the Village Knittiot

Don’t mind me as I wax romantic and silly this morning. I can’t help it. I’m in love and, worst of all, I am living several hundred miles away from the object of my affections. And as if that weren’t a tragedy in and of itself, today is his birthday and I won’t be there to celebrate with him or kiss his earlobes good morning or make him breakfast burritos (his favorite). I always thought it would take a remarkably strong relationship to make the long distance thing work, even if it was only going to be for a few weeks, but now I know that it also takes a little bit of lunacy and the amazing ability to stop yourself from quitting your job in the middle of the week because you miss your partner more than you care about eating or paying the bills.

About 38 years ago (give or take an hour or two), a bright and shiny object was loosed into the world, and being the bird-brain that I am (Ooooo, Mrs. Frisby, you’ve got a sparkly! — 10 points to anyone - besides my husband - who can tell me what character uttered those words), I set off in the general direction of its impressive gleam. And let me tell you ladies and gents, gleam is the only word to describe it.

It would be no lie to say that the world lit up when I first saw my sweetie. Something happened with the sunlight and it could have been a scene from a movie the way he just suddenly seemed to glow all over – there was even music in my ears and magic so thick I could have reached into thin air and pulled out a handful of brightly colored ribbons (what did I expect, we were at the Renaissance Festival and everything is all music and magic). At the time I thought it was just love at first sight, but, hindsight being what it is, I see now it was much more than that, much more. It was like a recognition of an old friend, a coming home.

I am not fond of the concept of two people making a whole, because damn it aren’t we already whole people on our own? Or at least shouldn’t we be? But I’ll tell you one thing, there were pieces of the world that made more sense with Corvus in the mix. And rather than completing me as a person, it was more like I already had a whole library, but when he came along, he brought new works to the collection, old manuscripts and rich texts, ancient stories and modern myths, that rounded out all the edges. I might have been a darn good chocolate cake on my own, but wouldn’t you know that his lemon butter frosting just made all the difference?

Since then, my life has been filled with sparkly bits and glinting objects that refract the light and attract my bird-like sense of drama and curiosity. With my sweetie, there is no end to the new discoveries and sense of adventure. There are no limits to our growth as individuals or as people. There is no box to be crammed inside of and no compromises. So, sweetie, the only appropriate words I can ever think of on your birthday, and every day of our life together, are Thank You and I Love You. That’s about all there is. Beyond that, nothing else matters.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005 at 7:35 am and is filed under this Random Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.