|Art by Lisa Kaser.|
My family of origin was not much for saying, "I love you." I actually cannot remember it being said to me or among the five of us as my sister, brother and I were growing up. We siblings say it now, yes we do. The words are spoken between me and my friends, me and my son. Anyone who reads this blog or any FB posts knows that I love lots. Lots of people, things, weather, states of being, colors, creatures and love itself. I had a rubber stamp made, small, simple, that urges, "Fall in love with everything."
I was already thinking of this phrase for Word of the Week when last night I dreamed - for about the nine-hundred-and-forty-seven-thousandth time - of an old beau. In the dream I had to turn down an invitation to be his date at a car show, his yellow dream Chevrolet beckoning, as I was already going with someone else. The someone else said, "You know how much he's in love with you, don't you?" My answer was, "Yes, but he won't do anything about it." (Please excuse me for I know the dreams of other people are generally tedious.) The dream caused me to ponder more than four decades speckled with memorable, treasured blurts of affection. We are not growing younger, just like the rest of you. I grapple with the still-adolescent parts of my mind that think saying those words to a man who has been a friend, uniquely, to me for more than half my life has to be "going somewhere." What a twit I can be. It has always been somewhere, everywhere. It is a gift, as my sister might say, "A pearl beyond price," to have people we love, even better but not required if they love us back.