cabins, floral sheets and rockers

driving through the country this weekend, robert and i stumbled upon this little campground. robert used to visit here with his family when he was younger.

for two weeks in the heat of summer, people congregate here. they worship and feast and fellowship under the big tents. cabins are passed down through generations, and every cabin has a front porch rocker.

and i was a bit in love with the whole place.

eight years ago

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.

a date with two boys

there were two sets of puppy dog eyes staring at me when i awoke on saturday.

one set was attached to robert, snuggled in the yellow blanket, hair damp from a summer night in the country. the other was attached to pablo, nestled between the folds of the sheets, half closed from a lingering dream.

and for the life of me, i just couldn't chose one set. couldn't leave one behind to spend the day alone. so we all three went. on the saturday drive intended for only two. to a little diner hours away where we could get BLTs and sky-high peach ice cream cones. we drank sweet tea out of styrofoam cups and sat under umbrellas. and suddenly, a date turned into a family affair.

one day, i know there will come a time when romance is planned out, and something will happen to interfere. a baby will cry. children will have bad dreams and want to snuggle. it's inevitable. and honestly, after this weekend, i kind of can't wait. we've got plenty of love to go around, it seems.

microscope heart: diane

this week's microscope heart post comes from diane at southhamsdarling. diane was one of my first blog friends when i started and always takes time to write the sweetest, most thoughtful comments. her love for her daughters and her grandchildren is so evident in her posts. this is a beautiful woman who values family, fun and adventure, and she does it all with such grace and class. happy to call you a friend, diane.

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For me it is when I ring the doorbell of my daughter's home (who, fortunately, live just five minutes away from me).  She opens the door and my two little grandchildren (aged just 3 and 19 months) hear my voice, and rush out to meet me.  It is a real scramble as they both try to reach me first.  They are then both climbing up my legs, and I have to bend down and scoop the two of them up in my arms, and we have big cuddles.  At that very moment, I realize just how blessed I am.

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 thank you, diane! be sure to check out her blog.  what's the smallest thing that makes you happy? break down your bliss for my weekly series. i'd love to hear 'em. find out more here.

not only the fire

there are other memories
not only flowers from the fire
but little sprouts
that suddenly appear
when i go on trains
or in the streets.

i see you
washing my hankerchiefs,
hanging at the window
my worn-out socks,
your figure on which everything,
all pleasure like a flare-up,
fell without destroying you,
again,

little wife
of every day
again a human being,
humbly human,
proudly poor
as you have to be in order to be
not the swift rose
that love's ash dissolves
but all of life,
all of life with soap and needles,
with the smell that i love
of the kitchen that perhaps we shall not have
and in which your hand among the fried potatoes
and your mouth singing in the winter
until the roast arrives
would be for me the permanence
of happiness on earth.

Ah, my life,
it is not only the fire that burns between us
but all of life,
the simple story,
the simple love,
of a woman and a man
like everyone.

-pablo neruda.

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.

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