Daily Archives: February 14, 2008

anarchy in the m.f.

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14

It’s not that I don’t love love.

I just love it EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR, rather than just the one. You know?

So, continuing last year’s tradition…

THINGS I HATE

Carnations
Constant snifflers
The term “smackdown”
Patchouli
“Pat pat pat” hugs
Banana-flavoured gum
Red-eye in photos
Black licorice
Margarine on popcorn
Sketchy dried-out baked goods in coffee shops
Anything ending in “Gone Wild”
The smell of burnt hair
The term “snark”
Too-short pants on men
The price of women’s shoes
When people believe everything they read on the Internet is true
The term “baby bump”
The absence of wifi
Greeting cards that make noise
Outlets that are too loose to hold the damn plug ESPECIALLY WHEN I AM VACUUMING
Reality TV that “doesn’t require writers”
Texting abbreviations
The phrase “ripped from the headlines”
Losing in fantasy pools, any sport
The colour “teal”
The use of the word “ho” to denote anything but a garden tool
Fake watermelon smell
“Hipster” anything
Wet jean hems that NEVER DRY
Corndogs
The return of the 80′s to fashion

And finally…

People who hassle single people about Valentine’s Day because it’s supposed to be depressing. What? No, keep your carnations.

I’m alllll good, G.

wuv. twoo wuv.

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11

Today is my parents’ 38th anniversary.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been doing ANYTHING for 38 years, let alone figuring out how to live with another human being in love and relative peace.

It’s a rare thing these days. Or any days, really.

Here’s their story, as I told it last year:

On February 14th, 1970, a gangly 23-year-old and a green-eyed 19-year-old were married in a church in Burnaby. The bridesmaids wore pink. The roses were red. He only weighed 123 pounds.

Their reception was at Frank Baker’s restaurant in West Van. The salad was, by all accounts, excellent.

Their honeymoon was a weekend in Seattle. They only ate at Denny’s, because he was nervous to eat anywhere else. It’s hard to say if this is why he only weighed 123 pounds.

Shortly after they were married, they set off for Texas, where he would attend seminary, and she would eventually give birth to a pretty baby who didn’t like having food on his face.

They headed to their first church in Saskatchewan a couple of years later, and completed their family with a baby girl in 1974. She didn’t so much mind the food on her face. Or yelling random things from her crib when she got bored.

Countless moves, churches, jobs and challenges have come up since, and they’ve faced each one together.

He has been a minister and a musician for more than 35 years, but he has also been everything from an English professor to a cop to a hockey referee.

She is a designer, artist, and seamstress now, but she has also been everything from an art teacher to a caterer to the person who painted the sides of the buses.

They are fairly different people, with different personalities and different talents and different ways of dealing and different favourite flavours of ice cream.

They agree on their commitment, the way they adore their kids, their faith, their politics, the value of British comedy, the vacation potential of the Oregon Coast, and the intrinsic magic of Chinese takeout. And a thousand other things, of course.

They disagree about how one should handle traffic stress, the way email should be punctuated, and whether or not shirts really need to go to the drycleaners. And a thousand other things, of course.

But they are, above all else, still very much in love.

This past year has brought a lot more challenges to their path, with my grandfather’s death and a big move to a new place. There are always details to be ironed out, problems to solve, people to take care of… life to be lived. You have to keep going.

And it’s not always easy.

They do it together, though, even when they feel more like poking one another in the eye than snuggling.

I’m so proud of them, I can’t even tell you.

So to my mom and dad:

I love you two.

I love the way you are with one another, from the silly squabbles you have about the same things you squabbled about 30 years ago, to the way you can finish one another’s sentences.

I love how you live, from the long drives you take together — talking or not talking about everything, like the line from Best in Show — to the tv shows you watch together, keeping track of the plotlines when one of you goes to grab your individual pints of ice cream (chocolate for Dad, coffee for Mom) from the fridge.

I love how you care for your children, from the way you keep us accountable to the dreams and hopes we have, to the way you give us anything we need if it’s in your power to give it. And sometimes when it’s not.

I love how you have held on to love, from the tough promises you’ve kept, to the silly cards you give year after year.

You inspire me to be a better person every single day, even as I know the best parts of me are the ones you’ve put there, anyway.

And on the days I wonder if I’ll ever have something so good in my own life, all I need to do is hang on to a bit of the faith you have in my future.

I have nothing but delight in yours.

So here’s to a million more years of you.

And to one of “your songs”…