Dear Mister

Dear Mister:
If someone sat me down and demanded that I chose between thousands upon thousands of dollars and spending a day walking through the woods with you, I would always choose clambering over brambles, thorns, and rocks with you. Of course, later, you would bug your eyes and cry "Sweet goodness woman what's wrong with you!" Probably with good reason. After all, graduate school is no cake walk. But with you beside me, it sometimes seems as easy-as-pie. Okay. Enough with the bakery metaphors.

Thanks for cheering me in the subtlest ways, for seeing strength in me that I don't even see. For pointing out the good and brushing away the bad. For doing all the man things: like killing spiders, walking the pup at night, and taking out the trash. For buying green headlamps on sale because "it looked like me." For talking to me straight when I need it. For always having a hug ready.  For patting the pup good night, every night, without fail. For not laughing when I find bobby pins still tangled in my hair in the morning.

Most importantly, thanks for consistently reminding me that the best things in life are completely and totally free.

Dear Mister

Dear Mr. Hobbs:
Its a brand new year.
Can you believe that? More than a year ago, we were impatiently waiting for 2012 to start and pass--eager for our October wedding to get here. Now that big day has come and gone, and we're together staring down the long, blank road of another year. And... to continue the little road metaphor I've got going here...I know that there will be unexpected twists, turns, stops, and bumps along the way, but I have to say, there's no one I'd rather face them with than you.

Little things confirm my love for you and yours for me. Like, for example, you dumpster-diving yesterday to find a big enough box to ship this painting. How many guys would sit on the edge of a dumpster in breezy 30* weather, tossing cardboard around? I've never known a guy that sweet. Seriously, never.

Somehow, my making meatball subs doesn't seem to add up to the dumpster level of dedication. But mixing up the breadcumbs and meats really grosses me out... so maybe it equals out a little bit?

Try not to blow off any tall DC buildings today in all this winter wind, please. Then hurry home so I can hug and feed you.

Love,
your girl.

Dear Friend

oldie

newbie

Dear friend:
Once upon a time, a lady stopped us outside the movie theater. We were standing side by side, you and I, cellphones flipped  in our hands, so full of giggles and self-importance, rocking our matching shirts, jeans, light-brown Sperry TopSiders...this was back when owning a pair of Sperry Topsiders was a demand made of general adolescent society. If you owned Sperrys, you were in-style, in-the-know, in-the-in-crowd...well at least we all thought so. Anyway, this lady took in our matching outfits and exclaimed "Oh! Ya'll are twins!"

Of course, we looked at her like she was crazy. I mean, come on...really? At the time, we laughed and laughed. Looking back now, though, I think I understand why that woman asked that. (In fairness to her, our fourteen-year-old selves were dressed exactly alike.) But it was more than that.

Yea, we're the same height. A hair's breadth over five feet. Yea, we both had curly brown hair, sparkling brown eyes, and big smiles. But that lady saw something different, I think.

She saw the ease of two sisters in two friends who had become so close that they became family instead.

While I'm over-the-moon happy up here in Maryland, I sometimes miss the days of jalapeno poppers, endless Friends marathons, singing Brandi Carlile, and flirting with the same boot-and-bluejean boys. And everyday I miss you, friend!

There's a guest bed in Frederick waiting with fluffy pillows and your name on it.

Dear Mister

Dear Mr. Hobbs: Today's post is a letter to you. Oh the privilege! You should feel so lucky to have a little tiny plot of cyberspace dedicated solely to your handsome, bespectacled person. (Heehee). Here are a few things:

Thanks for bringing me to Frederick; its a pretty town with especially spicy hot-wings. I know I whined and moaned about moving so far away for a good while (translated: a year or two...) but I think its been good for me. Your little supplanted Georgian seems to me doing okay, so far anyway, even if she does get weird looks in the grocery for calling the shopping cart a "buggy." I know we'll put down roots and find a more permanent home of our very own someday... but for now I like our little Maryland condo. Its a happy place.

You know something else? People always say when you move in with someone you discover all their "annoying habits." Well, either you're continuing to disguise them perfectly or you don't have any. Oh, other than leaving your jeans on the floor...and singing way-too-cheery songs just long enough to get them stuck on my head...I've been looking over a four-leaf clover ALL DAY because of you. But somehow that just makes me beam a big dumb smile more so than it annoys me.

And lastly, if you need to knife someone again on Battlefield 3, I recommend RB this time.

Love you more than anything else.
Really.
Oh, and is pizza okay tonight?

signed,
your girl.