2.19.2012

a day for lovers or something

Thank goodness, there were no heart-shaped Russell Stover boxes. Thank God. Small and with class beats expensive and impersonal/cliche/tacky any day, and particularly today. (Well, 2.14, anyway.)


This post was promised, and is now being delivered.

Monetary situations being what they are, at this time in my fiance's life, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. He never fails to surprise with his creativity using limited means; my anticipation was safely placed, I knew. He is such a thinker.

Lunch time came 'round quicker than usual; he picked me up on the south side of my building, the loading zone. The precious look on his face as he handed me a brown paper bag, with telling grease circles on one side...I could have melted just for that. A turtle cheesecake cup.

And then the roses...a bush is so much more than I expected in a floral arrangement, and he told me exactly why. His shot at poetry, drawing parallels between our love and the gift - I spent a while smiling on his first line before finishing the card. The bush is on my desk at the office until it outgrows its spot, and then I get to take it home for transplantation. I pressed pennies into the soil to help it last.

The romance of simplicity was my goal for him that evening. Directly after work, I grabbed his hand and fairly dragged him with delight I could hardly contain to the pace we kept. The gourmet chocolate cafe downtown wasn't very busy, but for a few children helping to clean up after what must have been a V-Day party for little ones. "Choose two", I said to him. Peanut Butter Chocolate Cup and an 85% cocoa truffle (the raspberry truffle would have been his third pick). I ordered two shots of espresso for pairing with the sweets.

The music was nicely subtle, and the children were nicely not. The curl-topped one wanted to be our cashier, and let his balloon fly to the ceiling, and wanted the cafe patrons to know that "that water is dirty; don't drink it". We had a laugh. And yes, a short slow-dance happened.

Dinner needed to be shopped for: yellow sweet onions, aged brie, panna italiana, and garlic cloves (the mushrooms were already stocked at home). [Basil, grapefruit juice, and black spiced rum have yet to be combined for imbibement, but not to worry. I haven't missed a beat yet when it comes to cocktails. I will bartend professionally, elegantly, and with charm someday. He'll join my at my apt this week for the most recent addition to my repertoire, if I pull his leg, or...something.]

The smell of freshly minced garlic will always remind me of him. He cooks with it all the time, and minces like a pro. We won't discuss the occasion of the rash, and the garlic/yogurt/vinegar full-body remedy. At least, until next time we discuss it. He seems to have no qualms with sharing the most incriminating stories of his past - this is admirable in my eyes.

He said the mushroom caramelized onion grilled brie sandwich is in his group of favorites now. I am victorious.

Romance is easily found when one is in love. I dare say, though, that it is more difficult to fall in love when one is a romantic. The expectation of specifics took away a lot from my initial experience with love, and I resisted (albeit reluctantly) in a futile attempt to ensure perfection - "I only want the best", I said. 'God's best', as they say, hung onto my heart like so much seaweed grown upon a precious ocean-covered artifact. I gradually taught the buried heart to swim and to know Love, which is far less peggable than I was taught it should be. I found everything by living. It couldn't have smacked me harder if I ran headlong into it intentionally, with outstretched arms.

My love just happened one day, and I think that is why it is so strong - it grew up without self-help books. It knows, by experience, how to fly.

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