Category: Love

Posted in Life, Love, marriage, Uncategorized

Tulips and Off-road Diesel

Posted on by Susannah Warner

“What are you thinking about?” I asked my husband, as we were driving home last summer after a day of playing outside in the Maine woods. Full of sunshine and fresh air, our bodies were comfortably heavy while our minds were clear, and we’d both been quiet on our way home from a trip “up-north.” But after 15 minutes of daydreaming, I was suddenly curious to know what he was seeing in his mind’s eye. “Off-road diesel,” he answered immediately, eyes still on the road. I turned my head to him as I laughed out loud, and a slow smile spread over his face as he slid his eyes in my direction. “What?” he asked shrugging, as confused by my reaction as he was pleased to hear me laugh. “Want to know what I was just thinking about?” I asked, and continued before he could answer, “I was thinking about tulips!” We both laughed then, mostly I think, about how different we are.

We fell silent again, and still a few miles from home, I had time to reflect on our differences, as I thought about the day we’d just spent together. We’d rode the four-wheeler on some old logging roads, stopping occasionally when one of us would spot something worth investigating up close. Sometimes, it would be a stream with large rocks as our only bridge to the other side, and he’d insist on going first to make sure the rocks were stable enough to land on, then turn back to offer me a steadying hand. Sometimes, one of us would spot the ruins of an old farmhouse foundation and since we both love a good treasure hunt, we’d stop and dig through piles of broken glass, hoping to unearth an unbroken antique bottle. And if I found one, he’d insist on pulling it out of the ground so I wouldn’t cut myself. I thought about the preparations necessary to even go on such an adventure, involving ramps and ratchet straps, tire plug kits and portable battery chargers, all things I rarely even mention, let alone ever, in a million years use. He knows about things that I don’t know about, he knows about off-road diesel.

But, he knows about tulips too; he can plant them, tend them, cut them, surprise me with them, and arrange them. He also knows how to build a house, sell it, and clean it. He can catch a meal, and cook it. I’ve also seen him sew (cloth, and on one memorable occasion when we were young and poor, his own hand! It worked!). He can walk around patting a colicky baby’s back for hours and make the best omelettes ever. He knows how to do things, but I know how to express things.

I can turn a conversation into a story, a memory into a paragraph. I can remember what was said, when we said it, where we were standing and sometimes, what we were wearing (although I’m quite confident that this whole statement will garner an objection from my husband when I read this post to him!). I can remember how I felt, imagine how someone else felt and put it down on paper. But I don’t know anything know about off-road diesel, I thought to myself, suddenly feeling panicky. A quick google search just as we pulled into the driveway reassured me I actually did know what that was, I just didn’t know I did. Just as there are things that I bring to our relationship that I might not know, I bet he knows, as I know the things he brings.

We are as differently shaped as two pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. Our outer edges don’t match up and trying to fit those parts together would never work, there would be nothing to hold the two pieces together. But, the inside pieces fit perfectly and easily. The colors, although slightly different, compliment each other so that when they are joined, become one. Both of us a small part of the big picture, just as God intended us to be.

Last night I was in bed when I realized that my lips felt uncomfortably dry and I found myself in the ultimate first-world conundrum – I felt desperate for some relief for my lips, but I was already cozy and perfectly positioned for a good night’s sleep and didn’t want to get up. Just when I thought I’d actually have to get out of bed, my hero arrived, and in the nick of time. He had come upstairs to give me a goodnight kiss but I seized the opportunity and asked him to grab me “some lip stuff” from my bathroom. “It’s to the right of the sink,” I reassured him as a look of uncertainty flashed across his face since he rarely goes in my bathroom. I could hear him rummaging through lipsticks, lip glosses, lip-stains, pencils, chap-stick and two lip balms, yet he emerged victoriously a few seconds later. “You use this little tub thing at night, right?” he said handing it to me with a smile on his face. “Yeah, I do.” I said as I reached up for it, smiling back at him, while inside I thought, “tulips.”

Posted in Life, Love, marriage

Light (A Dystopian Fairy Tale)

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away…

The land was dusty and dry, the sky red. They marched together, down a straight path toward a destination only their spirits knew. They knew they must keep moving toward the great light ahead. It’s purity beckoned them forward and they were pulled like magnets toward it’s sweet promise of rest and beauty. They knew this barren land was not their home; there was little comfort there. Instinctively they knew that they must not deviate, they must not let go, they must march together, and they must stay on the path.

They were focused and determined at first. Their faces were set toward the light and they broke their intense gaze only occasionally, and only to turn to each other to exchange a sweet smile of encouragement. Her gown was gauzy and light, and blew behind her as she walked. Her feet were bare, and her step was light. She wore a backpack stuffed full of joy, hope and devotion. And sometimes she was so happy she skipped like a child, while he smiled fondly and indulgently at her. His boots were sturdy and he was dressed for battle. He had pockets where he kept his weapons and a canteen on his hip. He had a backpack too; it was chock full of love, loyalty, and protection. His hands were rough, but held hers gently.

They were not tired, they were not thirsty. They had each other and they were sure of their mission, although they did not know what they would find when they got there. And although the weather had been calm, a sudden gust of wind tugged at her dress, and threatened to pull her way, but his grip on her tightened and her feet come back to the dusty earth. She smiled up at at him, unaware that a bit of joy had spilled out of her bag. He smiled back, but a creeping vine reached out and wrapped around his foot, nearly tripping him. He stumbled, and nearly fell, but her small hand gave him just enough stability to right himself, although when he did, a little love leaked out of the side of his backpack. Unaware of what they’d lost, they smiled at each other and marched on, but not before they stopped to pick up two beautiful pebbles as keepsakes.

They pressed on, although they were wary now as they saw it was not as easy as they had initially thought. For the first time, her gaze swept from side to side, instead of looking straight ahead at the light. She was looking for danger and she found it, although to her, it was not scary at all. It looked like a puppy floundering in a pond just off the path to her right. She started to pull away from him, and go off the path to help the pitiful thing, but he held fast. He did not see a puppy, he saw a wolf, and it was not in distress, it was nashing it’s teeth as she strained to go rescue it. He pulled her back, a little more roughly than he’d meant to, before she could go any closer, and together they continued, a trail of joy and hope staining the ground behind her, while loyality and protection ran down his leg and out of his boot. And although angry with each other, they both stopped at the same time to collect more beautiful pebbles scattered in front of them.

They continued on, but they were beginning to feel weighted down. Her feet were not as light as they once were, and she had no energy to skip. His feet felt hot and heavy, and he did not smile at her. Even her dress hung limply around her ankles and they were both vaguely aware that the pebbles they had collected were beginning to feel heavy, while the reassuring weight they’d always felt in their backs was uncomfortably light. Trudging on toward the light, following the path set before them, they heard a sound behind them, bearing down on them like a freight train.

They turned to look, hands still clasped and saw that it was a tornado, far away still, but coming closer. Still looking over their shoulders, they saw the dry earth and tumbleweeds rise up to join the swirling air, which sucked everything in like a vacuum. The cyclone devoured the sky and obscured the light, and it was headed straight down the path and right for them.

She wanted to run, but her burdens were too heavy, he wanted to fight it, but his arms were full. It was coming closer, following their path and threatening to suck them both up. They realized that the only way to be safe was to leave the path, break apart, and dive to safety, each on their own sides. They took one final look at each other, as the noise from behind them became deafening, her hair and dress swirled around her as they nodded to each other that it was time to let go and save themselves.

But the wind that was threatening to blow them apart had also stirred the earth stained with hope, joy, devotion, protection, loyalty and love. The letters swirled around, becoming words, words became meaning and meaning became feeling. Her gifts were all mixed up with his, and showered down on them both, until it became theirs. And the power that tried to carry them away, had instead blown away the once beautiful pebbles, which had become ugly rocks over the years. Resentment, anger, hurt and sadness were wrestled from their arms, instantly swirling above their heads and sucked up in the abyss behind and over them.

Lighter than they’d felt in years, they looked at each other, hands still clasped, and saw that they were infused with each others strengths. No longer afraid, they laughed and started running together, wind nipping at their heels, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them that was absorbed into the whirlwind chasing them. It followed them the whole way, but did not devour them, because love covered them like a shield. It felt good to run together, unencumbered and free. His boots supported him, and her bare feet flew as her dress and hair fluttered behind her. They did not leave the path, they did not stop, until breathless and laughing, they finally reached the light.

He was waiting for them at the end of the path, glowing as the light behind Him spilled out around Him. They stopped short and looked up at Him. He was spotless and beautiful and smiling at them both. Their smiles faded as they looked down and saw that they were both shamefully filthy. Her dress was torn and her feet were dirty. His boots were covered in dust and his face had dirt smudges on it. They were suddenly embarrassed to show up at such a perfect place this way. Together they turned to leave. But He put a hand on their shoulders and kindly said, “what is in your backpacks?”

They were so used to carrying them, and they had gotten so light that they’d forgotten them. They slipped them off their shoulders and unzipped them and inside, much to their surprise, they found new clothes, without spot or rip. “They are for you, “ He said. “I’m giving them to you so that you can come with me.” They were stunned, and grateful. He turned and beckoned them to follow Him. She was suddenly happy, so happy that she skipped through the doors, behind Him, light as a feather in her spotless clothes. He smiled at her fondly as he dropped the dirty backpack at the doorway and entered too.

And they truly, lived happily ever after. The end.

Today is Armistice Day at my house. My husband of 28 years and I have come to an understanding, signed an agreement, and shook hands on it, in keeping with the original of 1918, but we also sealed it with a kiss, which may or may not have happened back then. Probably not.

Wait, Armistice? You might now be thinking, if you’re still reading. Isn’t that in November, and isn’t that what parents, or maybe grandparents used to say instead of Veteran’s day? And what is Armistice anyway? I had to google this one because I really wasn’t sure, just as I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about some long-standing, years-running arguments my husband and I have had that have recently resurfaced. There is no google for that answer, but it turns out that I didn’t need it…but I’ll get to that later.

Apparently our grandparents were right in calling November 11th (now known as Veteran’s Day) Armistice Day, because it marked the temporary cessation of armed conflict between the Allies, and Germany at the end of World War 1. The agreement was signed on the 11th hour, on the 11th day, of the 11th month and effectively brought hostilities to a close (although true history buffs will know that while the fighting ceased on that date, a formal peace agreement was reached when the Treaty of Versailles was signed on January 10th, 1920). Armistice Day was the first step, and a major one, in ending a world war. While this War(ners! HA!), is not of world proportions, we are not for nothing, known in previous posts as The Bickersons.

My compatriot and I have always fought the good fight, side by side for a long time, longer than many. We’ve always had each other’s backs, and still do, but there are times, in any relationship, when a guard can go up, and a mask takes the place of that precious face you know better than your own, so that you might not know who this person is. It can be hard to know who to love, and who to hate, and if you are not careful, and constantly on guard, suddenly you might find yourself attacking your beloved, and he you, as if you were enemies instead of soldiers in the same army.

My husband and I have found ourselves here before. We’ve revived old hurts we should have drowned decades ago. We’ve given CPR to betrayals stiff and cold with rigor mortis. We’ve pumped blood into the broken parts of our hearts to watch it squirt out grotesquely, and all just to flaunt to the other, “See?!? You’ve hurt me! You did this! YOU!” And so, we hurt them back. An eye for eye. A heart for a heart. And, sometimes it ends there. Not just the argument, all of it. I don’t fault anyone for that. I don’t blame those who can’t do it anymore. I’ve thought I might be there many times, including yesterday, until I had an idea as I traipsed through the Maine woods, while taking pictures of the autumn display of scarlet maples and amber birches.

I thought, if bull-headed nations can honor a peace treaty, and put the past to rest, why can’t two bull-headed people? Sometimes talking about the past can be helpful, but it has not proven to be beneficial for us, and after almost three decades of marriage I think we can, and should move on. So that is what we did today, on the 10th day, of the 10th month at 10:10 am. Will this work? I have no idea. But, I do know that God honors agreements, and that my comrade in arms and I will do our best to do the same.

Addendum: In typical bi-polar fashion we skipped the armistice portion and went right for the treaty. We really saw no reason to wait. Bam!

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Armistice Day

Quote• Posted on by Susannah Warner
Posted in children, Love, Uncategorized

Traces of Love

Posted on by Susannah Warner

My mother once told me that when I was small, sometimes she would find my little things lying around that had not been put away before I went to sleep, after she came downstairs. An open book maybe, a crayon (to this day pronounced “crown”), that had rolled halfway under the couch, a little wooden truck, with a popsicle stick tailgate and actual wooden wheels, that my father had made for me for my Barbies, parked in the “garage” under the coffee table, and that seeing these little reminders of me sometimes made her feel a little sad. “Traces of Love,” she and my father apparently called these things. I always liked that, and thought of it often when my children were little and I found the same sort of remnants strewn about the house, after it was finally quiet for the night.

As happy as I was to have a couple of hours of peace before I fell into bed, I would always feel a little sad too when I would see a little teacup under the radiator, and remember shamefully my annoyance hours earlier about being asked to have another tea party, always inexplicably with a blanket over our heads. Or, an orange Nerf gun dart under the pillows of the couch, having gotten wedged there after a shower of them sprayed across the living room. I always recalled too, how I only half listened to my daughter talk about her horse, while I prepared dinner. The other half of my mind was occupied with all the things I needed to remember for the next day; sign a permission slip, pack lunches, throw a load of laundry in the washer…Or how, as I read to my son I might have skipped a page or two, eager to have some time to myself.

So, when the cries of, “I’m thirsty! I’m not tired! I’m scared! I have to pee!” finally subsided, and the house took on that late night, half-asleep hushed feeling, I would usually take a minute to mentally acknowledge the things I wished I had done differently that day, before I joined my husband on the couch. Looking around at their little things, always helped me refocus and remember that no matter how tired I was at the end of the day, I had been blessed with these little people to mold and shape the best way I knew how, so that someday they could appreciate traces of love from their own little ones.

 

Posted in Love

Red Hearts

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Valentine’s day…A day for lovers, celebrated with flowers, chocolates, and dinners out at restaurants, all edged in red hearts. The red heart has long been a symbol of romantic love, although a quick google search yields no definitive answer as to why, nor the exact origin of Valentine’s Day.

One theory is based on the life and death of Valentine, a holy priest in Rome in the 3rd century after he was beaten and beheaded on February 14th by order of Emperor Claudius II ( AKA Claudius the Cruel, yikes!). Apparently ol’ Claud was having a difficult time maintaining a strong army, and since Rome was involved in many bloody endeavors during his reign, he needed to boost his enlistment campaign. However, he believed that many men were unwilling to join due to their attachment to their families and wives. Naturally, being cruel, he banned all marriages and engagements. Valentine, an apparent lover of justice and believer in love, continued to perform marriages in secret, until his acts of treason were discovered and he was dragged before the Prefect of Rome who condemned him to death. Legend has it that while he was in jail, Valentine left a farewell note signed, “from your Valentine,” to the jailer’s daughter who had become his friend. The priest was martyred for his service after his death.

In addition to St. Valentine’s execution the day before, February 15th was the date of the Feast of Lupercalia, a pagan festival of “love,” which was actually quite a violent and bloody event. It was celebrated with animal sacrifices and random matchmaking in an effort to ward off infertility and evil spirits, until it was eliminated in the 5th century AD by Pope Gelasius I.

There are other theories as to the origin of Valentines day, and other stories of how it has evolved to be the symbol of love it is today, but those two stood out to me the most, because like love itself, they are contradictory. Someone once said, “there is a fine line between love and hate,” and while no one wants to believe that they could hate, even momentarily, the person they love, my husband and I would probably have to admit that we may have had a flash of that emotion a time or two in our 28 year marriage.

The expression, “seeing red,” means that someone is extremely angry, yet I think most people would agree that the color most represented by love is red. Unlike its meek cousin pink, red is bold, vivacious, and passionate. Red is alive, just like a thriving relationship. Red is rage and heat, fury and fervor unlike the emotionless blue of cool indifference. There is no one in this world who can piss me off like my Valentine, and no one who can make me laugh as much either. Because of this, I’d say that regardless of the reason for Valentines day, a red heart represents the day, and our relationship best. Sometimes it pounds in anger, sometimes it swells with pride, sometimes it skips a beat, and sometimes it drums on unnoticed in the background. But, no matter the emotion or circumstance, it goes on.