Wild_Honey_66
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Someone To Watch Over Me
- Thread starter Wild_Honey_66
- Start date
jameslewis
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cascadiabound
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She searched for a place to be tamed.
What she found was a safe place to be wild.
What she found was a safe place to be wild.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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He couldn’t take away the memories of her past…not her pain, her tears, her heartbreaks…
He could, however, create new smiles and laughs. He could make her happy that her heart was broken that last time…
http://49.media.tumblr.com/94f0f8ef0bbad594e772dc17e0713f48/tumblr_nt2yhjIrbx1r7eta3o1_500.gif
He could, however, create new smiles and laughs. He could make her happy that her heart was broken that last time…
http://49.media.tumblr.com/94f0f8ef0bbad594e772dc17e0713f48/tumblr_nt2yhjIrbx1r7eta3o1_500.gif
Wild_Honey_66
sweet freak
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Wonderful posts as usual, cb.
Thank you!
Thank you!
cascadiabound
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The Next Eleven Minutes ~ Brian Doyle
I am not so stupid as to make any public comment whatsoever about the character and nature and music of my marriage, which I understand less about by the year anyway because my marriage, like every marriage that is or was or will be, is different from every other marriage, and my marriage changes shape every eleven minutes or so, and my marriage, like every marriage, is ultimately an utterly ephemeral thing, a shared idea, a mental and emotional construct which both parties believe in to varying degrees at the same time or else there you are at the bus stop muttering about how you used to be married. And also the person to whom I am married, or to whom I was married eleven minutes ago is a mysterious changeable country whom I try to simply savor and appreciate rather than attempt understand, or God help us all predict in any way shape or form whatsoever, such predilection being the surest road to muttering at the bus stop about the marriage you used to have.
Yet there have been many riveting moments in my marriage, and I recount them here cheerfully so that you can tell me what they mean, for I have no idea. Like when our three children were hauled wet and startled from the salt sea of her womb and I saw my wife’s spleen and thin layer of subcutaneous fat, which I thought was pretty cool but she didn’t. Or the time we lost a baby in utero. Or all the times she has fallen asleep on my shoulder watching movies and the way she wakes with a start and asks anxiously did she drool and snore? Or the way she becomes so absorbed in the paintings she paints that she loses track of the time and hoots with surprise when she realizes how late it is. Or the way she reads by the fire wrapped in a shawl. Or the way she loves to work in the yard rain or sleet or shine. Or the way she laughs from the very fiber of her being sometimes with a dear friend on the phone. Or the way she loses her temper sometimes suddenly and slashes and slices with a stunning tongue. Or the way she retires upstairs sometimes in tears overcome by exhaustion and rude children and unsubtle husband. Or the way our love affair has waxed and waned and ebbed and flowed and worn so many different coats of motley that sometimes I conclude it has died and sometimes I am agog that it has been born once again miraculously from ash.
Many times I have concluded that all marriages are nuts and my marriage is nuts but find myself delighted by her company which is endlessly stimulating sometimes in ways so frustrating and heartrending that I go pray and walk and hum and fold laundry and recall that I am no gleaming glittering prize either, I am just a guy, muddled and humming.
I remember everything, I am memorious, that’s my gift and my curse, and I remember the way her voice once came shivering out of the dusk, telling me about her dad who had just died whom she loved madly, she was his last child, his late-surprise baby daughter, and I remember quivering with joy in her high-beam eyes as we danced on our wedding day, swinging each other so fast and wild that if either let go we would still be orbiting Neptune, and I remember the million hours she has rocked and consoled and bandaged and fed and cleaned and snarled at and sang for our children, and the million hours we have wrassled ideas and locked limbs, and I know the sound of her sob and the lilt of her laugh, the lurch of her logic and the flare of her fury, yet after twenty years I hardly know her at all; which maybe is crucial for marriage as a verb, and why I am married, and why the most momentous moments of my marriage seem to me to be incontrovertibly and inarguably the next eleven, if they come, which I hope they will, I pray they will, though no one, including most of all me and my wife, knows if they will come, or what they will bring, which seems to me somehow the secret of the whole thing.
But what do I know?
Surely this man... is watching over his wife. every 11 minutes.
I am not so stupid as to make any public comment whatsoever about the character and nature and music of my marriage, which I understand less about by the year anyway because my marriage, like every marriage that is or was or will be, is different from every other marriage, and my marriage changes shape every eleven minutes or so, and my marriage, like every marriage, is ultimately an utterly ephemeral thing, a shared idea, a mental and emotional construct which both parties believe in to varying degrees at the same time or else there you are at the bus stop muttering about how you used to be married. And also the person to whom I am married, or to whom I was married eleven minutes ago is a mysterious changeable country whom I try to simply savor and appreciate rather than attempt understand, or God help us all predict in any way shape or form whatsoever, such predilection being the surest road to muttering at the bus stop about the marriage you used to have.
Yet there have been many riveting moments in my marriage, and I recount them here cheerfully so that you can tell me what they mean, for I have no idea. Like when our three children were hauled wet and startled from the salt sea of her womb and I saw my wife’s spleen and thin layer of subcutaneous fat, which I thought was pretty cool but she didn’t. Or the time we lost a baby in utero. Or all the times she has fallen asleep on my shoulder watching movies and the way she wakes with a start and asks anxiously did she drool and snore? Or the way she becomes so absorbed in the paintings she paints that she loses track of the time and hoots with surprise when she realizes how late it is. Or the way she reads by the fire wrapped in a shawl. Or the way she loves to work in the yard rain or sleet or shine. Or the way she laughs from the very fiber of her being sometimes with a dear friend on the phone. Or the way she loses her temper sometimes suddenly and slashes and slices with a stunning tongue. Or the way she retires upstairs sometimes in tears overcome by exhaustion and rude children and unsubtle husband. Or the way our love affair has waxed and waned and ebbed and flowed and worn so many different coats of motley that sometimes I conclude it has died and sometimes I am agog that it has been born once again miraculously from ash.
Many times I have concluded that all marriages are nuts and my marriage is nuts but find myself delighted by her company which is endlessly stimulating sometimes in ways so frustrating and heartrending that I go pray and walk and hum and fold laundry and recall that I am no gleaming glittering prize either, I am just a guy, muddled and humming.
I remember everything, I am memorious, that’s my gift and my curse, and I remember the way her voice once came shivering out of the dusk, telling me about her dad who had just died whom she loved madly, she was his last child, his late-surprise baby daughter, and I remember quivering with joy in her high-beam eyes as we danced on our wedding day, swinging each other so fast and wild that if either let go we would still be orbiting Neptune, and I remember the million hours she has rocked and consoled and bandaged and fed and cleaned and snarled at and sang for our children, and the million hours we have wrassled ideas and locked limbs, and I know the sound of her sob and the lilt of her laugh, the lurch of her logic and the flare of her fury, yet after twenty years I hardly know her at all; which maybe is crucial for marriage as a verb, and why I am married, and why the most momentous moments of my marriage seem to me to be incontrovertibly and inarguably the next eleven, if they come, which I hope they will, I pray they will, though no one, including most of all me and my wife, knows if they will come, or what they will bring, which seems to me somehow the secret of the whole thing.
But what do I know?
Surely this man... is watching over his wife. every 11 minutes.
Last edited:
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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The Plunge (Modern Love) ~ by Natalie Lindeman
Last summer, I fell 100 feet into one of the steepest canyons in the United States. After tumbling 75 feet down the near-vertical canyon side, I dropped another 25 feet in freefall, landing in a dry stream bed between granite boulders.
I have always loved falling. When I was 3, my favorite game was mantle jumping. My dad would place me on the mantle, steady me and step back. I'd push off and fall for that perfect rush of a second before he caught me, swinging me to the ground. In high school, I found a teenage version of mantle jumping by leaping off high, rocky cliffs with my friends into the ocean below. I loved the way the wind whistled in my ears, making me feel so alive. Yet if I was passionate about adventure, I was cautious about passion. A boyfriend would only slow me down.
Then near the end of my junior year of high school, a senior named Wilder asked me to prom, and I said yes. Right after I said yes though, my heart started pounding and I raced into an empty classroom to breathe for a minute alone. The smile on my face was so big it hurt. I was determined to keep things casual as we headed out on our first real date.
To escape the early summer heat, we decided to hike the sage-lined trail to the waterfall in Eaton Canyon. Dozens of hikers were already splashing in the pool when college-age hiker asked if we had heard of the second waterfall only a mile beyond. Although the path was unmarked, we tramped another 20 minutes up the steep incline and found it, beautiful and isolated. It was so easy to be with him. We were coming around a curve in the canyon wall, hurrying to get back while it was still light. Wilder went first, searching for notches and footholds, finally making it around. Then I went, feeling for handholds, my face inches from the rock. I traced to where he had grasped, reaching back with my left foot, searching for the ledge. And suddenly, I wasn't holding onto anything. Sandy grit was skittering down the mountain alongside me. I was falling.
I woke up to the sound of helicopter blades. A cable carried me into the air. It struck me; I had just fallen, and now they were taking me up even higher. My dad found me in the too-bright emergency room and tried to hold my hands, but they were a bloody mess like the rest of me. Wilder's in the waiting room, he said. Nurses cut away my clothes with giant scissors and wiped the dirt and blood from my body. I heard scattered phrases - 100 feet, fractured vertebrae, a miracle. Wilder visited as soon as he was allowed. You're off the hook, I said. What do you mean, he asked? I explained in my drugged speech that he didn't have to come to the hospital or hang out with a broken girl all summer. No guilt. I'd call him when I was healed and back to normal. He stayed with me until a nurse kicked him out.
Five days later, I was home. Doctors said I would have to wear a corset-like brace from my hips to my neck for eight to 12 weeks, and then we could talk about recuperation. Sitting up for 20 minutes exhausted me, and I could barely move without wincing in pain.
Wilder kept visiting, and it scared the hell out of me. I fought to look like the girl he had asked to prom. I looked as if I had been mauled by a tiger, but the brace covered most of it. I'd laugh, roll out of bed and walk around as if keeping in constant motion would prove I was strong, independent and unhurt. I figured he'd leave while I slept, but I'd doze off listening to him playing basketball with my little brother and when I'd wake up, he'd be eating dinner with my family.
Sometimes I think my body saved itself that day by learning to surrender, that those years of falling prepared me to relax into the 100-foot plunge. But it was weeks after the fall before I could truly let go. I thought I could use my injuries as an excuse to push Wilder away. I thought I could forget the look on his face as I fell and ignore the terrified feeling of longing in my chest. But I couldn't. Maybe it was the way he said, I'd rather spend my summer with you than any other girl. Maybe it was how being around him made me forget the brace and the wounds, made me feel whole and unbroken. Finally, surrender became not just inevitable but exhilarating. I didn't want to hold onto anything anymore. I wanted to fall, and I already had. And I knew that this time, too, I would be OK.
Learning to fall.
To know that you will be safe.
To know that love will catch you.
To believe in your heart of hearts that you are UNBROKEN...
these are the greatest lessons that true love can ever teach you.
Last summer, I fell 100 feet into one of the steepest canyons in the United States. After tumbling 75 feet down the near-vertical canyon side, I dropped another 25 feet in freefall, landing in a dry stream bed between granite boulders.
I have always loved falling. When I was 3, my favorite game was mantle jumping. My dad would place me on the mantle, steady me and step back. I'd push off and fall for that perfect rush of a second before he caught me, swinging me to the ground. In high school, I found a teenage version of mantle jumping by leaping off high, rocky cliffs with my friends into the ocean below. I loved the way the wind whistled in my ears, making me feel so alive. Yet if I was passionate about adventure, I was cautious about passion. A boyfriend would only slow me down.
Then near the end of my junior year of high school, a senior named Wilder asked me to prom, and I said yes. Right after I said yes though, my heart started pounding and I raced into an empty classroom to breathe for a minute alone. The smile on my face was so big it hurt. I was determined to keep things casual as we headed out on our first real date.
To escape the early summer heat, we decided to hike the sage-lined trail to the waterfall in Eaton Canyon. Dozens of hikers were already splashing in the pool when college-age hiker asked if we had heard of the second waterfall only a mile beyond. Although the path was unmarked, we tramped another 20 minutes up the steep incline and found it, beautiful and isolated. It was so easy to be with him. We were coming around a curve in the canyon wall, hurrying to get back while it was still light. Wilder went first, searching for notches and footholds, finally making it around. Then I went, feeling for handholds, my face inches from the rock. I traced to where he had grasped, reaching back with my left foot, searching for the ledge. And suddenly, I wasn't holding onto anything. Sandy grit was skittering down the mountain alongside me. I was falling.
I woke up to the sound of helicopter blades. A cable carried me into the air. It struck me; I had just fallen, and now they were taking me up even higher. My dad found me in the too-bright emergency room and tried to hold my hands, but they were a bloody mess like the rest of me. Wilder's in the waiting room, he said. Nurses cut away my clothes with giant scissors and wiped the dirt and blood from my body. I heard scattered phrases - 100 feet, fractured vertebrae, a miracle. Wilder visited as soon as he was allowed. You're off the hook, I said. What do you mean, he asked? I explained in my drugged speech that he didn't have to come to the hospital or hang out with a broken girl all summer. No guilt. I'd call him when I was healed and back to normal. He stayed with me until a nurse kicked him out.
Five days later, I was home. Doctors said I would have to wear a corset-like brace from my hips to my neck for eight to 12 weeks, and then we could talk about recuperation. Sitting up for 20 minutes exhausted me, and I could barely move without wincing in pain.
Wilder kept visiting, and it scared the hell out of me. I fought to look like the girl he had asked to prom. I looked as if I had been mauled by a tiger, but the brace covered most of it. I'd laugh, roll out of bed and walk around as if keeping in constant motion would prove I was strong, independent and unhurt. I figured he'd leave while I slept, but I'd doze off listening to him playing basketball with my little brother and when I'd wake up, he'd be eating dinner with my family.
Sometimes I think my body saved itself that day by learning to surrender, that those years of falling prepared me to relax into the 100-foot plunge. But it was weeks after the fall before I could truly let go. I thought I could use my injuries as an excuse to push Wilder away. I thought I could forget the look on his face as I fell and ignore the terrified feeling of longing in my chest. But I couldn't. Maybe it was the way he said, I'd rather spend my summer with you than any other girl. Maybe it was how being around him made me forget the brace and the wounds, made me feel whole and unbroken. Finally, surrender became not just inevitable but exhilarating. I didn't want to hold onto anything anymore. I wanted to fall, and I already had. And I knew that this time, too, I would be OK.
Learning to fall.
To know that you will be safe.
To know that love will catch you.
To believe in your heart of hearts that you are UNBROKEN...
these are the greatest lessons that true love can ever teach you.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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http://40.media.tumblr.com/b4bdcb81597032c72940d6fb33ca9e5b/tumblr_o0nmyrfsoK1utjg6to1_500.jpg
(Two) someone's to watch over me...
love this image.
(Two) someone's to watch over me...
love this image.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
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http://40.media.tumblr.com/e2ae493549448937bffafa03e7763776/tumblr_o0ruvpnm0a1v0c0kgo1_500.jpg
There is such comfort, just being in his lap.
His hand just resting on my hip.
The end of the day. As he tells me how he is.
He kisses my collar bone. And nuzzles me a little.
My hair falling into his face.
The dog... getting a little jealous of the attention he is not receiving.
This quiet time together... is sweet. Is a lovely reconnecting.
There is such comfort, just being in his lap.
His hand just resting on my hip.
The end of the day. As he tells me how he is.
He kisses my collar bone. And nuzzles me a little.
My hair falling into his face.
The dog... getting a little jealous of the attention he is not receiving.
This quiet time together... is sweet. Is a lovely reconnecting.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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http://40.media.tumblr.com/0066cda7045b8023b2ab752e727d9043/tumblr_o381ng6K1Y1us2guzo1_500.jpg
He was so gentle... when he said "Hush"
and suddenly she was crying. Vision blurred.
He allowed her to fall apart.
Because she knew he would catch her.
and collect the pieces.
She trusted that her frayed ends would not be ugly to him.
instead he kissed them.
Just as he kissed her forehead
and soothed her hair.
She cried silently.
Those quiet little tears that slide down your face - unbidden.
He did not judge.
He wiped them away without comment.
He kissed them away.
Tasting the salt on her skin.
And these small acts allowed her to heal.
to let go of the hurts. One tear at a time.
And she fell. Feeling his net around her.
As surely as his arms held her.
She was unbroken in his eyes.
Perfect. In her history.
in spite of the sharp edges and frayed ends.
She relaxed into his care.
He was so gentle... when he said "Hush"
and suddenly she was crying. Vision blurred.
He allowed her to fall apart.
Because she knew he would catch her.
and collect the pieces.
She trusted that her frayed ends would not be ugly to him.
instead he kissed them.
Just as he kissed her forehead
and soothed her hair.
She cried silently.
Those quiet little tears that slide down your face - unbidden.
He did not judge.
He wiped them away without comment.
He kissed them away.
Tasting the salt on her skin.
And these small acts allowed her to heal.
to let go of the hurts. One tear at a time.
And she fell. Feeling his net around her.
As surely as his arms held her.
She was unbroken in his eyes.
Perfect. In her history.
in spite of the sharp edges and frayed ends.
She relaxed into his care.
jameslewis
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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^^^^^^^^
Perfect James
Perfect James
cascadiabound
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JennyNo1
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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https://40.media.tumblr.com/46b031ddcbe438d433191fa246d85ac0/tumblr_o3pe8cJUlN1uigcy1o1_400.jpg
https://45.media.tumblr.com/9be111a703abf36707658a68692db3fb/tumblr_ns7w7uplUd1u7gnm9o1_500.gif
https://36.media.tumblr.com/6131177abccd4cfeb44805e5655206ce/tumblr_nqmksl2zl31tkxbkso1_500.jpg
https://41.media.tumblr.com/ea5eb48668a761a8e43dd3436a4cfd57/tumblr_niju4wpMyj1u1sdwgo1_500.jpg
https://45.media.tumblr.com/9be111a703abf36707658a68692db3fb/tumblr_ns7w7uplUd1u7gnm9o1_500.gif
https://36.media.tumblr.com/6131177abccd4cfeb44805e5655206ce/tumblr_nqmksl2zl31tkxbkso1_500.jpg
https://41.media.tumblr.com/ea5eb48668a761a8e43dd3436a4cfd57/tumblr_niju4wpMyj1u1sdwgo1_500.jpg
Last edited:
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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https://41.media.tumblr.com/2340add3d4ac1d01577f14e69611d26f/tumblr_o3gii0R8zv1t5z210o1_1280.jpg
Seriously. This is a minimum.
Seriously. This is a minimum.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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https://41.media.tumblr.com/1ddf658bd4aeefbeeab44d03a6d13d25/tumblr_o2vc44r3cw1u9e0bbo1_540.jpg
This is something I am supposed to remember.
Maybe you should remember it too.
This is something I am supposed to remember.
Maybe you should remember it too.
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