After a bit of discussion, we decided our creative needs are better met by blogging together in another format.
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We've Moved: Follow Along!
So, this morning I had boiled eggs with my breakfast. And it reminded me of Sunday, when you peeled all the boiled eggs for the potato salad I was making to take to your father's house.
And it made me miss you because I wanted you to be in the kitchen cooking with me. Even though I wasn’t really cooking, I was just preparing. I wanted you to be peeling the shells off the eggs while I made the toast.
Time is moving at a glacial pace. Less than two weeks til you are here.
For the first time in my life, I bought a can of sardines at the grocery store. See, once you mentioned that you liked sardines, so I thought having a can in the pantry would be something nice. Just in case you want a snack. It’s become part of my grocery shopping routine, by the way, to look at things that you might like that I may not have regularly purchased in the past.
I’m so excited about your trip to Dallas. You’ll be here for a week and we’ve already discussed that we will both be available to our clients for work during that time. It’s wise, when you think about it, to make our time about building our life - doing things that must be done in addition to things that we want to do. Because we both know that we are in this for the long-haul, not a weekend.
Ryan Adams:
“Call Me On Your Way Back Home”
(via tdubbs026)
I’ll be the first to admit these lyrics are overwrought and melodramatic, but that’s how I feel this afternoon. Yes, our time together was too short, and while I might not really want to die without you, I’m certainly miserable in your absence. My new mantra? Two more weeks and I’ll be in the Big D.
And you can take me to the suburb on which Arlen, TX is based. And maybe I can stand in an alley with some guys and drink beer.
But only if you’ll stand there with me.
We’re home. The weekend was entirely too short. It seems like the moment we got there, it was time to go home. Time FLEW. It seems quite unfair that time moves at different speeds when we are together and when we are apart.
This weekend was a big deal for us. We brought out extended family into the our relationship. You have interacted with my daughter via Skype often, but there is something just different about face to face VS communicating online, as we well know. And I met one of your brothers the last time I was in Tennessee. But meeting your father and the rest of your extended family had me in knots. (I don’t think I’ve met someone’s father since high school). Just like meeting my daughter surely had you in a tizzy.
From the outside, most of our friends and family members have only seen a relationship that has been growing for the month or so. I’m sure it’s hard to understand that we have been carefully tending our relationship. I know how much I love you, and how that love has continued to grow each day. I feel your love for me. But there is still something different about opening up our relationship to the people that loved us before we met. As we discuss things more serious than simply dating, letting those people in is important.
My daughter adored you, by the way. She says that you are good for me. From what you said, I believe your father thinks I’m pretty good for you.
I know we didn’t need the approval of these people, but I have to say, it sure makes things even sweeter that we seem to have it.
Passing the time between now and the next time we work our schedules and responsibilities to be together in the same room at the same time is going to move slower than molasses in January.
After their rental car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared around the corner, I went into the house, ate some cereal, straightened the kitchen, and then sat at my desk in the office and phoned my father to thank him again for the hospitality he showed us over the weekend.
“When are they going back home?” he asked.
“They’ve left already,” I said.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
I thought for a moment about how my house would not be filled this afternoon with the giggling of girls, how I would not be awakened with bouncy complaints about the lack of coffee, how no one but me would show Molly cat affection, and how empty and sterile rooms would feel tomorrow.
“Yes,” I answered. “A little.”
She’ll be here in an hour. With her daughter. I’m so nervous I’m rattling around like my late mother’s Anacin bottle — the one that made more noise than the 5th Infantry marching in full battle gear.
Yikes.
The Lovin’ Spoonful:
“Darlin’ Companion”
(via DesmonJones)
I came to this little song some years ago via, of all things, a Woody Allen film. I realize Allen’s films are best known for their standards- and Dixieland jazz-laden soundtracks, but in the very early days, with a little-known (hysterically funny) movie, in which Allen took a Japanese spy movie and redubbed it, the soundtrack belonged to the Lovin’ Spoonful. The band even appears briefly in a discotheque scene — no, really.
The song isn’t really country. It isn’t rock and roll. It likely wouldn’t find an audience today, not even with all the strange indy outlets that exist in all their varied permutations and combinations; but I liked it the first time I heard it and I love it today for its quirky guitars and straight-up lyrics. I hope you’ll like it too.
This is a photo of my favorite chair. It has now been retired from the front room because the upholstery is eroded by time, faded by the sun and scarred by cats’ claws. I recall when you were last here, napping in the chair, saying it “wrapped you up, like a warm embrace.”
Some scorn the notion that a relationship, like an old overstuffed chair, might be comfortable. Not me. When I sit in this chair, tattered and worn as it is, I feel safe. I’ve launched a thousand journeys from this place, a good book in hand, feet propped on the ample ottoman.
No matter how many others have occupied this space, you came and owned it, curling up and making it your possession. Maybe ownership is the secret of being comfortable in a place.
If others insist my words are stale, my technique is tried, my heart has held a number of previous occupants, I can only answer guilty as charged. I’m 54 years old. I’d be a fool to say I’ve never been this way before.
Here’s the difference. Others have rented the space. You own it.
Comfortable. Like this chair. That’s what being together is like. It’s a rare thing, at least in my world, to have that level of comfort in a relationship. I think that’s a very special thing.
(Photo is mine, taken Washington DC Hotel George, August 2009)
