We Have the Rest of Our Lives

When I wrote about our wedding day on this blog I said something about how wonderful it was to be loved for all my ordinary attributes, for all the small and simple things that make me fundamentally and effortlessly me. 

The irony in this is that our relationship has been anything but ordinary. 

 

I met him when I wasn't looking. I was focusing on me, on bettering myself, and healing from past hurts. 

But getting to know him felt so much like healing that I couldn't say no. 

So I said something else. 

 

"I'm moving to the East Coast." 

 

I wasn't sure of it until I said it in that moment, and I couldn't take it back after that. Until I said it out loud it was only an idea, a thing I saw faintly in my future, like a light I knew was coming.

 

He said, "That's okay." 

 

And somehow I felt it too. 

 

  

 

We had a matter of months together. As friendship became love, I felt shaky and uncertain when I was alone and my brain overthought and complicated matters. But there was something about being with him that simplified things, something about the way he quieted my fears.

 

But things got complicated fast when he left to go back home for good this time. 

I found myself crying on the way home from the airport. But somehow I never once felt scared that this would end things between us. 

The only problem was that things had barely started, and they were already becoming more difficult.

The rest is a bit of a whirlwind. The rest is something I still struggle to wrap my mind around, that still makes my heart feel like it needs a chance to catch a breath. 

 

We counted months apart. Across more provinces than years, we followed one another. 

 

At some point we were apart for more months than we were together. Then that changed again and we were together for more months than we were apart. 

 

Now I see him every day. 

 

Somewhere along the way I noticed a pattern that made my thinking problematic. Instead of thinking about the fact that we made it, that we are building a real life together in the East Coast, something which seemed so far when we counted the days till we'd see each other again, I started counted the things we'd missed out on. 

The distance robbed us of a few things, and so did the pandemic. I feel like I have been trying to catch up ever since.

 

I have felt this overbearing desire to make up for those missed experiences, the milestones we had to skip, or the phases we had to jump ahead to. 

A relationship that started off so simple and natural became too real too fast. It felt like we had to decide on forever or on staying apart. In the end it felt like we chose forever in a hurry. 

But that doesn't bother me anymore.

 

 

We did a few things backwards. Then, two years after a wedding in the midst of the first lock-down, we finally had our honeymoon.We went away, to an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers, in no ones company but each others. We walked on foot to another country, spoke with foreign ducks, and played mini-golf. We drank champagne in our hotel room as the sun went down.

 

We might have missed out on things, but, in the end, its not the missing that counts. Its how we grew, and comprised, and made things better; it's how we did things we never knew we would.

The milestones come even when their unanticipated, even when you don't realize that you've passed them until you are looking back and see how far you've walked together. 

 

 I'd walk anywhere with you, the short way or the long way. I'd take the detour; I'd walk the steep road. 

I'd walk all the way to France with you, or cross the bridge to Luxembourg to have dinner by the river.

 

If This Were Our Home

Can you imagine if this were our garden? 

Can't you picture me skipping through these trees? Or reading tucked into the cranny of that tree? 

 

Can you imagine if this were our pond? We'd fill it with ducks and give them the names of gentlemen. I'd visit them in the morning, and trail the meadow with them in the evening.

 

If this were our window, I'd look out of it and dream. I'd think about the great wide world at the bottom of this hill; I'd nestle deeper into my cushion and think about how there is no where else I'd rather be. 

 

If this were our house, I'd sit in it after dark and cover pages with stories. I'd know every animal that passes through our land and every bird that sits on our roof. I'd wait for the geese to come home after winter, and pray for the fox during the storm. I'd open this door for the cat at supper time and watch it slip inside and fall asleep.

 

If this were our home, I'd never leave it. And if I did, this home would be the compass by which I would orient everything else. The wide world would spin around it, and I would wander its premise like a forger.

This home would be the center of my map, and I would draw everything else around it and label it by the names of the critters that live here. 

I would name this house after a villa I've dreamed of.
 

If this were our home, my bare-feet would wander every inch, every helm; every floor board would know the feeling of my step. I would know every sound, every creak and croak off by heart, and I would memorize the way every light shines through the bedroom window, the peak of the moon through the curtains and the touch of the sun when I'm waking. If this were my house I would line the walls with my books and skim the spines with my fingers.  

I would know what it is like to be intimate with a house, to know the house just as well as it knows me. I would haunt this house like a memory so that one day when people look down the driveway they would picture me in the window even when I am not at home. 

 You and I are old enough to own a house, but while we're penniless we are still young enough play pretend.

For now, you and I are guests here, skipping through the trees in a hush, stopping to read by the stream in the shade of a tree till it's time to go. 

Our home is the stuff of dreams.  

For now, let's pretend we live here.

 

Wordly

I have found my writerly self in the world. I have been away from home, and come back to the same conclusion. 

 

The world is overwhelming large, and it would take many lifetimes just to discover how vast it really is. 

 

 

 

There would be so much adventure, and no time to come home. There would be so much to see, and a whirlwind of contemplation that never gets to settle in. You could delve into the city, but there are so many more through which you'd want to wander. You could map every wood, and come back next summer just to see it changed. The landscape changes when the sky does. The earth changes with the weather. Each city has a season with a separate face.

 

And when the night rolls in, and the life grows thin, the traveler would realize that they have only scratched the surface of a sea of secrets spaces, unexpected castles in an ancient wood, an ocean brought to life a hundred different ways just by the way the light shines on it; a still stone wall with a murmured story; a river laced with legends. The world is speckled, scattered, sowed and sprinkled, strewed and swimming with things to surprise you.

 

The wind carves out artifacts, but it stashes its favourite secrets under sand and stone. 

Nothing on this earth is really are own. 

We are simply here to try, in our small human way, to take it all in. 

 

 

 

 

 

I have been away and I have realized that the only thing I can do when the world astounds me, takes me away, makes me ache inside, gives me the urge to run away, is write about it. 

Everything else simply won't suffice.

 

 

An Evening on the Lake

Rainy afternoons sometimes give way to the calmest evenings. On this particular night, I found myself within the realms of a pastel painting. 

My husband took me out onto its horizon.

 

The colors shimmered on the water. Soft tones of blue and pink rippled as he took me out across the narrow lake. 

 

 

Through the pastel world we drifted. And yet, I took as many pictures of him as I did of the water. My, was he a sight to see. 

 

 

 

 

Next, he took a few of me, as the world turned blue beyond.  

 

 

 

 

But the sun wouldn't stay, and so, slowly, the colors slipped away. As the blue darkness swept over the water, my husband rowed us back to shore. 

 

 

 

 

The colors grew dim, but for an instant we were painted, picturesque and still.  

So the pastel painting faded into black just as the lovers left its rim.

 

 

  

 

God is an artist. I believe this as surely as I believe in Him.

Rainy Days at the Cottage

It rained at least once each day while we were at the cottage. On this particular day, however, it rained for most of the afternoon into the early evening. After a brief swim in the rain, I slipped into some dry clothes and curled up in a chair with a book.

 

 

Eventually I got so sleepy that I snuck upstairs to the loft where we were sleeping. I awoke to the sound of the rain still pattering on my window and the sound of the trees quivering.

 

Nothing gives me such a deep and comfortable peace as rainy days like these.

Take off to Ontario

Last Thursday I didn't know we would be flying to Ontario the next day. 

We booked our flights at 11:30 at night and packed our bags. Then, after 4 hours of sleep, we headed to the airport. 

I've always wanted to pull off a spontaneous trip like this. Of course, we couldn't have done it without all the people who accommodated their plans for us.

It is now more than a week later, and we are back home and safe in quarantine. I'm still not sure how we pulled it all off, but I'm so glad we did it. What a crazy wonderful time we had.
 

The Road Goes Ever On

These pictures were taken in the Dolomite's in Italy during my grand European adventure last year.
I have wanted to share these pictures with you for quite some time and try and capture this experience. But, somehow, I don't think I could capture with mere words how incredibly breathtaking it was.

As me and my Dad (who thankfully took these fantastic pictures and so helped capture what my words cannot) made our way up the mountain side, and the air got thinner and thinner, I could hear my heart beat in my ears. It seemed to come from all around me. I can remember so vividly the feel of the wind in my hair and the clouds in my lungs. 

We climbed right into the sky, and, when we finally reached the top, despite the fact that I could hardly muster the strength to take another step, looking into the fog and seeing the path beyond, I wanted nothing more than to keep going; To follow the road, and discover what was beyond the fog. 
But the clouds were getting thicker and a storm was beginning to brew. It followed us all the way down the mountain and we only made it home just in time. I don't think I would have had the strength to go much further.   

Rarely have I found so much peace in silence and been so at a loss for words. One day I will go back and see what lies beyond the fog. And this time, I won't turn back. 

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say?"

 

~ Bilbo; The Lord of the Rings by: J.R.R Tolkien

Paris 2016 Pictures

"Paris is not a city, it's a World."

~King Francois the I 

 

 

 

Special thanks to my Dad for always having his camera ready. The pictures turned out great!

You can check out more of his pictures at Heinrich Nikel Photography

Paris 2016

I am finally getting around to posting about my trip.

We arrived in Paris on July 7th. It was the night of the big Soccer game.
I, of course, was not there to see the game, but somehow this was still the highlight of the short time I spent there.
I grew up in a very small town. Where I live everyone knows everyone and the community is very tight.
Growing up I could only dream of big cities like Paris. I could only imagine the stories that took place in these major cities and the tales that were inspired by them. 
Now, thinking back to Paris, there is one memory that is forever going to make my heart sigh. 
It is the lively sound of Paris rising through the open balcony door. It is the shouting and the laughing and the singing, keeping me awake till early in the morning. I hear the car horns blasting, I hear the cheering, I see the lights through the breezy hotel curtains. 
I hear the entire city of Paris coming together to celebrate their victory. 
Who said big cities could not have community spirit when there's so much more spirit to be had?
 

 "A walk through Paris will provide lessons in history, beauty,and in the point of life." ~Thomas Jefferson 

Italy 2016

These pictures were taken on a balcony in Italy.

No Place in Particular

I have asked myself many times in these past weeks if it is possible to belong to no place in particular. 
I cannot help but wonder how many places in this World are capable of capturing my heart. Every place I leave behind I have to promise my skipping little heart that the journey is not over. I tell myself I will return because I simply must see so much more. I just have to know these places and understand them like they're home. 
They say home is where the heart is. So, what if my heart is not set in one place in particular?
 Whether I am on the road, or in the mountains; by the shore or in the valley; in little Italian Villages or in big busy cities;
The truth is, deep down, my heart will never forget that my home is not in this World. My soul is set in heaven, and my heart is ever searching for it. 
But it is my firm belief that, if you know where to look, you can catch glimpses of heaven even in a World that's so close to hell. 

 "You will never be at Home again, because part of your Heart will always be elsewhere. 
That is the price you pay for the richness of Living and Loving people in more than one place..."
 ~Miriam Adeney 

Fernweh

Fernweh~ "The ache for distant places; craving for travel."

Today it has almost been a week since I set out. 

I have gone 3 days with less than 5 hours of sleep. I have walked, climbed and explored till there were blisters on my hands and feet. 

In the past 6 days I have been amidst the bustling spirit of the city; I have heard where pain and troubles are silenced within cathedral walls. I have met the still spirit of ancient landscapes and touched stone walls crippled with time.

And in all the things that I have done, one thing has been made all too clear; I could do this for a lifetime.