are both beautiful and holy and lovely. but they are different. and that's important to remember. enjoy your honeymoon, sweet friend!

real love: in your words

when i asked you to tell me one word for real love, you delivered.your responses were personnel and beautiful and meant the world to me, so i wanted to commemorate them.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

from us to you, happy valentines.

we're headed for a long weekend at the coast.

i hope you celebrate it by showing somebody, somewhere, the words you shared above.

xoxo

the importance of being second

today i'm over at singing in the rain talking about my romance with robert. and why i come second in his life, and why i'm perfectly okay with that. please check it out and show jen some love! xoxo

here it come, that heavy love, i'm never gonna move it alone

 xxx

 it takes a village.

i am a girl who delights in mornings alone. who rises with the sun and slips into a robe just to sit and stew over the hours ahead. i've learned to eat in restaurants by myself on my lunch break, next to men in business suits and construction workers with dirt on their knees. i am comfortable in an empty room, echoing house, and silent car.

but it takes a village to love. to share, spread, sprinkle the seeds.

driving to work today, i thought about the people around me. their commute. their coffee in drink wells, lipsticks in pocketbooks. was the woman stopped at the red light next to me wearing a new blouse? did she have children and if so, did it hurt her to leave them this morning? is she fighting with her husband or did she just kiss him goodbye? i turned my radio off and just watched. as mothers, sisters, husbands, uncles and boyfriends flew by me.

and i thought about all the chances, all the blessed opportunities, i have to love each of them.

to be kind. to smile. to let someone cut in front of me at the coffee counter. to consider the little burdens, boulders, and mountains they are forging through. to not question if the man on the corner is really hurting. that's one of the hardest parts, the not questioning.

it takes almost nothing for me to sit alone. to sink into a tub at the end of a long day and play my favorite songs in the comfort of my office.

but love means community. and from big cities to tiny hometowns, there's a village waiting.

love, actually

i blame the airport scene. the rush into arms. the rose bouquets.
i blame the hallmark store at my local mall, and every song john mayer wrote from 2003-2006.
i blame disney and laura ingalls wilder. and that scene in the field when zack and kelly finally married in the finale of saved by the bell.

i come from a romantic family. from a mom and dad who have date night every friday and still kiss across the kitchen table and behind the refrigerator. from a grandfather who kneels every night on her side of the bed, whispering and praying into the too-cold sheets, neatly made up to his left since that morning in april.

so i believe in the grandeur of it all. of valentines day. of kneeling before fountains and screaming her name into a crowd of pigeons in venice. in spelling out sentiments in rose petals and saving every prom corsage. in staying up late on the phone just to hear the breath of someone too far away.

but i also believe, i think we must believe, in the realism of love. in the day-in, day-out routine of it all. the ho-hum normalcy that starts in a little house and grows, plants itself in the walls, the kitchen countertops, the bed frames and the laundry basket. until one morning the sun hits the coffee pot just right and you realize you've made a home.

in going to bed at nine with just enough energy to meet in the middle for a quick kiss.

in grocery store spats and long car rides home in the dark.

in being okay with the fact that every meal is not going to be a candlelit course of free range chicken and organic field greens. most nights, it's probably going to be cereal on the porch.

in saturdays with no makeup, holding hands across the pew on sunday.

in bringing him the sports column in bed, and letting that be the most romantic thing you do.

in being okay with the idea that every day is not our wedding day. there will be days when i'm mad at you, and you at me. when i'm tired and your back hurts. when i can't see and you can't walk. when all there is to do is sit on the porch rocker and look onto the yard and we wonder where our youth ran off to.

no, we can't always be over the moon. our stars will fall back down to earth. and we'll breathe in the coppery dirt and plant ourselves in this ground. and we'll spend a lifetime and beyond building a beanstalk back up to heaven, reaching and sprouting in spurts along the way. but that's the glorious part of it, the growing and stretching.

i have a little challenge for you:

what's one word you'd use to describe real love? mine is: compromise.

leave it here in the comments or e-mail it {descriptions/pictures are welcome too: vintchdesigns@gmail.com.}

on valentines day, i'm going to do a little something special with the responses.

a memory each morning

i will always think of you like that, standing there in your pajamas on the porch.

when the clouds of old age loom. when children grow up and move away and the rooms are too big but the clothes fit smaller. when the creaky floorboards give way to creaky knees and elbows. when i sit down on the cold basement floor sifting through the relics of us, our high school days and our wedding day. pictures in hospitals and on church steps.

i'll remember the mornings in that little cottage of ours, backing out of the gravel drive. you, always, there by the screen door. bare feet and messy hair. a sleepy grin and a wave. and the way that sight would feed me through the day, propelling me onward until we met again on that same porch, a different greeting as the sun faded to black.

i love you all the time, but perhaps the best like this.

let me know that you love me, let that be enough

this is the shed behind my house. it stores robert's motorcycle, a few lawn care items, and an old dog carrier. for a few blissful weeks last may, it was a makeshift home for four kittens i found. the old door handle is worn and rusty. this morning, dew was clinging to its siding. a tall strand of ivy is creeping up its back door, curling it way back to the concrete steps.

but at one time, about seventy years ago, this was a house. a teeny abode for two newlyweds. a few years later, they built the little brick cottage we now call home. it was two rooms. in the middle of the country flanked by cornfields and newly paved roads. shielded by pin oaks and cushioned by blueberry bushes.

whenever this world gets to be too much, whenever i think about the christmas list in my purse, bloggers who go on fabulous trips to europe, and the new boots in the window at the mall, i remember this shed. for its simplicity and smallness. perfect in its absolute minute way.

and if home can found in a garage, i do believe it can be anywhere. i'm learning to embrace that. and the idea that two rooms can be enough. very little can be enough. almost everything i have or think i need is too much. humans are simple creatures, when it comes down to it. love and food are necessities, the base and the roots of the tree. the rest are just ornaments, hanging and embellishing but never enough to stand, to complete, on their own.

finding the soul

there are some times, some special, deeply intimate times, when eyes transform and become portals, little peep holes into souls. sometimes, when the light hits just right and i'm at the right vantage point, i swear i can see into the sacred. like robert's grandma in the hospice bed. the split second her lids fluttered apart. or robert's. squinting up at me in the november sunshine, down on one knee.

the other day, it was pablo. riding in the car on my lap, sneaking peeks behind him at me in my dress. the way the wind was blowing his ears and how his wet nose felt against my wrist. and looking into those pupils i swear i felt God. He does come in unexpected ways sometimes, and a sunday car ride home with the windows down and twilight swirling seems like a pretty lovely place to make an appearance.