Peace In The Margins

One of my favorite movies of all time is Pretty Woman with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts. In the ending scene (a HEA of course) Richard Gere has the limo driver take him to where Vivian, played by Julia Roberts, lives. Of course, that means this millionaire will be driven to the more impoverished side of town. Vivian is startled when she hears the La Traviata Overture blasting from the limo and leans out her window to see the approaching limo – Richard Gere standing through the sunroof with a bouquet of flowers waving in the wind. Richard Gere then climbs out of the limo to conquers his fear of heights by scaling the metaphorical tower (the fire escape) to save the princess. When he reaches Vivian’s efficiency apartment window – with the flowers in hand – he says, “So what happens after he (the hero) climbs up the tower and rescues her?” To which she responds, “She rescues him right back.” And they kiss as the scene fades and all the romantics in the theater – or on their couch – sigh a wistful sigh.

And this isn’t the only time something like this happens in the movies or television. Over and over one person in a couple wishes the other would do more “romantic things.” Has this ruined us for the little things?

I am not normally a high maintenance gal. My husband might tell you otherwise, but we both know it just ain’t true. My favorite nights are spent cuddling with the cats, drinking tea, and reading a good book.

I feel like less is more, but also want the less to be the best. So, the kitchen pans, bath salts, and living room throw blankets might cost a little more than what you’d find at Walmart, but the quality and durability will far exceed the big box store brands as well.

Even with that, I do love receiving flowers at work or coming home to a surprise candlelight dinner and a romantic bubble bath. It’s the little things.

On the flip side, I often take for granted the expressions of love done in silence.

Now that I’m the only one working full time, the hubs has taken it upon himself to have a laundry day – it’s always Monday, his day off. He gets up in the morning with me, sees me off to work, and the takes the laundry basket down to the basement laundry facilities in our building. He has a timer on his phone so he can plop the clothes in the washer, come back up to the apartment, clean, eat breakfast, drink a cup of coffee, and then go put the clothes in the dryer. He’s even careful to not dry any of my more delicate clothing items.

He’ll set the timer again and then go get the clothes, bring them back to the apartment where he folds, hangs, and puts them away.

The dishes are always washed, the floor is usually swept and often mopped, the bed is made, and the cats are happy.

So why is it that I struggle to recognize the little things done in the quiet as an expression of love? Is it because I did those things our entire life without recognition and feel that it’s about damn time the hubs got on the train? Or is it because of unrealistic expectations created by the mainstream media?

Flowers are wonderful, chocolates are sweet, mountain overlook picnics are swoon-worthy, but it’s the little things that will last. It’s the never miss a goodnight kiss kind of love that endures. It’s the wash the dishes and fold the laundry compassion that meets us where we are in the moment. It’s the safety and security of knowing that the one you love most also loves you just as much – that’s what lasts – that’s true love.

Never take the little things for granted, y’all because it’s the little things that withstand the test of time.