Last night’s dinner wasn’t a resounding success. It was fine–just too spicy and a bit suspect from the point of view of other family members. I made a tomato sauce in the vitamix and didn’t take into account that the spices getting pulverized would accentuate the spice level.
Instead I will talk about date night on Tuesday night. I finally asked my love out on a date. Yes, we live together and have for over a decade. Yes, she took me on a date about two years ago. Most things we do together aren’t official “dates.” We run errands, have a meal out while doing so from time to time, but not dates. We should.
I’ve been working on being more thoughtful toward my love. I think it is the new quilt. It started while I was finishing it up. I remembered how I felt making the first quilt in those early years. I remembered the amusement as everyone watched the grand plan. I don’t really sew well. I love well, but I don’t sew well. I remembered making her lunches of cherry tomatoes and cheese. I remembered dogs who no longer share our lives, but have hair sewn in to the last quilt. I remembered little kids, one of which was so impressed with the quilt, she wanted a dress made. I made a dress. She wore it and loved it. I remembered kids I thought were big, but weren’t. More than that I remembered all the love shown in all sorts of little ways as I worked on an insane project. I stitched the final stitches of the new quilt, thinking that the foot dragging on finishing it and foot dragging from my love on actually replacing the well-loved, worn to death quilt meant the love in the quilt wasn’t quite right. Not ready. New quilt is too big. Too bright. Was the old quilt ever this bright? She loves the old quilt.
Then something else happened, I realized I missed those little things that I had stopped doing in years of sickness, health, moves, growing children, caregiving, and work. I could point to the big things easily and had often over the years. I knew that I still loved and was in love with the woman who shares my life. I just had stopped showing I was besotted with her, I cared, I appreciated, I wanted her. Sure, she still caught me smiling as she brushed her hair, as I watched her change, as she drove or worked. Yes, I still would look at her to-do list and try to do some of it…sometimes. I did work on thinking up gifts. I’d send her a poem when she traveled. I made the bed.
I didn’t do the wee little things anymore. I didn’t keep the coffee pot filled. I didn’t send a poem just because I thought of her. I grumbled through meal prep and served my mother lunch without asking if my love wanted something. No flirting.
So, I started doing the little things. A flirty note, a poem, a fresh pot of coffee, refilling her cup, a request for time with undivided attention, a kiss, a cuddle, a bed made with love and turned down properly so the quilt/sheet ratio is correct. I also asked her on a date.
Yes, a date.
I know you are breathless wanting to know where we went. We went to Chick-Fil-A. As midwesterners know and people of the south may not know–Chick-Fil-A is scarcer than hen’s teeth. We had one open about 12 miles from here in September. I noted it and forgot it. Then on Monday there was discussion. I looked it up. I asked her on a date. I showered and dressed up in jeans and a new sweater. I opened doors for her. I smiled. I looked at her. Really looked at her.
There were flowers and everything:
We had a lovely time.