Love and the Art of Attack

Last weekend, my husband and I went away to celebrate our 22nd anniversary. Twenty-two years! This sometimes stuns me; the only other thing I’ve done for 22 years in a row is draw breath. It doesn't help that I spend most of my life feeling like I’m late for study hall, and my homeroom teacher is really going to write me up for it this time.

Love and marriage, love and marriage—the song says—go together like a horse and carriage. So speaking of love, it was interesting to come across two lines of poetry recently that seem to say conflicting things about it. The first is from Edgar Allan Poe:

Years of love have been forgot in the hatred of a minute. (To--)

The second from King Solomon:

Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot sweep it away. (The Song of Solomon)

But which is true? Is Poe right: is love like a tree that, rooted and grounded by decades of slow, sure growth can nevertheless be ripped from the ground and swept away by the flash flood of a moment’s hatred? Or, as Solomon says, is love more like a boulder, settled square in the middle of a river that, though it may disappear when the waters rise, is still there once they recede? Well…having been legally tied to the same person for this long, I think they’re both true. Twenty-two years of anything usually has a lot of love and a lot of hatred bound up in it.

Love and Hatred

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Shopping for Accoutrements, or Embarrassing Things That Happen on Vacation

Readers of this blog might like to know that at this very moment, my mother is likely dying a small death of shame over the title I’ve chosen. This is because, in Mom’s parlance, accoutrements refers to a very specific kind of female undergarment. One worn on the top half of one’s body. My mother, let me note, adopted this term out of her wonderful wry and intelligent sense of humor. She would probably prefer I not write a public blog post about unmentionable undies and so, no doubt, would you, but still I am going to do it. But don’t worry, that’s not the only embarrassing thing I plan to write about.

Embarrassing

The “Vacation” part of the title is because my husband and sons are away camping for the week, and my daughter is mostly engaged in the serious young adult business of Going Out Somewhere, which leaves just me and the dogs home alone. All week. It’s wonderful! I wash dishes, and they stay washed. Three days ago, I grocery shopped, and the refrigerator is still full. I have almost excavated the laundry pile down to the place where the floor is visible again. (We had all begun to doubt of its existence.) I miss my menfolk of course, just…not all that much. Not yet.

I’m not actually on vacation vacation. Not the kind where your employer pays you for not working: I still have to show up at my desk 3 days this week. But today was my day off, and I awoke thinking, It’s going to be a great day!

The wrench in the works is that I had to spend a good part of it, as already mentioned, shopping for accoutrements.

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In Which I am Interviewed by Princess Kate Middleton

Okay, not really, but I WAS interviewed by a Cool British blog. This month, All Right Here was one of 2 American CBA books chosen to be featured as part of a summer book club in my favorite favourite Land Across the Pond. To give you an idea of the Coolness Magnitude of this honor, I'll mention that the other featured book is The Third Target by the amazing Joel Rosenberg. (And I can't believe I just got to mention my own book in the same paragraph as one of Joel Rosenberg's.)

Here's one of my favorite lines from the interview: 

So many of us were raised with the idea that being nice and inoffensive at all costs is somehow the same as being Christ-like. This is a ridiculous notion. We should treat ourselves with the same consideration and respect we’d offer to any other person created in the image of God. 

You can read the rest of the interview, if you're so inclined, by clicking on the link to This Cool British Blog Thanks, Great Britain! *waves across the pond* (Apologies in advance for the huge, scary picture of my face.)