Best Blues, Dress Whites, Fatigues. It's All Good (Melissa Robbins)

Isn't he quite the dish? More about him later.

If you ask my husband, he will tell you he's the romantic one of our twosome, so maybe Reed should be the one to write this post. I will share with you one of his favorite movie lines, “Well, there's the usual things: Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep.” Those are the words spoken by Cogsworth in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I hope I'm not ruining the movie for you, but the Beast 'gives' Belle the library, because Lumiere noticed Belle's interest in books. I think that's the best way someone can be romantic, just by listening and knowing what the other person wants or enjoys.

For example, for Christmas one year, I received two Transformer toys from Reed. Now, you might be wondering why on earth would my husband give me those toys. Reed remembered a story I once told him about how much I wanted a Transformer when I was a kid, but I never received one because they were for boys. Reed actually tried to find the one I wanted, but couldn't find it.

Just last Christmas, a writer friend of mine told me about a present she received. She always wanted a strand of pearls, but being so short, strands are always too long. Her boyfriend bought a strand of pearls, took it to a jeweler, and had the jeweler shorten the strand for her. Is that not the sweetest thing ever?

So obviously listening skills are high on my list. :0D I'm also with Theresa with the 'helping me with things.' Ages ago, Reed and I worked on a church service project. It was the third time we had done anything remotely together in a group setting. I was struggling putting leaves into a trash bag. Reed came over and helped me by holding open the bag. It was a simple gesture, but I definitely took notice. I think we starting dating a week or two after that. First, I had to insult his truck for that date, but that's a story for another blog.

What other romantic ideals do I have? Some of my friends mock me for my obsession, I mean love of men in uniform (military). I could blame the fact that I grew up near the U.S. Naval Academy (dress whites *swoon*) or that my dad took me to see Top Gun when I was a pre-teen. I claim research purposes, but I have no idea why I start giggling when I see a sergeant in Air Force fatigues at Walmart (They're all over the place around here!) or about pass out at seeing Rupert Penry-Jones in an A-2 flight jacket. Oh lord have mercy! Shh, don't tell my husband. By the way, if I could FIND a screen shot of Rupert in that jacket, it would be right here!

**edited** Look what Rox found for me! Okay, so RPJ isn't wearing the A-2, but it's leather and it's Rupert. Do I hear any complaints? (crickets chirping) I thought so. I left the handsome guy at the top, who was a real WW2 pilot. I don't know his name and I hope he survived the war. I call him Sean Finnegan and he's one of my pilots. The sweet one, the yin to Jack's naughty yang.

Is it the hero aspect of a man in uniform we find so attractive? They are real life heroes, rescuing the damsel and everyone else. My grandfather may not have survived WW2 if one of his fellow soldiers hadn't dragged him to safety while his own arm was injured.

I'll leave you with a funny romantic story I found while researching for my WW2 stories. I am so stealing this idea. An Royal Air Force bomber pilot by the name of Moose (He was big and Canadian – go figure) who after a bombing run did what they all did and asked the controller (who happened to be a WAAF, like my Wren!) for directions home. Then, Moose proceeded to argue with Bobby over the airwaves about the directions she gave him. They married in 1946 and had five kids. Makes you wonder if they still argued over directions through the years.

Romance...in Images [Penny Rader]

What is romance to you?  To me, it is a combination of the following:

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"ROMANCE" by J Vincent

A couple of definitions for romantic:
a) displaying or expressing love or strong affection
b) the pleasurable feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love

I believe both are true. Romantic, for me, is not the grand gesture but the subtle touch or gift that becomes a mutually shared and understood symbol. A gift that sticks in the memory, a permanent reminder of the love shown. I’ll let my work demonstrate this. In The Promise Rose (2005) there is a scene early in the book:

“Barry! Barry? Why are you hiding here?” Glenna scolded, entering an arbor she and her friend frequented. “Mother’s seamstress wishes to give your gown for my wedding a fitting.” She paused. “Have you--are you crying?” Glenna hurried to her.
Barry wiped away her tears with her kerchief and stood. “It is--nothing.” An object fell from the folds of her skirt.
“What a beautiful rose,” Glenna said, retrieving it. “A red rose, la rose d’amour.” She arched a brow teasingly. “Prideau?” A squeal of delight escaped at Barry’s nod. “Oh, do tell me what has happened.”
“Four days ago--the night of the ball, we went for a walk in the garden. He asked if we might exchange missives while he is in America,” Barry reluctantly told her. Her color rose. “He repeated his request when you left us alone on the picnic yesterday.”
“Is he to call on your father before he leaves?”
“He spoke of visiting my home but we did not speak of marriage--not directly. There has been so little time.” Barry blinked back tears, reached out, and gently took the rose from Glenna’s hand, cradling it tenderly.
“A walk in the garden,” Barry murmured. “A magic moment during a picnic. And now there is no time.” Her face began to crumble. “He has been summoned home--departed this morning.” A tear fell on the fragile rose petals. “A maid brought this to me,” she caressed the rose, “with a note that he would come the next time I was given such a rose. That he would then be free to speak its--message.”

The lovers are of course, parted for many years, each tricked into thinking it the others fault. At the end of the book with the misunderstandings resolved comes this scene:

“Lady Gromley. Mrs. McDowell.” Tafte interrupted their conversation. “The messenger who brought this and said you alone, my lady, were to open it.” He held out a long, slim box.
Barry accepted it. “Thank you.” She turned to Glenna as he departed. “I wonder what--”
“Open it,” Glenna urged her excitedly. “Are you not curious?”
“It is probably some memento of appreciation from one of my guests.” Barry lifted the lid. Gazing down, her heart skipped a beat. The lid tumbled to the floor and she drew back the soft, damp ferns with a trembling hand. Within lay a blood red rose.
His words rang faintly over the years. This pledge shall not be broken by neither time nor by distance. Cradling the rose tenderly, she asked, “Did the messenger bring anything else?”
But Tafte and Glenna had disappeared.
A deep voice sounded at the door. “Only himself.”
“Prideau.” She leaped to her feet.
He walked slowly to her, his hands joining hers on the promise rose. “It has been a lifetime since the pledge was given,” Prideau said, his voice raw with emotion. “Can you believe I mean it as sincerely today, no, ten times more, than I did long ago?”
Nodding, Barry placed her free hand over his.
He gripped it tightly. “You are even more beautiful this day,” he breathed. Then, “Your letters were never deliv--”
She placed a finger on his lips. “Glenna told me a little. You may tell me all of it someday.”
He bent his head to hers and they kissed.
Prideau then raised a finger and gently traced the line of her jaw. “When can we be wed?”
A sudden frown appeared on her face with practicality’s return. “There are Pamela and Patrick to consider.”
“Her aunt is to arrive on the morrow. She has agreed to keep both of them for a month,” Prideau informed her with a smile.
“There is the matter of Pamela and Lieutenant Horne.”
“They have just agreed to a year’s courtship. Horne shall be free to call whenever he has time from his duty.” His smile deepened. Mischief danced in his eyes. “You should be delivered from your confinement in time for their nuptials.”
Barry arched a brow. “I am not yet breeding.”
“I know.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, then her lips. “I have come armed with a special license and Canon Portman, an old friend of the cleric bent. I mean to remedy all obstacles, my dear, dear Barry,” he said kissing her again. Prideau drew back reluctantly. “Find a gown you think suitable for your wedding. We marry this evening.”
“Shall this suit, my lord?” She teasingly motioned at her plain Watteau gown, her features radiant with joy.
“By God, it shall.” Prideau drew her to him once again. “If we can but find a moment to send for the cleric.”
Barry demonstrated her agreement by drawing his head to hers. Her eye caught a glimpse of the promise rose still in her hand above his shoulder. Their lips met, sweeping twelve years into the past, the promise fulfilled.

One of my treasures is a note scrawled at the end of this scene which ends the book. It was written by the “reader” hired to evaluate it before it was contracted. It said simply, “Well done, my friend.” I think that same phrase every year when my husband gives me white and pink roses for our anniversary like the ones in my bridal bouquet. He’s brought them home for me to arrange and had beautiful arrangements of them waiting in hotel rooms, and had the same delivered to me at work and at home. No matter where or how the roses touch my heart, each year a little more deeply. That is romantic.

Until (Penny Rader)

This edited scene (to keep it PG rated) is one of my favorites from Sapphire and Gold. The year is 1752. Derek and Alexandra are sailing from Philadelphia to Williamsburg, Virginia. A terrible storm is doing a number on the ship. Derek nearly ends up in the ocean and is furious with Alexandra for being up on the deck. He all but drags her back to their cabin, then leaves to fulfill his duty as captain. Here's what happens after the danger has passed.

~ ~ ~

Alexandra caught her breath. She had heard Derek approach the cabin and, unwilling to renew the occurrence of a few hours past, had squeezed her eyes closed.

Until he entered the cabin.

Until she heard him undress.

Until he slid beneath the covers and rolled toward her.

Until he touched her.

Now his hand continued its silent quest along her draped form. Her heart raced and her mouth went dry. She bit her lower lip to refrain from moaning and clutched the bedding to stop from turning toward him and returning the sweet torment, little by little. His hand settled on her hip. He traced the curve with his thumb before sliding up her back.

‘Twas her undoing.

She inched closer to the edge of the bed and wrapped the blanket more securely about her.

“Lexi?” He bent over her. His breath tickled her ear.

She shrugged away from him, unable to meet his gaze.

“Are you awake?” He pushed her hair aside and pressed his lips to her neck.

“Go away.”

“Lexi.” Derek’s low voice vibrated down her spine. He moved closer to her shrouded body. “Talk to me.”

Ever aware of her lack of clothing, she damned her foolishness and wondered how long it would take for him to discover this fact for himself.

Deciding she might as well get it over with, she rolled over and faced him. She did her best to remain covered from chin to toe. “We have nothing to say. Please keep your hands to yourself so I can sleep.”

The corners of his mouth quirked. She glared at him.

“I find nothing amusing about this situation.” She set her chin. “If there is nothing more...”

She started to roll away, but somehow found herself flush against Derek.

“Let go.” She pushed against his broad, bare chest, but couldn’t escape his iron grip. She lowered her gaze, but when she realized the blanket barely covered his hips and left the rest of his body open to her shy perusal, she glanced away. To her mortification, she felt her own portion slipping.

Derek’s gaze dropped to the expanse of flesh swelling over the bedding she clasped against her body. Fiery warmth flooded her face.

One of his eyebrows shot up. “What have we here?”

Alexandra tugged the blanket up. “‘Tisn’t what you think.”

Derek explored her back. Upon finding the edge of the bedcover, he slipped his fingers inside. “And what might I be thinking?”

Longing clouded her mind. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “You might think I was waiting for you.”

“And were you?” His hand grazed her hip then flattened on her stomach and crept up, seeking the fullness shielded from his view.

“No.” Shivers of desire ribboned through her. “No. I was cold and wet and...” She couldn’t think. “And...”

His lips discovered the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “Cold and wet, hmmm? A likely story.” He cupped the weight of her breasts with the lightest, gentlest of motions.

Liquid heat erupted within her. She choked back a gasp. “‘Tis the truth. I couldn’t find my valise.”

Derek swept the blanket aside. “I think I shall conceal your valise on a daily basis.” Alexandra bit her lip against a moan. “We must stop. This isn’t right.”

“We’re married, Lexi, and this is most definitely right.” His lips found hers and drew the breath from her very soul.

All rational thought, all further protests faded away, forgotten. White-hot need unfurled in her veins. She wanted more, needed more. Her hands trailed down his sides before sliding inward and lower until her fingers closed around him.

Derek groaned low in his throat, and thrilling Alexandra by the sound of his surrender, he continued to pleasure her with his hands and his mouth.

The world tilted sideways. She held tight to him, lest she shatter into a million pieces and drift through endless time without him. Her release rocked her to her innermost core. He sheltered her within his embrace.

Ever so slowly she drifted back down and snuggled against Derek. She couldn’t help but marvel at the wondrous experience they had just shared.

Content, she rested a hand on his chest and enjoyed the feel of the steady beat of his heart. A languid drowsiness took hold of her. She yawned. “Might I sleep now?”

“Nay. Mayhap later.”

Our First Christmas

Our first Christmas after our wedding found us in Arkansas where Vince was stationed at Little Rock Air Force Base. Our railroad style apartment was in North Little Rock in a four unit building. We were dirt poor but wanted to celebrate Christmas like we both had back at our families’ homes. That meant at least a tree with all the trimmings. We soon found all we could afford was one string of lights. No tree. No ornaments. Just lights.


Vince proved the hero of the day when he appeared at our apartment door one afternoon with a real pine tree. I was aghast when he told me he had driven out into the countryside and “chopped” down a pine tree with my butcher knife. I thought he was lucky he didn’t get shot. My poor butcher knife was never the same. I thought it the most wonderful tree in the world. I’m certain I rewarded him suitably for such heroics.
Immediately I set to work making decorations for our grand tree. I colored and cut out paper ornaments. We strung popcorn for garland and then splurged and bought tinsel. That weekend we spent a very romantic evening decorating it while we listened to Christmas music. The only photo I could find shows not only that I was a poor photographer but that the tree had a few large gaps between the branches. That green thing bottom right is a green net tree I sewed. I still have it and a few of the original ornaments from our first tree.

Something else I did to decorate was use Glass Wax Stencils. These were heavily waxed, hence waterproof, stencils which I stenciled onto windows and mirrors using Glass Wax window cleaner. The cleaner dried white—to the left is the mirror above the fake fireplace in our apartment in N. Little Rock. When I rubbed the stencil off after Christmas I had the bonus of a clean mirror. I still have the stencils and continue to use them.

Vince surprised me by arranging for us to go “home” to Kansas on Christmas Eve. The photo at the top (we are sooooo young!) was taken at my parents’ house that first Christmas. The gift from Vince is a watch. But gifts weren’t necessary. The previous year he had been overseas serving in what is now called the Vietnam Conflict. This first Christmas we were together; we were married. We had a gorgeous tree, gorgeous because it and its decorations reflected our love for one another. We now have forty two years of ornaments and garland and Vince always does a spectacular job decorating the tree, but none ever meant as much as the one we had on our First Christmas.

What are some of your First Christmas memories? First Christmas away from home. First married. There are a lot of different firsts Christmases. Share some. Merry Christmas!

My Most Romantic Christmas

In 1976, my sailor husband was out to sea in his submarine leaving me and our infant daughter alone in Groton, Connecticut. My Kansas home had never seemed so far away. In spite of the fact that I was going to spend the holidays with only my seven-month-old daughter, I was determined to imbue our sparsely furnished apartment with the Christmas spirit. With the baby in my backpack carrier, I trudged through the snow at a nearby Christmas tree farm and picked out the most beautiful blue spruce I could find in my price range.

Needless to say, it was small, but it filled my apartment with that wonder fresh-cut pine scent. After adding a string of new light and the few ornaments I had brought from home, my living room didn’t look quite so bleak. In fact, the sofa and the floor lamp looked positively delighted to have the company. As I made a foil star to top my tree, I struggled not to cry. It was a very low point in my life. Facing the holidays alone was hard.

Then, one December 22, I got an unexpected call. My husband’s submarine was coming into port for repairs and the crew would be allowed one night’s liberty. On Christmas Eve! That night, I hurried to picked up my husband at the naval base. We hadn’t seen each other in two and a half months. There was a whole lot of kissing going on even without mistletoe.

After the baby was tucked snug in her crib, my husband and I snuggled together on the sofa. The lovely lights of my little tree cast a heartwarming glow across the room. That tiny, bare apartment became the place I spend my most romantic Christmas Eve ever.





Tell us about a special Christmas in your life.