love – S'amusing

Sometimes It’s Diamonds, Sometimes It’s Paint 💕, A Love Story…..Story #5

Finally, the day for lovers and my 5th and last story for the occasion. Happy Valentine’s Day and think about the idea I’ve offered here

Honestly, it’s never diamonds. Perfume, maybe, but not diamonds. Oh, there was a diamond engagement years ago and another one at our 25th, but that ‘streak’ ended there, years ago. Nowadays, prudence, practicality and pocketbook influence my choices..

So, this Valentine’s Day I gave a gift that satisfied all three criteria, the gift of color. I painted a bathroom for my wife, and, not surprisingly, it was one of the best gifts I’ve given over the years. She raved about it and appreciated my work and the new look. As pleasant as that sounds, it’s an unflattering commentary on my gift giving skills. I’m terrible at it.

However, I’m a good painter, it’s in the genes. My immigrant grandfather established himself as a ‘master’ painter. He begot three boys who continued the trade. The line of succession produced more sons, yet, who donned the white overalls, joined the union and called themselves ‘journeymen’.

You see, while ‘diamonds are forever’ (who wears out a diamond?), paint jobs are actually meant to be replaced. Colors fade or fall out of fashion. The painter gets the opportunity to ‘regive’ the paint job, a ‘do over’, if you will.

“Hey, honey, I repainted the bathroom. How’s it look? And, Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Looks great, dinner is ready”, she shouts from afar. “You slug…”, is the unspoken word you don’t hear because she has resigned herself to the age-old mantra, ‘it’s the thought that counts’. But we all know this about marriage, ‘what you do or don’t do now will be used against you later’.

As I was reminded recently, disagreements, arguments and shortcomings are all part of the bonding process in marriage, no matter how long the union, decades in our case.

But, I digress. There are more gift giving opportunities on the horizon. The bedroom sounds appropriate for our wedding anniversary. And the hallways for her birthday. Oh, I just know she’ll love it. Everyday will seem like a birthday as she walks through the house, admiring the colors, reminding her of just how old she is. Hmm, I should rethink that one. Then there’s Christmas, maybe a brightening up of the guest room would be a hit.

Yes, diamonds are pretty; pretty impressive and pretty expensive. So, gentlemen, heed my advice. When the time comes, give the gift that is bold and beautiful, that tells her how much you love her. Give the ‘gift that keeps on giving’ and is cheap, the gift of color…PAINT SOMETHING!

Steve

Originally February 2016

Love On The Sidewalk 💕…Story #3

This is the third story that I previously wrote about love. Appropriate to repost now as we approach Valentine’s Day. Enjoy!

It happened in a most awkward way, as love is wont to do. A thrown kiss, a wink, a wave and a look of expectation that it would be returned. But I would have none of it.

Alas, my misguided ego momentarily led me to believe that I was the target of the young gentleman’s affection, when, in actuality, I was caught in a crossfire, a crossfire of love, playing out on the sidewalk of my favorite coffee shop in the town center.

But it was over as quickly as it happened. The February breeze carried the romantic gesture past me to the attractive young woman at my back, the target of his affection. Her reply mirrored his, lovingly thrown back. I stepped aside and let it pass, unbroken.

Not a word was spoken between them but it was obvious by their flirtatious comportment, this was unabashed love, love on the sidewalk. And it was on display for anyone to see. I saw it because I’m an observer of people, especially those who blow kisses my way, albeit, inadvertently.

It’s winter in western New York and with that comes a string of cold temperatures and depressing cloudy skies. It can be overbearing. Today, however, the air was warmer, the sun was filling the sky and moods changed. Gaiety filled the air. And there was love, love on the sidewalk.

The humorist in me wanted to ask if the kisses were meant for me, but I bit my tongue and held back. Why spoil a good street performance with a silly annoyance.

Valentine’s Day is upon us. Love sightings will abound. Will you observe them?

Happy Valentine’s Day to lovers everywhere…

Steve (Feb 14, 2023)

Love On The Veranda 💕…Story #2

This is the second story that I previously wrote about love. Appropriate to repost now as we approach Valentine’s Day. Enjoy!

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.” Shakespeare

With the kids safely aboard, the crossing arm retracted and the flashing red lights turned off, the school bus pulled away from the curb, leaving the young parents in a wake of noisy fumes. A quick wave, one that likely wouldn’t be seen as youngsters are in their own element once aboard, signaled the end of one phase of their day and the start of the next, the work day.

They turned and walked hand-in-hand up the inclined drive, stopping for a moment on the veranda before heading off separately, he to his car and she inside the house for some final to-do’s before going to work, herself, I imagine.

At that moment before separating, in a somewhat theatrical move that belied its spontaneity, they embraced. Their arms wrapped around each other, her back arched under his guidance, and he bent to kiss her. Her leg lifted slightly, reminiscent of the iconic photo of a sailor and nurse in Times Square at the end of WWII. It was a brief but beautiful interlude of love, love on the veranda

I’m not a snoop, nor nosy. I tend to my own business. However, I do enjoy the art of ‘observing’ people, an engaging pastime for anyone, especially for a retiree relaxing with a morning cup of coffee while peering out a picture window at the comings and goings of neighbors and street traffic.

Observing, not snooping!

And, there was no doubt that what I observed was love. The look, his strong yet gentle embrace, her arched back, the raised leg and the kiss. There was no effort to be discreet. And why should there be, it was love, pure and innocent love.

Witnessing moments of love is very satisfying, you must agree. It’s refreshing to see feelings shared between two people, lovers. They have found the formula that binds their hearts forever.

Young people are more apt to display affection openly, with touching and kissing. Older folks seem to do it more with their eyes, a loving glance, a simple touch , discreet moves that the other party understands. As they aged, themselves, my folks displayed love with hugs, kind words, a certain attentiveness.

If you’re an observer, too, be on the lookout for uplifting moments of love. Have one yourself with your lover. The human spirit needs it, love, that is.

I wonder if ‘my’ couple knows they were seen? Shall I tell them? Would it matter?

Steve B,

To lovers everywhere…

Love In The Parking Lot 💕…Story #1

Here’s the first of several stories that I wrote about love. Appropriate now as we approach Valentine’s Day. Enjoy!

“Love can start a journey to the most amazing places” Katherine Stano, Hallmark 2026 Calendar, Feb

It was a moment in time, in the open for all to see. I saw it, love in a parking lot. Others may have missed it, not me. And, there was no mistaking what it was, love, pure and simple.

In an act of old-fashioned chivalry, a tall, sophisticated looking man tenderly draped his arm around the shoulders of his attractive companion, gently moving her closer to him. His comforting smile exuded confidence. Her upward glance signaled approval, as though she, herself, had encouraged him.

They walked deliberately, amid a swarm of busy shoppers rushing to buy supplies before the pending late winter storm, too consumed with Mother Nature, perhaps, to see it. But I saw it, the wonderful and rare public display of affection, love in a parking lot.

People are hurrying and scurrying, so focused on where they’re going or where they’ve been, that they often miss where they are. Not me. I’m always looking. Life is full of wonderful moments, if we seize the opportunity to see them. Too often, in our haste, we miss the ‘theatre’ around us.

I enjoy watching people. My wife calls it ‘staring’, I call it ‘observing’. I see the remarkable and unremarkable, the pleasant and unpleasant, the ordinary and not so ordinary. I multitask with my eyes and ears, not passing the time so singularly focused that I miss life’s sometimes ‘bigger moments’, like love in a parking lot.

As for the ‘lovers’, I was not surprised to learn they were married 45 years. And this one moment of him protecting her from the icy wind by drawing her closer to his warmth, affirmed to me their mutual and enduring love.

I hope more people saw it, too, their love for each other, on display in a parking lot, because in a brief but poignant moment between two people, two lovers, I was uplifted. It made me smile.

From time to time, if you’re ‘observing’, you may be fortunate to witness true love, too, or some other special moment. I’m always looking!

Steve (Feb 26)

Dedicated to those of us who are ‘always looking’ and for people in love, everywhere.

Thanks to Jennie Fitzkee for encouraging, urging me to republish an older post. I think she’ll be pleased.

The Bar Chronicles: #4, Love Unrequited (How I Met My Wife)

‘Tale as old as time…’

(Beauty & The Beast)

‘On Friday nights, the boys sat on a bridge over our river, waiting for the girls to come across, hoping to catch the eye of the one we thought was special. And, I did.’

More than 60 years ago that was a perfect scheme for the young men of a small coal mining town in eastern Pennsylvania. My friend told the story with a twinkle in his eye and a smile, as though it was yesterday.

Here we were, again, three ‘seniors’, in a bar, reminiscing how we met our future wives. It was a moment of sincere reflection as we opened our hearts and shared memories that were a long time put aside.…but not forgotten.

These weren’t ordinary stories and this wasn’t an ordinary ‘bar’, this was the Lock 32 Brewing Company on the historic Erie Canal at the Port of Pittsford, NY. The canal and its towns come to life when the ‘ditch’ regains its waters after the long western NY winter. Working barges, canoes, rowers and yachts commingle east and west from Albany to Buffalo, meandering 400 miles through the Empire State. And, tonight, we witnessed some of it from inside this perfect venue in the tiny Pittsford village.

We found a table facing the canal, where the back wall is a floor to ceiling window that slides open onto the canal’s northside boardwalk, allowing us an unfettered vista of the late evening light settling on the local village. The lovers in front were scooted low enough in their seats that our view was uninterrupted.

‘I was a late bloomer in the dating game so I advertised in the newspaper for someone who was sophisticated, fun-loving and liked to dance. She answered.’

A quarter century later my friend and his wife are still dancing. The power of the marketplace.

Cabin cruisers docked on the south side, its occupants enjoying evening cocktails on the aft deck. Ducks collected near us, waiting for handouts, and couples sat on benches, leaning head to head, watching the setting sun lay its fingers across the silent waters, except when an occasional catfish surfaced to snatch an unsuspecting bug.

My eyes locked onto the boats and for a fleeting moment my imagination carried me out to sea, far away from the murky canal waters. Oh, to be an adventurer!

But, fantasies aside, we came here for a purpose, beer and brotherhood. The former started with the house ‘summer’ and ‘scotch’ ales, and the latter with an informal clinking of our glasses and a ‘here, here’, three neighbors relaxing and reminiscing over a beer.

‘I’d like to see number 7, again.’

Being a class officer on campus had its perks, judging cheerleader tryout was a major one. It allowed me to see a freshman girl whom I found attractive. She didn’t need my vote to make the squad and nearly 50 years later, we’re still ‘cheering’ for each other.

A quiet mood settled onto the pub as the evening waned. We emptied our mugs with a toast to marriages and longevity, then went into the night. The boats were dark, the boardwalk was empty, the fish were still active.

We headed home, content, knowing all is well…

Steve Bottcher

srbottch.com

My Mother was Catholic, My Father was Handsome…a Love Story

My mother was Catholic, my father was…handsome. The daughter of poor immigrants, and poorly educated, herself, this young girl of Irish/Italian heritage was looking for a better future. My father, too, was of immigrant parents, hard working, middle class, and Protestant.

She wanted the love that an abusive father never showed her, and he, this dashing young tradesman, would give her that, and more. Still, she was Catholic and, well, he was a pool shooter.

Living in a flat above the pool hall he frequented, evenings would often find her purposefully loitering on the building steps, easy prey for his roving eyes. Love finds a way…

Barely 19 and in a ‘family way’, she married him, probably to the chagrin of the family patriarch, and the local priest. After all, she was a Catholic girl and he…well, he was careless and cavalier.

In all likelihood, he was careless more than once, as six more children were added to the family tree, five in rapid succession before a brief respite. then my sister and me. She was very Catholic.

Life was challenging for a young wife with a bevy of small children and an ‘old school’ husband who set the rules and expectations in a firm manner. Yet, for all the hardships endured, she worshipped him, depended on him for her well-being and her place in a middle class America. Besides, what were her options?

Their marriage endured, and only strengthened with time. My mother loved my father dearly and he relished his role as a strong family provider and leader. He was doing what was expected of him, then.

It was joyful, watching their love grow, an affair lasting 50 years. Life’s tough challenges were met and now behind them, and they basked in the comfort of their companionship, each one knowing the other’s pleasures.

And then, it ended. One morning, he kissed her goodbye, twice, went to work and didn’t come home. 76 years old. To the end, the handsome pool player fulfilled his vow to love and cherish, protect and provide.

The Catholic girl survived another twenty years, still in love with the same man but now adding God in her daily thoughts. After all, she was Catholic, and He…well, He was her Savior.

srbottch

Dedicated to my wonderful parents

Barney, A Eulogy (2005)

On April 7 (2005), our dog Barney was put to rest. My wife and I said our last goodbyes to Barney, and while we’re saddened by our loss, we’re comforted by wonderful memories of good family times we had with him and iknowing that he enriched our lives by being our special pet.

We devoted more time to Barney the last few months doing activities we all enjoyed: long treks on favorite trails through the woods; walks around the Erie Canal; playing in the back yard. We did as much as his stamina allowed, and he loved it. He enjoyed being with us and we cherished his companionship and affection.

Barney was a friend to all. He anticipated the mail carrier’s daily stop and biscuit treat. Like a magnet, he drew the Helping Hands boy to the back of our van when groceries were being loaded. He eagerly welcomed visitors to our house with an extended paw and a good sniffing. The neighborhood kids enjoyed his willingness to be petted, the warmth and tenderness of his thick fur and strong body and the love behind an occasional kiss. People learned not to be afraid of Barney and that his enthusiastic approaches were his way of saying,”C’mon, let’s touch!”

Barney would watch us through the window when we left and welcome us at the door upon our return. He would wait in the car to meet our son and daughter at the airport on their trips home, and bound up the stairs into their bedrooms to see what was new in their bags. He taught them to put away their clothes or risk having their undies dragged through the house.

Barney was a constant companion to my wife, keeping her in sight as she worked her garden, or following her from room to room. At night, he lay at her bedside. He loved being with her in the kitchen where the good treats and special smells were. She would talk and Barney would listen. The carrots, creamed spinach, broccoli and sliced bananas were but a few of his gourmet rewards. My wife was Barney’s exerciser through the walks they took and the backyard games they played.

This summer, we’ll dedicate a concrete square to Barney’s memory. It’ll be added to others in our backyard walkway as a remembrance. It may take its place near our first dog’s marker. And in a few words, the stone will attest to what a wonderful dog Barney was. Or, it may say how he will always be remembered. For me, he was the ‘King of All Dogs.’ I often reminded him of that. And he was the King to the final moment of his precious life.

Barney scrambled in and out of our arms as a furry, energetic 6 week old puppy when we adopted him 11 years ago. And he’ll be in our hearts for a lifetime. We love you, Barney. You were a great family dog.

SrBottch

Written 5/1/2005 and published in the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, “My Life, My Words”

I dedicate this story to all pet lovers and especially those who have experienced the sadness of losing one of their own special ‘friends’.

Jake the Dog, His Story

August 14 was a momentous day for me. I received a reprieve on life, moved to a new home and was embraced with open arms and scratching behind my ears by my new adoptive owners.

My name is Jake. I’m a young adult dog with Great Dane and black Labrador bloodlines, which makes me both tall and handsome. I’m big on kissing and loved to be hugged. I’m well-trained. I’m the real deal, the complete package. All that my new owner has to do is feed, exercise and love me. And they do, with gusto. I’m a lucky dog, and I love my new digs.

It wasn’t always this pleasant. I had a nice home until I was given up by my owners and moved to a new place in the city, where I was kept in a cage surrounded by a mishmash of barking, howling and whining dogs. Soon, I found myself falling into the same behavior. And talk about turnover. It was difficult to make friends because the few dogs I could see didn’t stay long enough to get acquainted.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the barking, howling and whining was a call for help. When my owners never returned, I knew that my days were probably numbered, too. I needed to clear my head and come up with a plan. I resolved to look smart and act friendly when visitors came by to pass judgment and make their selection as to which of us would go home with them and which would stay to keep barking, howling and whining. I got lucky.

Now, I couldn’t be happier with my new owners. They’re experienced dog lovers and even had teenagers at one time, so I know they’re capable. We’re very happy with each other. Yet, I’m sad when I think about what may have been the fate of the animals I left behind.

They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. All of us surely can be if given the chance in a caring home. I have that chance now and am making the best of it. It would be nice to know that other like-minded pet owners-to-be will adopt a dog from a pound, too. You’ll find the world’s greatest dog there. My owners did. And you’ll feel so good about saving the life of an animal, a new companion who will always be there to love you.

srbottch

Oct 16, 2005

Dedicated to all pet owners who love and care for their animals

Today, I Waved At an Airplane…Stuff My Sister ‘Taught’ Me

Today, I waved at an airplane, a ‘skill’ I learned as a kid from my benevolent sister. She even described how they wave back, by tipping their wings. Really?

I followed my sister through school by four years and learned that it’s awkward following a sibling’s footsteps. “You’re not like your sister”, teachers would say, and I wasn’t. I was a bit more like my older brothers, not mischevious, but testing and challenging, wearing on teachers’ nerves and patience. My sister was, well, ‘precocious…’

I didn’t mind the comparison and was darn proud to have a smart sister who took me under her ‘wing’ and taught me to ‘wave at airplanes’.

Amazingly, I still enjoy doing it, discreetly, of course. I think of myself as a ‘good will ambassador’ for my community, welcoming visitors on their arrivals, like a greeter at Walmart.

The big unknown is whether or not passengers even see me. If they do, then they must be thankful for the salutation. If not, well, at least I tried.

Waving at people is not without precedent. I recall a roadside waver on the Pennsylvania Turnpike who waved at motorists from his lawn chair for years. Passersby responded by beeping. I like to believe if airplanes had horns, they would beep at me, too, because they sure as hell aren’t tipping wings.

As I think back, I reluctantly realize that I may have been duped by my sister. But all is forgiven. The joy of waving to people over many years, seen or unseen, has been uplifting. I like to think the same for them, if they ever saw me.

As crazy as it looks, I’ll continue being that ambassador, waving at and welcoming airplanes. Keep an eye out for me if you’re flying into Rochester some day. And, please, wave back or at least smile. The world needs more of both.

srbottch

Dedicated to my sister and big sisters, everywhere.

“Love In a Parking Lot”

It was a moment in time, in the open for all to see. I saw it, love in a parking lot. Others may have missed it, not me. And there was no mistaking what it was, love, pure and simple.

They walked deliberately, amid a swarm of busy shoppers rushing to buy supplies before the storm, too consumed with Mother Nature, perhaps, to see it. But I saw it, the wonderful and rare public display of affection, love in a parking lot.

People are hurrying and scurrying, so focused on where they’re going or where they’ve been, that they often miss where they are. Not me. I’m always looking! Life is full of wonderful moments, if we avail ourselves of the opportunity to see them. Too often, in our haste, we miss the ‘theatre’ around us.

Not me. I enjoy watching people. My wife calls it ‘staring’, I call it ‘observing’. I see the remarkable and unremarkable, the pleasant and unpleasant, the ordinary and not so ordinary. I multitask with my eyes and ears, not passing the time so singularly focused that I miss life’s sometimes ‘bigger moments’, like love in a parking lot.

I hope more people saw it, too, their love for each other, on display in a parking lot, because in a brief but poignant moment between two people, two lovers, I was uplifted. It made me smile.

From time to time, if you’re looking, ‘observing’, you may be fortunate to witness true love, too, or some other special moment. I’m always looking!

srbottch

Dedicated to those of us who are ‘always looking’ and for people in love, everywhere