happy valentine's day

Sometimes, this is what it is like at my house. And frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

scenes from a quiet weekend

A late night road trip led us north, up the winding hill and towards a small retreat in the Arizona high country (7000 feet elevation). We shared the highway with a few other heat weary travelers, like-minded souls escaping from the perpetual movement and mass of the Big City.

I was barely a teenager when my grandmother bought the place (affectionately called "the cabin" by my family, even though it is really just a small house and looks nothing like a cabin), and it wasn't until recently that I realized how lucky I am to have access to it.

It rained nearly all day on Saturday, at times torrentially. The sound was heavy and comforting. I read a book in one sitting, oh the luxury! while Aaron watched football. Later that night, in the drizzling rain, he grilled us steak and shrimp. I prepared the salads and baked potatoes, and we ate together in unspoken harmony. After dinner, we watched the fire and then, we watched a movie.

By Sunday, the skies were clear and the sun was shining. We grabbed a blanket and lounged together on the front porch hammock. The wind rushed through the trees, admonishing us with a quiet sshhh - gradually at first, and then louder and louder - SSHHHHH! until it was all you could hear.

I like to think that it was protecting our peaceful serenity.

tiny sparks

Have been reading this book (incidentally, VERY good), and discovered that the author writes poetry, too. Here is one poem that I stumbled on; it is easily one of my favorite descriptions of marriage and married life.

Habitation

Marriage is not
a house, or even a tent

It is before that, and colder:

the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back, where we squat
outdoors, eating popcorn
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived
this far

we are learning to make fire.

Margaret Atwood

five

You wore a maroon-and-gold striped shirt that fit snug against your well-defined, well-tanned chest and arm muscles. I might have noticed that first, if it wasn't for the shock of platinum blond hair that stood out conspicuously from your head like a red door on a white house. It was obviously unnatural, but strangely appealing.

I wore a plain white top with faded blue jeans and black wedge-heeled sandals, the ones I picked out specifically because they added three inches to my short frame. I had no jewelry on, except for a small iridescent blue flower toe ring on my right foot. My hair was the darkest brown, and I wore it long and straight.

I stretched out my hand expectantly to meet yours.Your handshake was confident, your smile was magnetic, and your eyes danced with a mischievous sparkle.

We walked into the restaurant and out of the hot summer night, strangers.

**************************

You wore the maroon-and-gold striped shirt.

I laughed when I saw that you had put it on. It is faded now, but the cotton still clings to your chest in the nicest way. Do you remember, a few months ago, when you tossed the shirt into the giveaway pile? I protested on grounds of sentimental value, and then hung it back up in your closet.

I wore a plain white top with faded blue jeans, but my wedge heels were long gone. I put on a pair of generic flip flops, and I fished the tiny blue toe ring out of the bottom of my jewelry box -- you know I haven't worn it in years -- and slipped it onto my right foot. I pranced into the bathroom where you were getting ready and wiggled my toes at you. You laughed, and then reached for me.

We are nerds, you said with a kiss. I know, I replied with a hug.

I love us, you said.

I stretched out my hand across the table and slipped you a small, celebratory card. Five years ago today, everything changed and nothing changed. Your smile is still my magnet, it connects me to you in inexplicable ways. Your confidence is still my rock, I am anchored and grounded by your calm. Your youthful spirit is still my joy, I discover happiness and laughter with you every day.

We walked out of the restaurant and into the hot summer night, lovers.

day 28 of 31: obviously, we like to look at ourselves

Today we took turns taking silly/casual portraits of each other. Here's my favorite shot of Aaron:



Holy Hotness. I think he's literally SMOLDERING. They say that one of the keys to a successful marriage is to appreciate what you've got. As you can see, he makes this very very very easy. Oh, and he brought me flowers and doughnuts this morning! Sexy and sensitive. What more could a girl ask for?

And here's his favorite shot of me:



I'm obviously not blessed with his model-quality good looks, but I think he captured me pretty well.

Also, check out my flickr for photos from the rejected photo pile. They're scary funny.

day 26 of 31: it doesn't matter if you're black or white

I picked up these, these, and these today in an unexpected shoe windfall. It was glorious.

MARISA
Look! New shoes!

AARON
Wow.

MARISA
Three pairs! On sale!

AARON
More shoes, huh?

MARISA
It's like Christmas! No, I take that back. It's BETTER than Christmas, because no one ever gives me shoes for Christmas!

AARON
Don't you think you're exaggerating just a little?

MARISA
Shoes! Shoes! Shoes!

AARON
So anyway, what do you want for dinner?

MARISA
Shoes! Shoes! Shoes!

AARON
Pizza it is.

MARISA
Shoes!

day 22 of 31: notes from a quite evening

Commute home was quick and painless. On days like this, I'm so glad I live right in the middle of the city.

Overcooked the shrimp I made for dinner because I have an exaggerated fear of undercooked food. I felt bad. But husband cleaned his plate, smiled and said "Better safe than sorry!" - and then went in for seconds. Sometimes, he knows just what to say.

Bow-tie pasta is fun to eat with your hands.

Stepped out onto our patio balcony to check on my dying petunias and my whitefly-infested hibiscus. The petunias are beyond saving, but I think the hibiscus is bouncing back.

Totally surprised by the evening's lovely weather. Like finding an unexpected letter in the mail from an old friend. Shock mixed with surprise mixed with pleasure. Left the patio door open until sunset.

Watched a little TV. Finally gave in and joined the masses and voted for a contestant on American Idol. But only because she's from Arizona and she goes to my church.

Sorted the mail. Did the dishes. Chopped up onions for dinner tomorrow.

The evening dwindled. Husband relaxed on the leather chair in the corner of the room. I walked by and he pulled me into his lap and squeezed me tight. I buried my head into the crevice of his neck, and enjoyed the cool feeling of his newly-shaved face. My legs dangled over the arm of the chair, contentedly.

day 8 of 31: deductive reasoning

Because I'm too tired to write, I've been digging through the deep, dark recesses of our digital photo files, searching for something to post. It probably would have been easier just to write, since I'm married to a photographer and it seems that my whole life since we met has been fastidiously documented on film.

However, I did find this little gem, taken at my birthday dinner last year:














Ha ha! I thought. What a joker!

And then I stumbled on this:


















Hmmm...

And then, finally, this:














From these photos, I think we can deduce all kinds of things about my public-displays-of-affection impaired, uses-humor-to-diffuse-situations-he-feels-uncomfortable-in, ham-for-the-camera, husband.

what love looks like

Yesterday I was just exhausted. Why? Who knows. Perhaps it was the previous day's strenuous activities of watching television and lying on the couch and eating Spaghetti-O's.

We decided to do our taxes later in the evening, so I laid down in bed to read for a bit before having to fork over more cash to Uncle Sam. (Unfortunately, we owed; fortunately, it was because we both got good-sized raises this year. I can't complain.) Inevitably, my already-tired self just couldn't resist the beckoning call of the cool sheets and soft pillows. I was less than 2 chapters in before I dog-eared the page, slid the book halfway under my pillow and closed my eyes.

Not long after, while I was drifting somewhere in the foggy haze that precedes sleep, I heard the bedroom door click open. I thought maybe he was coming to wake me up, to remind me that it was time to pull out the W-2's and be responsible.

Instead, I heard his footsteps come near, and then, ever so gingerly, I felt him ease the book out from under me. With my eyes closed, I felt him pick up the crumpled green-and-blue crochet throw from the floor and lay it gently on top of me.

I waited a moment, then opened one eye. I saw his broad shoulders move as he quietly edged away from me, I saw the ripped corner of his old sleeveless t-shirt and his impossibly perfect mess of blonde and brown curls. I saw the blue scalloped detail of the blanket that was placed with so much care, and I saw my new book perched carefully on the old cardboard box that serves as my nightstand.

I saw love.

a compliment wrapped in a complaint

Yesterday, my husband gave me a visual picture of the difficulty he is having buying me clothes for Christmas:

"If THIS is fashion (spreads arms out wide)..."

"And THIS is good taste (brings hands in to about a foot of each other)..."

"Then THIS is your style (brings fingers in to about an inch of each other)."

Heh. I am oddly pleased with that assessment.

cotton

Before we married, someone gave us a list of traditional wedding anniversary gifts for each year, where each year corresponds to a different material. The first year was paper, and the gifts get progressively more precious or scarce to reflect the number of years stayed together.

Today is our two-year "cotton" anniversary.

And even though I'm not getting gold or diamonds today, I love all the mental images that cotton provides.

It reminds me... of lounging in his worn old t-shirts. Of watching TV together under the cover of blankets. Of folding laundry together. Of tear-stained tissues, happy and sad. Of stealing his towels while he's in the shower. Of making the bed together. Of slipping into wrinkled sheets and falling asleep to the steady sound of his breathing.

Cotton is durable and comfortable and strong.

I know we are, too.

a true story

I came home yesterday to find the kitchen and living room had been cleaned up nicely, except for a long line of shoes that wound from the dining room table to our bedroom door.

My shoes.

"Hey! What are all my shoes doing out here? And why are they all marching in a row?" I asked.

"All your shoes? Are you kidding me? These are just the ones that you had strewn around the living room," he said.

Oops.

I'll admit that I've been on a shoe free-for-all lately, buying shoes when I should be buying long-sleeve shirts and various other cold-weather attire for our imminent trip to Ohio. The thing is, I'm not very good at buying clothes (putting together outfits intimidates me). But shoes? Shoes I can do.

"Well, thanks for cleaning them up for me!"

"You're welcome. You really have a lot of shoes, you know."

"Not really...listen, can we talk about this later? I've got to run down to the apartment office before they close and pick up up the faux-snakeskin tan wedges that I ordered from shoes.com."

Oh, the irony.

"celebrating" two years

Click for more pictures of our anniversary celebration weekend at the Scottsdale Princess Resort...

In Two (The Lament)

Lyrics by Jennifer Knapp

Finish up your coffee, love
it's getting cold
let's finish up this fight tonight
before the sun draws neigh and I'm old

Have mercy on me I'm a girl
though I'm cruel and you cry
I won't shiver cause I know how to break a man
I know how to break a man in two

Still you're suffering, my love
o, who's to blame?
you might be tired, but I'm not through fanning the flame

o, by the tiding of my tounge
I lie and sing what can't be unsung
my soul torn in two by the things I say to you
by the things that I say

I know how to break a man
I know how to break us man, in two

the great escape

We're off to commune with nature this weekend, in a cozy mountain retreat in Northern Arizona.

I'd like to say that we've been planning this romantic getaway for a few weeks now. But I won't lie.

It's a spontaneous escape from our mailbox and the onslaught of unexpected bills that have hounded us as of late (see: unexpected airline tickets, unexpected tax payment, unexpected hospital bill, unexpected car repairs).

I am at the point where if I see one more bill come in that isn't in our budget, there is a real possibility that I might hurl myself off our second-floor balcony and into oncoming traffic.

So I'm being a wee dramatic. But I am stressed, and my stressed-out-ness is causing a ripple effect, disturbing the normally placid waters of my marital life.

I plan on taking a stack of books to read, swinging on the rope hammock on the front porch, watching movies and eating s'mores by the fire.

Who knows? Maybe it'll even be romantic. It will be nice to have some alone time together, and if previous vacations are any indication, spending time immersed in natural surroundings tends to cause a happy and even amorous mood in my hubby.

Me? Not so much. But as long as he brings the bug spray, we'll be just fine.

pish-posh

Today on MSNBC...more dinosaur propaganda.

The other day, Aaron said that the fact that I don't believe in dinosaurs is an example of my obvious mental instability independent spirit.

Is he good, or what?

Homemade Love

Nothing says "I Love You" like jello hearts with whipped cream and red sprinkles!

This, in addition to the flowers he had delivered to me at work, in addition to the romantic candlelit patio with flowers and music, in addition to the filet mignon dinner that HE COOKED HIMSELF.

And he still found time to make me jello hearts? with sprinkles?

I am obviously Spoiled but even more obviously Loved.

'tis the season

I'm comfy cozy, wrapped in a blanket and drinking Earl Grey from a mug with Degas' ballerinas painted on it. We got our Christmas tree last night, and I am basking in the twinkly glow and inhaling the fresh pine scent.

Trimming the tree has always been one of my favorite activities. It has become even more fun now that I get a real tree. As a kid growing up, my parents always had a fake tree. Which is like Christmas blasphemy to my traditionalist husband who is used to the real trees in Ohio that you cut down yourself.

We walked up and down the Christmas tree lot, debating the pros and cons of each tree. I wanted one with a perfect shape - must be all those years of having a fake tree; while Aaron wanted it to be bushy and full. We ended up getting a lovely, tall Douglas fir.

We hauled it upstairs, and I felt like Santa's little elf. We cranked up the Christmas music; Mariah Carey, Amy Grant, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. I danced around, lip synching the girl parts to "Baby, It's Cold Outside." We struggled endlessly with getting the tree to stand straight. We strung the lights, only to discover that we should have bought more. We festooned the tree with ribbon, a concept I introduced to Aaron after I rejected the idea of tinsel. We reminisced as we hung the special ornaments; the hula-dancing starfish that we picked up in the Lahaina shops in Maui, the "Our First Christmas" snowmen that I had personalized last year and then promptly forgot to pick up until a few days before Christmas, the Raggedy Anne & Andy ornaments that I took from Mom's house because they remind me of childhood Christmases. He put the star on top of the tree, and we laughed when we discovered that it fit perfectly, missing the ceiling by about one centimeter.

And then, we closed our eyes and turned on the lights.



Click the picture for more tree-trimming fun. :)

marital bonding

Tennis tonight. Aaron and I, and my new pink and blue titanium racket.

I didn't do as badly as I anticipated, but that's not saying much since my expectations were low from the start.

But when I did make contact with that little neon ball - the satisfying 'thwack' that followed was enough to make me feel like a tennis goddess, Arizona's own Venus Williams, the neighborhood park suddenly transformed into the grass courts of Wimbledon. So what if I sent it over the fence a few times and into the parking lot? And nevermind the fact that my aim often sent Aaron running into the adjacent court, interrupting the game of the girls next to us. The point is I HIT THE BALL, PEOPLE!

We had a great time, laughing and teasing, joking and playing.

I read somewhere that men bond through activity (outer focus) while women feel connected via talking and sharing their feelings (inner focus).

On the drive home, I could tell he was feeling closer to me, talking jovially, smiling, his hand resting on my thigh.

Men are so uncomplicated. Too bad its taken my complicated mind so long to figure that out.

much ado about nothing

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

How is it that I have managed to do absolutely nothing in the past four hours that I've been home? My day off from work has turned into a day off from life.

My grand plan for cleaning the apartment, going to the dry cleaners, and trying a new recipe for dinner quickly fell by the wayside the minute I turned on the TV and settled into the couch.

My husband will be home in approximately one hour and we will begin the usual "Marisa's Day Off" song and dance. He will ask me, sarcastically, what I did today. Nothing, I will say defensively, and with a hint of entitlement in my voice. Nothing? he will ask, in mock surprise. And then he will smile and shake his head, in an effort to make me feel guilty for piddling away the gift of time which I have been given. I will stand defiant, defending my right to enjoy my day off in whichever way I see fit.

And then I will start to feel a teensy weensy bit of guilt creep in, my conscience feeling slightly remorseful for time not-well spent. So I will secretly promise myself that next time will be different. I'll be disciplined! I'll be accomplished! I'll show him!

Maybe I still have time to make the bed.