Shoulder length hair streaked with fairies’ gold pixie dust sprinkled across her pert nose braces and rubber bands long legs reaching almost to her chin a ready smile and a contagious laugh A year of friendship spent playing hide-n-go-seek swimming at Grandma’s trips to the lake house at Canyon homework marathons and a “first date” at the movies—alone A year as a couple buying Ty beanies because she thinks they’re cute Valentine’s Day takes weeks and weeks of allowance long phone chats Alicia Silverstone, Spice Girls, and the Magic Time Machine friends forever He whispers as night embraces him “Mom, she’s the one.” “I’ll never love another girl.” “She’s different and special.” I feel the weight of his adoration Times change gradually her legginess turns to curves mascara darkens her lashes her Tom boyish walk turns to graceful pirouettes her need for popularity outstrips him He understands his boyish charm keeps trying his cherub face beams when she’s near his voice becomes husky when she’s on the phone she enchants him still even when she’s walking away
First love and all of the loves that follow found in IOUNIO's "Scared"
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A few days ago, we ambled into a “remember when” conversation after our son commented that he’s never met a woman from his generation who embraces a view that the partnership of marriage can start from nothing and work slowly forward over many years. The women he knows want a partner established in career with a steady income, vehicles that run, and the promise of eventually becoming “stay at home mothers” instead of remaining in the work force. So different from my own beliefs.
Our first apartment, in Bryan, Texas, had orange shag carpet. For the first four months of marriage, we sat on the floor, eating off of a large paper box. A friend had given us the foam mattress from a hide-a-bed to use as a bed. Our clothing, folded into neat piles, rested directly on the floor. We didn’t even have a laundry basket at first, and the few wire hangers we had held heavier items like our coats and jackets. The television set, black and white, didn’t have working horizontal hold. It rotated the single channel we tuned through rabbit ears. A wicker chair with matching stool and a white pole lamp, pieces I purchased while in high school, finished the furniture we owned. David entered marriage with one small old suitcase, one paper bag of clothing, his guitar (a gift from a friend), his bass, and cabinet with amplifier. My uncle had given us a partial set of American Airlines silverware. Our pots and pans, mix-matched, barely filled our cooking needs. That was okay. We barely had food for groceries. Those months, before our first paychecks arrived, were our pinto bean days.
Around September, one of David’s aunts loaned us an old mattress and table. We picked up a couple of folding chair, which graduated us to fine dining! We pooled our wedding gift cash to buy unpainted wood chests. Finally, our clothing had a home. The foam pad shifted to the living room for a “couch”.
Those sparse first months gave us the ability to do sacrifice for later goals. My college loans got payed off at a double rate. Once we moved from College Station to San Antonio, we kept our budget strict. Together, we roamed through department and furniture stores to select the furniture that fit a style we both loved.
For us, part of the success of our long marriage started in those first months of struggle. It gave us a foundation for working together for long-term goals.
IOUNIO's "Echoes in the Mist"
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Above all, she soars Her vicious talons sharp She swoops Her wicked claws rip and tear Into her own children Cruelly she slices her prey Ignores their anguished cries Her evil hunger feeds upon the flesh of her babies She devours their adoration Her soul-eating cravings insatiable
One
of the oldest bushes in our yard, the Crepe Myrtle by our front driveway
sickened after a battle against two freezes followed by extra dry and hot
springs. While everyone’s Crepe Myrtle’s drip with bright pink, white, or purple
blossoms, ours barely bud last year. A few months ago, we decided to cut the
forty-year-old bush back to the ground, leaving raw stumps that we encircled
with stones as a ring of hope for new growth.
My
son’s attachment to this bush surprised me. His memories of spring time and
summer include this marker to our house. He thought I was crazy to cut it back
as far as I did. Over the years, we’ve taken out Mimosas, China Berries,
Arizona Ashes, and Swamp Maples to accommodate the Live Oak out back that now
dominates our back yard. When my son was very young, he cried with each tree’s
removal. The Crepe Myrtle, though, never seemed at risk for removal, until it
grew ill.
Life sometimes requires decisions to prune weak relationships. We clip and trim dying or toxic bonds to gain personal growth. With patience and nurturing, something new and strong may blossom back. From the roots a better, stronger connection can sprout.
They believed his easy smile the laughter at all the right places while he cloaked his deception through necessity as the world within him clung to distortions Illness subtly ate at his reason making it impossible to disguise the turmoil within unless he buried it under the things he loved: games, computers, politics, religion Intellect guided him to delude to use his words to hide his thoughts Need shepherded him to security safety with the familiar: church and keyboard, childhood ritual and digital certainty where he shared with his surrogates the Truths he let them see Security in his world narrowed down into a box of silent despair broken only by the words, “I love you”
Sorrow fills me I disappointed you let you down I didn’t see your struggle hear your plea pay attention I let my obsessions bleed into your heart I took my desires and poured them into your life Now you overflow with my pettiness Shame fills me weighs my movements and halts my thoughts I hurt you caused you distress I didn’t listen to your words watch your face walk in your shoes I am sorry chokes my breath and spills from my eyes
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