My darling is so patient: Tonight I experimented with a new recipe, a rice bowl with wasabi-dill dressing, snow peas, red pepper, avacado, chopped chives, and toasted pumpkin seeds.
It sounds great. The reality was… crunchy. In a not-good way.
He still said he liked it, and that’s why I love him.
~
Late this afternoon, I sat down to work on the wedding, outlining the different sections that are traditionally included in the ceremony. I got a thumbnail sketch put together, but there was something else going on that I felt I had to get to the bottom of before I went any further.
My heart felt a bit like it was going to explode.
After asking myself some questions, it turned out I was someplace I recognise from my writing — that place where you’re overly concerned with product, with “What will the neighbours think?”, and disconnected from the creation itself.
I probed a bit further, past the worry and the pressure — which of course weren’t doing anything to get the thing planned properly, but just made me fear and avoid it.
On the other side of that I got a glimpse of what the character of this relationship is — surely what this event should be based on, if anything. And that’s play. So much of the time Craig and I are together it just feels like we’re playing.
Two years on (oops, we missed our anniversary!), we’ve still never fought, because we just don’t want to. We’ve been there before in our lives, and it’s just no fun. So why would we, when we have a choice? I’d never want to do anything to hurt him.
I’m not sure “play” that looks like in a ceremony — particularly a very small one (in numbers, though not in importance to me), but that’s my commitment now, to tie the reverential, out-of-the-everyday part of the occasion to a big balloon of play.
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