The Most Romantic Thing to Happen to Me This Year. . .

by Diana McCollum

I will tell you what that ‘Romantic Thing’ was with a little story.

Snow started falling December 16, 2016. It continued to snow periodically through this February 7th.

January 10, 2017, our anniversary and another foot and half of snow fell by 7:00 am that morning. We spent our day shoveling mounds of snow off the driveway (really long), off the sidewalks and from around the cars. It took longer than usual because it was so darn cold! We’re talking nine degrees!

So we’d shovel for a while, go into the house get warmed up and back out we’d go. We have to keep our drive and sidewalks cleared as my 91 year old mom lives with us. She uses a walker and needs a clear space to get to the car. In case we had to take her or one of us to the doctor or hospital, the snow had to be shoveled.

It continued to snow all day long. We shoveled the drive another two times before the day was over. Our anniversary, our special day we’ve always celebrated, but this year no special anniversary dinner, movie out or anything. We were exhausted. By mutual agreement, we wished each other Happy Anniversary, and we watched a movie on T.V. and ate popcorn.

Fast forward to January 25, 2017, I went to my writer friend’s house for lunch. I had a great time, lots of good conversation and food. When I got home and walked into the bedroom, there were two cards on my pillow. There was a sentimental and a funny wedding anniversary card. Inside, my husband had written “Tho the snows of 2017 caused a delay, I wanted to tell you how much being married to you, means to me! And how much I appreciated you shoveling with me.”

Next to the cards was a gift bag. Inside was a beautiful silver and emerald earrings and necklace set.

He tells me he loves me every day. But this was romantic, because it was unexpected and from the heart.

My husband does things every day that shows me he loves me. I do the same for him. That’s what keeps our love burning.

May you all have a wonderful Valentine’s Day, another day for showing your special someone how much you are thankful for them and appreciate them.

 Do you have a special romantic anniversary?

My Favorite Place(s)... Some of the Time

By Robin Weaver

When I first attempted to identify “my favorite place,” I sat on my couch, snuggled under a blanket watching the snow fall. For a brief moment—that was truly my favorite place.

Let me clarify.  I live in one of those Southern states where even the mention of snow sends us into a Chicken Little it’s-not-a-snowfall-it’s-a-falling-sky-panic. All was not dire, though.  All  falling sky events immediately prompt a cancellation of work. Yep. Favorite Place identified.

Only… What if the power went out? How could I have a favorite place with no internet? Ye, gods! And shouldn’t a favorite place include Bon Jovi music? Preferably a private concert? Now we’re talking.

Since my brain quickly leaped from an actual favorite place to the realms of fantasy, I decided my most-beloved location should include a hunky guy under my blanket? With big shoulders and... a sense of humor, and... mesmerizing eyes, and...

Then I came back to the reality. I had no groceries in case the sky really did fall! Yikes.  Thus I sent my darling daughter on a grocery run. Perhaps I should mention that my daughter’s favorite place is anywhere there’s an abundance of salsa.  See what she acquired for our "we’ll never be able to leave the house again, 'falling sky'" weekend.  

Sigh.  And I thought I’d been quite specific about needing bread. And  coffee.

My idea of a favorite place was rapidly disintegrating. Which made me realize how a favorite place is highly dependent upon your mood. And who you’re with. And a host of other factors. For example, I love the beach, but not in Charleston on a 102 degree day. Nor when the temperature hovers near freezing. I also love the mountains, but not if my motion-sickness soul has to travel there via a back seat, sans Dramamine.

But I’m sure I’m taking this theme of favorite place to the wrong—well, place. Thus I’ll attempt to rein in my renegade brain and focus on some actual favorites.  I loved Switzerland. And sitting in a deck chair watching the tide come in beneath a full moon was pretty terrific.  But the hospital where my daughter was born ranks as one of those magical places, too.

So my favorite place? Please don’t ask this schizo-writer a question like that.  At least not before I find some bread. And coffee.