Burning Love Entry #17

Dear Readers,

Today is the last day of February, and we have one last entry—how perfect is that?  Though we never imagined we'd be ending the contest on a note like this!

Hairy ears

            back

            knuckles…dragging the earth

Ambulatory grace of a lumbering ox

Tender caress of my unshaved cheek

And so, my beautiful

            tender

            flower

            I’m all Yours

Lucky girl.  

When we said "burning love," we weren't  picturing the sandpaper effect of an unshaven cheek—but there you have it!

Now it's time for what we've put off for 29 days—deliberation.   

We'll announce a winner on Friday.  And hope we still have friends on Saturday.

Readers?

Much Love,

Lisa and Maddie

Reader Has Serious Rug Problem

Greetings Readers!

Today we bring you a 140-word conundrum which we must answer in 140 words per our agreement for February.  If you don't know what we're talking about, don't worry, we're not sure ourselves.   If you have a 140-word conundrum (or Burning Love Entry), there's still time to send it in.

So, let's get this party started!

Donald's rug--but where's his Pate?

(Dear Mikchiks)—our salutation, not part of her word count.

What’s the deal with shifting rugs? No, not the rugs that adorn balding pates, but the everyday rugs that adorn your floors.  (Pates?  As in liver? I, Lisa, don't know what pates of the head are.)

They move. (The rugs--not the pates.)  When no one is looking.

An anti-slip mat doesn’t stop the runner in our hall from shifting an inch or two daily. And the bedroom rug regularly mocks me from its cock-eyed position.  I thought I was alone in my bafflement over this rug coNUNdrum until one day, as I straightened the wayward hallway rug for the 1,982,732^nd time, my husband turned to me and asked, “How do they move so much?”

“I wish I knew. But I know who can help. The MikChiks. They know everything (well not everything).”

So, here we are. Are we the only ones burdened by this bother? Do we walk off-kilter? Or is our house crooked?

We need your help.

Consternated Rug Wranglers

Dear Wranglers,

(Maddie here),

Shifting happens. But not to worry.  

We know that often times those cheap, rubber, grippy things do no good.  They never stay stuck to the rug--it's really a case of:  it's them, not you.  Ergo on your behalf, we did a little Googling and this is what we found:

Mohawk Rug Tape.  The word tape gives us confidence.  Give this a try.  Seems legit.

Or you could be like Holly C.,  and actually nail your area rug to the floor.  Girlfriend don’t play.

We have a lot more words to burn up here.  I (Maddie), am writing this in my bedroom where I am looking at my and Aaron’s closets.  The difference is profound.  I should be embarrassed, (yes, you should be), but I’m not (not surprised) .  He knew what he was getting into. (Sure, Maddie--I understand--sometimes we tell ourselves these things so we can sleep at night.)

 And that’s a wrap!

Hopefully the readers will have more superior thoughts (our constant fallback:).

Love,

The MikChiks

P.S. Please don't check our word count--we were fools to ever believe we could adhere to one.

Burning Love Entry #16

Greetings on a Sunday!

Here's a last minute entry in the Burning Love Contest!  We could read these entries all year long—the glimpses of love from your perspectives are fascinating, beautiful--uplifting.

Thank you.

I stand on the edge, eyes closed;
The constellation of your face
Lingers among the stars,
Moonlight dances on ocean waves.
You are absent and present;
You are far away; you are near

Raise your hand into the breeze,
Feel my heart beat against the wind.
The air around me becomes your fragrance,
You are breath, my life’s breath.
My purest thoughts feel you.

My dreams reach for you.
Their pleas stir my slumber;
How long can we endure?
My flesh rises in rebellion;
My soul weeps; I am broken.

I rise before the sun;
Standing on the edge, I wait.
The horizon parts from the darkness;
The light floods my face.

But the day calls its demand;
I feel you slip away from me.
Soon I will come to you, my love,
You are far away; you are near.

 

"You are far away; you are near."

It's one of those paradoxes that makes perfect sense because it speaks of Truth—and therein lies part of the beauty, and therein lies all of the beauty.

Readers?

Love,

Maddie and Lisa

Burning Love Entry #15

Thursday Morning Greetings!

Here is our last burning love entry—unless someone sent one in that we missed—if that's the case, speak now or forever. . .

Additionally, we have one 140-word conundrum to tackle.  Then we'll mull and ponder and furrow our brows and wring our hands to come up with a winner. 

This will be agony.

But for now, we hope you enjoy this last entry—rife with beautiful imagery, introspection, and a touch of melancholy.

Beyond the porch rail, mist hangs heavy over the hills.  Familiar scenes of green meadows, leafing maple, elm, oak and evergreens trees stand hidden. Endless blue skies and white-peaked purple mountains, now veiled by weighted vapor.

I stand, looking out in despair; bereft but of memory of what once had been before me.

Was it ever there – the beauty, the peace, the completeness?  Does its absence prove its existence? The ache in my soul was not there until I looked out to see it gone.  The hollow in my heart abstract until part of it was removed.

Do the familiar, but hidden scenes draw their fullness and purpose from the emotions they evoke from me? Possibly as much as I am made absolute and human by missing them when they are gone. Either alone - a mirror without a reflection.

These words resonate within—especially on certain lonely days.

Readers?

Love,

Lisa and Maddie

Burning Love Entry #14

Greetings Readers!

Here is the next entry—the ending of which we love.

Thilo begged for English conversation lessons. Nina consented, little suspecting he was mad for her. It became evident after a month of conversations. Since he wasn’t her type, she kept things formal to spare him the heartbreak.

On a group weekend getaway to the countryside, a friend said, “Rumor has it you two are dating.”

“There’s nothing between us!” Nina quickly pointed out.

“Let’s give them something to talk about,” Thilo said. “Let’s pretend we’re engaged.”

He called her sweetheart, sat next to her at meals, held her hand on snowy walks.

That final morning, Nina felt Thilo’s eyes adoring her across the breakfast table. She sat opposite him, suddenly shy after months of knowing him.

“Honey, don’t hide your eyes from me.”

She looked up at him, lost in the wonder of love, grateful that he’d loved her first.

. . . grateful that he'd loved her first.

How often we've felt that.

Readers?

Love,

Maddie and Lisa

Burning Love Entry #13

Happy Presidents' Day, Readers!

Hope you all are doing well.  Today's entry, entitled "As One" shows how it can be the simple things done as one—that makes all the difference. 

Though, one line cracked us up.

You hear me clattering in the kitchen and stroll in to help,
Carry in cups of steaming chamomile tea while I’m typing,
Relax with me over a morning coffee.
You let me be myself.

As one

You tell me I look pretty.
You catch me as I turn away and pull me close.
You tell me I smell delicious.
Your eyes smile when you look into mine.

As one

You sit and listen while I ramble.
You give me honest feedback.
You pray for me when I’m sick.
You make me laugh and melt and smile.

As one

If this isn’t what love is, then shoot me now.
This is not what I dreamed up before you put the gold on my finger.
It’s been so much better, becoming one
Over these countless loving, painful, tear-filled, joy-filled years.

As one

Maybe the secret to a fulfilled marriage isn't so complicated after all.

If it is, then shoot us now.

Readers?

Mucho Amore,

Lisa and Maddie

Burning Love Entry #12

Greetings Readers!

We only have a few more entries to go.  This next one, entitled "Good Morning, Carolyn," is a tender one.

He woke every morning around six or six-thirty . . . without fail.

And without fail, he always reached out and touched the face of his love, “Good morning Carolyn.”

He’d get up and walk toward the old-fashioned Christmas tree while rubbing his eyes to see the same steps he took for years, then bent down to flip the switch because she loved the twinkling lights. It pleased her so.

Eggs, grits, toast and coffee was their ‘breakfast special’ and the menu never wavered.

But, he needed only one tray now . . . alone with her smiles everywhere, and her lights.

Until their anniversary this year.

He wasn’t sure, but he wondered if plans for him were beginning to change.

And not soon after, he closed his eyes and woke to see her face.

Her smile . . . brighter than any light . . .

And we bet he said, "Good Morning, Carolyn."

Lovely.

Readers?

xoxo

Maddie and Lisa