wifecize wednesday: bluetoothing

We had a Couple (WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS) over to our house for lunch on Sunday. Both of them are friends of ours, which made for amusing witty banter, and the lemon/thyme roast chicken + potatoes/carrots that Andrew made was deeeelicious (aren't I blessed? I know!).

After lunch we "retired to the parlour" (which is our way of saying "let's sit on the couches in our living room which are right beside our dining room table") to consume tea. Solomon, our 7-month chocolate lab, was busy inspecting our guests' crotches, so Andrew went upstairs to retrieve an old T-shirt. He came back down, tied it in a knot, and handed one end to me. We each pulled on our end, never breaking the stream of conversation we were having with the Couple.

Guy of Couple: "What...are you guys doing?"
Us: [pause]
Guy: "With the T-shirt?"
Me: "Oh, we're making a tight knot in the middle so Solomon can play with it. It's his favourite toy. T-shirt-in-a-knot."
[Andrew ties double knot and we resume tugging furiously]
Guy to Girl: "I think this is what we have to look forward to."

Guy was right, I realized. The dizzying phase of early dateship paves way for the romance of late dateship, which then turns into the domestic bliss* of marriage.

I can still remember the morning after Andrew and I reunited at a friends' wedding, danced all night, exchanged phone numbers, and went our separate ways, and I can remember the song playing in my mind as I woke was "I Hear Music" by Brisa Roché. I can remember the first time Andrew held my hand, in a movie theater, as he asked me if anything was wrong because he could feel my pulse pounding in my thumb. I can remember the first time he kissed me, outside University College, and tripping twice on the way back to the car because I felt lightheaded.

What we have now, however, outweighs all memories of what we had then. It's in the bluetoothing Andrew and I do every day together: gelling our thoughts, dreams, expectations, jokes, advice, anticipations, and prayers, until the two start to become one.

It's in silly things like wordlessly handing someone one end of a knotted T-shirt and expecting they'll know what to do with it.

* See this post's disclaimer.

2-in-1: wednesday wifersize & friday foto

Since it's been three weeks since my last post, here is both a belated Wifercize Wednesday and a Friday Foto.

Wifercize Wednesday Friday:
Poking around a blog I frequent (BUT CAN NOT CONDONE), I found a curious question posted on its community section:

If you have them, what are the three "nevers" of your life?

Ignoring the number of people that wrote "never say never" as one of their three...followed by two others (really?), I waded my way through until I found one that resounded: "Never marry a man unless you want your son to be just like him."

I had heard variations of this before - comparing a prospective husband to other influential people in your life, including your father, yourself, your male role models, etc. - but never in relation to a son. Fortuitously, since I did not know about this rule prior to marriage, I won. Andrew has so many admirable qualities and characteristics, I would be proud to have a mini-Andrew.

Understanding that people (even little people) make their own decisions and can choose differ greatly from their parents, and understanding even more than many of the flaws and generational garbage that Andrew and I have can and hopefully will be eradicated in their lives, I still believe in the power and blessing of posterity. In mulling over when and if it should be time to start a family (and, in essence, forever changing the two-person "us" factor of our first years of dating and marriage), I recently came to the conclusion that if our kids would be an extension, an amalgamation, of him and me: knowing him, wouldn't I see him in them every day? Wouldn't I, seeing them, love him more?


Friday Foto:
I'm happy to say I've completed a 10 year old goal. For those of you who commute via public transit, you will be familiar with the graffiti art displayed from Dundas West station to Keele station as the subway emerges from its tunnel.

At the age when I began to use the TTC I lived in the Beaches, in the east end of Toronto. My fascination with and ignorance of the west end was partially due to never exploring the city past Spadina station (that's where Kensington market was and, therefore, as far west as my teenaged heart could desire) unless it was from what I gathered from the window of a subway car, partially due to Old Mill station (I could spot the magical Old Mill itself, where my parents were married and which was familiar to me from old wedding photos), and partially due to this graffiti mural. I naturally assumed the west (especially between Dundas West station and Keele station) was a dark, seedy underworld of crime and violence, pitting itself against the majestic forces of Old Mill.

The trip from the Beaches to Kipling is long. You would not fault me for fanciful daydreaming if you knew.

Ever since those years I wanted to make the time to get off at Dundas West and document the mural on foot until Keele, but never did until recently. Unfortunately, the original mural that I grew up with has been painted over and this is a new incarnation.

There's something about graffiti - illegal (unless commissioned, which these murals no doubt are) and vandalistic - that transforms an otherwise drab city into a palette of colour. I mean, if you're going to break the law, there are worse things you could do.

From west (Keele station) to east (Dundas West station). Click on an image to see a larger version. Please try to ignore any obscenities. It adds to the colour!