A gray, wintry day this week found Christopher and I frolicking around in our ritziest clothes with my little sister for an ENGAGEMENT SHOOT! I made my dress in December for the Christmas Swing ball, and wore my great grandmother's rhinestones. Christopher donned his Italian leather wingtips that he wears for performances with his bluegrass band. Guys, those shoes dazzle. When he plays the banjo and wears those shoes, I'm not responsible for producing logical thought processes.
We had a marvelous time and Matilda did a marvelous job, and there's more to come so stay tuned!
It's during this season that everyone gives a thought to love. Some are in a romantic relationship, some are very much not and try to drown the sorrow in chick flicks and ghirardelli's. I've always had a sympathetic feeling for both camps, but have never been able to relate to either. I've written peppy blog posts in previous years for Valentine's day reiterating just how much I love this holiday and the traditions I've woven around it. Celebrating the many loved ones in my life, reveling in femininity and flowers and period dramas and literary heroines and… chocolate. Obvious reasons are obvious.
I've never been in a romantic relationship before and I've never really bemoaned the fact, though I've given it gigantic amounts of thought as we all have. Largely due to the countless stories I've read, planted in my mind, of tales woven from the imaginations and observations of writers who capture human experience in the written word to share with others, I've grown very decided ideas about what love is. How it is manifested, communicated, expressed and delivered, assured. And I kept these ideas at the ready, waiting to see how they would be proven or stretched by the brilliant reality of Someday.
In previous years, I spent this season in the happy medium of contentment and curiosity.
This year is so different. Different from anything I've ever known. This year I'm scandalously, inextricably, crazily in love with far more than the man of my dreams. This year I'm preparing to marry him and wear his ring on my finger.
And those ideas I had?
I once read that when he took her in his arms she knew she would never be alone again. That a heart well worth winning does indeed exist - a heart that, once won, goes through fire and water for the winner, and never changes, and is never daunted.
That perfect love casts out fear.
I'm only beginning to understand just how true they are.
Words are only painted fire. A look is the fire itself.
― Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court