Last week was Valentine’s Day. I have been obsessed with the very same lover for almost thirty-one years, since the first day I saw her in the little pizza shop on Kearny on Friday evening, September 8th, 1978. Her name is Lois. We have eight children and almost two grand-children so far.
I love Lois. I am never going to stop loving her until the day I die. Never. And I am going to keep working on creative ways to communicate my love. I don’t ever want her to doubt it. I don’t ever want her to regret that she yielded to my begging and badgering and married me. I want her to feel as loved as rain is wet, as loved as the sun is bright, as loved as a dog is loyal.
I’ve even learned her love language. I’ve had her pegged for years. Gifts and acts of service really make her little heart beat fast and her big brown eyes light up. But it is not enough to know. A man must act on what he knows when it comes to love languages or the heart will not beat fast, nor will the eyes light up.
Last night she told me her eyes light up and her heart beats fast when I do dishes. Yikes.
Christmas is gift time. At Christmas this year I broke the rules and scored a big hit. It was a gamble, but I bought her an electronic gizmo. Electronic gadgetry would not usually arouse her interest. Lois is a photographer and has to find her way around to unfamiliar places frequently, so I bought her a TomTom.
TomTom is a brand name for a little electronic device that uses the Global Positioning Service to give you verbal directions to where you want to go. It mounts on your windshield and tells you confidently where to go and how to get there. We selected the rich baritone voice setting which booms from the speaker with a volume loud enough to hear well even if you are listening to the radio or having a conversation. It really is a wonderful little device and Lois loves it. She can find her way safely to even the most remote location to take her photographs. She has told me often that she loves the gift.
On Valentine’s Day I would not be able to take her out because of pastoral responsibilities. On the eve of the big day I remembered that I had been given a gift card to a cozy little Italian Restaurant in Northville. I made reservations and we dined there together. It was wonderful. I could tell she was happy. As we walked to the car I talked her into taking my arm. My heart quickened.
On the way home I took her hand and pulled her toward me. My love language is words, as you can imagine. I said, “Lois. I love you now more than ever. I love to look into your beautiful, brown eyes. I love to be with you – .” Suddenly my intimate words were interrupted by a mans voice – “Turn right ahead.”
I started again. “I love your soft lips, Lois. I love to kiss – ”
“In 300 yards turn right and take the highway,” TomTom interrupted.
I wanted to roll down the window and toss him out into the night, but we laughed and a stole a kiss. Her lips still feel very young to me. I love them now more than ever.
Next time we go out, I’m going to find my own way. I will stop for directions if I have to, but I want Lois all to myself. I’m not sharing her with TomTom.
February 18, 2009