Skip to main content

guess how much i love you

Most things in the scientific world have magnitude ( the #value) and an appropriate unit. Science teachers everywhere make a big deal about including units and I take off at least 2 points whenever a kid leaves it off. It’s not just science……I order a tall coffe, large fries, wear a size 9 shoe, buy milk by the half gallon, we are supposed to drink 96 oz of water a day, and I fill my car up with 16 gallons of gas, etc. Things come in units and or amounts.
The other night I was laying in bed thinking about how much I missed an old friend. And I started wondering why love doesn’t have a unit. We occasionally try to apply one and say things like “I love you tons”, but it sounds corny and doesn’t really make sense…..or does it? Sometimes I feel like my love has weight. It is thick and heavy and anchored down somewhere inside me. I love my son like this. I love my husband like that. A few other people come close, but to be honest I don’t love them the same way. I love coffee and chips and salsa and the new tegan and sara album. No I don’t think I am using the word love too lightly in those contexts. I love them. I like brownies and the new shoes I just bought and last nights episode of Heros, but some things I like more. Isn’t that enough to say I love them? We need levels or degrees of this. The word for how I feel about salt and vinegar chips should not be the same one I use when I tuck my son in at night. Some purists might say love doesn’t come in levels or degrees. If we were using the word properly we wouldn’t use it so casually. I checked out dictionary.com and was shocked to find 21 definitions and even more verb phrases. Some were easy (to have a strong liking for) and others were going to take a lot more work (profoundly tender passionate affection) and I won’t even go into the whole 1 corinthians 13 take on it. Ancient Greeks had 3 distinct words for love which helped ease up on some of the confusion ( eros, philia, agape). Sanskrit has ninety-six words for love; ancient Persian has eighty; Greek three; and English only one. If we are only going to use one word we might as well tack a measurement and unit onto it. Can’t you just picture it –opening up a card from your husband and it saying I love you 78 degrees, or I love you 34 grams worth. It isn’t very romantic but sure practical. So for now let’s just say I love guacamole and my TiVo and the smell when someone else just cleaned my house in normal equal amounts. I love Owen and Shaun right up to the moon and back (hey, if science isn’t helping you out go with children’s books.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...