Romance
I heard one man ask another on the train today,
"So you give her a rose a year?"
"Yeah, that's about it."
Four vases of flowers at the front desk of surgery. In front of each a sign.
"No, this isn't yours either."
Stereotypical modern romance is twee and boring and soulless. It's not about love, but it is about not feeling loved. It's not about a warm home. It is about nostalgia, and like all nostalgia, is it yearning for a time that never was, for knights and princesses, for perfect dates, lush weddings and Hallmark moments.
Roses, dinner dates, champagne, heart shaped boxes, rings. A formulae. How to be Romantic in Five Easy Steps! Much harder to be a real romantic. To make up one's own gestures, and perform them every day, with a full heart and attentive humor. Worth it for the reality. And the stories.
Nothing wrong with adding traditional trappings to a deep growing affection, if that is to the taste of those involved. What is wrong is when it's paper mache, hollow and full of those icky candy hearts with stupid messages. Wrong when mandatory roses and candy at inflated prices are a litmus test, or a substitute for real affection. Insufficient when it demands no imagination.
Early on, on one of those mandatory gift giving occasions, I told D not to give me anything frivolous, and what I really needed was a good stainless steel mixing bowl. He was dubious, but he took me at my word, and got me a nice set of bowls. I was so touched at the underlying message. He listens to me, and he believes me. Now that is romantic.
He orders food for us when I get home too tired to think, or makes other phone calls for me when I just can't stand to talk to anyone. He will order for me in restaurants when I am stressed and stuttering. I point, he translates. He makes me tea. He gives me the Fortean Times to read first. He fixes my computer when I hit something wrong and can't figure out what. He watches Cops! with me. He thinks me romantic for watching Zatoichi and Bond with him, and rubbing his feet for no reason.
We use those bowls all the time.
He still thanks me for the fish balloon I brought him, the day he was caught in the tornado.
"So you give her a rose a year?"
"Yeah, that's about it."
Four vases of flowers at the front desk of surgery. In front of each a sign.
"No, this isn't yours either."
Stereotypical modern romance is twee and boring and soulless. It's not about love, but it is about not feeling loved. It's not about a warm home. It is about nostalgia, and like all nostalgia, is it yearning for a time that never was, for knights and princesses, for perfect dates, lush weddings and Hallmark moments.
Roses, dinner dates, champagne, heart shaped boxes, rings. A formulae. How to be Romantic in Five Easy Steps! Much harder to be a real romantic. To make up one's own gestures, and perform them every day, with a full heart and attentive humor. Worth it for the reality. And the stories.
Nothing wrong with adding traditional trappings to a deep growing affection, if that is to the taste of those involved. What is wrong is when it's paper mache, hollow and full of those icky candy hearts with stupid messages. Wrong when mandatory roses and candy at inflated prices are a litmus test, or a substitute for real affection. Insufficient when it demands no imagination.
Early on, on one of those mandatory gift giving occasions, I told D not to give me anything frivolous, and what I really needed was a good stainless steel mixing bowl. He was dubious, but he took me at my word, and got me a nice set of bowls. I was so touched at the underlying message. He listens to me, and he believes me. Now that is romantic.
He orders food for us when I get home too tired to think, or makes other phone calls for me when I just can't stand to talk to anyone. He will order for me in restaurants when I am stressed and stuttering. I point, he translates. He makes me tea. He gives me the Fortean Times to read first. He fixes my computer when I hit something wrong and can't figure out what. He watches Cops! with me. He thinks me romantic for watching Zatoichi and Bond with him, and rubbing his feet for no reason.
We use those bowls all the time.
He still thanks me for the fish balloon I brought him, the day he was caught in the tornado.
Labels: custom, D, love story
Posted by Zhoen on Tuesday, February 14, 2006
9 comments:
(o)
zhoen, I wholly agree with you about all that obligatory "romantic" crap on valentine's day or any other day. Who needs a prescribed day for love, or any other emotion? Anyhow, I've never been able to see the "romance" in chocolates, hearts & flowers, restaurant dates etc. I've got better ideas about what's romantic but they're private and always involve humour:)
Thanks for putting me on your blogroll. I'm honoured.
I think you hit your essay groove, again. Very good stuff!
It's all there in that last sentence, if I can only figure it out...
I love this. Because it's you, through and through.
(o)
He listens to me, and he believes me. Now that is romantic
Yes. Exactly.
(o)
Outstanding act of (now)ex-husband who thought flowers and perfume were appropriate gifts:
buying me a staple gun when that's what I asked for.
Yep.
Being listened to counts, indeed.
Nice piece.
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