THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 11, 1996 TAG: 9602110054
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: By Catherine Kozak, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 143 lines
Here we are in honeymoon heaven, with all the raw materials for romance at our fingertips. Pounding surf. Passionate weather. Deserted beaches.
But as I watch my children scribbling away at cards for their friends, I wonder if Valentine's Day has more meaning to kids who have never sampled romantic love than it does to adults who know better.
The Outer Banks is a land that sizzles with romance. A subconscious antenna picks up the primal hum of the place. People who live here feel blessed.
Although we never really put it in words, my husband and I did a very romantic thing by choosing to live here. We fell in love with the area together. We decided that our dreams were worth the sacrifice and financial risk. And we've since met many others who also put everything on the line just to live in a land kissed by God.
I remember one rainy Sunday in April when we headed south and ferried to Ocracoke. The rain had lightened to a soft mist when the boat embarked. As we stood on the deserted deck - the clouds backlit by the sun, the rain-washed air delicious with salt - I glanced at my husband and saw he, too, was entranced. A charge bolted between us.
We were bound momentarily into one. He was me. I was him.
Such snippets of romance help recharge our love.
But have you ever noticed that romantic surroundings are no guarantee of romance? Arguing on the beach, for instance, is just as rotten as arguing in the city. Romantic surroundings might make things worse by contrast. Serendipity and attitude seem to be what makes the setting count.
People are drawn to one another by forces more mysterious and powerful than the moon and tides. Romance is more than beckoning glances and painful separations, just as the ocean is more than wind and water. Scary, tempestuous and live-giving, it's no wonder the ocean is a favorite metaphor for love.
Both involve the same universal principles: tension and release. Tension and release. Tension and release.
These are the thoughts that come to me sitting on the beach nowadays. Like most every other human humbled by its majesty, I've realized that the ocean can be my teacher. It is a perfect illustrator of the recurrent dramas of life. And here we are, within sight and sound of its spell.
Early love, if it's truly romantic, is filled with delectable tension. Yearnings frustrated, yearnings met. And the release, the satisfaction of possessing (we think) our loved ones gives rapture no better meaning.
And if you've once had romance, you want it again. If you've only imagined it, you will wish for it till the day you die.
Reality, of course, often interferes with romance. My friend and I were giddily comparing notes on the recent Jane Austen miniseries ``Pride and Prejudice,'' a romance filled with gentlemen in snug breeches and waistcoats saying things like, ``Your countenance is disagreeable today,'' instead of ``What are you whining about?''
Between sighs about handsome Mr. Darcy, we agreed it's not necessarily easy to accept our men after six hours of exposure to a world filled with people with finesse and dignity and manners. Granted, wealth, extraordinary beauty and a castle may have contributed to the deficit.
``And the guys think it's just hormones,'' my friend remarked.
Pardon my philosophical excess, but I think marriage is the epitome of the ancient life cycle. Tension and release, year after year. Under such conditions, romance is as possible, and precious, in marriage as a rainbow is to a fisherman after a storm.
Even living in our vacation paradise, we get caught up with the grind of day-to-day survival. The need for money may be the biggest hindrance to a romantic life, I used to think. Time and money to arrange delightful hours filled with good food and quiet conversation. Then I'd hear on the news that Joe Millionaire is divorcing Jane Gorgeous, and realize romance is a lot more than luxury and leisure.
Valentine's Day - if Wednesday's holiday is to mean anything at all - is a day to take inventory. A day of reckoning and recognition of the value of the relationship.
And people on the Outer Banks are luckier than most - all the underpinnings of romance are at our disposal. Maybe more than anything, Valentine's Day is a day to share what's here with your darlin'.
See you on the beach?
Here we are in honeymoon heaven, with all the raw materials for romance at our fingertips. Pounding surf. Passionate weather. Deserted beaches.
But as I watch my children scribbling away at cards for their friends, I wonder if Valentine's Day has more meaning to kids who have never sampled romantic love than it does to adults who know better.
The Outer Banks is a land that sizzles with romance. A subconscious antenna picks up the primal hum of the place. People who live here feel blessed.
Although we never really put it in words, my husband and I did a very romantic thing by choosing to live here. We fell in love with the area together. We decided that our dreams were worth the sacrifice and financial risk. And we've since met many others who also put everything on the line just to live in a land kissed by God.
I remember one rainy Sunday in April when we headed south and ferried to Ocracoke. The rain had lightened to a soft mist when the boat embarked. As we stood on the deserted deck - the clouds backlit by the sun, the rain-washed air delicious with salt - I glanced at my husband and saw he, too, was entranced. A charge bolted between us.
We were bound momentarily into one. He was me. I was him.
Such snippets of romance help recharge our love.
But have you ever noticed that romantic surroundings are no guarantee of romance? Arguing on the beach, for instance, is just as rotten as arguing in the city. Romantic surroundings might make things worse by contrast. Serendipity and attitude seem to be what makes the setting count.
People are drawn to one another by forces more mysterious and powerful than the moon and tides. Romance is more than beckoning glances and painful separations, just as the ocean is more than wind and water. Scary, tempestuous and live-giving, it's no wonder the ocean is a favorite metaphor for love.
Both involve the same universal principles: tension and release. Tension and release. Tension and release.
These are the thoughts that come to me sitting on the beach nowadays. Like most every other human humbled by its majesty, I've realized that the ocean can be my teacher. It is a perfect illustrator of the recurrent dramas of life. And here we are, within sight and sound of its spell.
Early love, if it's truly romantic, is filled with delectable tension. Yearnings frustrated, yearnings met. And the release, the satisfaction of possessing (we think) our loved ones gives rapture no better meaning.
And if you've once had romance, you want it again. If you've only imagined it, you will wish for it till the day you die.
Reality, of course, often interferes with romance. My friend and I were giddily comparing notes on the recent Jane Austen miniseries ``Pride and Prejudice,'' a romance filled with gentlemen in snug breeches and waistcoats saying things like, ``Your countenance is disagreeable today,'' instead of ``What are you whining about?''
Between sighs about handsome Mr. Darcy, we agreed it's not necessarily easy to accept our men after six hours of exposure to a world filled with people with finesse and dignity and manners. Granted, wealth, extraordinary beauty and a castle may have contributed to the deficit.
``And the guys think it's just hormones,'' my friend remarked.
Pardon my philosophical excess, but I think marriage is the epitome of the ancient life cycle. Tension and release, year after year. Under such conditions, romance is as possible, and precious, in marriage as a rainbow is to a fisherman after a storm.
Even living in our vacation paradise, we get caught up with the grind of day-to-day survival. The need for money may be the biggest hindrance to a romantic life, I used to think. Time and money to arrange delightful hours filled with good food and quiet conversation. Then I'd hear on the news that Joe Millionaire is divorcing Jane Gorgeous, and realize romance is a lot more than luxury and leisure.
Valentine's Day - if Wednesday's holiday is to mean anything at all - is a day to take inventory. A day of reckoning and recognition of the value of the relationship.
And people on the Outer Banks are luckier than most - all the underpinnings of romance are at our disposal. Maybe more than anything, Valentine's Day is a day to share what's here with your darlin'.
See you on the beach? by CNB