He moves a little slower now. But hard work will do that to a man. His joints creak now when he gets out of our double bed. But he has sinew on his arms, like rope stretched round an old post many times over. Losing none of its strength simply looking a little more worn. Hands that I’ve seen lift a 100 pound sack of feed as if it were a plaything, and yet wet a cloth to wash my face while I’m ill with the delicate ease of a doctor. You see the cowboy stars on television who perform seeming impossible shots with their western rifles. I’ve seen him fire a bullet hole in a bullet hole from a place so far away I couldn’t even see the cross mark. A man we know carries the target in his wallet , that my husband once shot as proof that he knows a man who can shoot ” a hole into a hole.” I’ve dreamed a dream up in my mind and said , ” If I wanted a shelf that looked like this and went here in this space, would you build it for me?” . And out of spare wood from the yard, and his pure imagination , he can build it, and stain it and make it a work of art. His boys think he is the strongest, tallest , smartest, best Daddy in the world. And why not? He’s taught them how to catch a fish with just a string, a hook, and a worm. How to walk tall in a world full of people who tell them differently. They know how to shake hands with a man when saying hello, and how to open a door for a lady. He’s taught them how to skip rocks, crack a Bible, kneel in prayer, and if need be, how to throw a punch. He’s told them you always love your Lord, your Momma, and your neighbor, and IN that order. I first laid eyes on him when I was 16, and told my friend, I’m gonna’ marry that man, and I did. He has been my light on some very, very dark nights, given me two amazing children, been my laughter when I am down, my lover, my strength on some days when I thought I didn’t want to go on anymore, and always, always, my BEST FRIEND. Today he is 48 , and I love him more now than I did that September day when I first saw him across the churchyard. Happy birthday babe, you are my everything.
The town lay dark and sleeping,
people safe ,in beds were keeping.
Only I , restless , hounded.
walked down the street,
What called me from my nightly slumber?
Something lonely, a despairing hunger.
Through the gate , a soldier stumbles,
in the distance , cannon rumbles.
Suddenly , in my arms he falls,
“1863” he said,” do you see the musket balls?”
His blood soaks through a letter,
he pushes in my hands.
“Give this to my Jeanette,
make sure she understands!”
With one last cold and wintry breath,
Like fog he disappears,
I’m bewildered , frightened,
for he didn’t know the year.
It’s 2013 now, and Jeanette is now long gone,
I keep the blood stained letter ,
in my mind the cannon echoes on.
In an icen forest ,
inside a crystal grave,
beneath the ancient snowy trees,
a tiny fairy lays.
In frosted air above her,
brushing wings with glassine leaves,
snowflakes dust the branches,
as all faerie-kind does grieve.
For a summer fae was never meant
in wintertime to bide,
the northern King,thought love would be,
enough to warm his bride.
But the King’s brother did wish her heart to claim,
and when she did not turn,
he poisoned her with holly,
and left her with frost burn.
But justice is not lacking,
for the evil deed was seen,
a sprite was in the window,
but could not save the Queen.
The King’s brother we see frozen,
hung now from diamond thread,
he thought to win the Queen her love,
but now has lost his head.
So now forever sits the King ,
in the winter land of Fae,
to never love another ,
from the land of Summer’s Day.
He smells of worn leather and grease.
Of the outdoors and mysterious things.
He walks a little slower now , then he did years ago.
Joints snap and crackle when he bends them, these days.
There’s a little frosty patch in the dark of his hair.
Just an angel-kissed place to remind me of all I’ve put him through.
Those hands of his that I noticed so long ago,
have a few more scars.
Each one with a story that I know.
The world might look at him , and pass by,
But the total of those parts , inside and out,
make the man I love……..
It’s that time again. When the sun sets and romantic feelings start to hum on the back burner. The children are tucked all snug in their beds, and it’s only the hubby and I awake. Hmmmmmmm………what to do with this alone time, wink, wink….;) We crawl eagerly into bed as I reach to the bedside drawer to get my equipment………..
My Breathe Right nasal strips. Ha. Had you worried there for a minute didn’t I? You were thinking to yourself, “Lord , have mercy what is she going to post now?!?”
We’ve been married 15 years now, so our bedroom routine is quite a bit different now a days. I have breathing difficulties at night, so these extra strength nasal strips are my new best friends. Of course, hubs has worked all day, so he needs a BenGay rub, and a handful of aspirin. He needs socks and a heavy quilt to warm his poor cold feet. I need my body to be out from under the covers and a fan for a breeze( and for the white noise!) We lie in bed and enjoy companionable silence over our separate pursuits. He with SuDoKu and I with a hefty hardback book. No words necessary. If he gets tired, and wants to turn out the lights, he doesn’t mind if I sleep on the sofa so I can finish my book.
And sleepwear these days really is about comfort. I mean sure, those Victoria’s Secret models look great , don’t they? But, big hint, that stuff is NOT made for sleeping, am I right? For sleeping you need, (pardon me 😉 an old ratty tshirt and granny panties. Seriously.
I don’t mean to say that there aren’t intimate romantic moments. There are. It’s just that our lives don’t revolve around those anymore. I can truly say that I could be anywhere , anytime, with my other half, and enjoy myself. As cliche’ as it sounds he really is my best friend.
And if a man can love you with your nasal strip, holey tshirt, and your granny panties on, there just might be some hope for romance after all.
I’m weird. Yep. Totally. Completely. Weird. I have proof. I didn’t have proof before, it was just a sneaking suspicion, really. Kind of a niggling doubt in the back of my mind. But , after trolling FB today, I have located quantifiable proof that I am strange . Well, at least for my gender anyway.
What made me realize this today? I did not post a picture of my Valentine’s gift or post a status ABOUT my Valentine’s gift. Why not? I didn’t GET a Valentine’s Day gift. SHOCK. HORROR! AWE! That’s right I said my husband of 15 years did NOT get me a gift on the DAY of days for romance. He didn’t get me anything yesterday for it, or the day before, either.
Now let me say, I do not begrudge people who post their sweet pictures of their loved ones. I love seeing all the neat ways that people show their love for one another! Roses! Candy ! Jewelry! These are all great, and hubs HAS bought me all those things in the past. But hear me out . I just don’t seem to care about those things anymore. They just don’t matter to me. I am not a huge jewelry wearer. Don’t much care for diamonds. If I wear “real” gemstones, I like unusual things with colors or something non traditional. Mostly I just wear the cheap stuff. You know 3 for $5 at CATOs. 🙂
I don’t really want roses or flowers that are going to die in a few weeks. I would so much rather have a planted rose to enjoy for a long time.
And candy. Seriously, ladies. Let’s be honest with each other. We buy that stuff for ourselves. No man needed! I do NOT wait for my husband to surprise me with chocolates when in need of my happy place!
I suppose people will ask me , “Don’t you miss the romance?” Well, maybe I just define romance in a different way. After all, my hubs just took me to have my gallbladder out at like, 5 in the morning. After all the pain, I’d been in from that stupid thing, THAT was a romantic gift!
So, I hope everyone got what they truly wanted for HEARTS day. If you didn’t, ladies, take a page from my book and just tell the significant other, “Know what? Don’t go shop for a gift for me. Just leave me the checkbook, that way I’ll get what I REALLY want!” 🙂