(Soundtrack: "Darling I Do" by Lucy Schwartz and Landon Pigg.)
December 9th on my calendar has a highlighter trim. It marks fourteen months since the night David sang "Heaven's Light" and I kissed him at his front door. The first sweet kiss of my life, but not the last.
Recently we've strayed away from having dates, real dates, when we go somewhere, do something special. Like married folk, I guess, we've fallen into a routine: pick up a Little Ceasar's pizza, go home, watch a movie, kiss, hold, David plays and we sing, dance, and just hang out.
But today David asked me what I'd like to do for our next month-a-versary. My eyes swept over the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. "Why don't we eat at Panera Bread?" was my first suggestion.
Then, I felt the warm sensation, the desire to dance, melt over me.
We dance every so often on our regular days together and I wanted it to be more special, befitting the celebration of fourteen months. I wanted to go on more dates. To do special things together like we used to.
Baking an apple Picnicking at our fountain. Leaving encouraging notes at the library. The Terrible Movie Marathon. Finding the best smelling candle at Hallmark Gift Shop. Our air hockey match. (Which I lost, but not for lack of spirit.)
In my Facebook notes I have plans for dates never done. Spend a day in the park, pretending to be an elderly couple, costumes and everything. Make caramel corn. Play on a swing set in the moonlight. Yell funny things from the top of tall buildings.
What hinders the special time couples spend together? Is it only becoming complacent? Does time sap away our enthusiasm for such things? It seems that time wears down the greatest delights in life. Going on dates and making love become things for which a couple must learn to make time.
Bill Cosby says in Cosbyology: Essays and Observations from the Doctor of Comedy that there are certain loving acts you do for your loved one at the beginning of the relationship that somewhere along the way you stop doing. It's not because you don't want to do it, he says. Or because you can't do it. You just don't anymore.
Maybe this isn't bad. Maybe it's just life. However, David and I are young. Our relationship is a fledgling. And I am greedy. For my fourteenth months spent with David, I want to dance and I want it to be special.
So. We're going to drive to random places, find a nice floor, envelope one other, and dance to music he murmurs in my ear. And I'll sing back... when I'm not kissing him.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. They won't take my sunshine away."
No comments:
Post a Comment