May 17, 2005

I can’t believe I wussed out on walking outside for a magical spectacle like snow falling on a geyser. Even harder to believe, I’d probably do the same thing today. Braving the elements to see something special appeals in theory and I admire people who do it – but creature comforts and gift shops thrill me just as much.

In the gift store, I gravitated to one book –  Death in Yellowstone.

It detailed every death in the park since it opened. Some demises were more desirable than others. Given a choice, I prefer a heroin overdose to being eaten alive by a bear. I’d rather walk backwards and drop off a cliff than trip and stumble into a lava pit where my insides would get microwaved so even if rescued, I’d expire in agony as my internal organs melted to goo.

It amazed me, how many ways there were to die in Yellowstone, not that we were looking for anything darker than macabre conversation.

Growing up, Alex shared my distaste for dirt and outhouses. Sam was fine roughing it as long as her stuffed white cat “Kitty” came along. Kitty is no longer young and beautiful like she was on Sam’s first birthday but Sam hasn’t noticed any change. That can happen if people love deeply.

It can but it probably won’t, so don’t get your hopes up. My husband’s eyes laser my flaws like only the long-married can. He’s not afraid to call them to my attention (sometimes he should be). Does he love me less than Sam loves Kitty? I think not.

True love can’t get a foothold when infatuation blinds lovers. It’s born in the bitter realization you and your true love are not, after all, the same person.  You disagree. He thinks you control him, you know it’s really the opposite. He’s not perfect, never will be. Neither are you. Now that you’ve seen him as he truly is (I’m kidding, you’re not even close – it takes years) can you look into his eyes and tell him that you love him?

If so, maybe you do.