and it still does

I just sat down to the computer to work on my current class, Strengthening Marriage and Family. Which I LOVE by the way! This was the first paragraph of my assigned reading:

In his book, Four Essays on Love (1971, p. 28), Truman Madsen tells the following story:

It was an anniversary banquet. A four-generation family gathered to honor their silvery grandfather and his sweetheart. It seems to me it was their sixtieth, but, as you will see, it doesn't matter which. This slight, hallowed woman sat, very close, I thought, to her husband. He was an oak, 81, and his body had the measuring lines and circles of his long, hard pull. You would say he was an ugly old fellow, except for the clearness of his eyes. He stood and made some comment about the flamboyant way love is advertised these days. Then he said, “When I was a boy, it thrilled me just to touch Lucy's arm.” He turned, smiled in her lifted face and said, most softly, “And it still does.”

Of course this made me cry! You'd have to be made of stone to not experience a little teariness from the tender expression of this husband.

Oh, baby! That is exactly how I feel about Dust. It's fun in the beginning of a relationship when every touch, every look, every everything releases a new batch of butterflies in your stomach. But I have to admit, I still get butterflies when Dust: winks at me with his beautiful brown eyes; when he tickles my arm, my hand, or my leg for hours as we watch TV and cuddle; and always when I recall sweet words he spoke to me the day before.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Dust, I'll love you forever!!