Love is Fish Slime

 

Love, real deep love, is not to be confused with lust or even the sweet mushy feeling you have for your spouse, child, or even your pet.

You see, love is not an emotion at all.

It is work, play, duty, help, service, like, and even gutting fish.

Let me explain.

I grew up the only girl in a house full of boys; I was married for 30 years to a manly man, and I have six nephews. I have been surrounded by men my whole life. I love men.

I even like some traditionally manly activities, like mowing the lawn and chopping wood. I have killed and skinned moose and bear. Fishing is fun; catching is even better. I love to drive fast just because (thank God for cruise control!) and in my teen years won races on the local crusing strip. I can change a tire and, at one time, could change sparkplugs and tune an engine.

What I do not like is to clean and gut fish. Ewwww! That is what I had brothers, a dad, and a husband for, let them get all slimy and gross. 

What does this have to do with love? Everything.

Many years ago, my husband and I lived in the Alaska bush (more about that in another post), on a small lake we called Paradise. Often our nieces and nephews would come out and keep me company while Jim was building cabins. One year, some good friends' granddaughter, affectionately known as Trouble, came to visit. Trouble was a precocious tween, an only child, staying with grandma and grandpa for the summer. She wanted some adventure.

I wanted to show her a good time, walking in the woods, shooting guns, playing with our goats. She wanted to fish for pike. Fishing is fun, and pike is delicious, BUT we did not have any men or boys around to clean our catch.

I had two choices. Tell Trouble no, we are not fishing and break her heart, or take a deep breath and agree to clean what she caught.

                                I love this girl.

Love made a big deal about Trouble catching her first fish. Love made funny faces (that made her laugh) while I cleaned the slimiest pike on the planet. Love put aside my queasy stomach and the gross factor to bring joy to another person. A little girl who could do nothing for me in return. A girl from whom I expected nothing in return.

That is real love; it is an action (or a verb for all you English nerds). It is something you do, not something you feel.

Love is gently scratching your child’s back to wake them up.

Love is filling your spouse’s gas tank, even when it is cold.

Love is asking your neighbor if you can pick up something from the store.

Love is snow blowing another person’s driveway.

Love is listening to your toddler tell a joke (for the 2,186,178th time.)

Love is rubbing your spouse’s feet after a long day.

Love is doing your sibling’s chores. 

Flowers, candy, and a mushy card are lovely expressions of your feelings. But on this Valentine’s day, do not forget to show your love too.

Where is Trouble now? She is living in the Lower 48 and engaged to the Love of her life.