Last night, we hosted our second rendition of the wildly successful Tiny Love Stories Dinner Party that we hosted back in 2021 with some of our wonderful neighbors. What a sweet evening of storytelling and reminiscing about love in our midst...
The prompt for the evening on the invite is below:
Dear Esteemed Friends,
We are excited to finally get the band back together this week for Codswallop 2025 on Thursday, July 24th at 6:00 pm. The prompt I sent out before is below, and we can't wait to hear your stories.
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 a few years ago 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."
Yes- Harry got a spot at the table because my tiny love story was about him....
To Harry,
with Love
In the fall of
2000, Jason and I wandered into a toy store in downtown Seattle, just passing
the time — until I spotted him. He was super soft, with gentle eyes, and
just the right size. Love at first sight. I didn’t buy him that day but
couldn’t stop thinking about him. When I finally went back to the store, he was
gone. Tragic. Or so I thought. It turns out,
Jason had already doubled back, adopted the bear, and sent him — in true
holiday-movie fashion — to my parents’ house to be waiting for me under the
Christmas tree. I named him Harry, after a friend we’d met in Kenya that previous
summer. He’s been with
me ever since: through moves and through motherhood. He sat beside me on the
hospital bed when I gave birth to both Anna and Taylor, and today he rests
proudly on our king-size bed. He’s been the keeper of dreams and memories — a
quiet presence who’s let me snuggle close every night for 25 years. Thank you,
Jason, for knowing this wasn’t just a want — it was a need. And thank you, Harry, for carrying not just memories, but the gentle proof that
Jason has always known my heart.
-Emily Huff
They study
together in the library, reading their texts and taking notes- sort of. He
announces that he has to take a break and goes for a walk in the books. And
goes for too long a walk in the books because he returns to find her gone,
having left a post- it note: The princess
has been captured and was taken to a castle to be kept in captivity. She waited
for you to come rescue here. But when you did not come., she decided to free herself
and go home. I’ll see you tomorrow. ❤ ❤ Little did he
know that in some ways that frequently would be a theme in their lives. - Jason Huff
She sleeps quietly with small regular breaths, and quiet. Oblivious to the smaller faster breaths that enter the room and the small rapid heartbeat and the small pattering paws that travel quietly across the wooden floor and pause beside her bed and then launch onto her bed, landing quietly beside her. She stirs from the small weight on her, the nuzzling nose on her arm, then her face. And she smiles, “Poppy, what are you doing here?” And she smiles again and takes her bunny back down to sleep downstairs. - Jason Huff
Sometimes you don’t need to process… A young woman takes her boyfriend home. He sees the world, meets the family, and chooses to be all in. On a horseback ride together down to the water, he decides this is his moment and he asks her to marry him. Her response, galloping away on her horse. His response, he will try again later. A word is never spoken about the situation, and they continue their visit and return to school. A few months later he tries again. She says YES! They have been married over 57 years! As an over processor myself, I am in awe of the simplicity of this story and how it worked out. Sometimes you aren’t ready and sometimes you are. Sometimes you know but the other person doesn’t…yet!! -Jaime Hestad (written about her parents)
"You look very nice in the rain," I wrote Annie after three weeks cooking from sun up to sundown at Malibu Young Life camp. Seventeen and completely confused—why did this girl from Oregon make my chest hurt? I filled pages with safe words: consistency, growing up, communication. Anything but the truth hammering in my ribs. I wrote about sitting on tables, about walks, about her laugh. Turns out three weeks in a camp kitchen can mean everything. I just didn't know how to say it then. Tonight, showing friends these pages from 1995, I watch her laugh at my earnest ramblings about consistency. Thirty years later, she's still the only constant I've ever needed.
-Luke Hartsock
Almost without exception, Dustin is up and out of the house early before the kids are up for the day. Often before I am up for the day. I wish I had thought to save them all over the years. But they were daily offerings. On the kitchen table, left faithfully, read with little to no acknowledgment (in the moment or later), these faithful notes have been read by us each morning they are left. Often simple reminders; our beloved-ness, his thankfulness, his “out of pocket” humor sprinkled among the love and wisdom. Recently I saw one stuck to Rae’s mirror in her room.
-Kristi Brumbaugh
Ryan was home
alone last weekend. He spent the time swallowed by our old family photo albums
and my old scrapbooks. He says he spent 30 hours taking photos of the
important photos - ones that are printed but don’t have a digital original
because they are in the old laptop and hard drive cemetery deep in my
closet. He flooded the family chat with photos and comments of love. We
all laughed at his weekend project - he went all in and that’s his way -
intense, wholehearted, a little over-the-top. But get this - he also
poured over my childhood albums. He took interest in it all and said he loved
watching my life unfold. It was a generous thing and after decades together, I
feel more known and loved.
-Brooke Anderson
When I left for
college, my gruff dad surprised me by writing letters every week - yellow legal
pad paper, distressed cursive, one page. They were full of small details,
happenings around the house, pets, dinner plans, the lawn. Written on Sunday
and arriving on Thursday, they were oddly comforting in their lack of plot. I
loved them and was continually surprised by them. They gained a small amount of
fame. My dorm friends liked me to read them out loud. He wasn’t poetic. He
mostly wasn’t even interesting. But somehow, the very act of writing—his
steady, earnest effort - was love.
- Brooke Anderson
Salads and
High Waters
Her best friend
talked her up the whole flight to D.C. So when I saw her—Brooke—riding the
escalator in high waters, I was instantly curious. That night, at a dinner for
the Northwest delegation, she wore a black dress. We hadn’t exchanged more than
a few words, but something unspoken passed between us—electric, quiet,
undeniable. I asked if she was going to eat her salad. She slid it over. I love
salads. Later that week, we sat cross-legged, knees touching, misty-eyed at a
prayer gathering. I didn’t know how—I just knew she’d be my forever.
-Ryan Anderson
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