Ice Mountain

This won't last (I can almost promise it), but tonight I'll write.

I've never been picky about which brand of bottled water I buy, but last night I picked out Ice Mountain for my dorm room.  I know this may sound like a silly and little thing, but now everytime I pick a bottle out of the fridge, I'm taken back to sitting at his counter in the kitchen with his parents.  I can see his mom playing Sodoku, him and his dad reading the paper or watching television or on their computers, and me folding a Starburst wrapper.  I loved those moments at the counter.  I love those simple opportunities to spend time with him and learn more about his character and family.

Take me back to yesterday, where the line between right and wrong didn't seem so hazy...
-The Judds

If I know what love is, it is because of you.
-Hessee

Young.  Old.  Just words.
-Hessee

Where there is love, there is life.
-Gandhi

Doesn't every teenage girl dream of a love that will last a lifetime?  Erma did.  Things were looking up for her.  The depression had just ended, and a handsome older boy had just moved into the neighboring farm as well.
    
She had always struggled a little with algebra.  Earle, known as Mac, found his way into her home and heart by tutoring her.  Friendship deepened as the two spent more and more time together: He skillfully playing the harmonica and guitar, she accompanying him on the piiano, and her family singing along.

The time passed quickly.  Erma graduated from high school, and she was looking forward to a summer of excitement with her by-then steady boyfriend.  Mac knew the timing was perfect.  It was a cool summer evening, and the two held hands as they sat together on the front porch swing.

The conversation paused for a moment.  The nervous young man stood up from the swing, only to bend back down on one knee.  Erma's heart raced.  "Could he be...?" she wondered.  And he did.  As Mac put a diamond on her finger, Erma thanked God for sending her the Boy Next Door.

Now a war, three children, cancer, grandchildren and more than six decades later, Earle and Erma's love is stronger than ever.  Their love has been tested by time and proven unconditional.  I listen to my grandparents tell their love story, and suddenly I become the dreaming teenage girl...

PostSecret.blogspot.com

Two elements remind me of Dad: wood and leather.

My dad's hands are cracked and rough.  He is determinedly a hardworker, a man's man.  One of the things Dad works so hard at is carpentry, probably his favorite hobby.  At nights he comes in from his wood shop smelling of stain and sawdust, wearing the familiar plaid jacket Bethany and I like to steal.  Dad has built from scratch some of my most prized posessions: my rolling pin, jewelry case, and hope chest.  He may not be an artist, but Dad's finished products are priceless wooden masterpieces-- an artform in themselves.

My friends are intimidated by my dad, something that I find laughable.  They say he is unreadable and concrete.  Sure, Dad is the firm one in the family, the calm and steady Head of the Household.  He does not get torn apart in stressful or extreme situations, like when Granny died.  But what my friends do not see is the leather-like softness of Dad.  When he is with the family, he comes alive.  I notice the way he holds Zoë as she falls asleep.  I watched him wipe a single tear off his cheek when we hugged Nathaniel the night he left for Iraq, and I recall all those deep conversations between him and my brothers across the dinner table.  He dances in the living room with Bethany and me, jumps out to scare people from behind the refridgerator, and kisses Mom too much in the kitchen.  [Conclusion to be written.]