I asked my colleague Alanah about her husband recently, and she beamed. She always beams when she talks about him, not in a schoolgirl giddy way, but in a my soul sparkles way. Really. I'm not lying.
I asked her why she beams so, recently, and she told me the story of soulmates meeting.
Alanah and Mark met early in college and dated a couple of years. Figuring that they were too young to be so serious, they broke up and dated other people. Alanah married the next guy she dated, and Mark never married.
Alanah and her husband divorced.
Alanah and Mark remained friends, and met for coffee once every year until Mark finally said that he couldn't bear the pain of just seeing her once a year anymore. He decided to move to Antarctica for a construction project for the rest of his life, and Alanah grieved his leaving.
After Mark flew South, Alanah bought a ticket to New Zealand, where he was on furlough before heading back to Antarctica. She found him, said go home with me, and he did.
And now she sparkles, and this Christmas he gave her a custom-made bike, painted a custom pink.
That's a great story. Don't you think she should submit it to This American Life?
A Photograph of me without me in it
A photograph of me without me in it
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentine's Day #1
We are sitting on the back deck, Ann and I. We've just finished eating our grilled salmon and peaches.
Because it's a blue sky, mid-August day in Seattle, we're wearing t-shirts. My black t-shirt has an image of a woman of the dead wering a hat with a flower for flourish. The script underneath reads "Frida's, Antigua, Guatemala." This shirt reminds me of tortilla soup in Antigua, another lovely dinner in another lovely place.
Ann's t-shirt is light pink with the soft white image of a glass of milk. The soft white inscription underneath reads "half full." This is how we see our lives. In tough times, we know that our glass is half full, and we know always that our lives are full.
As the sun dips to the western horizon, the air chills, but we ignore our goosebumps for this moment. The setting sun's slicing rays glint off of Ann's wine glass as she turns to me:
"I love our friends and family," she says, "but my favorite moments are those nights when it's just you and me sharing a simple supper on the deck."
I look at Ann to my left and scan the backyard to my right. Grapes ripen on the arbor. The surprising yellow of black-eyed Susans dip in the breeze and wink at me; our lavetera blooms pink and white.
"Mine, too." I say to her.
"Mine, too," I say again.
Because it's a blue sky, mid-August day in Seattle, we're wearing t-shirts. My black t-shirt has an image of a woman of the dead wering a hat with a flower for flourish. The script underneath reads "Frida's, Antigua, Guatemala." This shirt reminds me of tortilla soup in Antigua, another lovely dinner in another lovely place.
Ann's t-shirt is light pink with the soft white image of a glass of milk. The soft white inscription underneath reads "half full." This is how we see our lives. In tough times, we know that our glass is half full, and we know always that our lives are full.
As the sun dips to the western horizon, the air chills, but we ignore our goosebumps for this moment. The setting sun's slicing rays glint off of Ann's wine glass as she turns to me:
"I love our friends and family," she says, "but my favorite moments are those nights when it's just you and me sharing a simple supper on the deck."
I look at Ann to my left and scan the backyard to my right. Grapes ripen on the arbor. The surprising yellow of black-eyed Susans dip in the breeze and wink at me; our lavetera blooms pink and white.
"Mine, too." I say to her.
"Mine, too," I say again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)