Life has always been about story. Our early ancestors learned to communicate about the catch of the day through gestures and grunts–hey check this out, I’ve got food! As a biological reality on this planet, we humans have been able to develop our communication skills through language and the art of story. It might have started with dragging a felled animal or carrying a fish in a basket, but it was a story of providing and became a story of love. Now on Valentine’s Day the card, the bouquet, the email or the phone call continues the story of love and friendship. Communication is a profound human need and when you stretch it just a bit, story is everywhere in our lives–and much of it about love.
Gossip is story–one person sharing a view of events with another. A medical report is story, the tale of your health and how your physical body is doing. Report cards and teacher notes are story–and most times they tell the tale of effort and the rewards for that effort. Even anger and threats are part of a story that might lead to negative consequences that don’t contain love–but unfortunately that too is part of our human condition.
Today, I want to celebrate the story of two people finding each other almost in their own backyards–me and my husband. And of those two people learning and growing together and discovering that place, family and custom–can contribute greatly to a common ground that supports true love.
Today I want to celebrate the three children that love has created and their lives and their falling in love. So wonderful to have someone in your life that GETS you and believes in your dreams and plans. It’s not silly or sentimental at all–it is absolutely necessary for success, mental and physical growth and the gift of happiness. Grandchildren are an extra special gift, born again of the initial love. And it’s so powerful to witness–the two kids from the same Chicago block and how they talked and walked together. How they dreamed dreams and made plans together. And then…
So my story echoes the story of many of you reading this. And if it drips a bit with sentiment–isn’t that what we cling to? Because when we gather with others–we tell our story. And it’s usually not about how “huge” we are (LOL) it’s about who we love. Or possibly what we love to do. BECAUSE, we talk about our spouse or our partner. We mention our job/business/profession–the engine that drives us, makes us vaguely interesting and gets us up and out every day!! And for those who have them, we always talk about our children. Hopefully, they are emblems of our love. Yes, there can be stories of dissension, but even those stories have love in them–the love that works through sorrow and disappointment.
But today, I am thinking of positive stories–the ones we like to tell. Maybe it’s a story of travel and discovery, of creation or even of loss. When I tell the story of my mother’s death, I still profoundly feel her love–it drives the story, because her love still drives me.
So thanks, Dear Reader, for reading. I’m far from Jane Austen, but her moments were profound and she saw the purpose of love and of story. So if you are about to call or text or visit someone and express your love-story to them–you just might say: YOU MUST ALLOW ME TO TELL YOU HOW ARDENTLY I LOVE YOU. Sigh, sigh. And let me know how that works, wink wink.
Standing in the doorway, the bodies of the two touched side to side, hands joined, like two willows bending toward the same stream. Claire invited them in and after making his call, the man took his love’s hand in the soft light of the kitchen, held her gaze for long moments–time important only to them and no one else existing. Claire, caught up in their moment, found she was holding her breath.
SOMEDAY IT WILL BE DECEMBER, from A MOTHER’S TIME CAPSULE. www.elizabethahavey.com