Love…True Love

I remember laughing so hard my insides hurt when I first watched Peter Cook recite these famous lines:

I laughed even more when a dear friend of mine, who I dare say captured the essence of Peter Cook’s delivery of those lines, along with her own comedic flair, would recite those beloved lines.

“Wuv…troo wuv….”

Well, I am writing today because I have been considering “The Thing Called Love” (which, incidentally, was a movie I enjoyed back in the day but haven’t revisited for years). Before you go “blame it on your lyin’, cheatin’, cold, dead-beatin’, two-timin’, double-dealin’, mean, mistreatin’, lovin’ heart,” you might want to consider LOVE for a little while, too…and more specifically the opportunity or possibility for an eternal or timeless love….

I am not a big Twilight fan.  I haven’t read any of the books; I never waited in line or paid for a ticket to see any of the films.  I did, however, out of respect for cultural literacy, decide (maybe at about the time New Moon was released) that I would probably ClearPlay most of the films by the end of the series.  As of last night, I have completed watching the films (mainly due to one of my children’s unlikely fascination with the franchise)…and as I have pondered what I have learned and the attraction of the story, I have some thoughts to share.

I believe in eternal love.  I believe that relationships exist beyond this life, and that we can be with our loved ones again who are currently separated from us because of death.  I also believe in the immortality of the soul.  I do not, however, believe in the reality of vampires (no matter what history might say about Abraham Lincoln hunting them) :).  Still, I think the medium of vampire culture serves a purpose to paint a picture of a loving, supportive family, with couples who honor vows to one another.

Could our disposable society learn anything from these messages?  (Here I would like to insert my belief that I do support the option of divorce in particular circumstances…but I think people often throw away relationships that could be saved with effort and work much like they throw away their fast food wrappers and paper plates after dinner….)

I am also captivated by the story found in The Time Traveler’s Wife.  While I found the abundant profanity in the book offensive and skimmed over some graphic sex scenes, I felt compelled to finish the book.  As I read, the power of a committed relationship that did not bend to time taught me again and again.  Now, I do not believe in time travel (though I do find the Back to the Future movies highly entertaining).  What draws me to this story is the decision two people made to be together, to grow together, to live through challenges together, and to love each other fiercely.

I have heard that any two people committed to each other and committed to God can make a marriage work.  Not to say that some people aren’t more well-suited to each other…some are.  Still, committment is key in making a relationship work.  And, every day anyone in a relationship wakes up each morning and makes a decision to stay with that person (or not).  This decision may not be consciously made, but it is made nonetheless.  And the decision is yours to make your love…[a] true love that will stand the test of time (and maybe even eternity).

A Flash of Inspiration…

So, I didn’t get to watch any “chick flicks” during Valentine’s week…in fact, I’ve been on a movie-watching hiatus for the last several weeks (except what I end up viewing with my little people)…& so, after my workout this morning, I thought, “I’m going to watch Shall We Dance? before I have to take it back to the library this week.”  Then, I remembered the scene when Richard Gere’s character says to his wife (as he’s confessing why he didn’t tell her about his dancing lessons) something about feeling guilty for being too happy.

Have you seen this film?  Here is the love song played over a scene toward the end of it….

I have seen the movie several times, not just because I love the dancing (which I do), and not just because I love the love song in it (which I do), but because his words during that scene are meaningful to me.

I have been blessed repeatedly in my life…not that my life has been “perfect” (is anyone’s?)…I’ve had my share of troubles and adversities…but my joys have been sweet and my blessings have been many…and sometimes, I do feel a little guilty for wanting to be a little happier…to change something in my life for the better.

Am I alone?

When I think of all that I’ve been able to accomplish in my (relatively) short life, I wonder if I should be able to want anything more…if wanting more is right…if wanting more is good….

I’m not talking about things, mind you; I’m talking about accomplishing goals–like publishing a novel or taking a certain trip with certain loved ones or raising my children to be well-adjusted, happy, responsible citizens.  Sometimes I think I don’t deserve any more happiness…like I’ve had my allotted share and I don’t deserve any more.  Maybe I need to take some dancing lessons…?

Thoughts?

A Prayer

She dipped her hand into the warm, soapy water, releasing the scent of pine oil throughout her kitchen.  Her hair fell into her face and almost into the water as she retrieved her scrub brush from the bottom of the suds-filled bucket and envisioned the image of a singer with blonde and red streaked hair, with a fashion sense ahead of her time, singing about that very subject.  As the beating of the song’s rhythm fell in time with her own heart, she recalled the harsh words she exchanged only hours ago with the person she loved best and most in the world.

“…Confusion is nothing new…”

Why? she asked herself as the warm water dripped from her cleansing tool onto dark grout lines.

“Sometimes you picture me…I’m walking too far ahead…”

She pushed her frustrations of misunderstanding, of raised voices, of emptiness into the floor as she wondered if an onlooker, should one appear, would compare her to Walt Disney’s Cinderella singing about a nightingale; sadly, her song was not so sweet.

“You’re calling to me…”

Tears mixed with water and Pine-Sol on the already soaked tile, as she knelt in a penitent posture, wishing away pain, willing it to wash away from her soul, to be clean like the floor she was so diligently scrubbing.

“Secrets…stolen…from deep inside…”

Her wrist wiped across her eyes in an attempt to dry them, but her hands were already wet.

“Time after time…time after time…time after…time,” echoed the striped-haired singer through the Bose speaker on the counter, the one she bought herself when she felt he asked more than he should have…but, if she were honest with herself and with him, he had not asked her at all.  She volunteered.  Her main complaint in the earlier yelling fest had been of him not getting her, of taking too much without returning…but even that was gone now.

Her hands returned to moving in circular motions across the squares, creating shapes in soap that really weren’t there…just appearances…impressions.

Maybe I’m the one who should apologize?

The song on her Pandora 80’s station changed, and her mood followed as the tears shed only moments ago soaked deeply into the grout outlines around squares of hard, cold rock.

She pulled out her mop and towel and began the work of rinsing over the soap bubbles (and tears)…a baptism of sorts for the floor, which bore the weight of all their harsh words to one another, their flippant remarks.  She pushed the frayed towel around with her feet, soaking the rising water into fibers of blue cotton.

Have I any hope for redemption now?

(lines of the song used are from “Time After Time” written by Cyndi Lauper and Rob Hyman)

A Little Friday Fiction…

I was talking with one of my cute sisters yesterday and said something that spawned a little bit of a story…so, here goes…!

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with Jude Law,” I heard myself say to a friend the other day–one of those friends that I can go years without speaking to, suddenly call her one day and giggle again like we did across the plastic umbrella-covered table at the local Tastee Freeze while spying on guys we liked as teenagers.

Carmen burst out laughing.  I think she spit a little into the phone, maybe?  “What?’ I heard her yell into my ear.

“Well, it just kinda happened.”  She laughed a little into the speaker which traveled across cell signals through several states–too many to mention and way more than I would like to admit–and filled my soul.  I missed her laugh, the times we shared.  This phone call was long overdue…like the baby that was hanging out in my belly.  Seriously overdue.  Like eight days.  Having something grow inside you can be wonderful and fabulous and amazing and miraculous…but sometimes–and more often than not–I find it uncomfortable, inconvenient–not to mention heavy.  But I didn’t have this child because I was looking for convenience.  I’m not delusional.  Okay, not yet.  At least I think I’m not.  But those are all other stories.  Back to Carmen.

“What just kinda happened?”  I don’t know what she was really thinking happened…not like I have any connection to Jude Law or anything…at least not any more connection to him than anyone else in this small town in the middle of America.  Okay, maybe a little connection.  My grandfather did immigrate here from England.  There–I have a connection to Jude Law.  England is our connection.

I continued, “Well, you know Cliff was on a business trip last weekend?”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

“And, the girls and I were looking for something to do.”  By girls I should define…they are my girls…but they are both minors, and therefore, as a seemingly responsible, non-delusional mother, I wouldn’t put them in any type of compromising situation, right?  “So, we picked up a chick flick from the library…some Christmas-type movie.  What was it called again?  Oh, yeah.  The Holiday.  And Jude Law was kissing Cameron Diaz and all of the sudden I thought, ‘that’s the way Cliff kisses me,’ and then I’m looking at him with her and I’m practically drooling over Jude’s solid jaw,”–like Cliff’s–“and his longing eyes”–also like Cliff’s–“and I fell in love.”

More laughter on the other end of the line.

“To make it all worse, he was a widower–with two little girls that were cute”–like mine–“and British“–not like mine.  “I was like sobbing by the end…and hopelessly in love.”

“You know you’re hormonal, right?” Carmen’s voice of reason came through the magical world of cell service.  This time we both laughed together.

“I even looked him up on IMDb,” I found myself confessing.  “He wasn’t nearly this attractive in the Sherlock Holmes movies, was he?”

“I don’t know,” Carmen was almost gasping for air through her laughter.  “But you are funny.  And I know what I’m sending you for Christmas.”

“No, don’t,” I quickly responded.  “I don’t want Cliff to find out.”

“Find out what?”

And my glorious cell phone droped the call.  “Find out I’m in love with Jude Law,” I say into the empty space as I start to replay the conversation in my head.

Maybe I am a bit delusional after all.

🙂