I got married in a discount gown with a low back and my older male friend said, “I though you were a good girl” when he saw the photos. I thought I was, too. Everybody told us we were children. Which is true, though not strictly speaking. We could vote and go to war, but not drink or rent a car. I suppose that says something about what the powerful think of us, but that is not my point here. My point is that neither of us had fully formed prefrontal cortexes which one needs to make long term decisions. But the more ancient, rudimentary parts of our brains—the parts…
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Valentines
He brings them home after a long Valentine’s Day full of construction paper and sticky fingers. Like all days now – with three kids in our little house – his arrival is greeted with squealing children and his wife somewhere among the quotidian shouting out a hey, babe! I’m in the laundry area this evening, stuffing too many clothes into the washing machine and trying not to hope for a Valentine because you don’t want to ruin Valentine’s Day by hoping for a Valentine. He walks back, children trailing, with a big smile and these gorgeous peachy/pink/orange roses in one hand, a box of fruit-topped chocolate in the other. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he…
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Come Away
We played “Come Away With Me” at our wedding – our first dance after making a promise way too big for a couple of arrogant kids. It’s a lazy, lovely song about the easy adventure of falling in love. Nora Jones croons in exquisite alto how to let go and join in on the act of being with another person – on a cloudy day, under rain on a tin roof. We swayed in dress shoes under twinkle lights while we whispered the lyrics and conjured up a long, adventurous life together. Those our rhythmic first steps into years of coming away with each other. To a brick boxed house in North Carolina, to…
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To the Young Military Wife
Your friends were a little surprised when you got that ring – the one he bought at the PX at a serious discount, chose with the help of a clerk in a vest and a weary smile. You heard how young you were, how hard it would be, but you got approval and admiration nonetheless because you were doing something noble. You were joining the ranks of military families. Maybe you don’t feel so noble now in the brick house with hard tile floors and the Wal Mart printed wedding photos hanging on your walls with thumbtacks. You can still fit into those middle school jeans, but they feel a…
