Tag Archives: love

A bit of love

I’ve posted about love twice this past week

I love LOVE

Hearts and paper cards

Sweet words and quiet shows of affection

Hugs that are tighter because of the honesty and trust between two people

Love surrounded us today

From chocolate cupcakes and donuts to warm cuddles during a snuggly nap

We don’t need a special day to remember that we love each other

But we’ll take every extra opportunity to revel in our love

Sending a bit of love out to the blogosphere tonight…

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Flashback Friday ~ Love

Feb 11, 2010 019

Remembering the Reasons was originally posted on November 24th, 2009

The last time we moved {almost two years ago} we didn’t unpack our numerous boxes of books. Our reasoning? We cannot have bookshelves with toddlers without anchoring them to the walls. And we didn’t want to do that… because we didn’t think we’d be here that long. Oh and space, we have no space for bookshelves.

Fast forward to knowing we’ll be here for three years total.

I miss my books.

So over the weekend I went searching through hundreds of books for one or two in particular. I went through every single box, because {of course} the specific few I went looking for were in the last box, in the way back of the second thoroughly disected closet, under about six other boxes. In the process, I found about a dozen others that just had to be brought out. Some were mine, but most were my husbands. You see, between my Political Science degree with an English minor, and his English major, we have quite the collection.

Through a closet and two rooms  I called out “Hey, how was Gandhi’s autobiography?”, “did you know you had so many of Kerouac’s books?” and I might have muttered something along the lines of “how many works of Shakespeare can two people possibly own?” They all took me back.

All of those books played an instrumental role in the story of Corinne & Lucas. The first time I saw his apartment I was in love. It was perfect. It was located on a gorgeous street in a historical old New England town. He resided on the top floor of a renovated house, centuries old, with angled ceilings and tiny windows. A view of the street, without the noise, where you could see the snow on the town common accompanied by dog walkers and couples taking a brisk February stroll. But while it had all the staples of a bachelor pad {you know… dvd’s, video games, bare fridge, the just cleaned for a date smell…} it also had books. Rows and rows of books.

And I love books.

We sat and talked about different titles. I stole several minutes staring at the antique works and finely bound collections. The man had books. And he actually read them. He showed me albums of places that he’d been, told me stories of traveling through Europe alone, he came to life as he exposed his love of road trips, nature, and art. It wasn’t one of those first date shows, there was something so sincere and passionate about all that he had done, and all that he wanted to do.

I loved him.

And over the weekend as I got my answers to the questions I called out, “It’s good if you want to know what Gandhi ate” and “yes, I know” and even “did you say something?” I felt this warm fuzzy feeling that you get when you remember a forgotten reason. I smiled to myself several times looking through our collection. At points you could tell which one came from where, a definite his and hers; but the more years we’re together the more the divide dwindles.

I miss our books.

And I still love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today I’m taking part in Jo’s Flashback Friday. Today’s prompt is LOVE…  Head over to check out more blasts from the past!

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Love Letter

Feb 7, 2010 006

Dear Streets of Salem,

I love you. With all of my heart. The reasons are more than the years I’ve known you. I think you are misunderstood, and hold so much more than the wax museums and witch trials.

Your streets hold my love story. My history with a certain man. Your streets cradle countless beginnings in my life.

Your streets coddled us on a first date, six years ago today. Hands were nervously held for the first time. Silent smiles spread across two faces while passing your town common. Doors were held, smalls of a back touched gently, and feet stepped in unison.

Love was found on lazy Sunday morning strolls down Winter Street.

Our first apartment, together, was on one of your lesser known streets. A painted wooden porch overlooked your crumbling road, where the questionable folks in town lived, but to us it was perfect. Cheap, full of character, and perfect.

Our relationship was founded on your streets. Risks were taken. And on one November evening, my loves hand reached into his coat pocket and held out a small black, velvet covered jewelry box. On your streets he asked “should we make this official?”

On your streets I said yes.

And the rest is history.

Streets of Salem, you will forever hold a special place in my heart. Thank you.

Love,

Corinne

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m linking this post up to Mamalom’s Love Letters, a special Valentine’s treat. Head over to take a look at other love letters, and perhaps write your own…

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Every chance

Intoxicated.

Not from the pomegranate martinis, however potent and festive, but from him.

There is something so incredibly sexy and intoxicating about a man who listens. Actually listens. My husband does. It might be why I fell in love with him. He was the first man in the long string of men I dated who listened whole heartedly.

Today came with a few hours to ourselves. His parents came to play with the kids, and we went out for lunch and a bit of stocking stuffer shopping. We embrace any opportunity for a date with open arms. We love our children, but we also love each other. Deeply.

So we kiss our children goodbye, leave them in very capable hands, and take off into the afternoon sun through winter winds to a spot where we can be, and eat, and talk.  The kind of talk that you do early on in relationships. Deep talks where you listen. Only now it’s about parts of our daily lives that rarely get divulged to each other due to children and chores and laptops. We talk about exciting things at his work, and about my upcoming writing class/workshop. He listens as I talk about this blog, and the friends that have come from blogging. We talk about things that normally get pushed aside for grocery lists, children’s books and daily happenings. We talk. We listen. We fall in love.

Every chance we get, we fall in love again.

Intoxication comes over quickly and I’m dumbfounded by the man who sits across the table from me. Smart, handsome, caring; everything I could have asked for in a husband, a partner in parenting, a friend. He’s mine, and I’m his, and the world – however cruel it seems at times – is wonderful.

We walk out of the restaurant doors into the winter wind, but we don’t feel the sting against our cheeks. We wrap arms around one another, snuggle in, and walk as one down side streets that we once ran down when we were newly in love. Years later as newlyweds. And now as a couple five years into a marriage that has seen its ups and downs, but we always manage to run through the finish line at the end of the day. Still holding hands, oblivious to the sting.

We hold on to each other for dear life, and take the opportunity to fall in love again every chance we get.

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Remembering the reasons

The last time we moved {almost two years ago} we didn’t unpack our numerous boxes of books. Our reasoning? We cannot have bookshelves with toddlers without anchoring them to the walls. And we didn’t want to do that… because we didn’t think we’d be here that long. Oh and space, we have no space for bookshelves.

Fast forward to knowing we’ll be here for three years total.

I miss my books.

So over the weekend I went searching through hundreds of books for one or two in particular. I went through every single box, because {of course} the specific few I went looking for were in the last box, in the way back of the second thoroughly disected closet, under about six other boxes. In the process, I found about a dozen others that just had to be brought out. Some were mine, but most were my husbands. You see, between my Political Science degree with an English minor, and his English major, we have quite the collection.

Through a closet and two rooms  I called out “Hey, how was Gandhi’s autobiography?”, “did you know you had so many of Kerouac’s books?” and I might have muttered something along the lines of “how many works of Shakespeare can two people possibly own?” They all took me back.

All of those books played an instrumental role in the story of Corinne & Lucas. The first time I saw his apartment I was in love. It was perfect. It was located on a gorgeous street in a historical old New England town. He resided on the top floor of a renovated house, centuries old, with angled ceilings and tiny windows. A view of the street, without the noise, where you could see the snow on the town common accompanied by dog walkers and couples taking a brisk February stroll. But while it had all the staples of a bachelor pad {you know… dvd’s, video games, bare fridge, the just cleaned for a date smell…} it also had books. Rows and rows of books.

And I love books.

We sat and talked about different titles. I stole several minutes staring at the antique works and finely bound collections. The man had books. And he actually read them. He showed me albums of places that he’d been, told me stories of traveling through Europe alone, he came to life as he exposed his love of road trips, nature, and art. It wasn’t one of those first date shows, there was something so sincere and passionate about all that he had done, and all that he wanted to do.

I loved him.

And over the weekend as I got my answers to the questions I called out, “It’s good if you want to know what Gandhi ate” and “yes, I know” and even “did you say something?” I felt this warm fuzzy feeling that you get when you remember a forgotten reason. I smiled to myself several times looking through our collection. At points you could tell which one came from where, a definite his and hers; but the more years we’re together the more the divide dwindles.

I miss our books.

And I still love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Taking it in

She smells like pumpkin muffins

and clam chowder

as I snuggle her in for naptime

Soft and sweet

grabbing for a hand to hold onto

and an arm to nuzzle

He giggles as he sits next to me

watching Charlie Brown’s Thanksgiving

as I type on the same screen

He holds my arm

puts his head on my shoulder

and we both shake with his laughter

Taking it in slowly and sweetly

quiet time and snuggles

soft touches and belly laughs

Taking it in

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Our Graceland

The music and lyrics have followed us from days of bottomless glasses of wine

and nights on an ancient porch

And sometimes when I’m falling, flying

Or tumbling in turmoil I say

Oh, so this is what she means

To the chaos that is wedding planning

no matter how small & simple the day

She means we’re bouncing into graceland

To quiet evenings stretched out on the couch

enjoying the view of an expanding baby bump, softly humming the same tune

And I see losing love

Is like a window in your heart

The album has seen us through road trips

harsh and soft words, long embraces and too quick goodbyes

Everybody sees you’re blown apart

Everybody sees the wind blow

Time passes and it’s still bringing us together

thanks to man throwing caution to the wind singing at the top of his lungs

In graceland, in graceland

To no one, then a lovesong, and finally as lullabies

and silly calming mechanisms

I’m going to graceland

And all of  a sudden we’re all dancing

on a rainy Saturday going about play and chores

For reasons I cannot explain

There’s some part of me wants to see

Graceland

It’s our soundtrack of the day

and all the memories of how we got here flood my eyes as the kitchen dance continues

And I may be obliged to defend

Every love, every ending

Painful and beautiful, it’s our happily ever after

Tears start as giggles take over two wee ones and a daddy in the next room

Or maybe there’s no obligations now

Maybe I’ve a reason to believe

We’re here. Happiness is ours.

We’ve made it to our Graceland.

We all will be received

In graceland

** Lines in italics are lyrics from Paul Simon’s Graceland, off of the Graceland album**

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