I have been blessed enough in this life to have some really fantastic friends. And, I've never considered myself to be all that great at maintaining friendships, so for that I am even luckier. I'm not sure the secret to our success over the years...and we've had many a friendship bruised and broken...but we're still plugging along together. We were fledgling teachers once. The newbies. Fresh faced. Newly Engaged. Optimistic.
And now? Well...we're seasoned, or becoming so. Gray hair and fine lines play peek-a-boo. Marriages tested. Or broken. Bodies changed by those little ones, who now steal the conversation. Collectively, we've sailed some rough waters. Divorce and debt. Miscarriages and military husbands. Cancer and cantankerous relatives. Infidelity and insecurity.
Despite all of that, we're cooler. Funnier. Smarter. And, dare I say, prettier. I think. There's a comfort there as we've let life sink in around us. We're not old, but we're not her any more. That fresh-faced newbie carrying a bridal magazine in a backpack. We're wearing the life we've earned. And I prefer the experience to the blind ambition.
So what's the secret? Lunch. We break bread. Like any family, strong at the core, we eat together daily. For the last twelve plus years it has kept us together and kept us sane. We gather around the table, gnoshing on the latest creation of Lean Cuisine and talk. Sometimes it's work, but mostly it's life. And very often it's inappropriate. We may be grown ups, but you're never too old to tell a fart joke. Or share your latest sexcapade. And if any of us wallow too deep in the muck of education, there is always another to draw you out....back into the conversational fray. Every exciting moment of life has been shared around this faculty room table. Pregnancies, expected and accidental. Engagements...long awaited. Nieces, nephews, grandchildren...on their way! Stories of honeymoons and romance, defeat and disappointment. We've cried often, but laughed more.
And I wouldn't change it, even if it inevitably changes. As life always does. My guess is that, after the faculty room is long gone and the true lines of life have taken hold, we'll still find a way to break bread...and laugh. And love.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
A Letter to Her....
Just as I am about to drift off, on most nights, a flash of memory wakes me. It's never an entire event or full remembrance of something, but a snippet. A glimpse backwards. Exiting the limousine at my wedding, seeing that second line, watching a movie while he's on the recliner next to me. It's never enough to bring me to tears, but enough to keep me awake a little longer...
...thinking about her, well, me actually....
at twenty-five...
I'd like a chance to talk to her and let her know what's in store for her. But, there's no way to warn of things to come, she must live it. Take her lumps. Make her mistakes. Learn from them. Change. If I could talk to her, I would say...
Dearest Girl,
Hello there, darling... He's about to propose! But, you knew that already, didn't you? There's not much surprise in something you've practically begged for, for years. I want to tell you something and please listen carefully. You don't have to say yes. He is your very best friend and I know you couldn't possibly imagine life without him, but you don't need to take a vow to have a kickass party. Honey...you can't quite comprehend what it means to honor and obey til death do you part. But, the good new is that you will.
Listen, before it's too late. I'm afraid we don't have much time. (You have your dress fitting in an hour!)
Things are not going to go as you planned. I mean...your plans are really going to hit the skids sooner than you think. On the upside, you will be blessed with two amazingly uneventful pregnancies. And, you'll become a mom. You'll be a pretty good one, but you'll be much more overwhelmed than you could have possibly imagined. (Sometimes, you'll cry for months). Tink will have colic. It's going to test you...and you'll fail. Miserably. You're going to feel this incredible need to shed your skin. And you will. Him. He's going to be a casualty of you not being honest to yourself about what you wanted out of life at twenty-five.
So, you'll leave. I can't believe I'm telling you this, because you were the one person who so steadfastly believed you'd never end up here. Divorce town. Shit, this sounds morbid and depressing. It's really not! What I'm trying to say is that you'll cut off your hair, down a few bottles of Chardonnay and resurrect yourself! Oh honey, you're going to be judged so very harshly. Pick your chin up, woman and keep going! Pull out those workout videos and get crackin'! You have a lot of fixing to do. But, you'll do it. And your daughters will be better for it. You know what? That one you vowed to love forever? You'll become friends, sort of, again. Wait. Patiently. Please don't give up.
And you know what, young lady? You're going to fall in love. The right way. You'll respect this relationship and cherish it above all others. Guess what! That picket fence you destroyed, will be rebuilt. Slowly. But, it will. I promise. Good luck...See you on the flipside.
You (at 35)
...thinking about her, well, me actually....
at twenty-five...
I'd like a chance to talk to her and let her know what's in store for her. But, there's no way to warn of things to come, she must live it. Take her lumps. Make her mistakes. Learn from them. Change. If I could talk to her, I would say...
Dearest Girl,
Hello there, darling... He's about to propose! But, you knew that already, didn't you? There's not much surprise in something you've practically begged for, for years. I want to tell you something and please listen carefully. You don't have to say yes. He is your very best friend and I know you couldn't possibly imagine life without him, but you don't need to take a vow to have a kickass party. Honey...you can't quite comprehend what it means to honor and obey til death do you part. But, the good new is that you will.
Listen, before it's too late. I'm afraid we don't have much time. (You have your dress fitting in an hour!)
Things are not going to go as you planned. I mean...your plans are really going to hit the skids sooner than you think. On the upside, you will be blessed with two amazingly uneventful pregnancies. And, you'll become a mom. You'll be a pretty good one, but you'll be much more overwhelmed than you could have possibly imagined. (Sometimes, you'll cry for months). Tink will have colic. It's going to test you...and you'll fail. Miserably. You're going to feel this incredible need to shed your skin. And you will. Him. He's going to be a casualty of you not being honest to yourself about what you wanted out of life at twenty-five.
So, you'll leave. I can't believe I'm telling you this, because you were the one person who so steadfastly believed you'd never end up here. Divorce town. Shit, this sounds morbid and depressing. It's really not! What I'm trying to say is that you'll cut off your hair, down a few bottles of Chardonnay and resurrect yourself! Oh honey, you're going to be judged so very harshly. Pick your chin up, woman and keep going! Pull out those workout videos and get crackin'! You have a lot of fixing to do. But, you'll do it. And your daughters will be better for it. You know what? That one you vowed to love forever? You'll become friends, sort of, again. Wait. Patiently. Please don't give up.
And you know what, young lady? You're going to fall in love. The right way. You'll respect this relationship and cherish it above all others. Guess what! That picket fence you destroyed, will be rebuilt. Slowly. But, it will. I promise. Good luck...See you on the flipside.
You (at 35)
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Resolute Resolutions
My last year's resolution was to write more often. January 17th, 2011 was the last time I visited this page. As the year passed, 3 Boys and Girl became more a reminder of a "have to" than a "want to". And I love to write, that wasn't the issue, but time and creativity seemed to elude me. It still eludes me. My fingers are rusty, pecking clumsily at the keyboard...hoping it will reveal the 2012 me.
At the request of a dear friend, I resolve to write again this year....so here goes...
We sat around the table...glasses brimming with New Year spirits. Plates...full. Hearts...hopeful.
With faces flushing from a little too much Chardonnay and Cayenne, we asked...
What do you want from this year?
With 2011 on the verge of becoming a memory, we allowed ourselves to verbalize what we probably wouldn't be able to live up to, but....on the precipice of a new year we were all giddy with hope. Who cares? Not us. There is not enough hope in the world. Even if we fall short...well...at least we peeked over the edge of change.
So what did we resolve?
To be more...
interesting
loving
involved
aware
To see more...
of the world
of each other
of the good
To have more...
time
energy
faith
sex
To hear more...
I love yous
laughter
music
forgiveness and sincerity in our words
To give back, give in, give up and let go...
To be us, but better...
A very blessed 2012 to you and yours, to me and mine....to ours.
At the request of a dear friend, I resolve to write again this year....so here goes...
We sat around the table...glasses brimming with New Year spirits. Plates...full. Hearts...hopeful.
With faces flushing from a little too much Chardonnay and Cayenne, we asked...
What do you want from this year?
With 2011 on the verge of becoming a memory, we allowed ourselves to verbalize what we probably wouldn't be able to live up to, but....on the precipice of a new year we were all giddy with hope. Who cares? Not us. There is not enough hope in the world. Even if we fall short...well...at least we peeked over the edge of change.
So what did we resolve?
To be more...
interesting
loving
involved
aware
To see more...
of the world
of each other
of the good
To have more...
time
energy
faith
sex
To hear more...
I love yous
laughter
music
forgiveness and sincerity in our words
To give back, give in, give up and let go...
To be us, but better...
A very blessed 2012 to you and yours, to me and mine....to ours.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sports Therapy...
I glanced nervously at my father from the passenger seat of our 1992 Ford Aerostar, hoping to catch his eye and some kind of reassurance. Opening my mouth to speak, his hand rose quickly, quieting my burgeoning question with a palm and deftly increasing the radio's volume with a swift flick of a finger. Mike Lange's gravelly voice filled the van and we leaned closer, willing a victorious cliche' to burst forth from his mouth.
Please let them score!
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins were trailing 2 games to 1 against the New York Rangers, in a series that saw the exit of Mario Lemieux with a fractured hand and a game 4 that was quickly reeling out of control. We were losing 4-2... and we had just incurred a five minute major penalty. The season was slipping away.
Wordlessly, my father parked in the valley of our tar covered driveway and we waited for the right moment to break free from the car. We needed to exit the vehicle and make it to the basement t.v. in a microsecond. Anything more would upset the balance of the whole season. He looked at me....
Ready Girl?
Ready Dad.
My heart was visibly pounding out of my chest as he silenced the engine, grabbed my hand and we ran...
...into the house, lights off, t.v. virtually shouted on and we stood...in the dark...faces illuminated by black and gold frenzy...clinging to each other, both initiating our collective will toward a penalty kill that seemed insurmountable. When the penalty clocked ticked down to nothing and the Pens had come away unscathed, we collapsed on the couch in a heap of exhaustion and my father said...they're going to win, Girl...watch. And watch I did, as Ron Francis scored the next goal and then won it in overtime, catapulting the Pens to an eventual 11 game win streak and Stanley Cup victory. Cemented in me from that moment, was a love of Pittsburgh sports that is commonplace to those who live here...it is almost primal in nature.
As a young girl, I often sat side by side with my father at the Civic Arena, learning what it meant to be a true fan. The arena was a magical place. It was ripe with sensory overload....nostalgia in the making. Dad would sit, beer sloshing, with his mustachioed mouth close to my ear, attempting to impart information over the crowd. And I learned the rules of the game, as well as the raucous ebb and flow of chants and Yinzer slang. He yelled stats and jersey numbers, plays and penalties over the crowd and into my teenage consciousness. He was grooming me to become the next generation of fan, as any good Pittsburgh father would.
Cheering for the home team was our refuge and hockey was merely the starting line. At the gun blast we burned holes into high school basketball bleachers and bundled up to the point of strangulation for a good solid dose of Three Rivers on a Sunday. It was our religion. I even fondly recall a particularly awful moment in my early college career, where I desperately needed someone to rescue me from a semester of questionable decisions. My father picked me up, no questions asked, and took me to a Monday Night football game. He shoved a beer into my hand, kissed me on top of the head and knew...a little football goes a long way to cure a Pittsburgh girl's aching psyche.
And even now, as I trouble the uneasy waters of single parenting, you can be certain I never forget to remind Pink and Tink of their home team loyalties. At the fresh-faced ages of six and four, it is not unusual to hear my ladies yelling...IT'S A HOCKEY BOY NIGHT! or...GO STEELERS!!
Just the other night, as the clock ran out on the Ravens' season and the adults jumped and screamed....there was also a gaggle of preschoolers and Kindergarteners pumping their tiny fists and waving their Terrible Towels. The next generation of fans who most definitely understand the meaning of a little sports therapy...
Please let them score!
Our beloved Pittsburgh Penguins were trailing 2 games to 1 against the New York Rangers, in a series that saw the exit of Mario Lemieux with a fractured hand and a game 4 that was quickly reeling out of control. We were losing 4-2... and we had just incurred a five minute major penalty. The season was slipping away.
Wordlessly, my father parked in the valley of our tar covered driveway and we waited for the right moment to break free from the car. We needed to exit the vehicle and make it to the basement t.v. in a microsecond. Anything more would upset the balance of the whole season. He looked at me....
Ready Girl?
Ready Dad.
My heart was visibly pounding out of my chest as he silenced the engine, grabbed my hand and we ran...
...into the house, lights off, t.v. virtually shouted on and we stood...in the dark...faces illuminated by black and gold frenzy...clinging to each other, both initiating our collective will toward a penalty kill that seemed insurmountable. When the penalty clocked ticked down to nothing and the Pens had come away unscathed, we collapsed on the couch in a heap of exhaustion and my father said...they're going to win, Girl...watch. And watch I did, as Ron Francis scored the next goal and then won it in overtime, catapulting the Pens to an eventual 11 game win streak and Stanley Cup victory. Cemented in me from that moment, was a love of Pittsburgh sports that is commonplace to those who live here...it is almost primal in nature.
As a young girl, I often sat side by side with my father at the Civic Arena, learning what it meant to be a true fan. The arena was a magical place. It was ripe with sensory overload....nostalgia in the making. Dad would sit, beer sloshing, with his mustachioed mouth close to my ear, attempting to impart information over the crowd. And I learned the rules of the game, as well as the raucous ebb and flow of chants and Yinzer slang. He yelled stats and jersey numbers, plays and penalties over the crowd and into my teenage consciousness. He was grooming me to become the next generation of fan, as any good Pittsburgh father would.
Cheering for the home team was our refuge and hockey was merely the starting line. At the gun blast we burned holes into high school basketball bleachers and bundled up to the point of strangulation for a good solid dose of Three Rivers on a Sunday. It was our religion. I even fondly recall a particularly awful moment in my early college career, where I desperately needed someone to rescue me from a semester of questionable decisions. My father picked me up, no questions asked, and took me to a Monday Night football game. He shoved a beer into my hand, kissed me on top of the head and knew...a little football goes a long way to cure a Pittsburgh girl's aching psyche.
And even now, as I trouble the uneasy waters of single parenting, you can be certain I never forget to remind Pink and Tink of their home team loyalties. At the fresh-faced ages of six and four, it is not unusual to hear my ladies yelling...IT'S A HOCKEY BOY NIGHT! or...GO STEELERS!!
Just the other night, as the clock ran out on the Ravens' season and the adults jumped and screamed....there was also a gaggle of preschoolers and Kindergarteners pumping their tiny fists and waving their Terrible Towels. The next generation of fans who most definitely understand the meaning of a little sports therapy...
Friday, December 31, 2010
Auld Lang Syne...
Albert Einstein once wrote...
Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people.
Today, for me, is all about reflection. What have I accomplished? Where am I going? Most importantly...what kind of person have I been? Have I given more than I've taken? Have I lived purposefully?
And I think I have. Believe me, I've had plenty of years where the column of negativity was overflowing. Years where I took and never returned. Years where I ignored who my parents hoped I would become. Years where I was weak.
I am no longer weak. This year I loved and lived well. It wasn't a year of life changes, there were no marriages, divorces, births or deaths. It was a year of strenghthening the status quo. And I've never been happier to just "be". My children are healthy and happy...my parents are thriving...my siblings are funny as ever...my career is fulfilling, finally....and I am in love...still.
What could there be to complain about? I'm sure there is plenty, but this year I grew past conjuring negativity. Moments I failed...but I tried. Leave it to someone else...I don't have to carry it in me. I took one final lap around the neighborhood this morning and made sure to smile at everyone I passed. Some returned the gesture, but most lowered their gazes and hurried on. My first reaction was...how hard is it to sincerely smile?...which was then replaced by something far more revolutionary...they just aren't there yet, so I'll wait...and keep smiling.
My wish for you all this New Year is to keep smiling and use your clean slate to benefit others. As 2010 expires this evening I will be thinking of you...hoping you are occupying your happiest place in the comfort of loved ones. If not, get busy...make the most of your talents and time. Give love and take it wisely...the only one that can change the tide is...you...
Happy New Year to you and yours...to me and mine...to ours....
Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose he knows not, though he senses it. But without deeper reflection one knows from daily life that one exists for other people.
Today, for me, is all about reflection. What have I accomplished? Where am I going? Most importantly...what kind of person have I been? Have I given more than I've taken? Have I lived purposefully?
And I think I have. Believe me, I've had plenty of years where the column of negativity was overflowing. Years where I took and never returned. Years where I ignored who my parents hoped I would become. Years where I was weak.
I am no longer weak. This year I loved and lived well. It wasn't a year of life changes, there were no marriages, divorces, births or deaths. It was a year of strenghthening the status quo. And I've never been happier to just "be". My children are healthy and happy...my parents are thriving...my siblings are funny as ever...my career is fulfilling, finally....and I am in love...still.
What could there be to complain about? I'm sure there is plenty, but this year I grew past conjuring negativity. Moments I failed...but I tried. Leave it to someone else...I don't have to carry it in me. I took one final lap around the neighborhood this morning and made sure to smile at everyone I passed. Some returned the gesture, but most lowered their gazes and hurried on. My first reaction was...how hard is it to sincerely smile?...which was then replaced by something far more revolutionary...they just aren't there yet, so I'll wait...and keep smiling.
My wish for you all this New Year is to keep smiling and use your clean slate to benefit others. As 2010 expires this evening I will be thinking of you...hoping you are occupying your happiest place in the comfort of loved ones. If not, get busy...make the most of your talents and time. Give love and take it wisely...the only one that can change the tide is...you...
Happy New Year to you and yours...to me and mine...to ours....
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
6...
The birth of a child is one of those turning points in life, where, after it happens, you can barely remember who you were before.
What did I do with my time? Sleep? Read? Dream about you?
On a warm, blue-skied April day, my little Pink began her journey. I sat, bewildered and ecstatic on the bathroom floor, clutching the little stick that had just reimaged my life. My singular existence was now two and my hands fluttered in hesitation above where her heart was just beginning to beat. I didn't know her or even that "her" was the correct label, but I "knew" her. She was already part of me.
For the next nine months I enclosed myself in a bubble wrap existence and...waited. Most of the time I was terrified. Every ache and pain sent terror coursing through my heart. Every hair on my head stood at attention, waiting for my body to fail me. I have never been that strong...how can I do this? There was no choice, my ever-growing body took the lead and I spent countless hours inspecting my newfound curves. Always sporting a rather tomboyish figure, I had developed the chest of a porn star and was loving every notch on the bra that had to be let out.
Before long, my moon of a midsection eclipsed my scandalous ta-tas and the sexy glow was replaced by a penguin's waddle. My rear-end was a sight to behold and, once, after catching a glimpse in some unfortunate lighting, I was reduced to tears trying to find myself somewhere in all that extra body. Where are you Girl? I promise to never have sex again if you come back.
Our house was a mess of blankets and onesies and pumps and pillows and whatthehellisadiapergenie?! And wherethehellismybellybutton?! I was huge. I hurt. I could barely walk and my head looked as pregnant as my belly...and I was a week late....over Christmas. And then...a slice of pain rocketed across my abdomen and I new she was on her way.
For the next eighteen hours I paced and breathed and screamed and swore. It was all ice chips and epidural and dialation and pretty much what you see in the movies, where the husband is green and the mother of the new mother is screaming...SHE NEEDS MORE PAIN MEDS NOW! And then...my little lady...in true Pink fashion decided to put the brakes on her impending delivery. I am convinced she was applying lipstick and doing a few squats in preparation for her grand entrance. The rest is a blur of not enough time...gotta get her out...sign this paper....don't worry....don't worry...
And I was given...the scar that changed my life. And also...the title I treasure most...Mom.
Her eyes were saucers. Looking at me. She knew me too and I was gone. Gone for good. While I was gazing at her, that old Girl slipped out the side door into the wintry night. And in her place she left...this new girl. This mom and this Pink. And she let me...watch my soul stand outside my body.
Today Pink is six and someday, when she reads this she will know how very much I love her and how...once...we were one Girl.
What did I do with my time? Sleep? Read? Dream about you?
On a warm, blue-skied April day, my little Pink began her journey. I sat, bewildered and ecstatic on the bathroom floor, clutching the little stick that had just reimaged my life. My singular existence was now two and my hands fluttered in hesitation above where her heart was just beginning to beat. I didn't know her or even that "her" was the correct label, but I "knew" her. She was already part of me.
For the next nine months I enclosed myself in a bubble wrap existence and...waited. Most of the time I was terrified. Every ache and pain sent terror coursing through my heart. Every hair on my head stood at attention, waiting for my body to fail me. I have never been that strong...how can I do this? There was no choice, my ever-growing body took the lead and I spent countless hours inspecting my newfound curves. Always sporting a rather tomboyish figure, I had developed the chest of a porn star and was loving every notch on the bra that had to be let out.
Before long, my moon of a midsection eclipsed my scandalous ta-tas and the sexy glow was replaced by a penguin's waddle. My rear-end was a sight to behold and, once, after catching a glimpse in some unfortunate lighting, I was reduced to tears trying to find myself somewhere in all that extra body. Where are you Girl? I promise to never have sex again if you come back.
Our house was a mess of blankets and onesies and pumps and pillows and whatthehellisadiapergenie?! And wherethehellismybellybutton?! I was huge. I hurt. I could barely walk and my head looked as pregnant as my belly...and I was a week late....over Christmas. And then...a slice of pain rocketed across my abdomen and I new she was on her way.
For the next eighteen hours I paced and breathed and screamed and swore. It was all ice chips and epidural and dialation and pretty much what you see in the movies, where the husband is green and the mother of the new mother is screaming...SHE NEEDS MORE PAIN MEDS NOW! And then...my little lady...in true Pink fashion decided to put the brakes on her impending delivery. I am convinced she was applying lipstick and doing a few squats in preparation for her grand entrance. The rest is a blur of not enough time...gotta get her out...sign this paper....don't worry....don't worry...
And I was given...the scar that changed my life. And also...the title I treasure most...Mom.
Her eyes were saucers. Looking at me. She knew me too and I was gone. Gone for good. While I was gazing at her, that old Girl slipped out the side door into the wintry night. And in her place she left...this new girl. This mom and this Pink. And she let me...watch my soul stand outside my body.
Today Pink is six and someday, when she reads this she will know how very much I love her and how...once...we were one Girl.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Tangled...
...in crisp, white hotel linens, I shrug and yawn away the remnants of last night's wine. In the millisecond it takes to gather my bearings...there is his hand, pushing away the tangled mess of hair from my eyes and pulling me closer. There you are Boy...
Here we are...memories of the night resurface and I press my face into his back, breathing him in...arms and legs migrating to familiar places, nearly impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. The city lies at the foot of our king-sized bed...snow-capped bridges and water for days. We pull up the covers and relive the night...
My Christmas gift to Boy this year was a night on the town. And I didn't want it to be just any night, but a memorable one. One, where years later you are still saying...now that was a good night. He deserves it. His generosity continues to humble me and I just wanted to say...thank you...I am truly the luckiest. So...
...the bellhop swung open the door, revealing a view that knocked the breath from my chest. Two walls of windows, chilled from the swirl of winter...and the city beyond. A marvel. We pressed our noses to the glass, briefly obscuring the view of the ballpark with our breath...wiping it clean to reveal barges and boats and ambulances blaring. Knees on the ledge...can you get higher? What do you see?! Like kids on Christmas morning, we jumped on the bed and chuckled at the people scampering about in the freezing cold. We poured the first glass of wine and toasted to us. I love you. Yep. Pretty much forever. We chatted and snacked and rested and looked at each other...and then back to the windows again. What a view. We might have kissed a few hundred times.
At some point we tugged on jeans and pushed feet into boots. Sprayed perfume and brushed hair. Who has the car keys and room keys and how do I look? Gorgeous. Look at you. Take my hand...HURRY UP!...the wine-tasting is upon us...
...behind a non-descript city door lay a small local winery, offering cheap tastings and free stories. An eclectic mix of Pittsburghers mingle amongst the wine wares...an oenophile's dream. The warehouse-type atmosphere is chilly, yet surprisingly comforting. Boy and I taste and talk...cheeks growing rosier by the glass. Laughs get louder and longer as we huddle closer, inspecting the odd knick-knacks on the shelves. We are social, but not overly so. This night is just for us. The final tasting reminds us of our dinner reservations and we hustle into coats and out into the frigid night air...
...and into the warmth of the last leg of the night. It's all fireplaces and fur coats. Low, close conversations and lights so dim that you have to hold the menu a heartbeat away from your face. The wine has taken hold and we're all smiles, grinning wide for our waiter who is also a sommelier. He tells us he is wearing his daughter's headband to hold back his long locks, and we can't help but concentrate on the teeth that aren't quite where God intended. So weird. But so good at the same time. We fill our bellies with scallops and shrimp and tuna and wine...wine...wine...until we fall apart in one glorious peanut butter fudge finale. Smacking our lips and licking our fingers, we laugh like idiots...especially when the bill arrives. Who cares...I pretty much love you forever...
Hustling into coats one last time we head back...to frost those windowpanes one last time...and wake...tangled...in each other.
Here we are...memories of the night resurface and I press my face into his back, breathing him in...arms and legs migrating to familiar places, nearly impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. The city lies at the foot of our king-sized bed...snow-capped bridges and water for days. We pull up the covers and relive the night...
My Christmas gift to Boy this year was a night on the town. And I didn't want it to be just any night, but a memorable one. One, where years later you are still saying...now that was a good night. He deserves it. His generosity continues to humble me and I just wanted to say...thank you...I am truly the luckiest. So...
...the bellhop swung open the door, revealing a view that knocked the breath from my chest. Two walls of windows, chilled from the swirl of winter...and the city beyond. A marvel. We pressed our noses to the glass, briefly obscuring the view of the ballpark with our breath...wiping it clean to reveal barges and boats and ambulances blaring. Knees on the ledge...can you get higher? What do you see?! Like kids on Christmas morning, we jumped on the bed and chuckled at the people scampering about in the freezing cold. We poured the first glass of wine and toasted to us. I love you. Yep. Pretty much forever. We chatted and snacked and rested and looked at each other...and then back to the windows again. What a view. We might have kissed a few hundred times.
At some point we tugged on jeans and pushed feet into boots. Sprayed perfume and brushed hair. Who has the car keys and room keys and how do I look? Gorgeous. Look at you. Take my hand...HURRY UP!...the wine-tasting is upon us...
...behind a non-descript city door lay a small local winery, offering cheap tastings and free stories. An eclectic mix of Pittsburghers mingle amongst the wine wares...an oenophile's dream. The warehouse-type atmosphere is chilly, yet surprisingly comforting. Boy and I taste and talk...cheeks growing rosier by the glass. Laughs get louder and longer as we huddle closer, inspecting the odd knick-knacks on the shelves. We are social, but not overly so. This night is just for us. The final tasting reminds us of our dinner reservations and we hustle into coats and out into the frigid night air...
...and into the warmth of the last leg of the night. It's all fireplaces and fur coats. Low, close conversations and lights so dim that you have to hold the menu a heartbeat away from your face. The wine has taken hold and we're all smiles, grinning wide for our waiter who is also a sommelier. He tells us he is wearing his daughter's headband to hold back his long locks, and we can't help but concentrate on the teeth that aren't quite where God intended. So weird. But so good at the same time. We fill our bellies with scallops and shrimp and tuna and wine...wine...wine...until we fall apart in one glorious peanut butter fudge finale. Smacking our lips and licking our fingers, we laugh like idiots...especially when the bill arrives. Who cares...I pretty much love you forever...
Hustling into coats one last time we head back...to frost those windowpanes one last time...and wake...tangled...in each other.
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