A True Love Story
I want to take a moment in between folding the laundry, bouncing the baby and handling business email to explain to you how I got here. For a brief moment I was a free woman, in the prime of my life, kids nearly grown, business and independence flourishing. But something from my past caught up with me. Something that I had longed for..
Many years prior, I had fallen in love with a young man. At the time, I was what you might call ‘unavailable’. At the tail end of a marriage, raising three small children, and making my first attempts at starting my organic clothing line. He was 22 and homeless. He drove the Uhaul full of my stuff out west. A truckload of my children’s belonging, my sewing machine, bins of fabric and all of my dreams. I loved him for that right from the start. We landed here in Eugene Oregon just a few days before the 4th of July. My heart swelled throughout the duration of our epic road trip. We exchanged a few sweet letters and I never stopped dreaming of him. The years rolled on..
Eight long years later he reappeared, on my 38th birthday. It was the best birthday of my life. He was still wild, but ready for love. And I was an free and accomplished woman in my own right. If this was one of those cheesy romance novels ladies, I would knock your socks off here. But since this is just a simple little PG rated blog, suffice to say it was like a light bulb founding it’s socket. He had me perched on the highest branch singing Norah Jone’s songs. I put my business on auto-pilot..
We went to Europe. Starting in Amsterdam, a perfect landing spot for my young American’s first trip abroad. And for me, a seasoned traveler, well I could get a peak at my clothing line Sweet Skins on European racks, at the best little yoga shop in Amsterdam https://www.yogisha.nl/ . We took a full moon boat ride through the canals on his birthday, first and last ever attempt at tandem bike riding, and a visit to each and every cafe within walking distance. And we did walk the distance!
In Paris, he yelled from a rooftop apartment window in a fit of mad passion. I got blisters on both heals from Champs-Elysee to the Obelisk. Thank god for a ride home in a hip hop bumpin’ rickshaw! We stumbled upon an grand, velvet draped theater just in time to see a one woman show of ‘Frida Kahlo”, seemly just for us (in French)!
I felt at home in Spain, but it was fleeting. Before we knew it, we were squeezed into a second class bunker, on a moonlit train ride to Germany. In Munich, he became one of the family, as my lost uncle Don welcomed us. We stumbled upon Oktoberfest without even planning it. Deep roots were stirred in Munich.
We learned something about maneuvering in train stations where people speak four different languages, none of which are English. We ate snails, and raw seafood, and rotisserie chicken flavored potato chips. It was another epic adventure with my True Love. And when we arrived home, we were as good as pregnant…