Love

Many men are totally inarticulate when it comes to talking about their emotions--especially love. If the woman says "I love you" they give her a hasty pat on the butt and say "me, too" and that's it! I'm married to one of those men. A friend once asked me how I could live with that. I said you get used to it. And she countered that she wanted it all.

Articulation is fine, but words aren't enough, are they? Women know there is a certain class of men who are as suave and debonair as they can be, incredibly articulate with their fine lines, but absolutely no follow up with their actions. I'll take the guy that demonstrates love everyday over the one who just is talk, but no action.

What is love?

Love is getting up and going to work everyday through rain, snow, fatigue, bad bosses, and all those other irritations in the workforce. Love is taking responsibilities seriously for over thirty-seven years through thick and thin.

Love is coming home from work, passing me in the hall as I rushed off to work, and taking care of three small tired children--bath, supper, and reading a story before bed--even though he's ready to drop and would rather sit in front of the TV with a beer.

Love is packing me off to my parents when I'd reached the end of my endurance--and spending Thanksgiving alone with four kids. I don't know what he told my parents, but when I arrived they ushered me into a bedroom and told me to let them know when I was hungry. Otherwise, they wouldn't bother me. I spent a week sleeping.

Love is supporting me in every possible endeavor I could think up to try. Genealogy? We traveled literally thousands of mile to research in remote libraries. Calligraphy? He learned how to mat and frame my work so I could afford to display it. Writing? He provided time, space, and computer. College? Oh, yes, he pitched in at home after commuting four hours a day so I could spend my evenings in classes.

Love is pulling together. It's crawling under the house through cold mud and spiderwebs so we could repair a water pipe. It's lying side by side underneath a car during an ice storm in February to fix the muffler so one of us could go to work. It's standing side-by-side as each of our children graduated from high school. It's holding hands while we watch fireworks on the fourth of July.

Love is having sex almost everyday, even though we're both wrinkled and saggy. Love is accepting all the little irritations in our mate, shrugging off the toilet tissue turned the wrong way, accepting the absolute refusal to load the dishwasher because he makes the bed.

Words? Anyone can say words. Give me a man of action. Fourty-four years ago we stood in church and vowed to stick together through thick and thin. And did. That is love.

anny