One of our more spectacular dates happened before B. and I even became an official item.
We woke up at 3:30 in the morning, I dragged her out of her bed (a miracle in and of itself, I had to finally just threaten to leave without her), we drove to Zions National Park, parked in the twilit morning and began walking.
The moon was bright, so we had no trouble seeing the trail. We were going to see the sunrise on a majestic overlook in the park called Angel's Landing. We had talked about it for a long time, she had explained how great the view was and we made an offhand promise that, if we ever got the chance, we would go together. Now, bathed in moonlight and yawning and stretching and trying to shake the slumber from our eyes, we were there, climbing the trail up the steep outcropping of red rock.
We talked, flirted, had a lot of fun, and tried to keep each other awake on the way. This I think was easier for me, the morning person, but 3:30 is still 3:30. We made excellent time and it was still nice and cool before the outing was over, but before we got to the actual rock face and the real switchbacks began, something happened.
A suspicious noise emitted as we passed by a bush. Concerned about rattlesnakes, but fairly certain it was just something more of the rodent variety, I grabbed B. by the shoulders and switched places with her. I let her go and we moved on.
I didn't think much of it, I just switched places with her. I did the same thing with my siblings on the sidewalk. I was always a buffer between the little one and the perilous traffic, that was just what I did. I didn't consider it a particularly gallant gesture, but she told me later that she giggled about it, squeezing her pillow tight as she described it to her girlfriends. She thought it was a really romantic move.
oooh... I had a move.
And I didn't even know it. I'm not writing this to toot my own horn or boast about my perfect romantic marriage (if anything I think most of my posts point out how imperfect we are - well, how imperfect I am). Rather, my point is, fellas, you never know what will win over your sweetheart. She watches you, she learns you everyday, she comes to know the intrinsic and unseen in you and your manner. You never know, so be your best. I was fortunate enough to win over my lady with something that was just second nature to me. She's watching. So watch how you treat her and others around you. Watch how others treat her, and make sure its with respect.
We watch each other as couples and as part of couples. I'm fortunate enough to be under the watchful eyes of my sweet B. I love her eyes. They're one of the first things that made me start to fall for her. Two round oceans. Deep pools of light blue dancing with shimmers of sea green, all haloed by flecks of amber. When I look into her eyes for a long time, she'll get uncomfortable and ask what I'm doing.
"I'm going swimming"
She always rolls her oceans then. But she always smiles, too. We watch each other's backs. We watch each other live, and we learn as we watch.
What do you watch for?
S
Friday, August 2, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Shirts and Skins
I walked around in circles trying to focus on my breathing. My friend skidded to a halt next to me and hesitantly asked, "Are you ok, man?"
I lifted my shirt from my right side gingerly to see the layer of freshly peeled skin grafted onto the fabric. I was starting to bleed.
... I've been better.
I lifted my shirt from my right side gingerly to see the layer of freshly peeled skin grafted onto the fabric. I was starting to bleed.
... I've been better.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
We're Not Desperados
On our way back from BM, NV it was my turn to drive.
I figured out a little trick driving our manual sedan on long road trips. To avoid cramping up your calf working the gas for 5 hours, don't drive in shoes. Well, not in regular shoes (pretty barefoot driving is either discouraged or illegal). B. and I treated each other a long time ago to a pair of vibram running shoes for each of us. Happy birthday to us! They look weird, and it took a while to get used to the toes, but I discovered they're not only fantastic for street running, but they're great for driving. Instead of straining my ankle and cramping up my leg muscles controlling the gas, these nifty shoes let me just apply pressure with my big toe through the hours.
BM seems to be in a constant state of construction. Cones line the highway for no apparent reason for literally over 15 miles. I counted. This periodic construction happens on and off for the first hour or so from BM to another small town called Elko, then continues for another stretch. 75mph down to 55 mph and back again. Over and over. Speed up, slow down, try not to get stuck behind yet another semi-truck. As we passed Elko, finally free from the cones for a while, I looked over at a billboard. B. and I were talking, and I didn't see him until it was too late.
He started to follow us, turned on his lights, and I pulled over, resigned to the fact that I would have to kiss a fair chunk of change goodbye because I had been going 82 in a 75 mph zone. I just didn't pay attention long enough to ease off the gas.
Some people have a lead foot. I guess I have a steel toe.
We went through the usual drill, license and registration (just barely renewed, phew!) and then he informed me that I had been going over 80 in a 65mph zone. Somewhere in all of the switchbacks between 75 and 55 I had missed the sign that said 65.
Crap.
Now my $90 ticket looked like it would be over $300.
He took quite a while back inputting our info into the system, making B. and I sweat a little. I apologized to her profusely, she was very tender and understanding. He came back and surprised me with an off-topic query:
"You two going to college?"
I was so nervous about the cash that I didn't understand his question. I thought he was asking if we were physically traveling to a college campus. B. interjected through my confused stuttering and told the officer that yes we were both students. ... Oh, that's what he meant.
He then explained that this ticket would cost upwards of $300, but when he was attending college in Idaho he lived on $200 a month. He didn't want to clean us out because we "don't exactly look like desperados." We weren't the kind of people he was out on the road trying to find.
And we weren't. We were two struggling college students with a campus parking pass hanging from our rearview mirror, our car recently vacuumed, washed and detailed, new tires and new registration. We were just trying to get home, and I didn't notice the speed limit change. Honest mistake.
He pulled some strings for us and wrote up the offense as a rural speeding ticket, which keeps it from appearing on my record and drops the cost down to a mere $75.
I think B. could have kissed him.
We thanked him over and over again and drove off at a timid, grandmotherly pace for the rest of the way home.
God bless Nevada Highway Patrolmen. God bless vibrams. God bless my wife who was so adamant about vamping up the car before making the trip.
But someone's gotta do something about those cones.
S
I figured out a little trick driving our manual sedan on long road trips. To avoid cramping up your calf working the gas for 5 hours, don't drive in shoes. Well, not in regular shoes (pretty barefoot driving is either discouraged or illegal). B. and I treated each other a long time ago to a pair of vibram running shoes for each of us. Happy birthday to us! They look weird, and it took a while to get used to the toes, but I discovered they're not only fantastic for street running, but they're great for driving. Instead of straining my ankle and cramping up my leg muscles controlling the gas, these nifty shoes let me just apply pressure with my big toe through the hours.
BM seems to be in a constant state of construction. Cones line the highway for no apparent reason for literally over 15 miles. I counted. This periodic construction happens on and off for the first hour or so from BM to another small town called Elko, then continues for another stretch. 75mph down to 55 mph and back again. Over and over. Speed up, slow down, try not to get stuck behind yet another semi-truck. As we passed Elko, finally free from the cones for a while, I looked over at a billboard. B. and I were talking, and I didn't see him until it was too late.
He started to follow us, turned on his lights, and I pulled over, resigned to the fact that I would have to kiss a fair chunk of change goodbye because I had been going 82 in a 75 mph zone. I just didn't pay attention long enough to ease off the gas.
Some people have a lead foot. I guess I have a steel toe.
We went through the usual drill, license and registration (just barely renewed, phew!) and then he informed me that I had been going over 80 in a 65mph zone. Somewhere in all of the switchbacks between 75 and 55 I had missed the sign that said 65.
Crap.
Now my $90 ticket looked like it would be over $300.
He took quite a while back inputting our info into the system, making B. and I sweat a little. I apologized to her profusely, she was very tender and understanding. He came back and surprised me with an off-topic query:
"You two going to college?"
I was so nervous about the cash that I didn't understand his question. I thought he was asking if we were physically traveling to a college campus. B. interjected through my confused stuttering and told the officer that yes we were both students. ... Oh, that's what he meant.
He then explained that this ticket would cost upwards of $300, but when he was attending college in Idaho he lived on $200 a month. He didn't want to clean us out because we "don't exactly look like desperados." We weren't the kind of people he was out on the road trying to find.
And we weren't. We were two struggling college students with a campus parking pass hanging from our rearview mirror, our car recently vacuumed, washed and detailed, new tires and new registration. We were just trying to get home, and I didn't notice the speed limit change. Honest mistake.
He pulled some strings for us and wrote up the offense as a rural speeding ticket, which keeps it from appearing on my record and drops the cost down to a mere $75.
I think B. could have kissed him.
We thanked him over and over again and drove off at a timid, grandmotherly pace for the rest of the way home.
God bless Nevada Highway Patrolmen. God bless vibrams. God bless my wife who was so adamant about vamping up the car before making the trip.
But someone's gotta do something about those cones.
S
Monday, July 29, 2013
In the Long Run
B. is a fantastic swimmer. She has this innate ability to hop into a lane at the pool and just slice through the water; it's stunning. I, however do not swim well. My legs just don't propel me like they should, the kick has never been right for me.
I much prefer to run. Or bike, but that's another story. I discovered the joy of running the same way I discovered numerous hobbies and habits as a teenager:
There was this girl...
There was a girl who liked running. I liked her, so I only thought it appropriate that I should like running.
Now, just to emphasize how truly whipped I was, I had sworn off running a couple of years previously; I didn't see the point to it. You sweat and exhaust yourself by literally going in circles, how could anyone enjoy doing this? But I tried it again and again, I got a cheap little 1GB MP3 player from Wal-Mart to keep me from getting bored of listening to my own breathing which helped improve things tremendously, and I started running further and further. I would finish my loop, only to discover that I still had a little more energy left in me, and expanded my route to cover more ground.
I grew to love it. I still love running. I love challenging myself, stretching and improving my body, racing against the ghost of my best time or longest distance. I'm not super tall, my legs aren't long and spindly, I won't be winning any track medals anytime soon. I'm no athlete, but that's ok; running has become more than just a healthy past time for me.
There is something a good run will do to clear the mind. I go on therapeutic runs sometimes. If I'm stressed and not too exhausted, I'll often be out running a 5k to clear my head and refocus. It's more than just mental maintenance, though.
A really good run does something to your soul I think. Pushing your body to new limits, coming to peace with your own thoughts are wonderful byproducts of a good run. But I run for deeper reasons than that.
Why do I run?
Luke 24:12
Then arose Peter, and RAN unto the sepulchre; and stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves, and departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass.
I love Peter. His impulsive impetuous soul was so flawed, but Christ entrusted him with much. It really gives me hope that I can make something of myself. When steered in the right direction, Peter was a fearsome force for good. He worked on impulse; he didn't wait for the others to come and see the sepulchre.
He arose and ran.
I run because Peter ran.
Because I hope to be running towards a greater goal, a better day, a land of promise, a mansion prepared for me in the house of my Father. I know it's there waiting for me, and I can get there if I live right and rely on the mercy of Christ. I know it's there. That's my finish line. Why wouldn't I want to hurry?
Why wouldn't I run?
Because in the long run - in this long run - that's what matters most.
What are you running towards?
S
I much prefer to run. Or bike, but that's another story. I discovered the joy of running the same way I discovered numerous hobbies and habits as a teenager:
There was this girl...
There was a girl who liked running. I liked her, so I only thought it appropriate that I should like running.
Now, just to emphasize how truly whipped I was, I had sworn off running a couple of years previously; I didn't see the point to it. You sweat and exhaust yourself by literally going in circles, how could anyone enjoy doing this? But I tried it again and again, I got a cheap little 1GB MP3 player from Wal-Mart to keep me from getting bored of listening to my own breathing which helped improve things tremendously, and I started running further and further. I would finish my loop, only to discover that I still had a little more energy left in me, and expanded my route to cover more ground.
I grew to love it. I still love running. I love challenging myself, stretching and improving my body, racing against the ghost of my best time or longest distance. I'm not super tall, my legs aren't long and spindly, I won't be winning any track medals anytime soon. I'm no athlete, but that's ok; running has become more than just a healthy past time for me.
There is something a good run will do to clear the mind. I go on therapeutic runs sometimes. If I'm stressed and not too exhausted, I'll often be out running a 5k to clear my head and refocus. It's more than just mental maintenance, though.
A really good run does something to your soul I think. Pushing your body to new limits, coming to peace with your own thoughts are wonderful byproducts of a good run. But I run for deeper reasons than that.
Why do I run?
Luke 24:12
Then arose Peter, and RAN unto the sepulchre; and stooping down, he beheld the linen clothes laid by themselves, and departed, wondering in himself at that which was come to pass.
I love Peter. His impulsive impetuous soul was so flawed, but Christ entrusted him with much. It really gives me hope that I can make something of myself. When steered in the right direction, Peter was a fearsome force for good. He worked on impulse; he didn't wait for the others to come and see the sepulchre.
He arose and ran.
I run because Peter ran.
Because I hope to be running towards a greater goal, a better day, a land of promise, a mansion prepared for me in the house of my Father. I know it's there waiting for me, and I can get there if I live right and rely on the mercy of Christ. I know it's there. That's my finish line. Why wouldn't I want to hurry?
Why wouldn't I run?
Because in the long run - in this long run - that's what matters most.
What are you running towards?
S
Friday, July 26, 2013
Reruns
We were pulling into Starbucks one afternoon. We were talking about the money wasted renting Oz the Great and Powerful the night before and how we'll never get those two hours back. We talked about how most of the acting was ok, but James Franco just can't ever seem to be very convincing as anything but a stoner.
Then my brain went into auto-pilot.
"Did you know that James Franco was going to be cast as Peter Parker in the Spider-man movies until they found a much nerdier Tobey Maguire?"
My wife sat in hushed resignation, shook her head and sighed:
"Yup, you've told me that a couple of times."
...
Crap.
I have one factoid about James Franco; if the conversation for some reason turns to him, I vomit it out. It used to be a great conversation piece when I was in middle school. There was a time people found that an intriguing bit of info, I swear.
Am I the only one who does this? I have a limited repertoire of memorized pieces of tantalizing gossip or obscure but interesting anecdotes and statistics. If I'm friends with you long enough, I'm going to repeat myself.
I'm sorry.
I can only be so interesting for so long, I think. Now, a year ago, this would have really worried me. What if I run out of material? How will I keep B. entertained? Humor is one of my few assets in this relationship - I know she didn't marry me for my looks - if I can't keep her laughing and engaged how will this relationship ever last?
Will my wife grow bored of me?
But now, I've learned the pleasure and comfort we find in repetition. Ever read the same book twice? Ever seen a movie again? Right now we're working our way through the myriad 90s sitcoms on Netflix. We own all of Seinfeld on DVD. We went through Everybody Loves Raymond twice. We're almost halfway through Frasier for the second time. We like reruns.
Let me say that again.
We all like reruns.
We both tell each other stories the other has heard before. We don't mind. We like reliving them. When people ask us how we met, we have rehearsed the telling so well it's like a scripted presentation. But I'm not bored with it. I love reliving those days and falling in love with her all over again.
If you are prone to repetition, don't worry, we all do it. Not every moment of our lives is noteworthy, we can cap our story bank.
And if you get annoyed by us rerunners, just wait. It'll happen to you soon enough.
Enjoy the predictability in those around you; it's a sign you know them well.
What are your reruns?
S
Then my brain went into auto-pilot.
"Did you know that James Franco was going to be cast as Peter Parker in the Spider-man movies until they found a much nerdier Tobey Maguire?"
My wife sat in hushed resignation, shook her head and sighed:
"Yup, you've told me that a couple of times."
...
Crap.
I have one factoid about James Franco; if the conversation for some reason turns to him, I vomit it out. It used to be a great conversation piece when I was in middle school. There was a time people found that an intriguing bit of info, I swear.
Am I the only one who does this? I have a limited repertoire of memorized pieces of tantalizing gossip or obscure but interesting anecdotes and statistics. If I'm friends with you long enough, I'm going to repeat myself.
I'm sorry.
I can only be so interesting for so long, I think. Now, a year ago, this would have really worried me. What if I run out of material? How will I keep B. entertained? Humor is one of my few assets in this relationship - I know she didn't marry me for my looks - if I can't keep her laughing and engaged how will this relationship ever last?
Will my wife grow bored of me?
But now, I've learned the pleasure and comfort we find in repetition. Ever read the same book twice? Ever seen a movie again? Right now we're working our way through the myriad 90s sitcoms on Netflix. We own all of Seinfeld on DVD. We went through Everybody Loves Raymond twice. We're almost halfway through Frasier for the second time. We like reruns.
Let me say that again.
We all like reruns.
We both tell each other stories the other has heard before. We don't mind. We like reliving them. When people ask us how we met, we have rehearsed the telling so well it's like a scripted presentation. But I'm not bored with it. I love reliving those days and falling in love with her all over again.
If you are prone to repetition, don't worry, we all do it. Not every moment of our lives is noteworthy, we can cap our story bank.
And if you get annoyed by us rerunners, just wait. It'll happen to you soon enough.
Enjoy the predictability in those around you; it's a sign you know them well.
What are your reruns?
S
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