London Southern Belle

Paris in my heart

Handsome man 'o mine and I met in 1996. I was only a teenager and completely in love with him despite the seven year gap between us in age. I grew up in Mississippi, USA where I spent most days perched on a wooden church bench minding my P's and Q's, responding with politness of, 'Yes Ma'am' and 'No thank you Ma'am'.  It was small town living for me and so much of the world, I wanted to see for myself.

Handsome man 'o mine was amazing and even though we lived in seperate countries he continued to make me feel special and deeply loved. I had never travelled abroad and had dreams of seeing the Eiffel Tower in Paris. The closest I ever came to that dream at the time were old photos my grandmother had taken on her journey there years before hand. I would gaze at her photos of delightful french-ness, my eyes glazing over in a dreamy coma. Handsome man 'o mine once made the promise,

'Someday, I will give you Paris.'

I found that sentence spoken so very romantic and for years would cling on to the hope and promise he made. Years passed and handsome man 'o mine and I eventually took a break after trying a distant relationship for three years. I never forgot about yearning to see Paris. Nor, did he.

In 2003, we found each other again. Missing our relationship and more determined to make it work, I packed everything I owned into two suitcases and made the plunge to live in England with him. In 2003, we married and all was perfection. Our first wedding anniversary, I was presented with a shimmering envelope, with an uncertain thickness about it. Opening it with great anticipation, I wondered what he would surprise me with. Falling to my lap, were two flights to Paris. I could feel the tears building in my eyes.

I shall never forget seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. This small southern belle from Mississippi was on top of the world. He gave me Paris.

Never will I forget. It isn't just a memory in my mind. The moment still belongs in my heart.

Quackity Quack! Don't talk back!

Last night handsome man o' mine and I went for a leisurely walk into the town high street. Our high street is lined with quaint shops. Quaintness that can never go unrecognized. Exposed beams, wayward and leaning foundations, sturdy wooden doors with iron door knockers tempting enough to lift and find out who is resting in their own quaintness. The pubs and coffee shops are spilling with those enjoying the freshness of the air in between neighboring smokes.

"Let's go and have a drink," my husband states as we gaze at the newborn ducks.  There was one baby who could not seem to get up the stream with his mother and the other ducklings. It chirped loudly, listening for his mother's reassurance that she and the others had not left it behind. Darren knew we were not leaving this tiny pond until I knew for sure this frantic duckling made it safely to its family.

"I have on sneakers." I gasped. "And, jeans."

He gave me the glance. The same one I get when he has arrived home from work early and I am on my hands and knees obsessive compulsively scrubbing the toilet in the bathroom. Perspiration soaking my clothing, hair tied back with vintage material and thoughts of, "darn it,  he can't know I sweat....  fart.... or snot..." And, soon to follow I get the glance from him that reminds me he loves me exactly the way I come - not always polished.

"Perfect. I'll order you a glass of champagne," he says with a smile as he grabs my hand.

And so, there we sit outside a french inspired cafe sipping champagne in my old running shoes.... It was the perfect unpolished hour.

Have a Heart

…a little girl around the age of eight with a bright smile and silky locks politely offers me a tiny packet of sweets with an accent sweeter than molasses. In one of  England’s largest roaring cities, Londontown has time for children giving away free heart shaped conversation sweets i.e. candy. It’s endearing and I would think even for the scroogy-est of people on this day of hearts would find it hard to smile after such a delightful gesture.

I happen to love all things Valentine. In fact, we adore it enough to name a child after this sugary day – our little Valentina. It’s on the list. Like it or not, we love it. I have spent the afternoon listening to jazz from the lips of women so romantic I dare to think what this day means(t) to them. Billie Holiday, Dinah Washington, Diana Krall – their music is tiptoeing through my flat. The scent of boxed chocolates lingers, red cashmere on my skin. It’s enough to make my heart skip beats. How could one not love this day?

An early work email from sweet man o’ man reveals evening plans. “Get your skates on,” he says. That always means we are going somewhere special. It makes me smile in knowing he is the perfect soul for me; so many wrongs in order to finally get one that does everything o’ so right. My favourite conversation heart says, “Him”

Love, do not make a sound, melt into me now.

Bittersweet

Oh sweet January, where have you gone? It has been a new start to the year and a celebration of a life that is mine on tomorrow and an end to another – the grandmother of sweet man o’ mine. She will be missed dearly.

Life can be ever so bittersweet. The meeting of perfect people in the world can go as easy as they come just as the blanket of snow that covered our window ledges on a sleepy Monday morning. After a weekend of tears of bereavement, the excitement of a soft white blanket covering the lifeless winter-y earth warmed our hearts. It made all things beautiful and for a moment we were gently reminded of all that is ours.

Twenty-seven years of my passing life and so much to be thankful for. And, everything I planned in my early twenties hasn’t necessarily panned out to perfection yet, I have no complaints with the changes I had not foreseen. I always knew my life would be a journey and living it has been the best aspect. The realisation of how proud I am to live this journey is indescribable.

Yesterday, handsome man o’ mine and I had plans to find a hotel centrally located for my parents to stay in during part of their stay here in the UK during Easter. We discovered the sleekest and modern hotel of clean lines, pressed linens, oversized bulky woods softened with breezy drapes & dainty side table lamps – an absolute dream homing loft and townhouse rooms with outside architecture to die for. I cannot wait for them to see it. We then visited the busy market of meat, fruit and vegetable sellers. I was inspired to buy fresh basil, bread, pomegranates and tulips. Cold air, winter coats and scarves aside, I could feel spring in the air.

One fresh pomegranate later handsome man o’mine and I were sitting in the local Mercedes & Smart Dealership trading in our gorgeous two-seater sports car for a more practical one. Handsome man o’mine laughed over stories of new driving experiences for me in our tiny matchbox on wheels, conquering roundabouts and dodging double-decker buses. A bittersweet moment and a start to a new chapter, a new journey and new experiences – we signed papers, clutched one another’s hand and smiled quietly. We thought of times to come…

And so, tomorrow marks a new year to my life …the 28^th year. And for once, my birthday wish will not be a wish for myself….but for my family. My family.

Bring on the bubbly

I along with handsome man o' mine attended my first English wedding over the weekend (apart from my own of  course). The week leading up to this spectacular and sweet event consisted of an unrehearsed best man speech; excuses to buy an overpriced designer crushed silk dress, shoes for the man of mine and the thoughtless purchase of gift certificates to the couple’s most shopped in department store. “I don’t think they have purchased that kitchen gadget, yet,” I said as we gazed at our own reflections in a chrome toaster that should have doubled as small Mercedes going on the price of it.

The morning of was spectacular. Dressed to the nines, we slid into our tiny two-seater sports car, top down and travelled down the winding roads of countryside taking in the scenery. “Perfect wedding day weather if do I say so myself,” Darren states proudly as he adjust his silver cufflinks. It was only half past ten in the morning and I was already craving thick white icing on moist sponge cake and bubbling champs.

Upon arrival, the groom was smartly dressed in brown suede and trendy, yet smart rock star-esque button down; sunglasses neatly tucked in place of a buttonhole. He was pacing most of the room and halted just long enough to give me a kiss on each cheek and shake his best man’s hand. I slinked up the stairs to spy on the bride mainly to see her dress and witness her nerves. Normally ever so calm, she dabbed her lips removing the lipstick she attempted to apply just minutes beforehand. Her dress, a delicate raw silk halter; bow delicately tied around her neck. A band of smooth seashells tapered her waist and slim lines hugged her three month pregnant belly. She was stunning. Through the stairway banister I watched her apply and reapply her lipstick several times before she finally felt satisfied with the neat shimmering result. Her nerves had defiantly gotten the best of her.

The venue was picturesque. Draping vines of wisteria, tall stained glass windows, winding stair cases, swans in white feathered gowns, trees with stories and a picture perfect view with every snapshot. Much to our surprise, they were married by the same registrar as Darren and I were nearly two years ago this October. With an embroidered handkerchief handy, I gazed at the couple and could only wish that may have even a small amount of what my husband and I share. We danced, toasted and ate cake. It was blissful and only brought back the happiest of memories that I had on my very own day.

Champagne & Running Shoes

Last night Darren and I went for a leisurely walk into the town high street. Our high street is lined with quaint shops. Quaintness that can never go unrecognized. Exposed beams, wayward and leaning foundations, sturdy wooden doors with iron door knockers tempting enough to lift and find out who is resting in their own quaintness. The pubs and coffee shops are spilling with those enjoying the freshness of the air in between neighboring smokes.

"Let's go and have a drink," my husband states as we gaze at the newborn ducks.  There was one baby who could not seem to get up the stream with his mother and the other ducklings. It chirped loudly, listening for his mother's reassurance that she and the others had not left it behind. Darren knew we were not leaving this tiny pond until I knew for sure this frantic duckling made it safely to its family.

"I have on sneakers." I gasped. "And, jeans."

He gave me the glance. The same one I get when he has arrived home from work early and I am on my hands and knees obsessive compulsively scrubbing the toilet in the bathroom. Perspiration soaking my clothing, hair tied back with vintage material and thoughts of, "shit,  he can't know I sweat....  fart.... or snot..." And, soon to follow I get the glance from him that reminds me he loves me exactly the way I come - not always polished.

"Perfect. I'll order you a glass of champagne," he says with a smile as he grabs my hand.

And so, there we sit outside a french inspired cafe sipping champagne in my old running shoes.... and time began to heal my soul.... It was the perfect unpolished hour.