I'm thrilled, and terrified. Over the moon in love with a man that fits so seamlessly in my life, it's like he was always there. I never bought the true-love, one soul-mate, a singular perfect person b.s. line Disney markets to little girls.

I had the rare opportunity to see true love through my grandparents. Both on second marriages with each other, both bringing children into the relationship, both audaciously modern for the time they met...and madly in love. Even after death.

They fought, and bickered, and disagreed. There was plenty of grumbling and cursing on occasion, and a couple of blow-up fights too. I was around for it all, and for the resolutions. The striped-bare emotional turmoil they struggled through, overcame, and became stronger from. That, too me, is true love. Someone you are glad to wake up to every day, and no matter how much you fight, how insignificant or life-changing the topic, you get through it. Because you love them. Because you would rather swim through a pile of shit and come out the other side with them, then step aside it all alone.

Love, to me, is secret butt-pinching when you think nobody is looking, over thirty years after being together. Buying the other an ice cream bar when you're running errands, just because. Private jokes, pranks, pet names on Christmas presents, spending hours on a dinner they'll wolf down in minutes, because it's their favorite. Love isn't supposed to be easy, it's just supposed to feel right.

And it does. So much, in fact, that it's still startling. A harmonious flow of personalities complimenting and strengthening one another. A fluid ease of being, something so effortless and wonderful that it seems as if it always has been, rather than just begun.

Right when I started focusing on having fun, rather than getting attached, is when he came along. Strolling, actually, with an infectious smile and easy manner that still makes my stomach do happy little flips when we're together. I want to fight for this. To swim through whatever muck is thrown in my way and emerge with him by my side. Dirty and sweaty, and smiling. It's crazy, and impulsive, and feels just exactly right.

"Give all to love; obey thy heart."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Since Tuesday early evening, a large enameled cast-iron dutch oven has been on my stove, bubbling away with chopped lamb & broth. This morning it reached the stage of "melts like buttah on the tongue" goodness, at which point a variety of spices, veggies, and barley was added to make a most delicious and deceptively filling stew. The recipe was one from Gramma, who got it from her eldest sister, who got it from their Irish mom, who got it from her Irish mom...etc

So it was an appropriate meal for St. Paddy's day. I made a huge loaf of ciabatta bread for sopping purposes, and bought a lovely mellow red wine made in the Santa Cruz Mountains to pair with it all. The housemates and the beau joined me for a rather sumptuous, hearty meal. Good food, good wine, good company. I think Gramma, and St. Patrick, would approve.

Tomorrow starts the marinating and prep work for my Friday "Irish Feast" six course dinner for twelve-ish. I hope someone brings Guinness....I'll need it!

Happy Irish Week!

Today is my roomies birthday...happy birthday Reno!
To start things off, have some flowers....

Next up, vanilla bean cupcakes with meyer-lemon cream frosting  and ridiculous amounts of Queen & Journey Karaoke. Come home soon, your roomies have chocolate-cake shots and a riding crop waiting for you.