Shaking the Bushes

In a sense, I've already written this piece several times; a paragraph here and there ripped from any of my articles would succinctly embody my view on the reckless and all encompassing emotion of love; one that can sometimes make one sit up in the middle of the asphalt rubbing one's head as the bus that hit you disappears on down the road around a curve.

I find the love between two people to be an evolution of sorts that should be embraced, nurtured, and respected. Sadly, many young people don't stick it out long enough for to realize the perpetuation of the evolution of which I speak. In a society where young professionals hop from company to company, even career to career, chasing a corner office and a fatter paycheck, we've emerged as a culture of habitual abandoners of situations that aren't immediately profitable. We see this tendency fester and infect other aspects of our lives. Some of these deteriorations are subtle and some are more extreme; you can see the rusting away of society's virtues plastered all over the front page of any number of tabloids. If the Go-Green crowd were really concerned with trees, I think they could make a sizable dent in their agenda by shutting down the trash-magazine industry. My wife will smack me for saying that, but I get smacked a lot, and I'll take a bullet for my beliefs in this instance.

I don't care that Brittney isn't wearing underwear; we've all forgotten to do so.

I don't care if Tom Cruise is weirder than snake-shoes - it's his right to be, and it is, in turn, my right to say "God - that guy's weirder than snake-shoes".

I don't' see why J-lo's baby bump is any more miraculous than that of any single working woman who decides to keep her baby instead of terminating the pregnancy for the sake of convenience, or because she doesn't know how she's going to support a child. Yes, yes, yes - I know that my dear friends out there who are all way more brilliant and progressive than I am are now getting painful twitching cramps in their foreheads caused by over exerting the seldom used muscles needed to rigidly arch their favorite eyebrow, but that's just how I feel. In Trevor's simple mind, Babies = Good. I'll leave the advanced mathematics that may alter this equation to my aforementioned brilliant friends who are better suited to tackle such complexities.

I find that love starts as a smoldering ember, flares up into a roaring fire that is both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and then dies down to a comfortable glow without which you don't want to exist. Most people jump off the train when the roaring fire dies down mistaking the ebb in activity as a tell-tale sign of failure, or an excuse to move on.

Love can be described in its most precious, and at the same time, it's most powerful, in the eight beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount. Even if you're not Christian, or if you're an atheist, you can't deny the true path to happiness attainable by the love it takes to adopt the following behaviors into your life. You wouldn't believe me if I didn't practice what I preach, so I've included the ways in which I've strived to live by these guidelines.

Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven
Be humble - I may just be the greatest thing since low-carb diets and liposuction, but I don't go around proclaiming it.

Blessed are the meek for they shall possess the land.
Be gentle - I've always taken great care to be humane when rubbing our dog's nose in her accidental discharges of what my son refers to as 'uh-oh' our kitchen floor.

Blessed are they who mourn for they shall be comforted
Value your fellow man over material things - I'm sure if I had material things nice enough to make this a struggle, I'd make the right choice 85% of the time.

Blessed are those who hunger for justice for they shall have their fill
Be fair - If kitty can use the bathroom inside, so can the baby...I suppose. Geez.

Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy
Be forgiving - In all seriousness, this is the biggie. Even if you can't comprehend granting forgiveness for a transgression, do it anyway. It's not one of those things that you need put off until you've composed yourself; it's not like making the mistake of banging out and sending a furious email while wounds are still fresh and emotions are running high. Don't give anyone the power to make you a monster. Forgive first, ask questions later.

Blessed are the clean of heart for they shall see God
Don't dwell on perversions...or rent them, or buy them, or act in them - if you already have, stop it. In fact - send them to me so I can dispose of them properly. My address is 2446 Avalon...

Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God
Don't just live in peace, but preserve it. - On a serious note: all I can do is pray and vote. But know that I have Rambo-like instincts and a red headband and am perfectly willing to start my own militia consisting of balding fantasy football junkies, and tipsy volunteer firemen.

Blessed are they who suffer persecution for justice's sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven
Don't back down because your beliefs aren't popular. Again, don't give anyone the power to make you a monster, or worse, a mindless piece of livestock.

Having gotten that out of the way, I'll delve into those feelings on which we focus every February 14^th in a more Trevor-like manner.

I met my wife at work. She was, (and is) gorgeous, sweet, funny, and to my masterful eye, perfect. The light from her radiant smile blinds anyone in the immediate vicinity. She used to walk past my desk and the wind she displaced would rustle my hair; I'd inhale, smelling her perfume, and her Coconut scented shampoo. I'd get a pleasant burning sensation in my stomach and an instant fever would flush my cheeks. Recall, if you will, that scene in the Godfather when the guy is getting riddled with bullets on the front steps of the church. The scene unfolds in slow motion, my body ripped into by ammunition, crashing to my knees, and then slowly falling over onto my stomach. That's' what seeing my wife for the first time was like for me, but in like...a good way.

Sigh

My wife and I moved in together a few years later after I'd managed to trick her into believing I was anywhere close to being in her league. We only had a single bed at first, and I spent many nights in that twilight state between awake and asleep relishing the warmth of her head on my chest as she snoozed quietly. Sometimes a dainty stream of drool rolled down my chest and into my armpit. Isn't that precious. When I would try to move to scratch an itch or shift my position ever so slightly, her little hands would clench on my shoulder or chest unwilling to let me go. It wasn't until my legs were shaking enough to wake her that she'd mercifully allow me to get up and go to the bathroom.

Love is as much about the reciprocation of love as it is loving.

A few years later we had to trudge through some tragic events together. If you take only one thing with you into your life after reading this, I beg you to make what I'm about to say that thing. Love isn't believing that, 'with this person by my side, everything will be okay.' Some people think so but I'm telling you that's wrong - it's an illusion. Sometimes things so horrible can happen that 'Okay' is permanently scratched off of the list of possible eventualities. Love is accepting the idea that, if things aren't going to be okay, you want them to be 'not okay' with this person by your side.

Accept that seemingly grim reality and you'll find that the remaining good things are enhanced to a degree that you can barely believe possible; the dawn is brighter, the wine sweeter, and the love is truly unconditional. The universe has a way of rewarding your submission to its dark side by making the sun shine more warmly on your face.

A few years later, newly married, we set off to the Magic Kingdom in Disney World for our honeymoon. My wife was still only a few months out of her first hip-replacement, and scheduled to go under the knife to have the second one replaced a few weeks later. The pain from the hip which was slowly healing, and that of the other which was rapidly deteriorating, confined her to a wheelchair. This was minor setback when compared the magic of Disney world, in our eyes. I wheeled her all over that park. We laughed all day, hit a few people, and we spent too much money. It wouldn't have been a Magic Kingdom without her there.

That night in the hotel, a horrible sun burn tightened over my arms, shoulders, and neck. My thighs were chafed from miles of walking in ill-fitting shorts. I nursed my injuries as well as a bottle of rum. (Yo-ho-ho). I fell asleep with my head in her lap, as she rubbed lidocaine gel on my shoulders and neck. I still associate the pungent aroma of that gel to one of the happiest days of my life. I'd be all smiles in a burn ward. How many people can say that? The next day at Epcot center I got her a scooter. We saw Barbara Bush, and I got tackled by the Secret Service agnets who leapt off of their Segways to take me down as I chased the golf-cart convoy hoping to secure a photo for our wedding album. I wouldn't appreciate anyone else pretending not to know me more than I did my beautiful wife, as she shook her head from side to side when asked by park attendants if I was with her.

When she was pregnant with our son, she not only grew in size, but in beauty. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in an amber waterfall, her eyes twinkled cerulean, vanilla ice cream dripped from her mouth as she screamed obscenities at her mother on the phone, and her skin took on a golden glow. She struggled, and grunted like a little Labrador puppy when rising from chairs and out of bed, as her stomach got bigger and bigger and bigger; it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

When our son came along what we thought was love exploded into something unimaginable as we looked into his big blue eyes for the first time. Mommy was coming out from under anesthetization when they brought baby to me to feed for the first time. He stared at me, his little arms wrapped around my hand, pinching the skin below my knuckles with his tiny fingers as he slurped noisily on a bottle. Those eyes said of "What the hell just happened?" And at the same time, "Don't go anywhere, Daddy." I was, again, smitten; overwhelmed by more emotion than I'd been forced to face since my brother's death, I broke down.

Twenty-one months after that day, my wife and I now know to cherish the few moments we get together after we've successfully put the little monster to bed. We spend those moments curled up together like we did all those years ago. I've taken up the snoring/drooling duties, but she still tightens her grip when I try to move, even when it's to get up because the baby, a full blown terror of a toddler, is slamming his heels against the common wall we share with our neighbors yelling Sponge-Bob-Square-Pants over and over at the top of his lungs.

So, my advice is to throw yourselves at love with reckless abandon, and make sure protect your investment by approaching life with the knowledge I've imparted to you.