What Love Really Is

 

Valentine's Day. The day that's supposed to symbolize romantic love. Except, too often it instead becomes another source of pressure. Will you find a nice enough card, buy good enough candy, send the most beautiful flowers? How expensive do you need to go in regard to dinner out? A car payment? Or, will your valentine scorn all things traditional and leave you feeling like a predictable, out of the loop dinosaur, holding wilting flowers and expensive candy while wondering, "How could I have gone so wrong?"

I think a lot about love, and not just on this day. I'm somewhat of an expert on it, since I've been married for four decades, went with that same person three and one half years, and still find him the most fascinating, endearing, delectable man on the planet. I'm sorry to say longevity is something that is far too rare now. Too often, it seems, relationships don't work out and people move on—mostly to be eventually disappointed yet again.

I think I know why. I once read that being in love and loving someone are two completely different things. In fact, they are polar opposites. When you're in love, everything is about you: how the other person makes you feel. That excitement, that rush, that just plain horniness that you swear will last forever. After all, who doesn't like feeling so alive? But love? Well, when you truly love someone it's all about them. How you can make them feel. How you can make them succeed. How you can make them happy. One is selfish; the other selfless.

Oh, don't get me wrong. The best relationships have both. The funny thing is, the "in love" part, the part where you want to rip the clothes off the other person...well, that leaves. And here is where most people make that fatal mistake. They assume that once it leaves, it's gone for good. But, not so. Passion is very powerful. In fact, so powerful that our bodies couldn't take a constant state of excitement. How would bills get paid, jobs get done, houses get cleaned, if all we did was make hot, wicked sex? Plus, our hearts couldn't take it. Not day after day for years and years and years.

Yet, if you love someone, you find that passion ebbs and flows. It's like a tidal wave when it first hits. When it pulls back, just like the ocean, it does return again. And mark my words: sometimes it's even hotter. Yeah, I'm going to gross you out and tell you that we've experienced that ebb and flow many times over the years. The hottest, the dirtiest, and the best sex happened for five straight years. I was age 45 and my husband 50 when it started. And you know what? Had we been the type just chasing excitement we would have missed it all. Who'd have thought sex with a fifty-year-old man who you'd seen naked for decades could be like rocket fuel poured on a match?

Someone once told me that when you're first in love, you think you know what love is. It's that excitement, that great sex, that romantic dinner by candlelight. Nah. That's great, that's wonderful, but it's romance. It just ain't love. Love is when you do spend time doing things you dislike simply because your partner enjoys them. You get your kicks watching their enjoyment. Love is holding back your partner's hair while they puke in the toilet, so sick they can't even say "Thank you." Love is sitting at the table and deciding together which bills you WON'T pay this month because there isn't enough money—and not fighting about it. Or, fighting about it, but feeling secure doing so because you know it's only because of stress, not because the other person isn't who you thought they were after all.

She's right. It's all that. But, for me personally, I have other definitions. Love is when your partner spends an entire summer—all three months—only sitting on the deck watching birds with you, because you're too wiped out from radiation therapy to do anything else. Not one other thing. And watching you suffer the burns from treatment, wishing it could be them. Watching you slowly increase your energy, knowing it will take months, but never once acting bored or impatient. My husband did that for me. If I had ever in my life questioned his love for me, this brought the reality of it home in spades.

 

Love can be watching your partner make a total ass of themself in the middle of a mid-life crisis, hurting you immeasurably until you wonder if anything will be left of either of you. Standing by, swallowing the hurt, and waiting for them to regain sanity, all because you know it isn't really them. It's chemistry, it's mental illness, it's many things...but you know that person well enough to know that down the line they will wake up and realize who they really are after all. When they do, you'll be there waiting. Greyer, more lines, your heart fractured but still beating. The mending takes a long time, but as it mends you become even closer. Only you know if your partner is worth it. They prove their worth in the years put in and how they've treated you in the past. Some aren't worth it. If they aren't, you should've cut the cords long ago. I'm not telling anyone to play a fool. I am saying people make mistakes. Good people. People worth loving, worth believing in, worth waiting for.

And, finally, love is watching your partner crumble and shrink when the company they've worked for over decades is taken over and they are reduced from a lead position to one that is humbling, to say the least. Hours cut, wages reduced, all benefits taken away, reduced to almost entry level, simply because it's cheaper to do so—and the new owners have to be able to keep driving their expensive cars. Your partner is left barely standing, almost ashamed to come home at the end of the day. For days. For weeks. Perhaps for the rest of their working years. Which may be a lot more, since money—which used to be abundant—is now so scarce you both wonder if you will have to sell your home. If you'll be destitue when old. Love? You stand firm and tell your partner to hold their head up. What they are at work isn't who they are. You tell them you're proud of them and love them more than ever. And you can see they don't believe you. So you keep on saying it until they finally do. At first a little bit. Hopefully more as time goes on.

Love is realizing that some dreams come true, but many don't. And if you really love someone, it's the realization that some won't come true that drive it home. They'll still make your heart beat faster. They're still the one who rides the white horse. They're still the one you want to spend the rest of time with. They just have become human over time. And, isn't that what we all want? To be accepted for what we are?

We want to be loved and looked up to, even if you and your partner both end up as greeters at your local discount store at age eighty.

Love? Don't tell me you know all about it, young 'uns. You don't have a clue yet. But if you're courageous enough, ballsy enough, believe in the other person enough, you'll learn. The lessons aren;t for the faint-hearted. Because let me tell you: you ain't seen nothin' yet.

 

If you truly love, if you stick it out, someoday your "Valentine" will look like mine (and like my husband's does). Wrinkled. Faded. Creases and tears. Rumpled. Slightly out of style. Yet, to you that "Valentine" is the most precious thing in the world. The only question is how someone like you ever deserved such a rare gift.

I'll end by saying "Happy Valentine's Day to my husband, Dave. Had we known the joy and sorrows awaiting us would we have done it anyway? My answer is a solid 'Hell, yes.' So many dreams achieved, so many failed. But one thing has always been certain. I was blessed with deep, true love. I can make it through anything life has to throw at us, but I couldn't have been even remotely as happy had my journey not been with you. You are my forever love. My valentine. Thank you for allowing me to also be yours."

Caddy Rowland is a novelist and painter. Her social media links follow.

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And Gideon Grows



Our grandchild by love, Gideon, recently turned 18 months old. What changes I have seen over the last six months! Walking, running, spinning. Teeth, loss of baby fat, talking!

I will forever remember the day he walked down the hall, at about fourteen months until he got to the end, by the closed bathroom door. I was watching from "afar" and he was "all by himself". I watched from the back as he stopped and stood facing that door, planning. What was he going to do? All of a sudden, he started walking backwards. It was the first time. He didn't get very far before he stumbled and fell.

Getting back up, one would think he would continue from where he was. Not so. He calmly walked back to the beginning, gathered his dignity and tried it again. Over and over about a half dozen times, each time getting further down the hall backwards. Each time going back to the beginning. It wasn't long after that before he was not only walking backwards but spinning " 'round and 'round" as he calls it, making himself dizzy. He is so FAST now when he takes off running!

And the words! More and more come each day. He surprised me the other day. We watched a new video he had never seen. He named most of the items in it right away. How cool. He also says the last word to each phrase in "Twinkle Twinkle" and "Camptown Races" when I sing it. The other day, for some reason, he decided the "bay" had ran enough horse races. When I sang "Somebody bet on the - " he gave me a big smile and substituted doctor. Then he laughed and laughed.

Every week he learns so many new things! No wonder they sleep 15 hours. All of the physical and mental growth must be exhausting. For the first time ever, he noticed art on the wall. It was my latest painting. (She Burns For Him.) He looked up and his whole face lit up. He raised both hands in the air, like he was worshipping and went on and on in baby talk, saying who knows what about it. Whatever it was, it was complimentary because he looked dazzled.  I'm glad he likes the painting. The next day, he walked by an abstract of my African Grey parrot that has always hung there, done by me. Called "Beautiful Girl" many adults don't know it's a bird. Gideon calmly looked up and said, "Bird", smiled, and kept walking.

We like to take turns making funny faces at each other. His belly laugh is one of the sweetest sounds I have ever heard. The sweetest sound, beside my husband's voice? Well, it's Gideon, saying, "Love you.  Love you." He knows what it means, too, which makes it all the sweeter. I was supposed to by Gamma. Maternal gramdma was to be Grandma, Paternal would be Nana. He started trying to say Gamma, but pretty soon called me Caddy. Now he says "Mamma" (Not Mama, Mamma) or "Gramamma" for Gamma. That just fine. Especially when it's preceded with "Love you"!



Growing Gideon (My Love Is Alive)

Today I am taking a break from my "Those Crazy Bohemian" series of blogs. Most of you know that we are grandparents by love to the child next door: Gideon. Most of you know that we are childless by choice and have never regretted it.  And, most of you were probably gobsmacked to find out that - not only are we crazy about the baby next door - I am babysitting weekday afternoons.  Yeah, I know. This crazy bohemian has gone mainstream...at least in this area.

I had babysat on Fridays last year, along with some evenings. This past September I started babysitting for them "full time". Since Gideon does not come over until 11:30, I can write in the mornings, and I also write while he naps in the afternoon.

There is something holy about babydom. Jen, Gideon's mother, calls him magical.  I have to agree. He has changed me (and I would also include Dave) in many ways; all for the good. I have loved deeply before in my life. But this? This love is so powerful, so mind blowing that my eyes fill with tears just watching him take his next breath. Everything he does is magic. Every breath he takes I thank God for. If something happened to him, I would never again be the same.  Not even close.

Since I had no younger brothers or sisters, I never got to watch a child develop on a day by day basis. This spring I pushed him in a stroller and watched as he saw flowers for the first time. Just imagine that. What does the mind think, that very first time our eyes see the intricate beauty of flowers? This fall he was no less impressed with the dried leaves, pods, and grasses.  He could touch them for who knows how long...I stopped and let him touch and wonder, but couldn't stay for as long as he could probably just process. All of a sudden I, too, could see the magic in a single blade of dried prairie grass.

He not only walks now, he runs.  And walks backward. And twirls. The past two weeks he has been walking on tip-toes, and quite proud of it, thank you very much. Every single day he learns something new, becomes a little more advanced. Yesterday he realized that the large Lego blocks didn't just fall apart, he could take them apart piece by piece after Gamma put them together. His brain knew that somehow they go back together. He pressed them together, wrong parts. Any day now it will click. The round part goes into the part where there is emptiness.

He talks, too. No sentences or phrases, but words. More words all of the time. At fourteen months, he is a virtual learning machine. He no longer wants to sit on the floor and play with toys where you press levers. Now it is all about action, about walking, running, being chased, hiding. Balls are a big hit. Of course, when not feeling well (new teeth, cold, etc) he will revert back to less ambitious playing, but that's okay.  It is nice to go back six months every once in awhile, although I would much rather he felt good.

I am so honored to have this brand new person to the planet in my life. It is a privilege to care for him, protect him, and teach him.  I make sure to treat him with not only love, but dignity and respect. His soul will thrive in his body only if those who care for hm do so to the best of their abilities.

Yes, my love is alive. I have known love in many forms. The love I have for my husband is so deep, so timeless that I thought nothing could match it. Believing we have been together several lifetimes, I know we are always together. But this? This love for a child is just as profound, just as deep.

In short, Jen's right: it is magical.

Love Songs or Obsession?

As an indie author it only stands to reason that I pay attention to words.  Even as a teenager, the lyrics of popular songs meant even more to me than the music.  My husband is the opposite.  He likes songs for the beat or the melody.  Most of the time he does not know the lyrics.  Of course, he used to play the drums, so that makes perfect sense.

I used to think about how the lyrics showed undying love for a person.  How romantic, I thought.  Then I noticed something.  Most of the words to songs about love aren't about love at all.  They are about obsession.  They are about the person singing the song; all the things another person makes them feel.

Pay attention this week to lyrics.  Love is about what you can do for another person to make them happy or make their life more wonderful.  It is not about what they can do for you or how they make you feel.  Sure, it is great to feel those things, but that is not love.  It can be unhealthy romance.  It can be lust.  But in itself, those feelings are not love.  Love, you see, is not narcissistic or selfish.  Lust and "in love" can very much be those two things.

Why do we categorize possessive songs and songs about fixation as love songs? Maybe that partly explains why so many young girls put up with abusive boyfriends.  Do they think that it is love that drives those boyfriends to wanting to control their every move?  Do they think that means the guy worships them?

I don't know.  But I always found it creepy that Every Breath You Take by Sting was considered a romantic song that people rushed out onto the dance floor to celebrate.  Really?  Every breath you take, every step you make, I'll be watching you.  Ummm. Ok. Thanks for giving me a heads up that I need to call the cops.

Songs about how someone makes the person feels.  Songs about how they want to spend every second with you.  Songs about how you are on their mind every minute of every day.  Songs about how all they do is dream about you.  Hey, I like being important.  But I don't want to be a butterfly pinned to a piece of pager for anyone to admire.  Sorry.  My wings are meant for flying.

We need to remember that we all need to fly.  Once in awhile, often if we are lucky, we fly with another.  But they never clip our wings.  And they never cause us to crash to the ground when we go off for awhile on our own.

Love isn't about owning another person.  It is about allowing them the freedom to fully live and thrive.  Love is about them, not you. Sometimes you are fortunate enough that real love is reciprocated. That is when your heart really sings of love.  And the lyrics are beautiful.

What is a Real Valentine?

Valentine's Day has always been a favorite holiday of mine.  Ever since I was a little girl, I thought it was really romantic.  My parents gave me valentines and we exchanged valentines in school.  You had to put a valentine in every classmate's valentine box so that some did not get more than others.

But what impressed me the most was the valentine candy my mom would get from my dad.  It wasn't terribly expensive.  People were not as materialistic then.  But it was always a red, heart shaped box, sometimes with ribbon or velvet on it. To me, it was extremely elegant and beautiful.  Something a princess or a movie star would receive.

Now businesses do their best to ruin the day.  It is all about making money.  I am all for businesses making money, but not when they do it by pressuring partners to spend more than they should, making men feel "less than" if they can't, and making women feel they aren't quite loved enough if they don't recieve the "Best".

The jewelry ads really irritate me.  Yes, I imagine some people that have a lot of money give expensive jewelry.  Most people don't have a lot of money, or if they do they also have children, charities, and a myriad of more worthy things to spend it on.  I am not saying your spouse is not worthy.  I AM saying your spouse does not need to be treated like an expensive callgirl.  Not unless she has self worth issues.  And if she does, perhaps you would be better off finding a new person to be your valentine.

Real women, women who know their value and truly love their men (or women) for the person they are, don't need a diamond bracelet or ring, a several hundred dollar meal, chocolates that cost $50 for six.  If you can afford that by the way, by all means give it.  But be more original than the stooge who is tricked into giving it on Valentine's Day.  Give it on a regular day.  Really suprirse her.  Don't cowtow to the businesses greed on this day that is supposed to be about love and lovers.

A real valentine is authentic.  They look the person they love in the eye and tell them how much they really mean.  How they always look forward to seeing them every day.  That their heart beats faster whenever they get a smile, a kiss, a kind endearment from their partner. 

A real valentine cleans up after the valentine meal if they could not spend money out somewhere reasonable.  Or they cook.  A real valentine watches the children while their partner takes some "me" time. In fact, a real valentine does half of the work around the house, if both partners work at jobs or careers, not just once a year.

A real valentine remembers to show that they mean those fancy words by following up-if not every single day-most days, by always doing at least one small, intimate thing to show their love. It doesn't take money.  It takes giving of oneself.

A real valentine does not have to shower their lover with expensive gifts.  They automatically know that the most precious gifts of all are true love, attention, and time.  Those things will always be cherished because, dear valentines, those things are priceless.

How do I know?  I am one of the lucky ones.  I feel cherished the majority of days. I didn't marry money, or fame, or power.  But I did marry an authenic valentine.

I love you forever, David Anthony. I am so glad that you elected to be my valentine.