this morning, as i poured my second cup of coffee i couldn't help but smile. grandpa always drank coffee when went we went out to eat. it didn't matter what meal it was - breakfast, lunch or dinner - he always ordered a cup of coffee. as waitresses would stop by to check on our table and see if he wanted a refill, he would always say "sure, warm me up". it never made sense to me.until this morning.
did i need that second cup of coffee? nope. did i even want that second cup of coffee? not really. but the little bit left of my first cup was lukewarm because apparently i wasn't drinking it quickly enough. it needed warmed up.
funny how something so small can completely change your day. all day, i have felt grandpa with me. he was with me in the kitchen at work as i poured that second cup of coffee. he was with me as i ever-so-lightly stroked pete's head as we made our way to ohio. he was with me as i passed grocery stores where men walked to their cars with last minute valentine's day flowers.
ask anyone, and they'll tell you. my memory is missing some vital hardware or something because i can barely remember which fake name i've given the lady at the counter when they call it out loud five minutes later as my sandwich order is filled.
i don't remember much, so most of this story comes from the story i've heard over the years. really, grandma is the one who tells it best, but i'll try my hardest to get it right.
one year, many years ago, i learned that my grandpa had never given my grandma flowers. never. in the decades that they had been married, he had never once shown up at the door with so much as a single flower for her.
grandma says that i was outraged and i told him that it was simply pitiful. (she makes a lot out of quoting me here, when she tells the story. she probably says the word pitiful about seven times before moving on with the story. ...the thing is...pitiful doesn't sound like something i would say. pathetic? sure. but pitiful? i'm not sold. regardless, grandma's storytelling always includes a great emphasis on the word, so i don't question it.)
a little while later, i sent grandma flowers and signed the card "pitiful". (or at least, that's how grandma tells it. again, i don't question her on the facts, but i would imagine the truth is that i mentioned it to mom and dad and they did it all.)
grandma loves this story. you should see how much she smiles and laughs as she tells it.
i love the story too. because if you read between the light-hearted lines, you'll find a beautiful love story.
here was a woman who didn't complain because her husband never bought her flowers. she laughed about it. here was a women who didn't question her marriage or her husband's love because he didn't buy her pretty things or offer her grand gestures. she didn't need flowers to know he loved her.
maybe it's because he never let the love run cold. maybe it's because he was consistently warming it up.
love isn't meant to be a sprint. it's a marathon. and if you're going to make it for the long haul, the relationship is going to need constant care and attention. it's going to need to get warmed up every chance you get.
want another fun story? my dad worked at a flower shop when he and my mother were dating and you know what he used to send my mom? dead flowers. yes, DEAD flowers. clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. (he claims it's because mom would make potpourri out of them. she defends him.)
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