February Kiss

The Super Bowl

The Super Bowl this year takes place on a fateful Sunday, the day it is determined which team is the most awesome football champion of all time.
It's also a time where we gather with our friends and family for food and football watching. Well, I mostly go for the food.
Today's Super Bowl was unique because of three reasons. The first is that it is, of course, our first time celebrating the Super Bowl in Battle Creek, the small snowy town we now live in. Secondly, it is my first time ever making Mexican beans and rice. I was pleasantly surprised with how easy and good smelling that experience was! And the third reason is that this is the first time I have not felt the need to watch the game.
Maybe it was that I always watched the game simply because I always tried to understand it all for the sake of my friend RJ, who has spent countless hours trying to explain terms and definitions to me.
In all honesty, all I see is a bunch of big, sweaty guys asking for concussions and future brain damage.
Two cups of Dr. Pepper and a whole lot of food later, I'm laying in the baby's room with a blanket and a memory foam pillow as I type this out on my phone. Screams of victory are coming from downstairs; the old house shakes when yelling ensues. Hillsong's How Great Is Our God is playing in my ears as I slowly drift to sleep...

In The Corner Of The Bookstore

        He was an old man, wearing a denim jacket and faded blue jeans, probably sixty or so. An old "Vietnam Veteran"baseball cap was jammed onto his nearly balding head, rusty work boots on his feet. Upon first glance, one would think that he was another farmer on whom the drought had taken it's toll. He sat, tucked away in the corner of the small bookstore, on a plush green chair, a book in his lap and his head in the clouds.
       Surrounded by the protective shelves of books, he seemed lost in his own little world. As I sat in the chair across from him, holding my own book and ready to lose myself in it, I smiled at the sight of a veteran. Surely, he had done so much for our country, and even if it was only one man's efforts, I consider myself indebted to him.
       Something compelled him to speak to me; I don't know what. He commented on the book I was reading; I thanked him for his time spent in the service. A smile lit his face, and blushing sightly, he began to tell me all about being a veteran, and how much it meant to him to have a young person thank him for it, because, really, it was "just a small thing." That small thing, though, I could tell, had given him a lot of reason to be proud of his self and his country.
       He encouraged me to engage in politics; to get educated; and, if I ever considered joining the service, to join the Air Force first, not the army. He said it's worth it; "The time and brains that the Air Force calls for is well worth your time."
       As he spoke about the benefits of his military life, I could see how much it meant to him. He wasn't just a farmer; he was a farmer who made six thousand dollars a month, plus his social securities check. I  would never have expected this of the man wearing the denim jacket, faded blue jeans, and worn work boots to be make six thousand dollars a month, free to spend his time in the corner of a book store and talk to a perfect stranger.
       Although I haven't been in Battle Creek long, I've come to find that the people are irreplaceable  Almost always will you find someone ready-and eager-to talk to you about their younger days, to pass down advice, to smile and say, "Have a good day!", or recommend a good coffee shop. Friendliness eminates from people here.
      It's a nice change of scenery.

Abigail