I brought a big mug of hot tea to bed with me. This could become a habit.

Rebecca and I baked a couple sourdough boules today from our own sourdough starter. The starter has been living for over a month now, and bread from it is starting to exhibit that characteristic sourdough flavor. We let it rise practically all weekend, and it developed a nice, chewy crumb with a hard, tough crust. Delicious.

We—mostly Rebecca, I was pretty tired—solved a sudoku puzzle together this evening.

Rebecca and I didn’t really do anything out of the ordinary on Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be working that day until about five days prior, so I didn’t have time to make reservations anywhere exciting. I gave her a letter I wrote for her, and we relaxed and enjoyed each others company for awhile. I helped her a little with her website and taught her some HTML and explained that we’re going to have to use CSS instead of tables for laying out her slices next time around.

We went for a walk out in the snow; I need to learn to keep gloves and a hat with me at all times. We ate a light dinner at Chevy’s, having had a rather late lunch. Chevy’s actually decided to close early because of the snow. At least, that’s the reason they gave. Our meal did come out suspiciously fast, so I should have known that something was up.

After dinner, we drove home and watched the Olympics and talked for awhile. All in all, not the most exciting Valentine’s Day I’ve given her by any means, but it was definitely the most relaxing, and maybe the most enjoyable. Am I a little embarrassed that I took my girlfriend out to the Chevy’s in St. Charles for a Valentine’s Day meal? Yeah. But I’ll make up for it this weekend.

And then Rebecca and I used it as our dictionary for Boggle. Halfway through, we started making up words, and more often than not, they were in the OED. Never has Boggle been so educational.

pedrosanchez:

it’s BOOOOOO!!

Rebecca and I watched this on Saturday night—Gregory Peck is a handsome man.

— I went to Iron Belt, Wisconsin with Rebecca, her family and Billy (Stacey’s boyfriend) on December 27. We met up with their extended family at their grandma’s house and spent the days up to January 1 desperately trying to burn the calories we were consuming so we could go right on not feeling guilty about eating second and third helpings of Grandma Linn’s delicious cooking. There was so much snow! It was fantastic. Her cousins had piled up a huge mound of snow before we arrived, then soaked it so a hard layer of ice would freeze over, making it stable enough to be hollowed out into a snow fort that probably fit six grown people at a time.

The morning after we arrived, Rebecca and I snow-shoed down the street and around the corner into woods full of tall pines and frozen streams. We’d get out there and listen to the snow falling in small piles from trees and the sound of branches crackling and groaning in the wind. It was great to just spend time out in the forest with her and feel such a dense personal sense of solitude. We intended to come back around to find our own trail again so as to make a loop, but it was getting late, so we backtracked the way we came.

The next day, we went cross country skiing with Rebecca’s dad. We went much farther than I thought we would, and by the time we finished I was utterly exhausted and confident that I would never do this again. I have since amended my position—I want to be more physically fit next time we go, and I don’t want to have to struggle my way up as many hills. Even a little hill is daunting when you’re trying to ski up it.

We went downhill skiing the next day, which is much more to my liking. I was impressed by the size of the hills they had for skiing! I expected something altogether unpleasant, like our local Hidden Valley ski resort. This was honestly like skiing some of the short runs out in Colorado, where Rebecca and I are going in March. There were feet of real snow, which in itself makes a huge difference. Skiing artificial snow just isn’t the same.

We went out snow-shoeing again the day before we left, following the trail we’d made earlier in the week. Someone had finished the trail, bringing it back around in a loop into itself.

We drove home on New Year’s Day. 12 Hours in a Ford Expedition with 7 other people. It felt good to get out of the car and stand up, but I’m sorry the our trip had to end. It was great fun to spend time with Rebecca’s family and Billy.

— On December 25, Christmas Day, my grandma went into the hospital at my parents’ insistence. She was showing signs of dehydration, and had started experiencing hallucinations. She was dizzy, and nauseous, and her blood pressure was fluctuating wildly. Rebecca and I had planned to go to Jefferson City to visit my grandparents the following morning, and my parents told me that it would probably still be okay to come. We’d visit Grandma in the hospital and celebrate Christmas as a family.

We drove to Jefferson City, MO on December 26, and we stopped downtown to eat at Arris’ Pizza. I had called my dad and told him this, and my mom and Jared showed up to eat with us. Jared, Rebecca and I sat at the table as Mom told us that Grandma had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s—everyone in my grandma’s family apparently ended up with Alzheimer’s, and she had been putting off going to the hospital because she didn’t want to have it confirmed, and this is why she was so resistant to go when my parents tried to get her to go. Mom then told us that my grandpa hadn’t wanted us to know this, but he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two years ago, and has been on medication to help him manage.

Mom told us that the doctor told my grandpa what he already knew was coming—they won’t be able to live independently for much longer; my grandpa just can’t take care of Grandma on his own, especially in his condition. Just the other night, he had been helping her bathe while she was too unwell to do it on her own, and he almost couldn’t get her out of the bathtub. We talked for a little while longer, and I don’t know how I was able to keep myself from crying until Rebecca and I left the restaurant. We got into the car, and closed the doors, and I turned the key in the ignition. As soon as I looked over at her and we saw each other’s face, she reached forward to hold me as I fell apart.

I grew up with my grandparents. I lived at their house until I was 4 or 5, I spent large chunks of every summer with them until I was 13 or 14, and they’ve always been these incredible constants in my life, no matter what. She’s 80, he’s 81. I love them dearly, and I’m heartbroken for them. I hope that they can keep themselves until the end.

And I hope that the end isn’t for a long while.

I spent December 27-January 1 in Iron Belt, Wisconsin, with Rebecca and her family and her extended family. Here are some of the pictures. Rebecca has a lot more with actual people in them; I’ll try to post some of those later.

Rebecca and I ruled out ever owning more than two dogs.

A pack of chinchillas, however, is still on the table.

I went to the City Museum tonight with Rebecca and, like, 40 or so of her church’s Awana kids. If you’re reading this and you’ve never been to the St. Louis City Museum and you like having fun, you have been missing a great thing in your life. My whole body aches, and I may have fractured my knee on a 10 story—11 story?—spiral slide, and I have to get up for work at 6:30 a.m. That is 4 hours and 15 minutes from now. I’m so screwed.

We had a blast, though. AND, and and and, the girl working at the concession stand on the second floor gave me a free giant cookie AND a free refill, the only possible reason for this being that I’m a handsome fellow. (Or: Okay hey dude we’re closed so I can’t charge you for anything so I’ll give you a refill and here take a cookie so I don’t have to throw them all away thanks.)

I’m going to go claim my four hours of sleep before I get up and get ready for work. My body is not going to appreciate standing for eight hours after tonight.

Rebecca and I had dinner last night, and then went to see “The Phantom of the Opera” at the Fox Theater. Rebecca had never seen it performed live, so I got tickets for us as my present to her for our two year anniversary.

Dinner was tasty, and the musical was pretty good, but the highlight of the evening for me was Rebecca. We dressed up for the occasion—and let me tell you, I’ve never seen her so beautiful—and we were able to just enjoy a nice evening together. It was really great.

I think we’re going to try to see the Toy Story 1/Toy Story 2 double-feature in 3D this week. Here’s hoping for our schedules to line up!

Thanks to Caitlin, I’ll be able to see Phantom of the Opera with Rebecca on Sunday instead of sitting at work.

That Caitlin is a stand-up lady.

This just in: I can’t post to Tumblr via SMS if the post exceeds 160 characters. I thought my phone would just convert it to MMS, but I was wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’m reading Bram Stoker’s Dracula right now. After my weird mythological creature kick in elementary school (the Loch Ness Monster, vampires, Bigfoot) I’m sort of surprised that I never actually got around to reading this. To be fair, I don’t think they had this in my elementary school library OR at the bookmobile.

I went to Columbia tonight with Rebecca, and we met JD at Shakespeare’s Pizza for dinner. We sat around and ate tasty supreme pizza and just talked for awhile. It was really great to catch up. After that, we went to the Andrew Bird concert. St. Vincent opened, and she was pretty good—I hadn’t heard very much of her music before, to be honest. Andrew Bird managed to play an entire concert without Plasticities, Weather Systems or Heretics, which is pretty unusual, but he put on a fantastic show. This was Rebecca’s first concert, and I think she had a good time.

I got back to my house around 1:00 a.m., ate a gyro and it’s now time for bed.

Happy birthday, beloved.

Rebecca and I celebrated two years together on Saturday. That’s a lot of together. I’m going to go ahead and take this opportunity to say some things.

When I started dating Rebecca two years ago, I think—I know—that I thought life would get easier. Everything was going to fall into place. “This!” I said. “This is going to be so much less stressful than being single. There’ll be none of that anxiety that I won’t ever find someone.” Two years ago, I knew something that has turned out to be untrue. As it happens, I’ve made a habit out of knowing falsehoods as truth—my own fault, without a doubt—and it can be jarring when, climbing the staircase my knowledge has built, I put my weight on a trick step.

I knew how to be a good boyfriend. I knew Rebecca’s needs, and I knew how to meet them. I knew how to validate her, and how to encourage her. I knew how to respect her. I knew how to treat her, and (perhaps more importantly) how not to treat her. I knew what she wanted in a relationship. I knew how to love her; I knew nothing.

Five months into our relationship, I didn’t understand why we weren’t close. I didn’t understand why we weren’t comfortable around each other. I didn’t know why it was so hard for us to talk to each other. When were things going to get easier? Did I not have that which I had wanted my entire life: a woman to love, to share life with, to lift up and encourage and to snuggle up with when she didn’t mind? I knew nothing.

There is a good pride and a bad pride. My good pride, I think, was how proud I was of Rebecca. I was proud to be with her, and I was proud of her. And why not? She’s an incredibly talented person! She’s a gifted artist, and she plays the piano wonderfully. And she’s beautiful! Sometimes I hear men say things like, “I’m dating the most beautiful woman in the world!” and I think that man is absolutely crazy because I’ve met his girlfriend and she’s sort of mean and really who says that sort of thing anyway? Rebecca is the most beautiful person in the world to me. I’m also a hypocrite.

My bad pride, however, was how proud I was of myself. I was so self-assured, and I really thought that I got relationships and that I was doing everything that I could for Rebecca and me and that any problems we were still having were her fault. Pride led to disappointment, and disappointment led to bitterness and resentment.

We both felt that disappointment. It weighed on us as a couple and as individuals. Our relationship began to feel like a great, failed effort. We were not connecting with each other and we didn’t understand why. This was no longer fun. It was work.

Things were difficult for a long time after this started to sink in. We’d have remarkably draining day after day after day, punctuated by a day of sharp disappointment or—if we were lucky—a day of iridescent joy. I think that those few joy-filled days were all that we had for awhile. There was a purpose, though, to my (our?) misery.

I needed to be corrected. I needed to see that I didn’t know everything; that I didn’t understand Rebecca like I thought I did. I needed to have to work for our love, and to protect that love and fight desperately for its preservation. I needed to learn how to encourage her and comfort her, how to validate her, how to really trust her. I needed to learn how to be patient and take things a day at a time. I needed to learn how to really respect her. I needed to learn how to talk to her, and how to talk with her.

I’m still learning. In fact, I’m still learning how to do all of those things. I genuinely thought, two years ago, that I’d be engaged or married by now. It’s only looking back that I can see how not-ready I was—how not-ready we were—and be thankful that Rebecca doesn’t share my spontaneity. (Or: irresponsibility).

So, on Saturday, Rebecca and I celebrated two years together at her church’s big “family camp” that I only went to because I refused to be apart on that day. It wasn’t what I wanted, nor was it what I had planned. I had a restaurant picked out well in advance, and I had a whole evening planned for us. How did I end up spending this day instead? Going on a hike with Rebecca and her dad and spending the day with a bunch of people that I don’t know at all. If you know me, and if you’re still reading this you probably do, you know how well I deal (in other words, don’t deal) with strangers.

We talked on Sunday morning after breakfast. I told her the things I had planned, and that I was sorry—we could celebrate next weekend or the weekend after that. And what did Rebecca say? She told me that she knows I don’t consider a hike with a bunch of other people a celebration. She told me that she had a lot of fun, and she was so glad that I came along for the weekend, and that she’d rather go out on a hike and on a hayride with me than have a fancy dinner anyway. I was sort of stunned. Here I was, sort of pouting and upset that we didn’t get to do things exactly like I had planned, when it turned out that the person I should have been focused on had a great time and I was too hung up on myself to notice.

Rebecca and I have been together for two years now. They’ve been difficult, frustrating, exhilarating, joyful and humbling years. I can’t take the credit for them, though. At every turn where I’ve made a mistake, or steered us down the wrong path, or just mucked things up in general, the God that we’ve placed our faith in has come along and put us back on track. I’m never going to have earned this, but I’ll always be thankful for it.

Two years. Here’s hoping for many more to follow.

I talked about Anna Karenina and writing with Rebecca today for about half an hour on my way to work.

Anna Karenina is the first novel that we’ve (sort of) read together, out of what I hope to be many more. It was really exciting for me to hear her tell me what she liked about the book so far, and what she didn’t like. She still has—by my estimate—about 260 pages to go, but I’ve enjoyed watching her form opinions about the book and the characters therein. She told me that she’s having trouble reading it sometimes, because she can’t stand Anna and Vronsky. I totally get that! I think that her dislike for those characters stems from her discomfort with their proud and selfish personalities, and their relationship borne out of what is never love.

We also talked about writing. I talked about why I enjoy it so much sometimes, and she talked about how writing isn’t a natural form of expression for her. It’s something that she’s working at, though. I think that, as writers, we’re all working at it. I don’t think that anyone was born in the midst of penning their Cien Años de Soledad or their Light in August. Writing is work, even when it comes easy.

I’m discovering that, for me, writing is just an outlet for my damnable hunger to be known and understood.