like the back of your hand

not since harry truman was in office has my part of north carolina seen a white christmas. until this year. huge, fluffy flakes began swimming down around noon on christmas day, and didn't stop until the same time on sunday. it was, in a word, magical. but that doesn't do it justice. it was blindingly beautiful. serene. peaceful to an unseemly degree.


and cold.


cold enough to demand sleeping in socks, and i hate sleeping in socks.


so i did what any chilled, bored woman would do. i took a bath. it might be cold enough to freeze the bottle of cider in my passenger seat, but i was determined to be warm. i turned the water on hot and watched it fill up the ceramic tub.


and i sat. and soaked. and read my latest us weekly cover to cover. the water was hot, the kind of turn-your-thighs-a-little-red degree that i just love. it was so humid in the room i had to fan myself with an old magazine. then it happened. the slow, sad process of cooling down. i hate it when i realize the water is teetering on the edge of tepid. because tepid is to a bath as rain is to snow. not quite the same. not quite as hearty or fulfilling.


defeated, i started to reach for the drain with my toes, to pull up the plug and let the water run out. to sit and watch it sink until the chill once again crept in. but then i heard it. a shrill screech. a whistle from the kitchen that was both alien and somewhat familiar to me at the same time. and i heard something else. heavy footsteps on floorboards. the shuffle of jeans and the crinkle of a well-worn work jacket.


and robert appeared in the doorway. with a half smile, he held up our teapot. filled with hot water. he poured it in, and i felt the water rejuvenate. renew. refresh. and i got another good half hour of soaking in.


----
when and if i have a daughter one day, i want to sit her down when she's old enough and tell her. darling, don't marry for money. or because he's good looking enough. or because you're compatible in just the right ways that it makes sense. not because he's smart, dependable or charming, or comes from a good family.


marry the man who will bring you water from the kitchen to refill your bathtub. marry the one who leaves love notes on the dog's water bowl because he knows that's the first place you shuffle your slippers to in the morning. who orders you an extra frosty from wendy's because he knows that when you say one, you really mean two. the man who, when someone in public asks you your name and your stutter flares up, will intercede and say it for you. {by the way, sweet girl, i hope you don't get my stutter, but if you do, we'll go at it together.}


marry the one who shows his love in the way he knows you--the real you---wholly, completely and without judgment. without words or flowery shows of fireworks, but with simple gestures that only you pick up on. because he'll be the one who's in it for the long run.


because situations change. people change. summer heat gives way to fall winds and surprise christmas snowstorms. bath water cools. but the beauty of being with someone who knows your quirks, downsides, and idiosyncrasies as intimately as his own, is that you change together.


and that makes life beautiful. and exciting. and dynamic.


and anything but lukewarm.