A Field of Buttercups-A Memory of Love by Sherri Rosen
One summer when Henry and I didn’t have our children we took a vacation driving to Quebec. It was a very boring ride because there were just miles and miles of uninteresting scenery, no people, then you would come upon a community of houses built side by side stretching for miles. I guess the people needed to be close together because of the severe snowstorms they would encounter.
I had a yellow volkswagen camper with curtains on each window full of yellow and orange daisies. It was a fun way to travel throughout the USA and Canada not having to depend upon hotels, B&B’s and Inns until we got to our destination.
The sky was blue, the music was on and then we came upon this field of buttercups. Have you ever seen buttercups? They are small, yellow, almost like a tulip but smaller, and when we saw a whole field of them, it looked like a sea full of swaying, feathery yellow. Henry stopped the car. It was deserted. I jumped out of the van and began running through the field of buttercups. They felt so soft against my bare feet and legs.
Henry ran after me and the next thing I knew we were laying down in the middle of our buttercup bed making love. It was one of those good as it gets moments. Neither one of us could care less whether anyone saw us we both were in so much ecstasy. The summer breeze, the bright Canadian sun, the bed of buttercups and our naked bodies against one another. This moment was just made for love.
Henry and I were very passionate. We love to make love in strange or different places. Sometimes in the back seat of the volkswagen bus, in the middle of Prospect Park in Brooklyn at midnight in Henry’s car (and this was when this killer, The Son of Sam was on the loose in NYC), in the Caribbean water, in a sauna, in the middle of the woods. You name it! We tried it!
Whenever I see buttercups I’m always reminded of that day. Even though we are no longer together I sometimes wonder whether he remembers and whether he remembers some of our other wonderful experiences together.
I used to put a buttercup under my chin when I was young while seeing the reflection of the yellow on my skin showing how much I liked butter. I know, silly, but so much fun when I was young. I know we did it the day Henry and I came upon the field of buttercups that summer day driving to Quebec.
He and I lay in the buttercups after making love looking up at the blue sky and just resting in our bed of yellow feathers. We both spread our legs and hands apart and made motions like we did making snow angels. It was a glorious feeling and we began singing and laughing and then holding one another very tight telling one another how much we loved each other.
Henry and I had 2 boys between us. We had met at a party in downtown Brooklyn and it truly was love at first sight. We ended up merging families in a brownstone in downtown Brooklyn in a place called Cobble Hill.. We lived together for l2 years. My boys were with me all the time and every other weekend were gone with their dad and with him one month in the summer. Howard’s boys came over every other weekend and one day during the week and one month in the summer. The rest of the time his boys lived with their mum and her boyfriend in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Challenging to all of us try to coordinate our schedules and our lives.
It was great sitting up in the field of buttercups just seeing them go on for miles and miles. It made me smile and cry at the same time. Henry and i looked at one another and knew we were the luckiest people to have found one another at that time in our lives. He had come from a disastrous open marriage and me coming from a marriage where my ex was never home or with our 2 boys.
Again, as I’m sharing this story with you I can feel the vibrancy of yellow coming through my skin, the feathery touch of the buttercups and the warm summer breeze just made for love.
Tags: buttercups, love, men, publicist nyc, publicity nyc, Quebec, sherri rosen, Sherri Rosen Publicity Int'l, sherri rosen publicity nyc, spirituality, volkswagonvan, women
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