Love Bites

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Sharing bits of ooh la la I find in my mind and around the web.

We didn’t know each other well but we loved what we knew. It’s her face that came to mind as rain poured down on my walk home today.

There was so much water I gave up on thinking I’d make it home un-soaked and slowed to experience the sensation.

I thought about happiness and how hers was the last face I associated with immediate joy. I haven’t the faintest clue why I or anybody decides to let people in.

Really nice when it happens though. 

Much of my approach to life can be traced back to things I was taught as a five year-old.

  • Wake up slowly
  • Share your toys
  • Make your bed
  • Be nice to your sisters
  • Eat your food
  • Don’t cry
I’m told I should unlearn the last one.

Hello to a tearful woman on the train turned to conversation about Rihanna and Nicholas Sparks. She said they’d shaped her romantic expectations and made the lows feel deeper.

That’s the synopsis and the details—the joy of waterproof mascara and outgoing strangers—don’t matter much.

It was eight stops on a train in a city I’m slowly learning to like. 20 minutes of my weekend I thought worth noting. Stay blessed!

Photo credit: David Wallace

One time as a kid I breakfasted on oatmeal and peaches with my uncle in Newfoundland.

That morning he’d swum out into the frigid sea and pulled lobsters from a trap he’d set with a can of tuna as bait and gallon jug as float. The lobsters snapped and pinched at the onion bag he’d saved for just that purpose and he towed them home with a grin.

He was so sure the lobsters would be perfect with the peaches and oatmeal. He cooked them in the water boiled during his swim and insisted I try some as a breakfast treat.

I hated it. Or perhaps the peaches weren’t ripe yet and I hated those. I hated something

That’s what made the breakfast so memorable. The dislike stuck in my brain like a stake you’d tie balloons to on a windy day so they don’t float away. 

If you offered me a lobster peach I’d think of declining because of that memory. But then I’d remember the rocky beach and crashing waves. The feeling of being part of a powerful world that keeps moving no matter what I do. And the warmth of being around crazy people who jump at opportunities and try new things. 

I’d take that lobster peach and I’d bite right into it because you never know if you’ll love something on the second try. 

Photo via TheNorthFace

The street lights are out on my block and it’s just warm enough that the rain doesn’t turn to snow as it falls. I’m running in the cold.

Sarah says she just puts her game face on and goes. That’s what she’s doing in this photo. Game face: ON. She’s like an aviator’ed Troy Polamalu and the cold outdoors is about to get sacked.

I’m not there yet. Running in the cold isn’t just a solitary thing. I’d enjoy that. The cold makes it lonely.

I watch for puddles and worry a bit about slipping. Then I get annoyed at how silly I’m being and focus on breathing instead. Isn’t it odd that the “deep” part of deep breathing is the exhale? It gets better and I finish—as I knew I would.

It gets better even though it doesn’t get easier. I wish somebody had told me that a long time ago. 

It helps reiterate why you’re you in the first place. 

There once lived a woman who thought such dark things that the townspeople locked her in a drum so their crops wouldn’t perish for lack of light.

Many years passed and one day a cantankerous old man named George Pickle unlocked the drum and set the woman free. 

Much to the townspeople’s surprise, for they’d all grown decrepit with age, the woman was still strikingly pretty and none the worse for years in a drum.

Then the cantankerous old man exclaimed, “I just had a dark thought!” and he threw all the townspeople into the drum. He then hung the drum over a great fire and cooked the townspeople into a savory stew that all the wedding guests enjoyed very much. They were so taken by the bride’s beauty that they didn’t pause to wonder why there were bits of clothing and bone in the stew.

You might think it odd that they got married so quickly but the woman didn’t have anything better to do and the man didn’t like vegetables so they made a good pair. Nobody missed the townspeople because they were all homophobic racists who didn’t support small businesses.

The couple lived happily ever after and we live even better.

Note: first posted to my Instagram and ASikora doesn’t think too many dark thoughts but she’ll be gorgeous when she’s old, too. 

The only thing I miss about the iPhone is Instagram. There’s something immediately satisfying about experiencing a moment of silence on the Highline by yourself then sharing it with 5,000 people.

Somehow I’d connected with enough people of the right sort that there was always somebody around and ready to share a moment with me. It’s magic of a digital nature. A social rush. I miss those highs. But not enough to get an iPhone. 

I’m not categorically attracted to any of the three. Yet December found me knee-deep in a combination of them all.

That’s what happens when you announce to yourself that it’s time for a change of pace. 

Two months have passed and I’m liking the way things are. I didn’t think I’d end up as isolated as I did but it was worth it. Choices and accidents make a random mix for everyone.

I’m sipping mine slowly.