The Glowing Edge

Tag: Love

  • Olive & Henry

    Olive & Henry

    Henry, from the day we brought him home from the shelter, was 17 pounds of orange-striped irritable. He’s not cuddly, playful, or even nonchalant. He bites. And he prefers that you just leave him alone, permanently.

    Henry grew on us like a mild but contagious virus. We actually like him, for reasons that only therapy would help us fully grasp.

    And Olive, from the day we brought her home from the shelter, has absolutely adored Henry.

    Olive eats from Henry’s plate (we finally quit putting one out for her because she utterly refused to eat unless he was eating, and she had to eat with her little nose touching his), she pounces on Henry’s head, and as you can see from the photo above, she lounges on Henry’s perch.

    Henry swears like a sailor whenever Olive’s around. He refuses to use her name, and only refers to her scathingly as “Junior.” He bats at her, chases her, and lets her jump on his head. He spouts invective and scowls at her.

    I’ve decided Olive is Italian, because she’s utterly oblivious to Henry’s frequent rants.

    She only speaks the language of amore.

  • Sneaky Boy Money Making Tactics

    Sneaky Boy Money Making Tactics

    Gram and Papa Clyde took all of us to IHOP this morning before they headed back to Memphis. We dined sumptuously on pancakes, french toast, bacon, eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and the Maker and the Ice competed to see who could drink more of the little creamers in the baskets on our three pushed-together tables. (Thankfully they left the little jellies alone this time: you think they’re maturing?)

    Toward the end of breakfast, I saw Gram whisper quietly to the Ice “Do you have a pocket for this?” as she surreptitiously passed him a crisp five dollar bill under the table.

    “Thank you, thank you!” he whispered excitedly, bouncing up and down in his seat.

    She grinned and turned to the First, sitting on her other side. “Do you have a pocket for this?” she asked slyly, slipping him a fresh five.

    “I love you, Gram, thank you,” the First whispered back to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

    By now the Maker had taken notice, despite the adult conversation swirling around him. Before Gram had a chance to ask him her question he leaned forward in his seat and whispered across the table: “I have two pockets.”

    That’s my boy.

    Photo by sea-turtle

  • My Train Kentucky Sneaky Love Poem

    My Train Kentucky Sneaky Love Poem

    I found this poem from the Maker on my pillow yesterday; it was folded neatly into a homemade envelope and sealed with a tiny smiley face that had been cut out of masking tape.

    I Love you so mutch I cant explain
    Id’e like to rid whith you on a trian
    Id’e ride to kentucky Id’e ride all the way
    Id’e ride so fast I woldent even pay
    And thats how mutch I Love you.

    (I love you, too, Sweetheart. Boy, do I ever.)

  • Love Shark

    I stumbled across my “free will astrology” horoscope recently, which factually advised me that “it is an excellent time to coax out the tender, romantic side of [my] inner shark, as well as the inner shark of anyone [I’m] attracted to.”

    As I reflected on my inner love shark, I decided the best way to “coax” the shark-man who is my obvious destiny would begin with a sultry yet toothsome (and perhaps even ferocious) playlist. This list is called The Obvious Destiny of Sharks, or more simply, Love Shark:

    1. Adore / Prince
    2. You’re My Flavor / Lenny Kravitz
    3. Be Without You (Kendu Mix) / Mary J. Blige
    4. Nice and Slow / Usher
    5. Work It Out / Beyoncé
    6. SexyBack / Justin Timberlake featuring Timbaland
    7. My Lovely Man / Red Hot Chili Peppers

    We have a love shark date tonight, which just might include dancing followed by a visit to the ER.

  • Four Love Poems

    I’ve just started Love’s Labour’s Lost (imagine! A Shakespeare comedy with no weddings in it!) and it has put me on a love poetry reading jag. Emily Dickinson got me going with this one (c. 1880), so apropos of LLL:

    We shall find the Cube of the Rainbow.
    Of that, there is no doubt.
    But the Arc of a Lover’s conjecture
    Eludes the finding out.

    I also love one I refer to as Louie, Louie (I’ve been warped by John “Bluto” Belushi and National Lampoon’s Animal House) but it might be more accurately called “Luely, Luely,” which was Scottish for softly, softly. Actually, that’s not the name of the poem at all. (Don’t you love when people are giving you directions, and they say “You know where the auto parts place is, the one by the old gas station that burned a few years back, right across from the water plant by the elementary school? Well, don’t turn there.”)

    The name of the poem is The Trysting Place, and it’s by Scottish poet William Soutar, who lived in the early 1900’s. I put the words that need translating below the poem.

    O luely, luely, cam she in
    And luely she lay doun:
    I kent her be her caller lips
    And her breists sae sma’ and roun’.

    A’ thru the night we spak nae word
    Nor sinder’d bane frae bane:
    A’ thru the nicht I heard her hert
    Gang soundin’ wi’ my ain.

    It was about the waukrife hour
    When cocks begin to craw
    That she smool’d saftly thru the mirk
    Afore the day weud daw.

    Sae luely, luely, cam she in
    Saie luely was she gaen;
    And wi’ her a’ my simmer days
    Like they had never been.

    luely = softly, caller = fresh / cool, sinder’d = parted, bane = bone, waukrife = waking

    I also love Robert Browning’s Meeting at Night, which puts me in mind of all the nights in high school when the Husband and I were dating, when he would drive way out to where I worked as a waitress in order to spend an hour or so sitting with me on the curb — me stinking of fried fish — before driving me home at 3 or 4 am, knowing we would both be exhausted in the morning but believing it was worth it.

    The grey sea and the long black land;
    And the yellow half-moon large and low;
    And the startled little waves that leap
    In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
    As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
    And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.

    Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
    Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
    A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
    And blue spurt of a lighted match,
    And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
    Than the two hearts beating each to each!

    Once I get started it’s hard to quit. I have dozens of love poems which remind me of those teenage years in which the Husband and I dated and fell in love. So, one more marvelous piece, because I can’t let it go. This is W. B. Yeats, a poem called Brown Penny:

    I whispered, ‘I am too young,’
    And then, ‘I am old enough’;
    Wherefore I threw a penny
    To find out if I might love.
    ‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
    If the lady be young and fair.’
    Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
    I am looped in the loops of her hair.

    O love is the crooked thing,
    There is nobody wise enough
    To find out all that is in it,
    For he would be thinking of love
    Till the stars had run away
    And the shadows eaten the moon.
    Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
    One cannot begin it too soon.

  • Our Wedding Photos (all 11)

    I know y’all have been waiting, like, for a really loooong time for me to get our wedding photos uploaded so you can see them. Well the wait is over. Here’s all eleven of those shots from that famous fifteen minutes in 1987 that changed the world. (If you can’t see them above, click over to my Flickr and watch them there.)

    Wedding of 1987 notes:

    1. I wouldn’t photoshop out the Husband’s glasses for any amount of money. They are just awe-inspiring! In fact, things could only have been better if we had had a 70’s wedding, and (both) worn flower crowns and videotaped ourselves dancing.

    2. The nicest thing anyone said to me, other than the vows The Husband made, was that I looked like Lady Diana. It was a kind thing to say to a mostly-clueless, somewhat inept but certainly game young girl on her wedding day, don’t you think? I still remember that with fondness.

    3. Yes, the wedding lasted precisely 15 minutes. The Husband and I met when we were both sixteen, so we had been dating five years already and we JUST WEREN’T GOING TO WAIT ANY LONGER. It was a bargeload of effort for that tiny quarter of an hour, but it was OUR 15 minutes, and they ROCKED, I tell you. They rocked.

    PS: Soundtrack that should go with this album (please don’t click over to YouTube, the video just ruins the song): Franz Ferdinand’s “Do You Want To”.

  • Love Is A Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time

    Phenomenal. I devoured this book, mixed and penned by Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield, in two late night reads, only because I forced myself to stop and savor the last half on a second night rather than read until the sun rose. Beautiful and anguished by turns, interwoven with the music of love and death and indie-pop music geekdom, Love is a Mix Tape is the brutally honest and tender personal narrative of shy-boy Sheffield’s discovery of his “noisy, juicy, sparkly” girlfriend Renee, their marriage, her sudden death five years later, and the painful aftermath. Each chapter leads off with the contents of a mix tape (that he made, she made, or someone made for them) which ties together the events and memories of each particular theme in the story, drawing from Pavement, Yo La Tengo, Big Star (Rob and Renee played “Thirteen” at their wedding), Meat Puppets, Madonna, The Smiths, Buzzcocks, Liz Phair, Weezer, The Grifters, Nirvana, Sleater-Kinney and hundreds more. Not only the music, but the movie references will let you know you are in the presence of a real live encyclopedic fanboy. Think Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity in real life and true love.

  • Margi Scharff

    Last night the work on this earth that Margi did came to an end. I spent part of my day scrolling through her travel logs and enjoying some of the beautiful collages from her “raw material: from the road in asia” collection. Most of the pieces are created from papers and other found items which she collected and put together in India, but I love the pieces from Burma the most. Simple waves, burnished gold, exotic words forming a language that needs no translation.

    Margi, sometime soon let’s talk, now that you’re freed up from the ordinary ties that bind. Thanks for coming to my wedding — I still remember you in your head-to-toe black, with that awesome crew cut. I love you. And I just don’t have any language for it.

  • How We Met: Two People’s Opinions

    How We Met: Two People’s Opinions

    The Husband: I turned 16 in April of 1982, which meant I got my driver’s license, which meant I could ask girls out on dates. I wasn’t going to ask girls out until I could drive; no way was I gonna have my mom drive me to pick a girl up for a date.

    Lisa: That would have been okay, though. I’d been going out with my friends and with other guys this way. Besides, your mom rocks. She had a cushy ride, too: a beige 70’s model Pontiac LeMans; a monstrous vehicle with a vinyl roof and off-white leather LeMansinterior. Bench seats. I remember that because I sat in the middle next to you. That car probably got more than 10 miles to the gallon. Highway driving, anyway.

    The Husband: That spring, on the last day of school I went to Mr. Hand, our homeroom teacher and also the teacher for several of the girls on my list of girls to date. Mr. H. had everybody’s phone number on his class roll, and I asked him if I could look at his roll sheet and he said Sure. So I copied down the names and phone numbers of Kelly C, Cassie C, and Lisa C. Maybe also Elizabeth C; I can’t remember if I copied hers or not, she was further down the list and once I got to you I stopped.

    Lisa: Our homerooms were divided alphabetically, obviously. Good thing my name wasn’t Krzyzewski (for more reasons than one). Elizabeth C. was my best friend, incidentally. Alphabetically she was ahead of me, so I’m guessing you meant she was below me on your personal “who I wanna date” list. If you had gone out with her there would have been issues. I wasn’t one of those sultry siren man-stealers, but I’d have given it a shot to get you.

    Also: Thank you, Mr. Hand! Did you empower other geeky teenage boys this way as well? It was kind of a ministry, wasn’t it?

    The Husband: I started with Kelly and Cassie, probably because I knew them the best. Cassie was in the band with me. Kelly had been in the band, but at the time I copied down her phone number she was a cheerleader so she was automatically hot. I didn’t know you as well so you were farther down the list.

    I went out with Kelly twice and Cassie once.

    Kelly was very nice, and I made the mistake of thinking that because she was nice to me that she liked me, but she was just nice to everybody. After the second date I realized she wasn’t really interested in dating me, largely because I hadn’t been able to get her to kiss me goodnight. I figured that was probably a good indicator.

    Cassie was very quiet, and it wasn’t good for me to be dating quiet girls because I was quiet too, and if we’re both quiet it’s just too… yeah.

    At the end of the summer I called you. I didn’t know you as well as the other girls, but I knew you were very social so there wouldn’t be a problem with you being too quiet. Also, you had the best chest of any of the girls on my list, and that was definitely an asset. I asked if you wanted to go to a movie, but you said you couldn’t go because you were grounded. I wasn’t sure if this was just a variation on the “I have to wash my hair that night” brush-off, so I asked if you could go out the following weekend, and you said yes.

    Lisa: I’m stifling my embarrassment over having traded my Maidenform training bra for a regular one. I’m also working on overcoming my amazement that I was the Chosen One because of the desirability factor of a Girl Who Talks A Lot. Most of the girls in my high school could have easily limbo-ed in under that bar.

    I’m also aware that MY version of this story includes the fact that when you called, it took me a minute to place you. And I recall that I was the one who kept the whole thing from dying in the water. Since the conqueror gets to write the history and it’s my blog, here’s my version:

    Boy phones: Hi, this is Lance B. We’re both in Mr. Hand’s homeroom.

    (short silence)

    Girl: Oh, yeah, I know you. [I would have said this if Mike Krzyzewski had called. To admit that I didn’t know someone was still outside of my experience at that time.]

    You sit in the back? [A shot in the dark.]

    You wear glasses. [Waiting for affirmation.]

    Boy: Yeah.

    Girl: [getting closer to the target] I think you helped me with my math once before!

    Boy: Yeah.

    Girl: Yeah, I know you!

    (short silence)

    Boy: So, I was just wondering if you wanted to go to a movie Friday night.

    Girl: Um, I’m grounded this week. But I probably won’t be next week!

    Boy: Next week sounds good. I can pick you up at 7. [Because I’m sixteen, dammit, and can drive.]

    Girl: (Startled that it appears the conversation is ending, when it only just started) Uh, ok, sounds good. I’ll let you know if I get grounded again!

    Boy: Bye. (hangs up)

    For the record, every phone call we ever had, and most we have now, are approximately this same length. It’s a Clark Kent kind of characteristic in you that I once found baffling, but now experience as endearing.

    The Husband: I remember we went to see The World According to Garp, which is not really a great first date movie for teens, but I hadn’t seen it so I didn’t realize that at the time. I think we went to McDonald’s afterwards and got ice cream, but that might have been our second date. I took you home and asked your permission to kiss you good night which sounds really dopey now, but it apparently got me big points with you so I’m glad I did it.

    You seemed pretty enthusiastic about the kissing part, too, which was kind of a surprise. But, you know, in a really good way.

    Lisa: Heh. That was the day that I determined that chivalry was in fact not dead. The movie was most assuredly NOT a good date movie but it wasn’t as bad as say, Platoon. I don’t think we went to McDonalds; I had a pretty tight curfew and usually had to be in by 10 or 11 pm, else be grounded. Again.

    Walking me to the door and asking my permission to kiss me good night were the best parts of that date. A few months later we would discover that passionately kissing in front of the kitchen door of my house was not a good idea at all. My mother liked to wait up for me at that window, and she would rap sharply on the glass if we got started. But we were quick learners.

    And that’s the story, as it actually happened. In our opinions.

    (My God, you were skinny! This picture was taken our junior year of high school, and since then you’ve gained at least 10 pounds. Thank goodness.)

  • How True Love Works


    When I was in elementary school I walked to the nearby library every day after school, where I waited until one of my parents could pick me up. As a result, I was conscripted as a library volunteer, shelving books. While I loved to read, I hated to shelve. The fact that every book had a precise spot to belong annoyed me no end. Why not just put the children’s books in the same general area? Why not arrange by book size — or better yet — by color? Dealing with the whole Dewey Decimal system was like being handcuffed in a phone booth with a thousand hungry mosquitoes. Many years later, I went to art school and became a designer, eschewing all things highly ordered.

    When the Husband was elementary age, his mother took him to Hancock Fabrics whenever she went to purchase sewing supplies. Like a worshiper entering the sanctuary, he went with deep reverence and anticipation straight to the zippers.

    The zippers were always a mess. People were constantly picking up a 4″ burgundy and putting it back with the 6″ burgundies. Or mixing the oranges with the reds, or the synthetics with the cottons. Very disorderly. The Husband, age seven, was there to make it right, and he would not leave until the job was done. Many years later, he went to college in engineering and became a mathematician, statistician, and computer geek.

    And that’s why I had to marry him.

    He knows where every receipt, warranty, account number, birth certificate, registration, and instruction booklet is filed because he’s the one who filed it. Our checkbook is always balanced and our bank accounts have the best rates. We were the first in our neighborhood to be wireless, and his passwords have good strength. Our taxes are often finished by February, and there is oil in my car, gas in the tank, and air in the tires.

    Whenever I go to a fabric store, I always spend a few moments of grateful silence in front of the zippers.