Let’s talk about all the ways there are to love…
I love my daughter when she wakes up singing, when she wears her “signature” flower pin to school every day and freaks out when she can’t find it.
I love my best friend’s husband when he makes me a list of things to buy my gentleman caller for his birthday.
I love my gentleman caller for not insisting upon a label like “boyfriend”.
I love my ex-husband for discussing with me his decision to remarry.
I love my mom for letting me bitch that my ex’s remarriage is hasty.
And I love her for letting me call two hours later to say I shouldn’t be judgmental.
I love my girlfriend for knowing why these things hurt, and I love our other girlfriend for having us both to dinner – last-minute – a deconstructed nicoise salad she threw together with seared tuna and hardboiled eggs from the chickens in her backyard.
I love my boss for encouraging me to write, and the boss before her for encouraging me to do the internet thing, and the boss before him for encouraging me to edit.
I love the society lady who invited me to her home to talk about the Swan Ball, drank Smirnoff on ice, and marveled at the bike rack on my car instead of the dents in the fender.
I love my friend who reminds me my kid is “smart, strong and cool”.
I love my friend’s kid who told us to all look outside to see the double rainbow, and I love the group of friends who ran to see it.
I love that we all went from house to house mowing each other’s lawns (and drinking beer; we called it “Drink & Mow”) and formulating a plan to live communally.
I love that when some truly awful things happen among this group and its concentric circles, that our communal living plan looks better, not worse.
I love my city for being the kind of place that has society ladies and confident boyfriends and friendly ex-husbands and thoughtful children and good ideas and communally minded entrepreneurs and suburban chickens and liberated girlfriends and awesome other people’s husbands.
It’s a good little space in time we’ve got here.