Posts Tagged ‘true love’
This lovely man and I are about to celebrate 24 years of marriage in just a short month. And I’ve been reminiscing with him on our long walks this week–it’s amazing to see how far we’ve come.
Just today, in one of those random moments of serendipity, we ran into the inn keepers of one of our favorite Bed and Breakfast places on Whidbey Island while walking along the Riverfront. We had been guests in their home 20 years ago, in the very early days of our marriage. They were on a cruise excursion and we all stood around being amazed at how small our world truly is. I couldn’t help but think about all the anniversaries we spent at their place — who we were in those days. Who we are now.
Today, I would probably rewrite the first line of the post below (which originally ran on Evidently in 2006!!) but the rest still holds. It’s still the most fitting description of our marriage that I can find. So, as we approach the month mark: with the realization that I’ll probably have much more to say on marriage and love in the coming weeks — I thought I’d share this with you.
This, and the nutty photo of my adorable husband mocking me for taking our photo on our date night. Never let it be said I don’t keep it real.
My sweet neighbor’s house.
Happy Hour at The Supper Club (the bar… so cozy!)
This guy… is really sweet! I came home from a trip to Goodwill this afternoon… parcels in hand and he says, “Hey, let’s go out for happy hour.” The upside of having a kid at college is dawning on me.
You really don’t have to ask me twice…
I still haven’t figured out how to take a selfie with this iPad. Where the heck is the camera lens? Why is this so hard? Why is my eye listing? Look at the blouse, look at the blouse.
Any reason to get dressed up, am I right? Or at least wear something pretty. Rumor has it we’re supposed to hit a balmy 80 on Wednesday and I had run to Goodwill in hopes of finding some shorts.
So, of course I came home with a silk blouse. (Hey, you would too. It’s brand new and $7. You really can’t look at the shorts rack and not peruse the rest of the store. ) I also scored a bag of vintage and 2 pairs of shorts = a pretty decent Goodwill run.
But his invitation completely validated my splurge purchase. It’s like the universe said, “Here, buy this… trust me, you’re going to need it soon.”
I popped off the tags on my new blouse and hit the lip gloss hard. Ready.
This is the upside of sitting in a dark dreamy bar. The lighting works in your favor. That’s totally my “romance tip” for the week. Probably not the best photography tip, though.
This is such a non-post. There really aren’t any other photos. I didn’t want to spend our date staring at a screen when this adorable guy was across the table from me. But if you get a chance to come to Astoria, we highly recommend T. Paul’s Supper Club. Their bar is so cozy and romantic. The staff is amazing. And you can’t go wrong with anything off of their menu!
The Goodwill, on the other hand, is top secret.
I took this photo yesterday in Starbucks and posted it on Instagram with the caption, “for tomorrow we cleanse. . .” not realizing that the paper beneath my cup sums up my advice for a happy marriage. “Talk things out. (have a ) sense of humor. (Sometimes) cut a rug.”
Oh, and the definition of true love this week is agreeing to a cleanse because your adorable husband doesn’t want to do one alone. It might also be the definition for divorce by day 6.
I kidnapped IZ today for a quick trip to Cannon Beach. We usually try to head out there before the holiday for a little Christmas shopping–but with the 4th Sunday service this year, we didn’t make it. When today dawned a lovely sunny, promised 50 degrees: it seemed like the perfect opportunity to make up for our missed trip.
The Ocean always brings a new sense of calm and focus.
A mocha at Insomnia Coffee. They make their own whipping cream: chocolate flavored for mochas. YUM.
My man in his pink shirt! Hanging out with IZ always makes me feel better.
The dress code was “business casual” so of course I interpreted that to mean, artsy casual…
IZ, my husband who already works ridiculous hours, was invited to be on the board of a local charity. They’re looking for good people. He’s good people. And he has mad skills they can really use, so he said yes.
In theory I championed this idea (he comes home from board meetings with wine and donuts, what’s not to love) but it did bring up a few worries. Mostly around his work hours. He’s so busy. Really folks, the man goes constantly. And with our work at church and the 4th Sunday ministry, he really doesn’t have a free moment.
But then there is that perennial worry (because I’m vain, dontcha know) — what am I going to wear? Oh yeah, did I fail to mention that this charity puts on a HUGE musical festival in the area and there are events to attend?
Oh my goodness… I love writing that.
IZ sees these events as a chance to go on romantic dates. He’s right: but it’s not without a wee bit of angst. In my case, I’ve been super lazy about buying new shoes. Living here on the edge, it’s always about shoes that can live up to the wind and the rain. Sure, it’s nice if they’re cute shoes, but really–you want shoes that will keep you protected in the weather. I have a great pair of boots that meet this description. And, they’re even cute boots; but I’ve been wearing them with jeans and sweaters. That’s hardly the attire you wear to a private concert of Schubert Lieder.
And you guessed it, I don’t have dress shoes that work with clothes you would wear to such an event.
Like I said, I’ve been lazy. Additionally, this is major role reversal stuff. Since he’s worked from home, I haven’t had to be his “wife” in public for ages. He’s spent years supporting me in all my ministry related fiascos, er, events. . . but it’s been ages since I’ve played the supportive wife role. Frankly, I’m out of practice!
So, my little dilemma begged the question: do I buy something that works with the boots? Or do I try to find a pair of shoes that will work with something in my closet? I don’t know, but the answer is always Goodwill.
I’ll cut to the chase, as this is really a post about nothing: other than I’m gloating. Hello $5 dress at Goodwill to the rescue. That looked great with my boots. (and, of course I layered a Mireio slip beneath it and tied it all together with colored tights! I’m loving THAT trend!) Girl has suitably artsy casual attire to attend an afternoon of opera and champagne.
That no bank was broken to clad my artsy self, well that’s just bonus material.
So, we went on our date on Saturday. It was lovely, lovely, lovely. For a few hours, I sat next to this man I adore, who works too hard, and we soaked in the beauty that is Schubert together.
In a week where we focus on all the things we’re thankful for: I’m thankful for Goodwill. I know, that’s crazy talk. But sometimes, Goodwill really is my Anthropologie.
Hi. I’m Wende and I spin plates.
Rather poorly at times, but spin I do. There are days when it feels as if there are more plates wobbling on the ground, just about to lose all sense of motion, than plates spinning neatly in the air.
Each day begins as a lottery, a game of chance: which plate meets the floor as the rest demand my attention? Will it be my little store? Will it be the gym? It will probably be the laundry; that plate spends so much time on the floor it’s established a dust colony. Today I will spin the work plate, the church plate, the “no child you are not dying of some strange illness you googled” plate.
I’d like to tell you that it all gets done eventually. But I’m beginning to suspect that eventually will never arrive. Incrementalism requires a great deal of patience and even more grace: a simple kind of self-love that says, “I’m worthy and enough, even if there isn’t enough of me to go around.” Be gentle with yourself, Wende. Walk gently.
It’s ok if the dog has fleas (OH MY GOD, how did this happen?) and your child is going to college in 3 weeks.
Breathe, Wende. Keep spinning those plates.
But some days, mother nature throws you a plate worth spinning. An 80 degree day in September: beautiful and clear. Balmy. The word is balmy — but only because Santa Barbara-y is not a word.
We’re not likely to get such an invitation again this year. So, I set down the work plate (though I gave it a few spins just to be safe) and worry plate. I stacked up the laundry and the pest control plates and everything else that can wait until tomorrow plate: and fell soul first into this beautiful day.
A long walk along the river. Spun! A fabulous dinner on the porch and finishing off that lovely Rosé. Spun! Raspberry Thyme Sorbet. Hey, I made that!! Taking goofy photos with the love of my life. I think you know the answer to that.
Check out Mireio tomorrow for the Raspberry Thyme Sorbet recipe.
Would it surprise you to know that I am a sucker for reality dating shows? I’m not ardent: I tend to google results after about 3 episodes and go back to watching true crime — but I’ll give most dating shows a glance at least once. So when this Spring’s utter rating failure (it’s not a good thing when your executive producer takes up with one of the contestants mid-show) promised to feature “DATING COACHES” I could not look away.
At one point, the only male coach on the show gave this bit of advice: ”When a man offers you his jacket and you refuse it, you’re depriving him a chance to feel like a man. YOU think you’re being nice not making him suffer being cold. HE doesn’t see it that way.”
Wait. What? Really?
I promptly paused the show and went and asked IZ. “Is this true? Do guys really think that?”
IZ smiled, “Yeah, kinda. I don’t know if all men think like that, but it’s true for me: I do want to go out of my way for you. And doing those kinds of things makes me feel more like a man. It’s not because you CAN’T do those things for yourself, I just feel good about myself when I do them for you.”
How did I miss this memo?
In all my years of insisting on getting my own door and refusing jackets — or any of those little acts of chivalry — I’ve missed the point. Those acts were just as much about him as they were about me. And that doesn’t make him sexist or lacking in empathy — it made him human. A man in love. A man in love with me. Walter. Tango. Foxtrot. I am an idiot.
In my own defense, dating IZ as a teenager didn’t make matters easy. He opened doors for EVERYONE. And there were times when I honestly thought he would mow me over to get to the door before me. I don’t recall ever seeing my father open a door for my mother, so I didn’t have a frame of reference. And the look that would come over IZ as he would eye down the doorway– it was clear he was on a mission and getting in his way was not a good idea.
That irked me. At 19 I was determined to shake off the sexist “women are lesser” film I had clinging to my skin. As much as he was determined on being a “gentleman” I was hell-bent to not need him to be. This was war. And, because he knows when to let things go, he finally relented. “Fine, get your own door” when I explained yet again that I was WOMAN, I can DO. THIS. MYSELF.
The years would progress and my reasoning (about the doors anyway) became more about practicality. It seemed ridiculous for one of us to get drenched holding a car door. “That’s fine, I’ll meet you inside.”
And then I read this beautiful piece of writing by James Stafford. It’s a love letter really, entitled “You Know You Could Have Been A Candle” — written to the woman he loves. You can read it over on The Good Men Project. And you should, read it. It’s stunning. A small paragraph has stuck with me this week. He writes:
I love that you let me adore you. I shouldn’t complain, but it’s hard sometimes to be a man. I’m not your boss, your competition, or your coworker. I’m not The Man trying to keep you down or put you in your place. I just want to open the door for you because it’s polite. I want to pick up the check, open the jars, hold your hand. There’s no gender politics at work. That you realize that says everything about your character.
It’s taken me 20+ years to realize his impulse to adore me has as much to do with how he was raised as the fact that he does, indeed, adore me. 20 + years for me to let him be the man he truly is: willing to set aside his own argument for the sake of mine. Even though, in this particular case, my argument was misguided. It’s taken 20+ years to realize that it has nothing to do with making me “less”. If anything, I am more for having been loved by a good man. The why of that love, well, that’s beyond my comprehension.
But it is not beyond my amazement. The very memory of his 16 year old self, running to get my door leaves me breathless. I wish I had had the character then to appreciate the gesture at the time. The grace to have said , “Thank you” in the moment. Somehow, I stumbled into loving a good man while reaching for my own door — who, for reasons only he can explain, loves me enough to let me be wrong.
The photo strip was taken on IZ’s 21st birthday–which was 22 years ago this week.