Mom And Dad, And Their Reindeer Games

[Another Mom and Dad Valentine re-post. I think I’m coming out of my bipolar fog. Cross your fingers.]

Tie o’ the Day shares its exuberant field of hearts. It is my fave-rave Valentine’s necktie. If you haven’t finalized your Valentine’s Day plans, I suggest you git ‘er done. You’re running out of time.

If you are attached to someone, let them know they are precious and irreplaceable. Make it absolutely certain they know how you feel about them. If you are single, let yourself know you are precious and irreplaceable—because you are. You are enough, exactly because you’re you. Mr. Rogers says so, too.

And then remind yourself you should treat your beloved and yourself this way every day, not just on Valentine’s Day. It’s the least you can do for someone who is so necessary to the grateful beating of your vast, glad heart.

Mom found a way to let Dad know he was her one-and-only even when he was out of town working the bees for a few days. She always tucked a lovey-dovey or funny card in his suitcase for him to find when he got to his motel room for the night. And I mean she stuck a card in there EVERY TIME he was off having a sleeping party with his bees.

On one bee trip to California, after Dad got checked in to his motel, he found a humongous ratty, dirty bra that a previous motel guest had left under the bed. He stuck it in his suitcase with his dirty clothes, hoping to shock Mom with it when she opened the suitcase to retrieve his clothes to wash. Sure enough, when Dad returned home, Mom got his soiled clothes out of the suitcase and headed to the washer. Dad sat in the living room, patiently waiting to get yelled at for having a California girlfriend whose bra had found its way into his suitcase. But he heard nothing. No screaming, no yelling. He heard no response at all from Mom for the longest time. Finally, Mom announced to Dad that she’s not worried one bit about the dame whose stray bra he brought home with him—because the bra is so dirty and skanky that she knows there is no way he would sleep with someone that gross. His prank. Her clever response. It turned out to be a great joke, on both their parts.

Dad got a bonus laugh about his Bigly Bra Hijinks when he told his coffee-drinking buddies at Top’s Cafe the next morning. His pals were shocked he had dared put a bra in his suitcase for Mom to find. They said their wives would have massacred them if they’d done that. Dad was clearly still standing.

Mom thought the whole thing was so funny that she’s been telling the story to anyone who’ll listen since it happened, way back in the 70’s.

Now, that’s a solid marriage.

It’s A Give And Take

[I think my noggin is on the mend. Nevertheless, I’m not back in writing shape yet. Enjoy another Valentine season re-post.]

The wall-hanging in this photo has shown up in the background of a lot of my post pix. It dominates our living room, on purpose. Mom chose a similar saying for the back of her and Dad’s headstone. The gist of its message is the over-arching truth with which I was raised. And it still frames the way I try to live my life.

To love and to be loved are not two separate things. Happiness comes from making and keeping them one thing together. (I’m not just talking about romantic love.) We love who we love. And we want their love in return, but we often don’t allow ourselves to accept it. Too often we don’t feel worthy of it, or we push it away because we don’t want to risk the chance we might get hurt. Loving and being loved is definitely going to have its pains, but think of them as growing pains. That’s what most of the hurts are. They are signs a relationship needs some overhauling in order to grow. So work on it. The payoff will happen if both parties are willing to give and take the love the work requires.

You can find love all over the place. For example, I’m wearing dog bones Bow Tie o’ the Day in Valentine’s Day honor of all the mutts in my life who have loved me. And in honor of my skittish Skitter who is snoring beside me as I type this post. She loves me even in her sleep. Our dogs simply love us. And they so clearly assume that we will love them back. They trust us. They expect us to befriend them and care for them. They make us better people because we cannot help but melt in their presence, like we give ourselves over to any baby that is near us. We coo at dogs. We talk to dogs in our baby-talk voices. We want to feed dogs and touch them and protect them. We want to cover them in warm blankies. Dogs pull the best parts of our hearts out into the open.

With my bipolar head, sometimes I feel lost and foreign even to myself. Having a dog around when I’m on one of my mental extremes can make me feel like I’m at home in myself, even if the feeling comes and goes. Even Skitter, who was severely abused before she rescued us, makes me feel at home in my bipolar self—just by following me around, or doing her chew dance, or prancing to the mailbox with me. Skitter’s abuser could not destroy Skitter’s capacity for love. That’s how strong love is. I can’t help but exude love for her. She brings out the baby-talk in me. “Skitter, are you ready to go walkie?” The love goes both ways. That’s happiness. Her giving and receiving love is healing The Skit. And it changes me. It strengthens an attitude that stays with me in my dealings with my fellow beings.

Perform love, wherever you go. Let your love rain down like glitter from the heavens.

That’s my sermon for this morning, and I’m sticking to it.