I Love You And I Mean It

I take “I love you” for granted.  

I say it without any thought at the end of a phone call.

And then I hear it without any thought at the end of a phone call.

Uh huh. Bye. Thanks.  See ya tomorrow. I love you. I love you too.

Yesterday and the day before that…. I heard I love you a lot.

But they were not like the others.  Not the taken-for-granted-lip-service-I-love-yous.

These were the real deal.

The I mean it kind of I love yous.

And I heard the words in a different way.

They washed over my eardrums like warm honey.  My eyes stung and my throat tightened and burned and I was overwhelmed and thought I might explode but I didn’t  because my tears put out the fire.

And then they reached my heart and there they found their place.

And I said it back. 

And I meant it.

If You Stop Swimming, You’ll Die!

My husband has the attention span of a lightning bolt.

And he’s a little rough around the edges but his heart of gold makes up for it.  He’s the kind of man who wears generosity like some people wear t-shirts.  He drags home interesting people he meets at airports or on golf courses and comes to the aid of friends and supports his community and recycles and lots of other great stuff that I love.  In a word, he’s a character. And I just love characters!

I’m thankful that his ADD isn’t ADHD which is to say his attention deficit doesn’t come with hyperactivity.  He’s not frenetic in his energy but rather……hmmmm…..how do I put it??  He kind of flows like a river…. A really fast moving river….with lots of big boulders that he just rolls over like they’re not even there because, after all, that river has to get somewhere fast, right?

So, the other day we’re in LA for a wedding and in typical flowing river form he’s in a hurry to get to the wedding so we can be there early so we can wait for said wedding to start.  If he had his way, he would have gotten that wedding going ahead of schedule because, well, he arrived early and it would be really great if we could get this show on the road so we could all hurry up and get to the next event and get it started early and so on and so forth until he’s rushed about 4 years off his life.

As he was rushing me along as is his M.O. (he hates it when I wash my hair because that means blow dryer and blow dryer equals more time to get ready which equals the possibility of being on time rather than early) and I got frustrated.

ME

God damn it!  You’re like a fucking shark!  You think if you stop swimming, you’ll die.  Now leave me the hell alone so I can put on my mascara without putting my eye out!

This stopped him in his tracks.

Then he laughed out loud.  The kind of laugh that makes my heart sing because it was me who caused it and I love to make him laugh.    And this guy can laugh at himself like nobody’s bi-nuss.  Something else I love about him.

When we got home, I was determined to get to the bottom of that shark swimming reference because I had read something about sharks and drowning if they stop swimming.

Ah ha!!  Found it.

It’s called “ram ventilation” and there are certain breeds of modern sharks that actually will drown if they stop swimming.

Naturally, I sent him a text to extol the brilliance of my shark death research:

MY TEXT

I was right, shark man!

HIS TEXT

Then I guess I should keep swimming.

Good point!

My Life Of Crimes

Of the heart that is.

I am a bon-o-fide offender.

In fact, habitual.

The other day I had to fill out something that required me to list ALL the names under which I have been known throughout my life.

I thought nothing of it, snatched up my favorite pen so my penmanship wouldn’t go all wonky and followed the instructions.

Then I looked down and saw how many names there were.

My life as five women.

From my birth through the present.

Five very different lives.

Sad but true, I am the Sybil of matrimony.

Damn.

I hadn’t felt this embarrassed since Mrs. Brown yelled at me on the first day of kindergarten for standing on a chair. 

And that was when I only had ONE name.

This gave my psyche a major jolt, like a million cups of Joe hitting my system all at once.   

It bothered me….a little.

Then it pissed me off.

I should have answered with something snarky like “What’s it to ya?” or “None of your beeswax” but I chose to be honest and “beeswax” sounds so juvenile.

Next time I’m going to use Jane Doe.

I love the name Jane.