she bathed in
her toes in serendipitous
bubbles that swelled emotions
as playful waters washing
over her swallowing
her in a soaked
© Pamela Rossow
you came with Orion in
your eyes sweeping me
into a brightly lit nebula
my tears sprinkled among
your atmosphere birthing
you came with warm breath
exhaling oxidants I as fuel
inhaled you flaring heat and a
chain of exothermic reactions
CH4 + 2 O2 → CO2 + 2 H2O
you came with passion in
your lips lingering near my
nape causing my skin to
smolder while exciting electrons
in a pure white frenzy of
© Pamela Rossow
In talking with a couple of female friends recently, the subject of what a woman wants in a man came up again. I know I already blogged about it but there was something so basic, so fundamental, that I overlooked it at the time. I was more focused on what women want (and don’t want) in terms of character and communication. This trait of expressing, while it may be deemed part of a man’s character, is subtle, yet, a bonus for men who fulfill this need for their female, loved ones. It’s part of being a “protector.”
While I’m not sure (for all women) this male role is important, for enough women I know (myself included), it’s up there in our top three. This does fly in the face of many women who like to think they (okay, we) are self-sufficient and not as needy as other females but, the reality is, it is a huge way to have love expressed by a man.
I’m not talking just in a physical sense (although that aspect can be a part of it). It’s a bonus, if the man we fall in love with, is taller than us, stronger than us, makes us “feel” safe just by being near him. If we were walking down a dark street and someone tried to jump us, we’d like to know that the man we were with would protect us to the best of his ability.
Some of us, ladies, have been on the flip side like when a man possesses physical characteristics we label as “protective,” and he doesn’t make us feel secure. Some of us have been in a relationship where a man may have knowledge of martial arts or is muscular, yet, we have not felt the least bit safe.
We just want to know, if a situation arises in which we find ourselves vulnerable to danger, that our “protector” is looking out for us. Of course, this is not to say that women shouldn’t learn self-defense and other methods of protecting themselves. It’s just that we adore men who make us feel as if we are a priority and precious to them!
Women take this even further and apply the idea of “protector” to emotions, too. Many of us have a core desire to feel intimately “protected” in a relationship (i.e. to be able to express emotions like anger, sadness, or disappointment) and not experience rejection by a man. We need to know, even though we have strong feelings (and, at times, they might be passionately displayed,) that we will not be abandoned, disregarded, or shut out.
I will not speak for men (since I am convinced I know little about them and their emotional wants or needs) but I suspect that many would like the same in their relationships with their female counterparts. So, long-winded story short, just another blurb into what women want. Women might be from Venus and men from Mars (or some other planet yet to be identified) but we all have the ability (if we choose) to find out what’s important to the other sex (it goes both ways, ladies).
While on Facebook the other day, I stumbled across a friend’s Mother’s Day status. Kim is a hard-working, married grad student who is “temporarily” functioning as a single mom. I use the word “temporarily” because her husband, Steve, is serving in our Navy overseas in Kuwait. He is sweating in the sandbox, trying to stay out of sandstorms (sometimes driving through them), risking his life and missing his wife and child. She is working as a grad assistant, studying for her own classes, is mom to their adorable little boy and misses her husband. Since she is “sharing” her hubby on behalf of our country, she is winging it solo until his return. What does this have to do with Mother’s Day (stop the impatience)? Come on, you should know me by now! I’m getting there!
Anyway, she and her son headed to Disney on Mother’s Day. Kim just finished up a semester and needed some time to unwind. What better place to relax than DISNEY? After a fun day in the Magic Kingdom, they headed back to the resort. Once inside, Kim discovered some Disney magic right in her hotel room. Awaiting her was a Disney tote bag embroidered “Mommy” overflowing with goodies and snacks she and her son like. Nearby was The Box. The Box was nestled atop a magic wand (yes, it looked like the Fairy Godmother’s) and inside was a beautiful bracelet adorned with a heart. Romantic enough? Nope. Along with the tote, treats, bracelet and sparkling wand was a note. Not just any note. It was written in golden calligraphy and looked like a wedding invitation. It was a “A Magical Wish.” Part of it read:
Disney is known for fairy tales/ and making dreams come true/ For the Fairy Godmother in my life/ is someone I love. . .that’s you!/ You’ve inspired me to dream/You’ve encouraged me to grow/Your time spent with me means far more than you know.
Jealous? You shouldn’t be (kidding). Here is a deserving woman whose husband loves her so much that he planned and executed a surprise from another country in the middle of sandy somewhere! They’ve been married for long enough (six years) and were friends for long enough before marriage (sixteen years). Long enough for the “I love you’s” to wane, long enough to get so caught up in the daily grind that he could forget to appreciate her. But he doesn’t. It’s not magic. There’s no wand to wave to make relationships easy (especially being apart for lengthy time periods). There’s no Fairy Godmother to bring Steve home when she needs someone to hold her or he has had enough of 100 degree temperatures and needs some loving. They just make it work (and make it work well).
So kudos, Kim and Steve. May you celebrate many, many more happy years together and may your son enjoy the stability of growing up in a loving home. Here’s to great marriages, friendships, inspiration and hope!
P.S. Steve, thank-you for your service!
If soul mates do exist, then Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her husband, Robert, seemed to have been such. Elizabeth penned possibly my favorite poem (number 43) from her Sonnets of the Portuguese. We’re still celebrating Poetry Month so here you are!
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I love writing and I write for a living. Yet, I still find myself compelled to use words to channel whatever muses are flirting with me at the moment. I have an on-going love affair with. . .words. So, really, I write to live and live to write. My life force cannot be divorced from getting down onto paper whatever must be there. It’s pure survival for me. If I’m not near my laptop, I’m scribbling thoughts onto paper. If no paper is present, I improvise and write on my hand. I have sat on a beach with the beautiful, soflo sun shining overhead and, having forgotten my pen, used my phone to text myself bits of prose that popped into my head. If there was a way to write while in the shower, I’d do so. Then there would be no need to try and remember what it was that came to me while shampooing my hair. Blogging is relatively new to me and I like it. It’s nice to occupy a piece of cyber space and express oneself. It is weird knowing anyone can read whatever is written (since I know some off the wall people) but those people do not mean anything to me (therefore, who cares)! There is much more I would like to write but am unable to because of life’s circumstances. This currently unpublished material should land me a gig as a script writer for Lifetime. In the meantime, some of the words I tap, scratch, and text into existence get published through this venue. Others do not. Blog world, readers, friends, and loved ones, welcome. I’m honored and happy you came. Do stay for a bit. Kick off your shoes, settle yourself on my couch, and enjoy a great cup of coffee. Sugar or creamer, anyone?
Okay, I know love letter fest is technically over. HOWEVER, I could not resist posting two, short letters exchanged between one of the most romantic, literary couples (Robert and Elizabeth Browning) ever (in my book THE most romantic, literary couple). Of course, Elizabeth wrote my favorite poetry collection, Sonnets from the Portuguese, for her husband Robert Browning and I believe them to be the most beautiful poems (especially numbers I, XIV, XX, and the best, XLIII). So enjoy and keep that passion alive every day, not just on Valentine’s Day!!!!
…would I, if I could, supplant one of any of the affections that I know to have taken root in you – that great and solemn one, for instance.
I feel that if I could get myself remade, as if turned to gold,
I WOULD not even then desire to become more than the mere setting to that diamond you must always wear.
The regard and esteem you now give me, in this letter, and which I press to my heart and bow my head upon, is all I can take and all too embarrassing, using all my gratitude.
- Robert Browning
And now listen to me in turn.
You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me – my heart was full when you came here today.
Henceforward I am yours for everything.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Friends, welcome to my Valentine’s Event. A “Dear ?” love letter which you have written (whether sweet, sarcastic, or saucy) and will post your links below in the comment section so we all can have grieve, giggle, or gasp! I will admit. When this idea jumped into my brain, I wasn’t daunted. HOWEVER, as I sit here about to type my own letter, I’m overwhelmed, a tad bit intimidated, and wondering what on earth I was thinking when I started this. Those of you who know me well are aware of my stubborn perseverance. Hence, onward. Enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day. Not the commercialized hype but the everyday love we hold in our hearts.
Many of you have directly or indirectly shaped me into the woman I am today. I wouldn’t be Pamela without you. Some of you have taken my heart down spiraling staircases into dank, dark basements where I suffered pain, wrenching hurt, abandonment.
A couple of you have led me through enchanted forests where rainbows arched overhead, the grass was soft, the castle walls had crumbled, and we loved as first loves.
Still others have taught me the foundation of love, how love isn’t based on emotions, how it demands action, requires being able to mouth or write two words (I’m sorry), and mean them. That anger doesn’t necessarily reflect lack of love, although, at times, it may indicate lack of “like” (or sheer frustration).
Another has shown me that no matter how much I get angry, or question, or cry, or vent, He will remain faithful and, even more amazing, love me despite me.
All of the individuals who do not hesitate to pick up the phone to let me know they care, reach out with a card or letter, laugh with me, scream with me, or who hold me when I cry across the miles in a tight, virtual embrace.
Then there are the up close and personals who cling to me, climb me as if I am a tree, and hold on with little arms tightly clasped around my neck. There are older ones who reach out when I least expect them to, grab my hands, sit close to me on the sofa, or hug me unexpectedly in passing.
There are those of you who have touched me so deeply that even though we are separated by this seemingly vast expanse of the other world you continue to move me, fill me, motivate me, cheer me on, and you are alive to me in my dreams, my memory, my soul.
There might be a person out there on this planet who could, through honest eyes, stir up flames in me once more. Who, through sincerity, persistence, humor, character, empathy, gentleness, and time, has the capability to evoke in me passions which have yet to be completely drawn out. He may exist. . .
In the meantime, I love and am so loved. For all you, hole fillers, and you, hole makers, I thank-you. It’s been real, raw, and, at times, raucous. Even though, some days I harbor a few, wee regrets, I wouldn’t change any of it. I have learned and will continue to learn. My heart’s love journey (I hope) has, like my parent’s wedding song, “only just begun.”
All my love,
affected by seasons
I’m blown along
the all too familiar
hell no yes to
more I’m seared
parched and thirsty
© Pamela A. Rossow
she stood a child amidst
waving grasses a cupped
butterweed flower in her
hands slowly she closed
her eyes letting the
azure mist of the skies
drench her soul gently
she began to pluck each
petal a flaxen butterfly
fluttering to the ground
descending in a graceful
dance he loves me he
loves me not he loves
me he loves me. . .
she paused eyes
Pamela A. Rossow