weave

riding along the curvy mountain roads yesterday with the love of my life, in a biodiesel using vintage volkswagen truck, she started coughing. i reached in my pocket and pulled out a cherry ricola. in just a few minutes, i could smell the lozenge. and the sound of her gently moving the cough drop between her teeth, a small crunch here and there from time to time, rose just above the folk music playing softly on the cd player.

we looked up at the sky to see gentle swirls and streaks in the clouds and the different colors evoked by the setting sun: blues, purples, pinks, peaches, and some orange. we talked about the beauty we were witnessing.

once we reached our home atop one of the mountains, she pulled in the driveway and stopped. we looked down our road aways and saw one of the most glorious displays in the sky we have witnessed together.

without a word, she backed into the road and drove toward the setting sun so that we could better see it. we sighed and made exclamations. we pointed and spoke of hues and patterns.

then we came home.

it's the simple things.

the everyday things.

the precious moments we have with those we love. the sounds, the colors, the smells.

i still vividly recall the sound of my great grandmother's blinker in her pontiac. never listening to the radio while driving. just a distinctive clicking of a blinker from time to time. her low voice softly breaking the silence every now and then.

i still remember the sound of grandparents chewing "chewing gum" or rolling around hard candy as we rode places. the smell of doublemint, freedent, peppermints.

it's the little things.

when i was very young, my great-grandmother or grandmother giving me a dollar to put in the offering plate. falling asleep on a church pew with my head in my grandmother's lap. playing with pipe cleaners and pom poms during my grandfather's sermons at the church he pastored. singing while my grandmother played the piano.

my great grandmothers: it's the memory of working puzzles with maw-maw and the popcorn balls she made at halloween. of little granny spending the night on christmas eve and her jello and prune cake. of working in the flower bed with nanny alloway (or nanny grubbs as i sometimes called her) and her 7-up salad, and lord, her chicken and dumplin's.

my grandparents: it's the memory of spending long days by the river, fishing with a bamboo pole while my paw paw on the river worked in his woodshop. of him buying me candy cigarettes and yoohoo in glass bottles. of my paw paw adams driving a painted school bus for church and him singing silly songs. of singing with my nanny on the river and her buttermilk pie. of making cookies, cornbread, and slaw with my nanny adams and her fried okra.

my parents: remembering my dad making amazing breakfasts, including pancakes with food coloring, of him and i talking and him showing us how to play in the snow. my mom making soups and "king ranch chicken" and her painting and crafting constantly. and her tickling me when i revealed that i knew, due to my investigation, that santa clause was really her and my dad.

my brother: riding down the big hill where we lived, on our "big wheels," and catching bugs and frogs. going fishing.

it's the simple things.

it's the kind of thing that ties us together. the web of life, as richard louv writes.

the kind of web i am weaving with my fiance. and our friends. (oh how i could go on and may) and oneday: with our children.

it has me thinking of what matters. and of how precious is the garden of relationships, and how it must be tended by more than one. how beautiful the simple moments are. how magical and sweet and soul-stirring it can be to truly cherish the moments together.

last night, i found a mouse in our basement. it was stuck to a glueboard the exterminator had set out for spiders and scorpions which were a problem when we first moved in. i felt so bad, that it had died. then, it got worse, the poor thing moved. it was suffering, and barely alive. i burst into tears and called for deanna. she came down and "took care" of the mouse. i know it was hard on her; she hung her head down low. i cried for a while. she held me close and told me how precious i am.

now, as i am writing this and hot tears stream down my face, i realize that i cried last night for the creature. it shouldn't have been in our house. i have to figure out how it got in and seal it up. i felt guilty and sorry for the poor thing. i felt sorry for deanna.

today, i am crying because i am so incredibly loved. and for all those memories of love. and her love for me... well, there are no words.

and so it is with my love for her.

and as we are making memories of good and bad, easy and hard, comfort and pain, i feel our hearts woven together and woven together still.

and my eyes are more and more open to love and friendship and to what is true.

and to what matters.

it's the simple things. the little things.

and you know what else matters?

love.