“The Essence of Romance…”

The Essence of romance is Uncertainty.” ~ Oscar Wilde

IMG_4877We were driving on the highway to Ikea. It snowed during the night, just enough to dust the brown landscape of winter with a layer of pure white. Timothy and I oooed and ahhed over it all the way to the store. While we shopped, I kept gazing out the windows to the trees below and moaning with delight.

“I wish it didn’t cost so much to park in the city,” I said. “Because I bet Central Park is beautiful.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Before we checked out, we grabbed lunch at the Ikea cafeteria. I was nibbling at my chicken fingers (No, I didn’t get the meatballs. Yes, I know that’s sacrilege.) when I noticed my husband was playing on his phone. It irks me when we’re out together and he piddles our alone time on twitter. I cleared my throat. “Buppy?” He looked up. “Whacha doin’?”

He smiled. “I found us parking in the city for only $9.”

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Thus with a narrowly avoided scolding, my husband bequeathed me a $9 date which is now climbing the hit chart of Svendsen date history. IMG_4996We left Ikea and parked in the city a little after noon. The morning was overcast with thick clouds, but the sun chased behind us. We stepped into Central Park just in time for the snow to still be sleeping lazily on the branches. As we walked, clods of ice plopped from the branches and beaned us on the head. We laughed at each other as the water dripped down our faces into our eyes. We held hands, took pictures, and loved on New York City.

 

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He’s adorable, my husband, but not very spontaneous. Neither of us are really, but every now and again he’ll turn flip the switch and do something I absolutely don’t expect. It was a perfect date. The high point of which was when we reached a pond, where I grabbed onto the railing to look out over the sunlight reflecting in the water and the buildings beyond it reaching into the blue sky. I felt him behind me, slowly shuffling round to the front. When I turned and saw him taking pictures of me I made a face at him.

“What?” he said. “You see beautiful things and you take pictures. I see beautiful things and I take pictures.”

Why is he so perfect? ❤

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© Rachel Svendsen 2016

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Contentment with Snow

I am one of many people on the East Coast of the United States that is longing for winter to be over. I’m not going to say I have it as bad as most, if I lived in Boston I’d need to be institutionalized, but it’s cold and unpleasant. I miss Spring, the warmth of the sun on my bare skin, laying in the grass, resting beneath the oak tree after a three mile run with my husband, taking walks into town in the evening, when the breeze cools to a delicious temperature, just cold enough to make the warmth of my husband’s hand extra special.

The other day, I took a ride with my Grandmother. I sat in the passenger seat, bundled up in three layers of coats and sweatshirts complete with hat, gloves, and scarf. It was just after 9 and the sun was clear and visible through an opening in the trees over a snow-covered corn field.

The sun’s heat combined with the extreme temperatures turned the snow into ice. Every divot and track looked imprinted and almost fake. The yellow sunlight glittered across the surface, chasing us as we drove past the expanse at 45 miles an hour. The white crystal snow appeared to be simultaneously still and moving, like the surface of a lake being tickled by the occasional breeze. The piles of snow dumped haphazardly by plows and shovels now looked like blown glass ornaments.

I am learning contentment, which is not an easy lesson where I live. I try to keep out of stores when I don’t need anything so I’m not tempted to add to my possessions. I also am trying to be content with time, treating each day, each moment, as a gift. So when I crawled into bed the night before with four blankets piled on top of me and whined to my husband about the cold and my desire for spring, I was immediately struck by a truckload of guilt.

“Never mind,” I said. “I need to enjoy what I have right now.”

Timothy smiled at me. “Sometimes when today is hard, it’s okay to look forward to tomorrow.”

That’s my wise husband for you. He’s right, that’s pretty much the definition of hope. But when I looked out over that glassy field, I wasn’t wishing for spring. I wasn’t wishing for anything more than what I had. All I wanted was to slip off one of my gloves and run my finger over the surface of the snow, to feel the cool sting of ice against my warm living flesh.