I stalked two senior citizens today. I spent far too much time eyeballing juice to be credible. I'm sure they noticed.
I couldn't walk away. They were in love.
I am unabashedly squishy. I cried during Juno and every time I see the new version of Pride and Prejudice (despite my visceral aversion to Keira Knightly...Matthew MacFadyen is truly a yummy Mr. Darcy and don't even get me started on anything Hugh Grant.) Oh, I can come off as a tough broad, but on the inside I'm really a cream puff (one of those chocolate ones with pink coconut). I love-love.
The couple must have been in their 80's. Their frames, shrunken with age, leaned into one another, and not just for support. They were nose to nose discussing cereal bars. It could have been a hearing challenge, for a moment I thought to help them decide between the oat clusters and the bran. However, I soon noticed it was love.
As they walked away towards the juice aisle I saw he grabbed her and gave her a little squeeze. She leaned in, a smile on her face. The same smile she had when he grabbed her off the dance floor over 60 years ago. The same smile she had when she walked down to aisle, her eyes never leaving her uniformed husband to be. The same smile she had when he came home from the wars, almost in one piece, knowing she could put his heart back together. The same smile.
I am the product of a broken home. Dad left Mom when I was 24. I now know, and kinda did then, it should have happened much, much sooner. My husband and I are the oldest married couple of either of our parents. So, of late, I find myself watching and admiring love in its fullest and longest versions.
I love my husband. Some days I even like him. We have been married 14 years. We'll celebrate our anniversary by going to the Steelers home opener and staying the night in da 'Burgh. We take turns planning anniversaries for each other. It has fallen by the wayside of children, however, this year I reinstituted the plan. I planned for him. (Thanks dad for scoring the free tickets!).
When I watched that couple in the grocery store I smiled too. I smiled because I know, somewhere in a deep part of my heart and spirit, I'll be leaning into my husband 46 years from now. I know I'll smile that same smile when I see him put on his Steelers jersey to go to the game. I'll smile when we try to decide between the oats or the bran.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Movement: Soccer Insanity
I can just hear the conversation of our soccer coach with his wife upon his return from our first practice.
"How did your first practice go tonight, dear?" (In my head the dialogue is similar to an episode of 'Leave It To Beaver'--dunno why.)
"It went super. Except for this one boy," he says, removing his cleats and putting on his slippers (brown corduroy of course).
"Tell me about it dear," she replies while handing him a cocktail, sitting beside him to enjoy one herself.
"Well, he kept making super-hero flying noises and gun shots when kicking or running. And when he made a good shot, or kicked the ball further than two inches, he would stand," Coach said, consternation crinkling his kind eyes.
"Golly, he would just stand there?" wife replied, sipping her cocktail and marveling at what a concerned and wonderful coach her man is (while also admiring her fresh pedicure through her cute and comfy peep toe pumps).
"Yes, he would stand there with his hand in the air waiting to do a high five. After every, single, long kick. He's shaping up to be quite a character!"
"I agree."
Sip, sip. Hug, hug. and SCENE.
Yes, my five year old entered the world of organized sports. I said to the other Mommy present, "Today is the first day of a life time of practices, games, sports, uniforms, equipment, fund raisers, etc."
I was on the sidelines with the whole fam. Dad, me, Pappy and the baby all stood watching our little quirky five year old make his sports debut. And what a debut.
He only made one of the children cry. This is an unfortunate side effect from playing full contact soccer with Daddy for years.
He only fell down once. With aplomb he got right up and promptly ran over the ball.
He made sound effects. For everything. RRRRRRRR-BOOM-NEEE NER, NEEE NER.
He drank his whole water bottle, after 10 minutes of practice.
He only grabbed his pee pee twice. As opposed to the every three minute check he normally does.
He insisted on hugging the kid who made a great goal.
He was scared of and run over by the 'big girl' (i.e. the first grader who was a couple inches taller than him and quickly earning the moniker "girlie Pele").
The soccer insanity has begun.
"How did your first practice go tonight, dear?" (In my head the dialogue is similar to an episode of 'Leave It To Beaver'--dunno why.)
"It went super. Except for this one boy," he says, removing his cleats and putting on his slippers (brown corduroy of course).
"Tell me about it dear," she replies while handing him a cocktail, sitting beside him to enjoy one herself.
"Well, he kept making super-hero flying noises and gun shots when kicking or running. And when he made a good shot, or kicked the ball further than two inches, he would stand," Coach said, consternation crinkling his kind eyes.
"Golly, he would just stand there?" wife replied, sipping her cocktail and marveling at what a concerned and wonderful coach her man is (while also admiring her fresh pedicure through her cute and comfy peep toe pumps).
"Yes, he would stand there with his hand in the air waiting to do a high five. After every, single, long kick. He's shaping up to be quite a character!"
"I agree."
Sip, sip. Hug, hug. and SCENE.
Yes, my five year old entered the world of organized sports. I said to the other Mommy present, "Today is the first day of a life time of practices, games, sports, uniforms, equipment, fund raisers, etc."
I was on the sidelines with the whole fam. Dad, me, Pappy and the baby all stood watching our little quirky five year old make his sports debut. And what a debut.
He only made one of the children cry. This is an unfortunate side effect from playing full contact soccer with Daddy for years.
He only fell down once. With aplomb he got right up and promptly ran over the ball.
He made sound effects. For everything. RRRRRRRR-BOOM-NEEE NER, NEEE NER.
He drank his whole water bottle, after 10 minutes of practice.
He only grabbed his pee pee twice. As opposed to the every three minute check he normally does.
He insisted on hugging the kid who made a great goal.
He was scared of and run over by the 'big girl' (i.e. the first grader who was a couple inches taller than him and quickly earning the moniker "girlie Pele").
The soccer insanity has begun.
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