Tiny Love Stories

We hosted a dinner on our porch last night that might have been one of my favorite dinner parties ever.... 

Below is the invitation we sent out a few months ago as we were trying to find a date that would work for everyone. 

Dear Esteemed Friends,

 It's time to get the band back together! You are cordially invited to our next iteration of our infamous Codswallop dinner.  This time we'll be sharing tiny love stories. You might be asking, "What are tiny love stories?" Well- there's a wonderful book about them that I read this past year and a weekly column in The New York Times, and this is what it says in the introduction of the book:  "Tiny Love Stories began as a challenge from the editors of Modern Love at The New York Times: 'What kind of love story can you share in two tweets, an Instagram caption or a Facebook post? Tell us a love story from your own life- happy or sad, capturing a moment or a lifetime- in no more than 100 words.' These stories- honest, funny, tender and wise- each as moving as a lyric poem, all told in no more than 100 words. An electrician lights up a woman’s life, a sister longs for her homeless brother, strangers dream of what might have been.  Love lost, found and reclaimed. Love that’s romantic, familial, platonic and unexpected. Most of all, these stories celebrate love as it exists in real life: a silly remark that leads to a lifetime together, a father who struggles to remember his son, ordinary moments that burn bright. " ****See a few of my favorites below. 

Guidelines for the evening (similar to last time): 

1) Each person will bring their story to share and take turns sharing them.  Bonus points if no one else knows this story (but no pressure given that spouses will be in the house).

2) People may choose when to share theirs.

3) The last person to share their toast will be required to sing the first two lines of their story.  (BC- please, please go last. We love to hear you sing.) 

Food and Drink Directions:

1.  Bring a drink of choice to share with the group

2.  Bring 1-2 appetizers that would fit into a tapas theme for dinner (we'll provide dessert)

We cannot wait to hear your stories!

Emily and Jason

**** A few favorites:

He Tried So Hard to Remember Me

When my 61-year-old father learned he had Alzheimer’s, we went to CVS together and bought the largest stack of notecards they sold. I asked, “What’s the town where you grew up?” We wrote Union Springs, Alabama. I asked, “Who was your first kiss?” Amanda. Four years later, preparing to move my father into memory care, I packed up his desk. Taking the notecards felt silly, so I wrapped the long-forgotten stack in a rubber band and opened his drawer to toss them away. Inside, I found more notecards. They all said the same thing: my name.

When Love is a Recipe

Chopped celery and squared potatoes waiting in the fridge. On the counter, a jug of water and a slow cooker filled with dried peas. On the lid, a tiny note from my husband, the professional chef, to me, who burns water. “At noonish: (1) Add water. (2) Add veggies. (3) Stir. (4) Plug in. (5) Forget.” His sweetly crooked handwriting. His unconditional faith in me. Between steps 4 and 5, it hit me. Married love is seldom about the grand gesture. Sometimes it simply shows up as a recipe from  your partner, helping you make a tasty pot of soup.

A Breakfast Betrayed

We had been married just a few weeks. I used the last of the milk one morning and left for work while my husband was still in the shower. I returned that evening to find an art installation on the table, labeled in neat handwriting on a folded-over notecard. “A Breakfast Betrayed. 1993. Wheat on ceramic.” Next to it was a bowl of cereal my husband had poured for himself- sitting milk-less. For more than twenty-five years, we have continued to treat domestic annoyances with humor. Our love has lasted; but even better, so has the fun.

Water Rushing Beneath Us

The sign read CROSS FORD AT YOUR OWN RISK. “What’s a ford?” I asked. “A low water bridge,” you said, slowing the car. The ford was submerged, but you drove onto it and opened your door. Water rushed beneath the car. “Open yours,” you said. I sat, frozen. You laughed. I opened the door an inch, then more. “Now listen.” The sound of the creek filled the car. I breathed in wet grass, mud, dead leaves. I reached down and let the water run through my fingertips. Life with you, I knew, would be different.

There was a lot of laughter and then there were some very poignant stories that made us all misty-eyed. Overall, it was such an amazing night being on the porch listening to and celebrating the tiny love stories we all wrote and shared around the table. 

Here is the one that I wrote and shared for our gathering: 

Father Daughter Dance

We scouted the rapid and talked about what strokes we would do to chart the course down the falls. I had a few butterflies in my stomach as we had not paddled together in about 10 years, and I wanted to pull my weight and make my dad proud. I took some hard forward and draw strokes in the bow.  Even at almost 75, Dad’s arms are ripped, and his stern pry strokes, forward strokes, and braces have a lot of power behind them. We made it down the falls hearing the cheers from my mom and my kids on the shore, and as we pulled into an eddy, I turned around and gave my dad a high five and a big smile. I love how I still get to stand on his shoes as we do this father daughter dance.