Romance and Love do not go hand in hand? Oh, R-e-a-l-l-y?
I shall not link, but I have just returned from a couple of blogs dismissing the entire concept of romance as completely unnecessary and nothing more than “feminine fueled rubbish.” Methinks somebody has been watching too many Ben Bridge jewelry commercials or something, because what is more lovely than romance in the hands of men? Come now, half my life is spent reading their words of love and poetry all through the ages! It’s a rough life, but somebody has to do it…..
What is romance? It is simply, “a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love” or perhaps, “a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life.” Remoteness from everyday life, hmm, I think another way of saying that would be out of the ordinary, perhaps dancing on the edge of the supernatural.
Love really is a mystery we never quite get to solve, thank God. There are some who think they have, and those are some of the saddest people in the whole world. Everybody wants an instruction manual with diagrams and flowcharts as if love is a riddle to be solved, when in fact we are supposed to just close our eyes and feel the music.
I admit my life can look kind of boring, ordinary, but there is mystery and excitement to be found even in the banal things, and romance can really grow anywhere. My hubby, bless his heart, loves to get up early, and once he is up, he is rearing to go….somewhere, anywhere. Drives me crazy if his plans involve me. Ah, but romance usually kicks in, and I see the twinkle in his eye, and I am such a sucker for wanting to please him. Weak, weak, I tell ya. It is dark outside and cold, but all common sense just pretty much leaves the building.
I think the mystery and excitement of love just kind of lives in that twinkle of mischief that always wants to drag me out first thing in the morning. That’s a good thing too, because no one in their right mind would ever think, “How charming, it’s 5:30 in the morning and you want me to go with you to gas up the truck and buy you one of those apple fritters they make inside? ”
I of course, am not in my right mind at all, I am…. romantically impaired. Intoxicated I tell ya, because far, far away I can hear a little voice of reason whispering to me, surely the man knows how to gas up his own truck? What in the world does he need me for?
He doesn’t need me at all of course, he just likes me to be there, desires me to be there, and I must say, actually being wanted and desired can be some downright heady and romantic stuff.
….His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry…..