The Promised Land
Estimated reading time: 11 minutes, 2 seconds
Planning The Rest of
Our Honeymoon
Jan was sitting on the log bench looking at the lake when I joined her after cleaning up after dinner. The sun was setting to the left, and the last light of the day was dancing across the water with only shades of red and orange.
It would have been the perfect framing of a photo of my bride, except the camera was in the tent. I choose to stay with her instead of retrieving the camera and creating a Kodachrome of her in my mind.
“What is my sweetheart thinking about,” I asked as I kissed Jan’s cheek.
I am happy to be with my husband in the promised land.”
I started to say me too, but quickly rephrased my response to say I was happy to be with my bride.
Should we discuss where we want to go next?”
I nodded my head affirmatively.
“Thanks. But you have a better sense of direction and where we might go.”
“Well,” using my hands to draw a map in the air, “we could go south. On my hostel trips, we stayed at one in Bowmansville, where the Amish live. We dined with a farmer. That might be a good first stop.”
“You dined with the farmer?”
Yes, he does that to build bridges between his community and the outside world. Of course, he was the only one we saw as his wife and children stayed in the kitchen.”
I do not like the idea of women left in the kitchen, but let’s go there for a day or two.”
Realizing I would be driving many miles as Jan could not drive a car with a stick shift, I took a deep breath and made a second suggestion.
Moving my hands in the air again, I suggested we could travel thru western Maryland and end up in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
My final suggestion was to end up at the beach in Virginia or Delaware if we had time.
“I like that plan!”
“You were easy to convince….”
As soon as the word was in the air, I knew it was not an excellent linguistic choice.
Jan’s frowning face told me I was in trouble.
I did not mean easy the way you are thinking. I thought you might want to go north to NY, west to Anne Arbor, or maybe even NJ,” I explained in a fruitless attempt to save the day.
I pulled her toward me and started kissing her, but Jan turned away.
“I’m sorry.”
She turned to face me and, between laughs, said, “I know you didn’t mean it that way. It was fun watching you squirm.”
I kissed her, and she kissed me back.
I turned my body to face her and slipped off the bench. Jan’s arms reached out to hold me, and we both tumbled onto the ground.
She was on top of me, and then we rolled over twice, and she was on top of me again.
Looking over her shoulder, I could see the sun had disappeared. The last sunlight was fading slowly from the lake, and the stars were beginning to fill the sky.
Jan, I love you! You are so beautiful.”
Our deep kisses made me forget I was lying on the ground.
“Sweetheart, we probably should move inside the tent….”
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
