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A Frugal Way to Flirt
I come from thrifty stock. We wash Ziploc bags. Repurpose dehumidifier water. Laugh at expiration dates. I got hives first entering my now husband’s house, where paper towels reigned and there was nary a dish towel in sight. Listening to water running while he brushed his teeth felt like hearing nails on a chalkboard. Early marriage counseling included negotiations on the length of the dryer cycle. Thirty plus years later, Sean speaks my love language. He reuses old tape. Carries cutlery in his bag. And has “bathroom” scissors to cut the tops off of his hotel lotions to ensure he gets every drop. — May Taylor Doherty
The Legend to My Map
Coming from flat Nebraska, I had no clue how to read a topographic map. By candlelight in a Yosemite employee tent-cabin, Mike decoded the densely packed rivers of lines, tracing his guitar-calloused finger along a trail. He showed me how my first solo trek up hard mountain switchbacks would lead to an easy meadow stretch. “You can do it,” he said. Twenty-seven years later, as we navigate the ups and downs of our careers, parenthood and aging parents, he still helps me decode the topographic map of our joint life trek — assuring me that the hard switchbacks won’t last. — Jennica Peterson
Forming Our Dwelling
Flirting, we exchanged numbers at an Occupy Wall Street meeting for faith leaders. Alana worked at a synagogue. I was a seminarian at a church. I didn’t know what the Jewish holiday of Sukkot was when she said she’d slept in a sukkah at Occupy and was so exhausted that she almost canceled our date. Early on, our relationship often felt like a sukkah — seasonal, temporary — but together the dwelling of our relationship has become sturdier, able to weather inevitable storms. This year, I’ll stay home with our baby while Alana leads holiday services at her same synagogue. — C.B. Stewart
Pictures Worth Countless Words
Ojiichan, as I called my grandpa, never had any hair. Or at least, I had never seen him with any. In the years we had together, he was a smiling, bald enigma — brimming with family history trapped behind a language barrier. There were no pictures hanging around the house of his time in Japan: before my mom, America and me. But once he passed, we found some of his old photos. I could barely believe my eyes. They featured a head full of hair, a man who traveled the world, and all the stories I wish I could’ve heard. — Nick Keith
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