Posts tagged love
Pre Middle Age Love
I’m not sure if it is love leaning against a shiny new 1960’s mustang with horn-rimmed glasses and a man that adores you.
Perhaps it’s the stoic sort of love that takes sunglasses and shades not the sun but the looks staring at a tear-stained face.
Or a door that either lets someone in or lets someone walk out.
But I love love. I love the messiness of it. I love the childlike excitement of it. I love the 1960ness of it. I love the grit of it in a strong woman that wants to be weak and a weak man that wants to be strong.
I love love. I love what it smells like in the morning and in the afternoon when it waits upon a call or a visit or a letter. And then evening love that comes with a moon and maybe some stars and the promise of kisses and whispers and tomorrows and todays and maybe much laters.
I love love. I love how it begins and I love how it ends and that it can take my very breath away with a glance or a thought or a sound or a memory.
In these years, these in between years. These years of not being young and not being old I take love and hold it tight and say yes to it and not no to it and am awed that it still chases after me and dares me
to…
Valentines Day 2011
if the bloke owns the art then you could have both. art can’t hold you gently at night and whisper “goodnight sweet girl” to you.
craig ross
leather seats.
- me: don't rent an impala cause they must have done a design contest called, "place as many buttons in the wrong place as possible and make sure to do this on crack" good luck finding the hazaards on chevy. oh, nevermind. the malibu was fun. it had leather. i want leather in my car again. i might just get married for leather.
- the boy: leather too hot and sweaty
- me: that's funny. get married for hot and sweaty leather but the marriage wouldn't be hot or sweaty. you don't ride in them naked, darling boy.
- the boy: why bother having them if you don’t plan on being naked in them
Lessons in Love and Epilepsy
I was just thinking how it’s been SO long since my last seizure and even the last one was SO minor I could barely feel it and aren’t I becoming the epilepsy poster child?
Not so much.
Last night was an ass kicking of sorts.
And no one is to blame except for me. Give me the epilepsy ticket if they are in the Giving Tickets Out sort of mood. I have been going to sleep at 4am working way too late on my book. I missed taking my medicine one night which is one night too many when you have seizures. I had (a beer). Shh. Don’t tell my dad. Yes, I think many people with epilepsy drink on occasion but, for me, since I’m not much the drinker it doesn’t set well with my brain. Oh, and there was that half glass of champagne the night before. And I think I had red wine somewhere on Sunday.
Don’t tell my dad ANY of that. Yes, I know I’m 38.
So, it was the perfect storm and I should have seen it coming when that dog staring out the back of that wagon Volvo at McDonald’s locked eyes with me and wouldn’t move away. Dogs know about seizures the way people don’t. He knew even though I thought he was a she but then looked down and saw things hanging that were clearly of the he type. The dog knew. It crossed my mind that I knew. I went about my day and stayed up late again and didn’t even think last night could have been MY last night.
It was a big one. My brain shuddered. I kept my breathing even. Did all the things I know to do but then my damn face turned into the pillow Flo-Jo style. Remember her? Long nails, Olympic athlete. Well, without the nails or the running or the cool outfit I was her for a moment and I didn’t want my face in a pillow with no ability to move. I wanted a clear passage to breathe through this seizure until it ended.
It felt like it would never end.
It did. I lived. I quickly fell back asleep out of an exhaustion most cannot imagine. When I awoke in the morning I did the first post seizure thing I always do - checked to see if I knew what year it is and went through the past presidents. Clinton’s in office, right? Check. Knew ‘em. Brain still semi-intact.
And then I wept.
I wept for being alive. Wept for having my face smothered in a pillow. Clearly you should know that makes me not a fan of The CSI’s. Wept for almost not living. Wept for people that don’t. Wept for those that have seizures in the middle of crowds. Wept for being alone through it and being grateful no one had to go through that scare with me. And wept that God gave me another day, even if just one more, to be a better me than I was yesterday.
My friend Red sent me a message and wants me to stop using pillows. My brother said the same. I’ve thought about it but I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to live a life without pillows. It’s sort of like love, you know? Yes, a pillow could smother me that one time…that one night but the rest of the time it’s so damn comfy and brings great pleasure to my life. I don’t want to live in fear with my head flat on the ground.
And love. Sure, it could smother me sometimes, too. That one time and that one night and the one man that breaks the heart might not be worth the pain but I don’t want to spend my life without love in fear. I’ll still search it out and be open to it and say yes to it.
I decided some time ago to say yes and not to say no to things. I decided to take adventures and have a YES life. Is there a chance it could end up bad? Yup. I’ll take the chance anyway.
Pillow. Love. Any of it.
Much love and gratitude for one more day to love and learn and change and grow and be something better,
Cole
Lessons in Best and Worst
I asked you. I did. I asked you two things.
1. What was the best part of your weekend?
2. What was the worst part of your weekend?
And normally I gear the question to the ladies cause you men tend to hold back your words but you answered too and I love that.Wanna know mine?
The Best
Sitting around a dining room table BS’ing with my brother and sister-in-law. Riding in the car with Baby Brother. Darling Nieces Sweet Sixteen. Setting out platters. Decorating for things other than work. Hearing the high pitched scream only someone in their teens can master. Hot chocolate. The slight mist of rain that almost isn’t rain but puts a glow on traffic lights. Losing weight and not knowing it cause the scale hasn’t been working but you have. The whooshing of wet wheels on wet roads. Getting closer to the finish line of my first race. Street lamps. Front porches. Remembering being Evil Knievel Brave as a child and thinking that might come back. Detailed dreams without endings. Three books, dog-eared. Inspiring a love of museums in you. Air conditioning and windows open…cause I pay the bill.
The Worst
A remembering cry of grief that came from my toes and out of the top of my head. The second row of the theater. An empty tank of gas. Not having a band aid big enough for your wound.
And then it hits me. The Worst are still good even when they are bad.
My cry of grief was healing and brief and beautiful and muffled and I got through it quick because I knew where to go. And the second row of the theater isn’t wretched. I mean it’s not like I didn’t have somewhere to live. It was more an arching of the neck sort of in the middle of entertainment complaint. How bad can that really be? And an empty tank of gas? That means there’s a car to be filled and that’s pretty cool because I can fill it and take a couple adventures! And not having a band aid big enough for your wound - your loss, your hurt, your anger, your frustration, your unknown. I do have one, I do. The only place I know to go is to God. Maybe you have somewhere else and, hey, make it happen if it works for you. But I’ve tried Mint Chip Ice Cream. It melts.
You all shared some of your best and worst this week with me. I love when you share. It’s sort of like pre-school but for us Pre Middle Agers. Kinda cool, you know?
The Best
Homecoming. Cuddling with Sailor Boy. Discussing Rapture and sex in same bible study. Taking son and daughter to a college expo. Son and friend built me a fence. Sex, diamonds, whisky, loved ones. Dancing at House of Blues while my hub and kids were home sleeping! Did my 10th race.
The Worst
Laryngitis. Sailor Boy puking on fave pair of heels. Sudden migraine on lazy Saturday. Weekend ending. The rain and…it’s cold! A misunderstanding. Not getting enough sleep (baby didn’t care mommy stayed out late!) Suffering from injuries.
Much love to you this quiet night with one car whooshing past every now and then and the occasional rain drop,
Cole
Lessons in Messy, Beachy Love
Brought to you by 1962 and 1963 for that matter.
This shot was taken 48 years ago this summer. It’s my mom and my dad and one year before their wedding day, today. Thinking back on their love. Messy, beachy love. Love that sometimes slammed doors and didn’t talk in the morning but by midday couldn’t stay away from each other sort of love. Love that said I choose you even though sometimes I cannot stand you. Love that went to the beach hating the sand because you were happiest there. Love that lived at your bedside when you were ill. Really ill. Like going home ill. That sort of love.
Missing my mother today but not nearly as much as my father is.
Wishing you a love like that and then some,
Cole
Lessons in Details and Gratitude
Brought to you by a McDonald’s large, not medium, Diet Coke.
It’s Friday and the end of a very, ultra busy event week. I have sore everything and things are throbbing that shouldn’t throb. On top of that, on a morning where I should bask in the glory of my amazingness, which is what I do the mornings after events, I had a press conference to stage.
*cursing under my breath and out of my bed which I did not want to get out of*
It’s post press conference. I park underground, come inside my apartment, kick off my heels and instantly feel grateful. I mean grateful in the hugest way someone can feel grateful. Grateful like empire state building or egyptian pyramid big grateful. That grateful. But it’s for the little things. The detail things.
Here’s a couple I thought I’d share.
Feet free from four inch heels. Large diet cokes when you normally get medium diet cokes - especially hot days with air conditionless cars. Service managers that say, “I know others don’t see but I see you - you have your eye on everything, Cole. I see.” Sunglasses that shade harsh sun and brief frustrations. Showing grace when I only want to show ‘strangle’. Home air conditioning set low and then lower again. Mixing up all The Godfather movies to make my own synopsis. Assistants that finish my sentences and understand my different head nods. Men that remember. Summers. Being called a sexy, smart damsel in distress. Working until my team stops working. Necklaces that turn into bracelets that turn into sometime belts. Tears that last three minutes instead of three days. Sweaters. Messy beachy hair. Almost biting my nail but then not because things really are okay. Little boys with summer tans that scrunch their noses when they answer you. Girls that proclaim their favorite color is pink until their favorite color is green. Oh, and nicknames. I love a good nickname.
I like details. I love the little things. I’m enjoying this summer, this Can’t Decide If I’m Going To Be Hot Or Cold Summer. It’s fickle. I understand it. It’s sort of like a woman that way. I get that.
Much love to you as you pay attention to the little details of your very big every days,
Cole
Lessons in Wills
Brought to you by the year 2003. I wondered a bit on Twitter yesterday if Will would phone me from the airport as he headed out to Cairo. You see, he always does that and normally the calls are full of him out of breath as he races for the check-in or sits down in his seat. He generally runs late, Will does but he always, always phones me to say he’s on the plane and to say goodbye and we have our chat about us. That’s just what we do, Will and I.Things are changing though. This trip to Cairo Will is getting married and not to me. And you may wonder how my soul is resting with that. I’ll have to let you know Monday. He’s sending me the feed so I can watch him take his vows live. A little twisted watching the former, first love of my life get married to someone else? No, not at all. When you love someone from the gut and know they aren’t for you and that they are for someone else, you even want to be there for the big moments even if the big moments aren’t for you.
So my phone rings and it’s Will and it’s the last call he’s going to make to me as “us”. You know…I’m not going to be first or even second probably not third on his phone anymore. I’m sure I haven’t been for sometime. Still, he makes the call and it goes something like this:
Cole: Are you on the plane?
Will: Seat 29. (Will is a nano engineer and likes to get to the point)
Cole: Really? You called. You did.
Will: Seat 29. I told you.
Cole: What if I told you I loved you. Would you change your mind?
Will: Come on. First of all, you’re not in love with me. Second, you’re still a lion and the only benefit to marrying you is having white babies. Maybe I should marry you. (Will is Egyptian and desperately wants white babies)
Cole: What time is the ceremony?
Will: I’ll send you the link. You can watch it live. I’ll even wave goodbye to you. (brutal, he is)
Cole: I love you. I love you. I love you. You gave me the best of everything.
Will: Stop it. I’m not dying. Not til I marry this one anyway. Then you two can fight over who speaks at my funeral. No, Habibti, you gave me the best, first six years in America I could imagine. I love you. I’m going to bring The Wife (that’s what we call her) to California and she’s going to like you. I’m going to make her like you.
I walked back inside my office and Miss Chloe, my assistant asked if I was okay. With tears in my eyes, the only thought I can muster is I feel sentimental. Not sad, not depressed, not regretful…full of memories and adoration for a man that helped raise me into a full pre middle age woman.
I do less stomping of my feet because of you, Habibi. I am calmer because of you. I’ve been to places I never would have seen and met people I never would have met. And learned a language that some see as so harsh but I hear such beauty in. You opened my heart to another world and gave me a million memories that I’ll paper someday.
For now my heart is grateful, so grateful, for an airplane call.
Cole
Lessons in Names
Brought to you by The Cheesecake Factory.
Her name is Arden. Did you know that? And did you know she has a really cool job and the dress she wore yesterday was this beautiful fitted black thing, the kind you wear when you want to act like you don’t want people to look at you but you really want them to look at you.
I didn’t know any of that.
Her name is Arden. And for all intents and purposes, she hated me. Every encounter we had at one of my events was negative. I was always asking her to leave the jacuzzi since we still had to tear down an event or take her alcohol outside because our caterer does not permit outside alcohol. She used to just roll her eyes and walk away and then, one day, recently she stared at me with what could only be described as hatred. I looked at her and said, “You really don’t like me, do you?” It’s a rare thing for a person not to like me.
Annoyed? Sure. Exhausted? Of course. Needing a break or vacation from All Things Cole? Definitely. But not like? That stings in ways that get to the heart. I’m someone people like. I’m a person to know. Not in a fancy papparazi block my eyes from the cameras way but in a knowing way.
My birthday came around and the whole Cole’s 38 Mitzvah Project thing started and Arden stayed on my mind. Truthfully, I couldn’t get her off my mind during this whole project. I’m not okay with people being at odds with me, especially when my hearts intent, it’s song is to love on people. I kept trying to think of a way to talk to her but didn’t know how or what to do.
It happened. As naturally as if it was ordained. I was sitting in my office and looking at a gift card my family gave me and Arden walked by which she never does. I asked her to come into my office. The first thing I did was:
1. Ask her name. How many people do we interact with and don’t even take the time to know them by name?
2. Apologized for not knowing her name and for not getting to know her. She only knew me as the “rules” woman and not the woman.
3. Told her a little about me. Engagement goes two ways. If you want someone to let you in, you’ve got to let them in, too.
4. Ask forgiveness. For being all about work and not about people. For not doing this sooner.
5. Gave. I gave her the gift card and asked her to please have lunch on me.
This sweet girl who had so much anger towards me…melted. Literally melted. Her shoulders dropped. Her countenance shifted. Her voice went from aggressive to soft and sweet. She realized I was human and she realized I knew she was one, too.
There are a million reasons why our first reaction is anger or hurt or aggression and it takes time to sort through that, sure. But when, if, you have the chance to push through to the side of love, I challenge you to do it. You might get eye rolls or the silent treatment. Or you might find an Arden with a soft, soft heart waiting for someone to find it.
Much love to you this early Summer day,
Cole
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