Candleshoe

Last September I tried to recreate one of our more romantic dates for B.  In September of 2011, the night before we became an official item, we went to a reservoir late at night, I laid out a blanket, lit candles and we shared french bread, brie and grapes as I poured sparkling cider into champagne flutes.  We danced under the enormous yellowed moon and had a wonderful time.

I hope that's how she remembers it anyway.

I remember, rather, all the things that went wrong or didn't meet my high standards to impress her.  I remember panicking to get cider at a supermarket in her town so as to stay chilled rather than warm up with me on my drive down to see her.  I remember the champagne flutes were skinny green plastic glasses from the dollar store.  I remember the wind constantly blowing out the candles.  And I remember the police officer who came to "bust" us, telling us that the reservoir was closed to the public after sunset.  We feigned ignorance (B. was a local), packed it up and left.

But we also remember talking in the dark, sharing stories and dreams and aspirations, putting the candles in our recently removed shoes to protect the fickle flames from the wind (to this day we still lovingly refer to that date as our candleshoe night), and being practically struck dumb seeing the way the warm moonlight bathed her face.  I remember not knowing if/when I should kiss her and deciding within minutes of seeing her.  I remember her eyes widening as I pulled out the "fancy" cuisine for the evening, and her gentle laugh as I tried to battle the elements to make the night perfect.

It never was a perfect night.  And this last attempt at a recreation was equally unsuccessful.  We got dressed up, we drove out to a lake (the nearest body of water resembling a reservoir) on a moonlit night, only to find the dock and any and all access to said lake closed for the evening.  After 20 minutes of frustrated driving, we gave up and went home, changed into pjs and cuddled on the couch, my disappointment and frustration essentially killing the mood.  B. did her best to try and console me.  Romance never goes the way you want it to.

Romance is a messy fussy ball of stress and missed cues and spoilt plans.  

In short, it’s adaptable.   

Romance is love’s way of surviving.  Surviving any tension, any hardship, any challenge, really any situation at all.  

 Like my wife pulling me into a kiss before I dive into a very garlicky bowl of pasta that no amount of Listerine can undo.   

Or, on a spur of the moment using the 15 minutes or so of radio silence as she drives home to throw together a freshly drawn bath with candles and Marsalis duets playing on itunes to welcome her home after a long hard day at work.  

Or those random "I love you" texts in the middle of the day.  

Or suffering through each other’s guilty pleasure shows on Netflix just so you can cuddle together on the couch.   

...Or agreeing to watch something you both will enjoy so I NEVER have to see another Kardashian as long as I live.   

Or sleeping on the floor until I finish a late night project just so she doesn’t go to bed without me.

I’m sure we seem cliché and naïve, but that’s romance. 

The heart of romance is making an effort to try and spend time with each other, even when you don’t have to. 

Some might accuse us of being too clingy or too dependent.  But I think interdependence is what makes any relationship, any team, any family, work.  We rely on each other, and that makes us miss each other throughout the day. 

We’re hopeless.  Hoplessly romantic.

When was the last time you were romantic?

What did you do?


S