Nothing says “I have hope for the future!” like bringing a child into the world.
And so it is that someone very dear to me has brought a ray of light, an infusion of hope, into the world today – and I could not be more thrilled or grateful.
Cecelia June was born today – this most special “Leap Year” day – making her forever a child who will always be making choices for herself. For instance, on those years that her birthday doesn’t appear on the calendar, she will choose: February 28th? Or March 1st?
If she’s as feisty as her mother, I suspect she’ll say, “BOTH!”
A Connection to Someone
Funny thing, this little girl. We (her mother and I) knew she was on the way before we knew she was coming. And that’s because we were given a ‘heads up’ by the person to whom I’ve dedicated each and every one of these 475 blog posts.
Yup.
He knew before any of the rest of us knew. And he made a point of coming through someone, in a completely unexpected and surprising circumstance, to tell me how excited he was for this future addition to the family to arrive. And I swear to you, not 24 hours went by before I received a text from ‘Cecelia’s mom’ – out of the blue – telling me she’d had a dream about Karl that night– a dream having to do with bringing a baby into the world. A very short while later…
So little Cecelia June will always and forever have a connection to her “Uncle” Karl. Not only did he know she was coming before anyone else, but her birthdate and time will always share something with him as well. She was born on the 29th (of February, no less – no mean feat, that, being born in February!) at 5:15 p.m.
Welcome, Cecelia June. Your decision to be born at this crucial time in our evolution brings us all hope. And joy. “Bring it, feisty one!” (Check out that clenched fist. She’s not going to take guff from anyone. Ever.) The resemblance to a certain iconic photo is uncanny.
Yet again, I find myself with little time and even less to say. I guess that’s a good thing, if you think about it. Sounds like I should have plenty of time, then, to get it all said.
As I sit here in the silence, I can feel the front of cold air moving in. We’ve had a ridiculously mild winter so far, which at least has granted a reprieve on heating bills.
But tonight they’re calling for some truly seasonal temperatures to arrive. Into the 20s tonight and down to 12 degrees tomorrow night. Considering it’s been in the 50s lately, that’s a shock to the system!
As I started to say above, though – I can distinctly sense the cold seeping into my house as I sit here. But just as this post is going to be a short one, so is this cold snap. It looks like it’ll only last for a few days, and I don’t think it’s even going to make itself useful by bringing some snow.
Easy For Me
Here I am, half lamenting that it’s not been very cold this winter and walking on the shiny side of whiny about no snow. Ugh. It’s easy for me to wish for colder temperatures: I have ample opportunity for warmth and cuddling. And what good is it to be cold if you can’t tuck yourself into a warm little ball and enjoy the very fact that you’re staring that cold in the face and thwarting its evil intentions?!
Even the four leggeds in our house – they’re looking at me expectantly. I can tell they feel the shift in the temperatures, and even more than that, I get the feeling they know it’s going to get a lot colder before it heats back up.
I’m surrounded by my familiars (if you will). They’re staring at me intently. I think it’s because they’re tired and resolute in their determination to get me to see the light, stop this incessant typing, and allow them under the bedcovers. As soon as possible. (Why they’re not upstairs with Karl yet, I have no idea. Loyalty? Doubtful.)
Time to Cuddle
I guess this being Valentine’s Day eve and everything, it’s only natural that I’d want to hustle myself up to bed. But the truth is, I’ve always loathed Valentine’s Day. But wow – because I’m on Day 459, that means I’ve already regaled you with my single memorable Valentine’s Debacle Story.
We don’t need another one.
In the meantime, I hope you all have a lovely day tomorrow. If nothing else, give yourself a little lovin’. Even if it’s only a couple of seconds’ worth: tell your body how much you love and appreciate it.
It’s important. Love is important. And look at that: I did end up in a familiar place after all.
Karl and I watched the Super Bowl tonight. Like a lot of people in our area, we were rooting for Kansas City.
One of my nephews lives in the KC area, so that would’ve been excuse enough. But actually, it was the fact that Andy Reid, the former Eagles’ Head Coach, is now the Head Coach of the Kansas City Chiefs that made us want to watch the game and root for the Chiefs.
Super Bowl Stuff
I have to say, the commercials this year were better this year than they’ve been for the past several Super Bowls. For quite a while, it’s seemed as though the commercials were just getting dumber and more obviously targeting the lowest common denominator. Overall, this year’s crop had the right mix of those that touched the heart strings – most with an appropriate balance and one or two that took the emotional appeal too far – and those that were amusing.
And the half time show was excellent. While I knew her name, I had no idea Shakira’s music sounded the way it does. (I know, I know. I shouldn’t be admitting this out loud.) And both she and J Lo were eye-poppingly astonishing in their athleticism and choreography – not to mention their voices.
The Main Event
Of course, the main event was the football game itself. And wow – these two teams did not disappoint. Competitively, this was hands down one of the most entertaining football games I’ve seen in a long time. Besides the amazing rally KC dug down and produced in the final six minutes or so of the 4thquarter, I think my favorite part of the game was in the 1stquarter (I believe), when Andy Reid made the call not once but twice to “go for it” on fourth down.
I can remember so many games in which the conservative, “cautious” tack was taken that demanded punting on fourth down. Ugh. So boring. This time, it felt, Andy and his team were here to win. They were going to lay it all out there, take the chances they needed to take, and believe in their ability to convert their plays successfully and get a first down.
While I realize this is ‘just’ a football game (albeit the literal ‘be all and end all’ to most fans), it was inspiring and exciting to see them take those risks – and even better, to succeed at their endeavors!
Perhaps my delight in watching KC take those risks was because that type of courage stands in stark relief against the utter cowardice we’ve been forced to witness in the Senate over the past two weeks. Didn’t it make you wonder even for just a fleeting second what it would feel like to witness our representatives standing up in unison to the bully in the pulpit (so to speak) and just saying, “NO!?” How would it feel to have the honor and integrity of our country defended by those who’ve actually taken an oath to do so?
Yeah, I wonder too.
The Reactions of So Many
The best part of the amazing comeback orchestrated by KC’s extraordinary quarterback (I can’t believe he’s only 24), Patrick Mahomes, and the rest of the team was the palpable affection and respect shown by absolutely everyone toward Head Coach Andy Reid. Even 49’ers fans, it seemed, couldn’t begrudge Andy the win.
From the announcers to the players to the fans both at the game and interviewed on the news later, everyone almost seemed to get a little teary-eyed over “what a great guy” Andy Reid is, how profoundly he deserves to finally have a team of his put it all together and achieve the highest honor in the sport.
Watching and listening to the love and admiration so many have for Andy Reid, with nary a snarky word or begrudging attitude offered, was like a balm to my heart. We’ve been forced to witness some really horrible stuff lately. We’ve been asked to condone behavior that has debased us and the principles and values upon which our country was founded – all perpetrated by those who are ostensibly ‘leaders.’
They are the furthest thing from actual leaders.
There is no question that whatever it is that Andy Reid brings to his teams and the people who work with him, it engenders love, affection, respect, and admiration.
Oh, to have those feelings spring forth for those who represent us to the world…
Bright and Shining Moments (Wm Penn Inn) – Photo: L. Weikel
Peeps
There are just some people in the world whom you consider your ‘peeps’ and there are others you don’t. It doesn’t really mean anything, other than you’ve found your tribe.
There are, if you’re lucky, a lot of people you feel close enough to who can always (or could) cushion your fall. But there are the precious few who are always there. Just…always. No matter how many blood relatives you or they have. No matter how many months have gone by without an opportunity to sit down and have a really good, long chat. Without them having any idea what you may have been encountering in your life (and concomitantly, you having no idea what they’ve been encountering in theirs, either)…you just pick up.
Precious
Those are the precious ones.
Of course, I’m not dissing the others. Not by any means. It’s just that the ones I’m describing are in a category all their own. And the cool thing is, they can come from other subsets: meaning, they can actually be members of their own alpha pack, and yet be so genuine and so real that their energies transcend the other connections to forge meaningful bonds of their own. They can even be members of your bloodline – which is, in my estimation, a most extraordinary home run or stroke of luck on everyone’s part.
I’m probably blathering, and you are mostly wondering what in the world I’m talking about, because – key question weighing most heavily on all our minds is (if we’re honest) – what does this have to do with kiffels?
And did I discover the secret recipe for the nut confection that goes into the aforementioned kiffels?!
I think I may have hit pay dirt in that arena, but I have to wait until tomorrow to test out my theory In the meantime, and while this may indeed be a precious discovery, it is the celebration of friendship that I wanted to highlight.
But you know what? I’m reaching that point of sleepy appreciation that makes words sometimes sound like puffy clouds instead of the stalwart descriptors of some of the most important aspects of our lives.
Burdens
For whatever reason, as I sit here in the semi darkness, I’m realizing more acutely in the moment how friends are truly ‘sharers of burdens.’ That’s a rather cumbersome title, but it’s true. A true friend does really and truly share our burdens and – not to be cliché but, darn, it does sound it – double our joys.
Yes, I’m waxing rhapsodic over friendship this evening. It’s because in the last several hours, days, weeks, and months, I’ve found myself experiencing such profound levels of love and friendship that those relationships demand recognition. They demand to be honored. And they demand to be appreciated for the unique lessons, joys, realizations, and astonishing insights they can bring us – if we just pay attention and listen.
I am being vague – and I both mean to be and wish I weren’t.
The truth is, I need to go to bed. I need to dream into being the recipe for nut filling in kiffels. And if I do, perhaps I’ll share them with those true friends I mentioned above. Then again, I may be a total undisciplined kiffel hoarder.
No promises. I must sleep. That said…let this be a short but sincere homage to true friendship. I’m so grateful to experience it! And I wish it for each and every one of us. Because that’s what life is all about: Relationships. Love. Friendships. Kiffels.
And perhaps most important of all: a sense of humor.
I had an interesting evolutionary experience yesterday. I underwent a 180 degree attitude shift as a result of a most unexpected encounter.
Yesterday afternoon, I ran out to the grocery store to pick up a few items. As I made my way home, navigating the puddles of rainwater accumulating on the asphalt and feeling the weight of the creeping fog that matched my mood all too well, I found myself behind a Bucks County Transport Company bus, it’s blinking yellow light caroming off the droplets of water suspended in midair.
The bus had slowed to a stop to allow a neighbor’s disabled brother to disembark, backpack clutched to his chest, his steps carefully measured so as not to lose his balance. His sister, a person I consider to be a passing acquaintance (quite literally, since we really only know each other from when she and her husband jog by us as we take our walks), was standing just up the driveway, waiting to greet him with a wide smile and open arms.
I felt so privileged in that moment to witness such unadulterated and spontaneous love and kindness.
A Moment Disrupted
My appreciation of that moment was jarred out of place by the revving of an engine immediately behind me. Looking in my rearview mirror, I saw a massive pickup truck looming over me, pulled up so close that its headlights were barely visible. It revved its engine again, and I could sense that it wanted to swing out into the oncoming lane and pass both me and the bus ahead of me, but was being forced to stay behind us by approaching traffic.
The impatience was palpable. The judgment, too.
But the bus resumed its route just as the oncoming car went by, and sealing the pickup’s fate of having to remain behind us was the approach of a second car in the opposing lane.
Just down a piece, my road splits off from the main thoroughfare. The bus bore left, remaining on the primary road, while I took the offshoot leading to my home. Regrettably, the gigantic pickup followed me. It continued ‘up my butt’ until I pulled straight into my driveway just to get out of its way. Unsurprisingly, its engine gunned as the impediment to its haste (yours truly) was removed. It tore down my road, far exceeding the 30 mile an hour limit.
It Must Be the Season
As I started writing this post, I realize that the attitude that clicked into gear in my head at that moment was not all that far off from something that happened last year.
You guessed it. When the pickup revved its mag engine yet again and sped down my road, I just had to see where this jerk was going. I backed out onto my road and started following the truck. We went about three quarters of a mile, with me keeping a decent enough distance behind that I was in no danger of being perceived as following. I saw where the truck coasted through a stop sign and turned off onto another road, but as I approached that same stop sign a flock of about 12 turkeys burst out from the left side of the road, crossed right in front of me, and landed pell-mell on the wooded bank above me.
Well, I could not let this opportunity pass. I stopped the car, turned on my 4-ways, and got out, all the while talking to the turkeys and thanking them for the gift of their presence. I told them how much more fun it was to be encountering them than chasing after some jerk.
Even More Gifts
As I took the photo above, I heard a couple muted gobbles and turned back to where the dozen had emerged. I was astounded to see at least another two dozen turkeys running through the leaves, down the bank on the opposite side and splashing through the creek that runs parallel to the road. They were running, half flying, and just making a total ruckus.
I was enchanted. I’ve never seen so many turkeys in one place.
Suddenly, all the turkeys that had burst out in front of me, crossing the road and breaking my determined chase after the impatient pickup started flying back across the road to return to their flock. I took a video, but it’s mostly of me swirling and twirling about, trying to catch them as they took off all around me. It was amazing and they had me laughing out loud. And the aerodynamic skills of these hefty birds (check out that photo) were, umm, comical to say the least.
And so it was that a 180 degree shift in attitude was the gift Turkey – actually a whole enormous flock of them – brought me yesterday. The delight they brought me was a reminder to focus on the love I’d just witnessed at my neighbor’s home.
Funny though – while it didn’t serve me to focus on the unconsciousness and impatience of the bully pickup, I do send it gratitude for leading me to a reminder of what’s important. Without it, I would’ve missed that remarkable encounter.
We all know it’s the little things. It’s the little things that push us over the edge. It’s the little things that can trigger road rage and make us go from pleasant to demented in two seconds flat.
It’s the little things that make life worth living.
It’s the little things, sometimes, that serve to bring a smile to our face just in time to shift whatever barometer we have within us to perceiving life as reflecting a rainbow rather than embodying a fogbank or a massive cloudburst.
There’s a big difference between those three ‘weather events’ and how they impact us (especially if we’re taking a walk when experiencing them). And sometimes it’s hard to perceive whether we’re impacting the weather or it’s impacting us. Are we the chicken? Or are we the egg?
Yikes. I’m all over the place tonight.
It’s stemming at least partly from the photo I want to ‘feature’ tonight (which I’d hoped to post last night, but we all know how well that went).
A Smidge of a Rainbow
I took tonight’s photo (above) last night as Karl and I traversed the ‘walkabout’ with Spartacus and Sheila (The ‘walkabout’ is the ~4 mile route we routinely take, as opposed to the ‘walk-around,’ which is 2.1 miles.)
I was tired when we walked last night. And feeling some uneasiness over the state of the world. (Oh wow, how ridiculous is that? ‘Some uneasiness?’ The banality of that statement is laughable.) But it’s true. Karl and I were both just sort of skating along on the surface. We even commented on how sort of ‘stuck in neutral’ we’re both feeling – paying attention to what’s going on in the world but trying our best not to get ‘hooked’ into any of it.
That’s hard.
We made a point of not digging too deeply into the specifics. We kept changing the subject, because we knew how easily we could become mired in misery.
I’m not going to recite what was (and is) going on ‘out there.’ Most of you, I suspect (with a few notable exceptions – and you know who you are!) are committed to remaining informed and many of you are activists, or you at least try to make a difference where you can. So whether our awareness of the current atrocities and outrages being visited upon our fellow Earth brothers and sisters (and Mother Earth herself) is conscious or not, we’re still picking up on the overall energy ‘out there.’ And it’s devolving.
As a result, as our mothers taught us, if we can’t say anything nice, we don’t say anything at all. Unsurprisingly, then, a good portion of our walks lately have been in silence.
Prickly Beauty of Thistle – Photo: L. Weikel
A Smidge of Love
So imagine my delight when I looked up at the sky – with no (truly, zero) expectation of seeing anything out of the ordinary – and caught sight of that smidgen of a rainbow.
It felt like an unexpected hug. No, it wasn’t some two page spread of a Technicolor spectacle. But neither was it a mere ‘rainbow dog.’ (And let me be clear: I’m not disparaging rainbow dogs. But you have to admit, they’re usually quite tiny.) It was real; it was unexpected; and it was a ray of hope. It made me smile, inside and out. It shifted my energy and kicked my perspective up a notch or two.
So of course, what was the first thing out of my mouth when I saw it? “I need to try to capture that!” I declared. “I want to share it tonight.”
We need each other. We need to give – and be – smidgens of rainbows for each other: Sharing unexpected smiles. Knowing, compassionate glances. Generous laughter.
Quick hugs, too – even if it’s just with our eyes or our words. Because it’s important, especially now, to know in our bones that we’re not alone, and that love will prevail.
Norah Claire Guerke – my great niece; Photo: A. Guerke
Moments and Memories
I know there are certain members of my family who, right this moment, are ever so slowly, achingly, marking the minutes and hours of their lives now – tonight and into tomorrow, in particular – as they remember and relive those same moments that unfolded exactly a year ago.
This marking of seminal moments in our lives, this remembering each second and minute as precisely as we can (even though our experience of them may have been blurred by the impossibility and horror of what was unfolding as it was happening) is inevitable. It is, I suspect, a sacred ritual that happens universally. It is an honoring; a witnessing of what was. A ritual of remembrance and cherishing.
As I think about my eldest nephew and his wife, my niece, I know they are remembering the last hours they had with their little girl, their daughter who was only 110 days old. They are remembering, as best as they can, the way that last evening they spent with her unfolded. The feel of her hand gripping their fingers as they held her on their laps, laughing, their family watching tv and just being together on a Friday night. Remembering her almond shaped eyes and wise little smile; her baby smell. They’re recalling the irreplaceable feeling of cradling her in their arms as they took her upstairs. How they placed her gently in her crib that night and tiptoed out of her room, never imagining – at that moment –what lay ahead.
We do this. As humans, we replay those moments. We both savor them and allow them to torture us in the exquisite way love does.
I know they’ve been dreading this ‘anniversary’ for weeks. It seems impossible, in some ways, that a year has passed. The pain of their loss is so deep, so take-your-breath-away awful, that it often feels like it happened only yesterday. And yet, a year has passed. There is a difference to the pain.
A Testament to Our Love
We think it won’t change. There’s a part of us that vows it won’t. Somehow, even the thought of our searing pain becoming anything less than that driven-to-the-edge-of-madness-and-despair that’s engulfed us feels like a betrayal. We tell ourselves that we will never forget. We will honor and carry that pain as a testament to our love.
But then we realize, yes; the pain does shift. It must. It takes on a different color, a different hue.
As they are noting each peaceful series of ‘lasts’ tonight, and then tomorrow, marking each excruciating step in the process of losing their precious Norah, they are honoring her. They are honoring their journey, as well. And through this ritual of marking the moments and honoring the memories, they will feel an almost imperceptible sense of relief.
As this weekend passes, and they tick off each moment, each memory, they will begin to sense an almost intangible – yet undeniable – lifting of the overwhelming heaviness that has been the cloak of grief weighing down every step they’ve taken over the past year. Perhaps only the weight of a feather will be removed; but if they pay attention, they will feel it.
Rituals of Remembrance
And that is Norah’s gift. It is the gift that each of our loved ones gives us when they’ve left us behind, wondering how we’ll cope without them, how we’ll manage to make it through even one more minute, one more hour, one more day without them.
They witness our rituals of remembrance and cherishing, and their love and our love somehow meet and merge and cause a slight breeze to wash over us, like the breath of a kiss, swirling away a little bit of that stone cold heaviness that threatened our own will to live.
We think we’re dishonoring their memory to allow the searing pain to shift into a different expression. There’s a part of us that swore we’d never let them down; never lose that edge. But they want us to. They want us to live on, remembering them – and celebrating that we had that time together in this lifetime.
I guess I felt a teensy bit too smug last night – getting my post written and hitting the ‘publish’ button with about a minute to spare.
So here I am: I have 20 minutes to write something and maybe – possibly – if I’m lucky – snag a photo to include. I’m thinking my luck may have run out on that score.
Ha ha – just goes to show; right?
What a fascinating weekend we just had. It never ceases to amaze me how people can walk into your life one day and two days later leave as friends you know have entered your life for a reason.
Mother’s Day…
I wish I had more to say. Of course, I extend Mother’s Day wishes for happiness and appreciation to all the mothers in my life. You know who you are.
And I say to my own kids – all five of you, but also the other kids out there who are mine (you know who you are, too) – I love you. My life is exponentially richer as a result of having each one of you in my life.
You guys, my loyal peeps who’ve been sticking with me through 181 days now (even if you did miss a couple few), know that I’ve wondered what would happen if I found myself in a space where I might be compromised in my ability to honor my 1111 Devotioncommitment.
Well, this moment is both a challenge and an affirmation.
The night tonight is exquisitely conducive to cocooning. To sleeping. To dreaming. I’m sitting here in my room, the expansive windows thrown wide open despite the rain cascading from the sky. (I checked: No worries, nothing is coming in through the screens.)
It’s almost as if the cavalcade of sounds, textures, voices and images that we just experienced at the hands of the wizardly alchemist Peter May and his sound dakini, Marina, actually rippled out into and through the rainforest, following us as we wound our way to our room.
Indeed, perhaps our journey to the ululating murmerings of the didgeridoo was a mere appetizer to the evening’s main course.
The one that followed us home.
I can only hope.
My Devotion – My Heart
In the meantime, though, in the race to return to my room so I could write these words, I realized just how close to my heart I hold this devotion. It’s as if this time at the close of every day is time actually spent with my eldest son. Even if I don’t write about him (which in fact I rarely do), even if I write about the most mundane of topics. Even if I write a sentence and call it an evening. No detail about any post that I may write has any bearing whatsoever on the heart of the act itself.
There is purpose behind this Act of Power.
I write because I love.
And the love I feel is eternal, expansive, and holds the utmost healing power.
I hope each and every one of you, whether reading this or not, in some way feels the essence of what I felt (and feel) tonight. Whether it was a wisp of a sense, a warm sense, a rustle of your hair. I dropped by. I sent you love. I blew you a kiss. I thought about you.
And because you happen to be reading this at this very moment, know that that thought, that love, is coming to you yet again.
That was my dream earlier. May it continue to manifest.
Oooh, Valentine’s Day. It’s never been a favorite holiday of mine, I have to admit. If I could forget it, I probably would.
From the very first ‘celebrations’ in elementary school, I could take it or leave it. (If you can even call the mass card swapping event, with givers’ names usually haphazardly scrawled without any personalization, words of affection, or even friendship, designed to keep everyone feeling good and no one left out, a ‘celebration’.) I never received a valentine that even vaguely resembled the hype we were taught or made me think there might be some classmate secretly hoping I would be their special sweetie.
And there was definitely the sense of impending doom given off by those who, in retrospect, probably never received a heartfelt expression of love or curiosity from a classmate, especially at that age. In fact, some were almost certainly living in environments that didn’t include being told they were loved by anyone, much less a secret someone their own age. There are a few kids I remember from those days, whom I wish I could go back and be kinder to. I had no idea some of my classmates had to endure cruelty and abuse every day. It was inconceivable to me that anyone’s parent could be mean and horrible to a little kid.
The Pressure Builds
In junior and senior high school the pressure only became greater; the hype more intense. In junior high school (7thand 8thgrade), a valentine could be monumental. It could indicate a willingness to maybe be ‘liked’ by somebody. <<shivers>>
But by senior high school, if you were in a relationship, the pressure was on.
To be honest? I cannot remember one single Valentine’s Day card or gift I received in my youth or young adulthood. Which is kind of sad when you think about how pressure-filled the days leading up to it often felt.
All of which leads me to the debacle that was my first Valentine’s Day with Karl. We’d met in September, right after I’d arrived on campus at Penn State, fresh from my year as an exchange student in Sweden. Karl was a ‘night receptionist’ in my dorm. Yeah, back then we needed knights waiting patiently in our lobbies, checking residents’ keys, making sure no males were walking around ‘unescorted,’ essentially acting as Guardians of our Virtue.
Anyone who knows us can just imagine the grief I gave him when the elevator doors opened and I first laid eyes on him sitting facing those doors – and noticed that his eyes were closed. And noticed his breathing was decidedly rhythmic.
“Hey!” I called out, startling him awake. “We’re all going to get raped and it’s going to be your fault.” Yes, those were the first words I lobbed at the man who would end up fathering my children years later.
The Stirrings of a Life-long Love
It took a while, I’ll admit. It’s not as though we swept each other off our feet immediately. (Although I fell way faster than I wanted – and expected – having sworn off long-term relationships after being dumped long distance while I was in Sweden.) But that night receptionist’s job of his gave us a lot of opportunity to sit and talk. And talk. And argue. And talk. And…really get to know each other.
Suffice it to say, by February, we were well on our way to having more than an inkling that our mutual future might hold great promise.
Cue Valentine’s Day.
Oh yeah. I felt pressure. What to get this handsome, sensitive, intelligent guy that would let him know I was really falling for him, but wouldn’t scare him away?
Well, one of the things that we could talk about for hours and hours and hours, indeed well into the wee hours of the morning, was our love of books. And this was before the advent of the big box bookstores such as Borders or Barnes & Noble. Or (obviously) Amazon. Back then people were much less likely to own a lot of books. Rather, they went to the library. So owning books was a treat.
Somehow or another, I’m sure as a result of our long and luxurious conversations (I could with some snark say, “…from listening to him…”), I knew he would love the Foundationtrilogy by Isaac Asimov.
Beginning an ‘Illustrious’ Tradition
When the day arrived, he came up to my room and we shyly exchanged our gifts. My heart soared. I could tell from the shape and size of what he handed me that he, too, had thought to give the gift of a book. “Mmm,” I thought. “We’re on the same page. We love the same things.”
Imagine my surprise, then, when I opened my gift.
Yes. This is the very first gift Karl ever gave me for Valentine’s Day. And not only was this his actual gift to me (I thought he was kidding – he had to be kidding, right?), he was not kidding; he thought it was cute.
Somehow, we managed to survive that debacle. (I have to admit; it floored me – for many reasons, as you might imagine.) And we began a tradition of giving each other books that has lasted many years.
Receipt of “I’m a Fridgit,” however, did begin a reign of terror that has haunted our personal enjoyment of the 14thof February. I say that, and it’s true to a degree; but honestly? It’s a great story. And for that, I love him. That and his quirky sense of romance.
Quirky. Yeah. That’s the ticket.
Tomorrow will be our 41stValentine’s Day together. I’m waiting with baited breath. (Not.) But maybe we’ll take a ride to the bookstore in Peddler’s Village, or Farley’s, or Doylestown Book Shoppe. At least we’re lucky to have small, independent, wonderful book shops near us!
May you celebrate your love with a sense of humor and a deliciously good book.
