Some days, you go for a walk.
Some days, you go for a walk.
Sometimes I will grab my husband, usually by the head, mash up his cheeks in my hands and say,
“Your face. Your STUPID face. I LOVE YOUR FACE. I’m … I’m gonna eat your face because I LOVE IT SO MUCH.”
I assume that all couples who have been together for more than a decade behave this way, expressing their affection through threats of cannibalism.
The thing is, though, I really do adore his face, every (tiny) crease and freckle and even the errant chicken pox scar on his forehead (that is almost, but not quite, a mirror reflection of one I have). To quote one of my favorite movies, “It’s … it’s a good face.”
I will probably forget the name of the brunch place we went to in Marais. I’ve forgotten it three times already, each and every time you told it to me, until you finally emailed me with the message “Don’t lose me.”
You meant the restaurant name, of course, but somehow I read it as a request from you, personally. “Don’t lose me,” you said. As though that were even possible. You’re on my mind even when I’m unconscious.
If you do a modicum of searching online, you’ll find a wealth of information about the Eiffel Tower. How it was designed by Gustav Eiffel, and built by his construction firm, for the 1889 World’s Fair. How it indirectly led to the building of the first Ferris Wheel, because when the Chicago World’s Fair rolled around a few years later, they needed something to compete with the Parisians. You may read about how the tower is still, to this day, the tallest building in Paris (at a rather modest 1063 feet), in part because city building codes have prevented the construction of anything taller.
It’s painful to admit this, but Paris (and the ensuing trip to Munich) was difficult for us. Or rather, it was difficult for me, and I made it difficult for Rand. (Which was totally unfair, I know. I intend to elaborate on what the heck was up in a later post. Maybe.)
I was in a funk.
Some days were better than others. And some mornings were particularly good. Like the one we spent in a small cafe not far from our hotel.
I’ve been having a lot of trouble blogging lately. It’s something I’ve been trying to ignore – throwing up a post here and there, attempting to make them funny and light when frankly, my heart just hasn’t been in it.
I originally started this blog for Rand. Having been cursed since birth to roam the world with the memory of a goldfish, he has only vague recollections of many of our trips. Time and again he’ll start recounting a story, and I’ll have to fill in the gaps.
And holy cats, there are a lot of gaps.
“Remember that time,” he’ll say. “When we were at that place, with those people, and that thing happened? Wasn’t that just something?”
Some days we pushed ourselves.
We’d kayak in the morning, and snorkel in the afternoon. We’d hike to the edges of the island, as far as we could safely go, and sometimes even a little farther than that.
Years ago, my friend Rachel was telling me a story about her then-boyfriend (and now husband) Adam. I can’t quite remember what it was about, but she paused halfway through and said, “Do you ever have those moments where you look at someone and realize how much you love them? Well, I had one of those moments.”
I, of course, knew exactly what she meant.