2 posts tagged “love”

Periodically, I like to be certain my husband really understands how special I am.  Well, unique anyway.  Well, maybe just different.  Anyway, I recently shocked him with yet another revelation of my abilities.  Do not let your mind head toward the gutter at this point.  That is NOT where this is going.  One my unheralded abilities is that I am able to cry at weddings.  Any wedding. Any time.  I am the queen of the cry.  He didn’t believe me.

A few weeks ago I had the golden opportunity to show him the champion I am.  His coworker was married and both the bride and groom are complete strangers to me.  The wedding was truly the most beautiful I have ever seen.  An exquisite historical location, perfect weather, the perfect bride and groom, and no expense spared.  Everything was absolutely exquisitely understated.  It was quite honestly, perfect.

I was drawn into the absolute uniqueness of this wedding as the middle-aged first-time bride seemed to float toward her groom.  There were many references to this love coming as such a gift to them at this stage of life.  No one could escape the emotional pull as the bride was escorted down the aisle by her elderly father.  I waited for the tingles to begin and hoped my waterproof mascara would hold up.

Nothing.

The vows were powerful and combined traditional sentiment with cultural heritage.   The pastor slowly and thoroughly explained the power of wedding vows and how seriously the Lord regards them.  The orange sun got lower and lower in front of us.  Unlike the other guests, I had no sunglasses and didn’t want to seem crass by shielding my eyes.  Stoically, I squinted and waited.

But my eyes would not cooperate.

I went introspective and thought about my wedding and what a genuinely happy day it was.  And how, given the opportunity, I would marry Checkered a million times over.  As though he could read my mind, we smiled at each other.

Zip.

I thought about dropping our kids off with their grandparents.  Kenseth had been struggling with asthma all day and was understandably nervous about being away from us at bedtime.

I almost left to go get him, but was still tearless.

I looked around at the variety of fashion and thought about how a hundred years ago, we would color-coordinate for these kinds of events and then photograph ourselves for posterity.  I thought about how we now wear whichever clothing buttons, snaps, and zips with the least battle.

Bone-dry.

I thought about how I had on the wrong bra for my dress and no matter how warm it got later, I would not be able to take my jacket off.

Nada.

I thought about how the waistband of my pantyhose had become mysteriously de-elasticized since the start of the evening.  The former control top became low-rise pantyhose and threatened to, with a sudden move, become knee highs.  Surely that would start the emotion, but my eyes were…

Not even shimmering.

The beautiful and moving ceremony was over.  Checkered looked at my eyes and smirked.  What was wrong?! Maybe I was seriously dehydrated! 

But the truth was screaming and I recognized it:  the reign of the wedding-cry queen was over. 

A hundred years ago, I joined the most noble of professions.  I became a teacher.  Although I doubted that I would ever be equal to the needs of my students, I dreamed of awakening them to the beauty and complexity of literature.    They would compose, read, critique and we would all have conversations with five-syllable words.  

In fact, teaching has been so much greater than I might have imagined.  I've watched as students may not have fallen in love with literature and grammar, but did discover that they didn't have to detest it.  I've read as they share their lives and articulate their dreams and traumas.  I love what I do for work.

And so, off we go to the local college where I have a little job teaching composition classes.

Several years ago, I was nine months pregnant, highly immobile and teaching a late evening class. In that class were two students seriously in love.  They always sat in a darkened corner of the room where the overhead light never seemed to work.  She sat in front of him.  While the class engaged in the search for verbs, subjects, and prepositional phrases, they engaged in foreplay.  For a few sessions, it was simply an apparent delight in her strawberry gold hair which cascaded over his books.  Then, he couldn't resist; he began to spend class finger-combing her tresses.  Then the face caresses began.  And then there was the fateful night.  The hair, the face weren't enough, and she arched her back to recline uncomfortably on his desk.  Nobody was paying attention to the grammar and several were staring in shock as the love-couple safely reached second base.  All this during prepositional phrase night!

It would seem that I have YET ANOTHER love-couple this term.  I really don't get this hormonal rush during English.  Why not biology or health? This couple sits side by side: desks a solid 18 inches apart, but love is love.  The first few nights of class, she would simply reach across the aisle and rub his arm. Then she passionately began to rub his face and neck.  Then one night, she would not be limited. I will admit that I did admire how far her arm had to reach to touch him.  But, really, enough is enough and I was there to ensure that students got an appropriate education and I determined to end the PDA in my class.  But then, the most unexpected, most rewarding  response came not from me, but from the boyfriend.

Even as she worked diligently to convey her love, he responded.  It was not a loving gaze nor a tender caress.  It wasn't a look of longing nor a whispered affection.  It was loud and prolonged.  It was audible to everyone in the lecture room.  It was honest, purely physical, and completely unrestrained. 

It was a SNORE. 

Love may make the world go round, but it is evidently very tired, too.