Day 92: To Love, always to love

Last night we sat on the beach on a blanket with a cheap bottle of wine between us.  Passing it back and forth we toasted everything.  To finding love, I said.  He saluted the bottle and I took a sip.  To the Ocean, he said.  Oh yes, I agreed.  To the Ocean- it never changes, never judges, and listens without ever saying a word.  To the Ocean. 

We're feeling pretty miserable after waiting ten days for a mortgage loan officer to return with a preapproval. She e-mailed twice, said she would call, definitely tomorrow. But like a lousy date, she doesn't call. And we're feeling bummed and a little bit rejected.


So we continued on for an hour or so, toasting everything we could think of.  To Jillian Michaels (who's workouts I can feel all day long).  To the Dream and never letting go.  To Personal Legends.  To Beringer White Zinfandel.  To the stars.  To Old Orchard Beach and the lights that still flicker in the off-season.  To Spring.  To the Portland Jet Port as we watch the lights of a plane that takes off and then vears high above us.  To Love, always to love.
 
And then, there's nothing more to toast.  The bottle has somehow emptied and we lie, half on the blanket, half on the damp sand and stare up at the bright pinpoints of light.  We make up names and pretend like we know each constellation.  We see about seven little dippers and half a dozen planets.  Then it's cold and I remember we have fresh baked sugar cookies at home.  We gather up the wet blanket.  Rich corks the bottle and sends it sailing into the surf, some kind of momento of the night.  But the tide is low and we both hear it hit the edge of the sand with a thud.  The Tide will pull it away in the morning, I say.  More seaglass.  So we shrug our shoulders and wander home feeling a little bit loopy and silly, but holding hands.  And even through the fog, I know that I'm happy.  That this is love, and love is good.