Beckoning (and botching) the lovely

I tried to honor late author Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s infinite birthday wish earlier this week.

Amy asked people to text someone “I love you” at 4:29 p.m. on April 29, her birthday. With pure intent and humiliating ineptitude, I attempted to do just that.

Wednesday, I set my alarm. I happened to be on the phone with my daughter Katherine when the alarm sounded and that’s exactly when it dawned on me that I had missed the day entirely. Wednesday was 4/30, not 4/29.

I laughed as I explained my situation to Katherine and she chuckled too, but in that worried way adult children do sometimes when they wonder if their parent had lost her mind.

That made me laugh harder.

So, I missed my second, self-imposed deadline for this sweet little task as well. Just as I was about to click “send” on my “I love you” text to my family, figuring a 4:30 text on 4/30 would work pretty well as a belated birthday effort, the digital clock turned to 4:31.

Listen, these people know I love them. They also know numbers are not my friend. So, if my 4:29 text on 4/29 became a 4:31 message on 4/30 and sent them all fleeing to their sibling chat to discuss whether everything was okay with mom, it still conveyed the love, right? I think Amy would have appreciated my bumbling efforts.

Unfortunately, that gifted woman passed away in 2017. In fact, my first introduction to her work came to me by way of a Modern Love essay published 10 days before her death.

In “You May Want to Marry my Husband,” Amy describes her husband with such warm, specific, humorous details you feel like you should set the table because the two of them might drop by for dinner.

“If our home could speak, it would add that Jason is uncannily handy,” Amy wrote. “On the subject of food — man, can he cook. After a long day, there is no sweeter joy than seeing him walk in the door, plop a grocery bag down on the counter, and woo me with olives and some yummy cheese he has procured before he gets to work on the evening’s meal.”

She genuinely intended for that essay to be a conduit through which her beloved husband Jason would find another mate after she died, and she left a blank space at the end of her essay that she said was for him to fill after she had gone.

I think about that essay, and the legacy of love it left, often. Sometimes, I can even taste the olives and yummy cheese.

Amy’s legacy, though, is about so much more. I discovered that Wednesday when I plunged into a pleasant rabbit hole of her work. My goodness, what a pleasant trip!

Her Beckoning of Lovely project alone swelled my heart. For four straight years she convinced strangers to find her under a yellow umbrella and help her make ordinary magic. Treat yourself to that stroll. It will make you feel so good about the world and the humans who live here.

Next year, I hope to send an “I Love You” text promptly at 4:29 on 4/29.

Until then, I’ll just be over here overwhelmed with gratitude for someone who beckoned the lovely and shared it with the world.

Here are the four Beckonings of Lovely episodes. You can watch them if you want to feel a little better about this old world and the really good people in it.