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Since my first Valentine’s post was not very romantic (one might recall a certain writer being ‘fuming mad’ at her husband) I’ll share this story and beautiful piece of artwork.

The story of how my husband and I eventually ended up in wedded bliss is a bit too long to recall entirely and I would not do the proper justice to in one post. Suffice it to say that my parents nicknamed him ‘the stalker’ when we were in high school. And yes, we did go to the same high school, we were in the same small class in fact, but no, we were not friends.

It was due to my husband’s ardor, which began in 7th grade (as a direct result of a certain pair of shorts in gym class according to him) and continued through senior year, that I quite literally never spoke more than a paragraph to him throughout those six years. His obsession with me was well known in both of our circles and unfortunately, to all of his girlfriends. I would imagine there were a couple of discussions regarding my cankles and/or the sweater I wore nearly every day in those circles (In my defense it was the only way I could spice up our school uniform).

My senior year I was fortunate enough to go on our high school Europe trip. And since I know both of my parents now read this blog- I, Jenny B., for the record, thank you both. Surprise, surprise my husband was also fortunate enough to go on the same trip. We covered France, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, and a small country in-between Switzerland and Austria called Liechtenstein. This trip was one of those life experiences that are burned less in your memory and more in your heart. Although I cannot remember every detail in my mind it only takes a second to remember how it felt.

In Paris, France we visited the Louvre. It is truly a wonder. I am convinced that anyone, even among those who have not been exposed to or like have in interest in art, would feel a reverence for the sheer mass of the human experience encased in that building. It would take at least a week to just view everything completely; in my case I only had a couple of hours.

It was in those hours that wandering alone I came upon a gallery and was drawn to a painting. I stood for a bit staring at it and whether he sought me out or if by some centripetal force he, my future husband, (also alone) found me. He came up behind me to view the painting as well. We proceeded to have a brief two to three sentence discussion about the art and then I went on my way to discover more.

Three years later, when we reconvened Stateside, this time as a couple he presented me with a tube. And in that tube was a copy of the painting. That he remembered was touching, that he took the time to search, find, and purchase it was and is love.

(I searched for an hour and cannot find it, please check back)