Earlier today I read two wonderful posts while browsing the blogs when I should have been packing. They made me feel good and guilty at the same time: good in that they were wise and funny and touching and so very recognizable; guilty in that they both reminded me of the fact that I've been failing to appreciate the most important thing in my life. Somehow I've lost touch with the fact that J. is the center of my universe, my religion, the thing that makes me feel most alive. And I need to remember, to keep the reasons fresh in my mind. So here are a few.
When he wraps presents, he uses any item at hand; one time, he wrote my name out on the wrapped box in Aquafresh toothpaste. In cursive. He also likes to wrap up items we already own--socks, plums, aspirin bottles, anything.
J. smells beautiful to me: at the end of the day, when I curl into him and drift off to sleep, I breathe him in and feel at home.
He swims with grace and ease. When he moves through the water, I sometimes stay underneath to watch him, a beautiful streamlined figure, cutting through so cleanly.
He is inconceivably thoughtful. He always wants to do the right thing. He loves my friends, my family and my bird. He is never rash.
When he laughs out loud, his eyes tear up and his nose starts to run. He laughs often.
He created an annual event involving non-traditional badminton, croquet and bocce ball in our tiny back yard. Thirty people fly in from around the West Coast to attend.
He never lies.
He makes too much food. If two people are coming, he cooks for ten. He is a wonderful cook.
Every March, J. prudently insists that we buy fewer tomato seedlings than the previous year. Every March, we buy more.
He loves shoes. And funky shirts. He looks stunning in a suit.
Every morning, he gets up and makes me a cup of tea.
Every night, he tells me that he loves me more than yesterday.