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<blockquote data-quote="alangbudi" data-source="post: 3013158" data-attributes="member: 31361"><p><span style="color: Purple">"SHMILY"...Kathy </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">My grandparents were married for over half a </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">century, and played their own </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">special game from the time they had met each other. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">The goal of their game </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">for the other to find. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">and as soon as one of </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">once more. They dragged </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">"shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">flour containers to await </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">it in the dew on the </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">windows overlooking the patio where my grandma </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">"Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">after a hot shower, </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">"shmily" on the very last </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">would pop up. Little notes </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">dashboards and car seats, or </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">inside shoes and left </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">under pillows. Shmily" was written in the dust upon </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">the mantel and traced </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">in the ashes of the fireplace. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">This mysterious word was as much a part of my </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">grandparents' house as </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">to fully appreciate my </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">believing in true love-one </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">relationship was based on a </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">devotion and passionate affection which not everyone </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">is lucky to experience. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">could. They stole kisses </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">as they bumped into each other in their tiny </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">kitchen. They finished each </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">other's sentences and shared the daily crossword and </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">was, how handsome and old </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">he had grown to be. She claimed that she really </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">knew "how to pick 'em." </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">thanks, marveling at their </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">each other. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">my grandmother had </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">He comforted her in </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">their yellow room, painted that way so that she </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">could always be surrounded </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">outside. Now the cancer was </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">again attacking her body. With the help of a cane </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">and my grandfather's </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">steady hand, they went to church every morning. But </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">my grandmother grew </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">the house anymore. For </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">to GOD to watch over his </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">happened. Grandma was gone. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">"Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">ribbons of my grandmother's </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">mourners turned to </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">members came forward and </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">stepped up to my grandmother's casket and taking a shaky breath, he </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">and throaty lullaby. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple"></span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">moment. For I knew </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">of their love, I had </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You. </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">Pass this on to some of your friends and tell them </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">how much you love </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">them, </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">for there may not be another day that you will talk </span></p><p><span style="color: Purple">to them. </span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="alangbudi, post: 3013158, member: 31361"] [COLOR="Purple"]"SHMILY"...Kathy My grandparents were married for over half a century, and played their own special game from the time they had met each other. The goal of their game was to write the word "shmily" in a surprise place for the other to find. They took turns leaving "shmily" around the house, and as soon as one of them discovered it, it was their turn to hide it once more. They dragged "shmily" with their fingers through the sugar and flour containers to await whoever was preparing the next meal. They smeared it in the dew on the windows overlooking the patio where my grandma always fed us warm, homemade pudding with blue food coloring. "Shmily" was written in the steam left on the mirror after a hot shower, where it would reappear bath after bath. At one point, my grandmother even unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper to leave "shmily" on the very last sheet. There was no end to the places "shmily" would pop up. Little notes with "shmily" scribbled hurriedly were found on dashboards and car seats, or taped to steering wheels. The notes were stuffed inside shoes and left under pillows. Shmily" was written in the dust upon the mantel and traced in the ashes of the fireplace. This mysterious word was as much a part of my grandparents' house as the furniture. It took me a long time before I was able to fully appreciate my grandparents' game. Skepticism has kept me from believing in true love-one that is pure and enduring. However, I never doubted my grandparents' relationship. They had love down pat. It was more than their flirtatious little games; it was a way of life. Their relationship was based on a devotion and passionate affection which not everyone is lucky to experience. Grandma and Grandpa held hands every chance they could. They stole kisses as they bumped into each other in their tiny kitchen. They finished each other's sentences and shared the daily crossword and word jumble. My grandma whispered to me about how cute my grandpa was, how handsome and old he had grown to be. She claimed that she really knew "how to pick 'em." Before every meal they bowed their heads and gave thanks, marveling at their blessings: a wonderful family, good fortune, and each other. But there was a dark cloud in my grandparents' life: my grandmother had breast cancer. The disease had first appeared ten years earlier. As always, Grandpa was with her every step of the way. He comforted her in their yellow room, painted that way so that she could always be surrounded by sunshine, even when she was too sick to go outside. Now the cancer was again attacking her body. With the help of a cane and my grandfather's steady hand, they went to church every morning. But my grandmother grew steadily weaker until, finally, she could not leave the house anymore. For a while, Grandpa would go to church alone, praying to GOD to watch over his wife. Then one day, what we all dreaded finally happened. Grandma was gone. "Shmily." It was scrawled in yellow on the pink ribbons of my grandmother's funeral bouquet. As the crowd thinned and the last mourners turned to leave, my aunts, uncles, cousins and other family members came forward and gathered around Grandma one last time. Grandpa stepped up to my grandmother's casket and taking a shaky breath, he began to sing to her. Through his tears and grief, the song came, a deep and throaty lullaby. Shaking with my own sorrow, I will never forget that moment. For I knew that, although I couldn't begin to fathom the depth of their love, I had been privileged to witness its unmatched beauty. S-h-m-i-l-y: See How Much I Love You. Pass this on to some of your friends and tell them how much you love them, for there may not be another day that you will talk to them. [/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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