Romance
Ah, romance! All you have to do is mention the word and people immediately react. Sometimes the reaction is a wistful smile or a knowing look that recalls a special moment; sometimes it's a single tear, in homage to a love that burned bright, but now is gone.
We all have an image in our mind of a romantic setting - be it a candlelight dinner in an elegant restaurant, a walk along the beach with the waves lapping at your feet, or cuddling in front of a roaring fire in a mountain cabin. Very often, true romance comes in much smaller, every day moments that we look back on for years and sigh with remembering.
What amazes me, though, is how many men groan when you mention romance. "I don't know how to be romantic!" or "I can't afford all that romance crap!" Of course, there are, what I call, large romantic gestures - flying her to Paris for dinner; a night at the Plaza; taking him on a hot air balloon ride. These are all great. But if you ask a wife about her favorite romantic moments, she might just smile and tell you about window-shopping at the mall - holding hands and sharing a hot pretzel - when her husband hates the mall. Or sitting in an ice cream shoppe feeding each other bites of a hot fudge sundae on a hot summer afternoon. Or about how he rubbed her swollen feet during the last 2 months of her pregnancy.
One of my favorite memories is dancing in the rain. I don't remember exactly how I got him out into the parking lot at our complex, but I do remember his laughing face as we held hands and spun in circles in the warm summer rain. It might seem like a small thing, but to me it was just wonderful. Apparently, the woman unloading her groceries, who stopped to watch us and sigh "Awwww!", thought so, too.
Five days after I moved to Arizona, I turned 45. Mark and I were, as they say, poorer than church mice. But he asked me to go for a drive. We talked and laughed, listened to the radio, and just took a leisurely sight-seeing tour. After about 45 minutes, he pulled into the local DQ, where he bought me my favorite sundae and held my hand.
We've been through a lot in the six years since that Peanut Buster Parfait. We've occasionally lost sight of the important things, while dealing with the day's crises. But every night, he takes me in his arms and tells me he loves me. And I hold him close, knowing that I've found my safe harbor for the night.
We all have an image in our mind of a romantic setting - be it a candlelight dinner in an elegant restaurant, a walk along the beach with the waves lapping at your feet, or cuddling in front of a roaring fire in a mountain cabin. Very often, true romance comes in much smaller, every day moments that we look back on for years and sigh with remembering.
What amazes me, though, is how many men groan when you mention romance. "I don't know how to be romantic!" or "I can't afford all that romance crap!" Of course, there are, what I call, large romantic gestures - flying her to Paris for dinner; a night at the Plaza; taking him on a hot air balloon ride. These are all great. But if you ask a wife about her favorite romantic moments, she might just smile and tell you about window-shopping at the mall - holding hands and sharing a hot pretzel - when her husband hates the mall. Or sitting in an ice cream shoppe feeding each other bites of a hot fudge sundae on a hot summer afternoon. Or about how he rubbed her swollen feet during the last 2 months of her pregnancy.
One of my favorite memories is dancing in the rain. I don't remember exactly how I got him out into the parking lot at our complex, but I do remember his laughing face as we held hands and spun in circles in the warm summer rain. It might seem like a small thing, but to me it was just wonderful. Apparently, the woman unloading her groceries, who stopped to watch us and sigh "Awwww!", thought so, too.
Five days after I moved to Arizona, I turned 45. Mark and I were, as they say, poorer than church mice. But he asked me to go for a drive. We talked and laughed, listened to the radio, and just took a leisurely sight-seeing tour. After about 45 minutes, he pulled into the local DQ, where he bought me my favorite sundae and held my hand.
We've been through a lot in the six years since that Peanut Buster Parfait. We've occasionally lost sight of the important things, while dealing with the day's crises. But every night, he takes me in his arms and tells me he loves me. And I hold him close, knowing that I've found my safe harbor for the night.
Don't forget to visit JMark Afghans and My Gallery at Zazzle
We also have a page on Squidoo that supports the Genocide Intervention Network.
We look forward to seeing you online.
God Bless!
Jules
posted by Jules @ 4:19 PM
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