I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know.
It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE & LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart. Maybe at some point I’ll take my own advice.
I hope so…
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Friday 10/23/2008 Wishes
I’m rambling again but…
I wish…
• telephone etiquette was still taught in grade school.
• I understood more about what’s happening in the Middle East and could then understand why we are at war.
• fitted sheets were as easy to fold as flat sheets
• ladybugs went back to their own homes in the fall, not into mine
• the weather forecasters were right at least some of the time.
• the lighting in the rest of the world made me look as good as the lighting in the powder room at my house does.
• my puppy would figure out the difference between a kiss and a bite, sooner rather than later.
• people would clean up after their dogs
• commercials weren’t louder than the show you are watching, causing you to leap for the remote to reduce the volume.
• I could tell everyone how much they mean to me.
• I understood that forever isn’t measured on a calendar, but in your heart
• I could fund all the causes that are important to me
• all those that want babies could have babies and those that don’t…don’t.
• I could play the piano
• I worked for the NHL
• we all were given time off work to volunteer at schools or in programs with children
• I paid more attention to Mrs. Kuhl in 4th grade, I’m sure I’d have better penmanship
• someone could figure out how to stop gym shoes from making that squeaky noise on the floor, and then I might like basketball
• it wasn’t so sadistically funny to give your dog peanut butter and watch them try to get it off the roof of their mouth.
• I understood why I am offended when some people call me Ma’am and charmed when others call me the same thing.
• I knew how to shut off the smart-ass in me sometimes.
• I was adventurous enough to take a piece of Godiva chocolate without looking at the guide.
• I was as confident as people think I am.
• I had a job that made a difference in people’s lives.
• sleeping in on the weekend meant 8 or 9 am not 6:30 am.
• we all routinely performed random acts of kindness.
• for world peace, duh.
• Gas prices were the same for gas with cash, credit or that silly car wash option.
• I didn’t crack up when I see someone driving this time of year, in a costume.
• people had the respect for small town police and fire fighters that they did when I was a kid.
• I could sing as well as I have fooled myself in to thinking I can… I’d be a rock star.
• I knew how to pick a ripe melon.
• I had someone warm and snuggly in my bed at night. Oh wait I do… a 14 week old, 13lbs puppy.
I should be careful what I wish for…
I wish…
• telephone etiquette was still taught in grade school.
• I understood more about what’s happening in the Middle East and could then understand why we are at war.
• fitted sheets were as easy to fold as flat sheets
• ladybugs went back to their own homes in the fall, not into mine
• the weather forecasters were right at least some of the time.
• the lighting in the rest of the world made me look as good as the lighting in the powder room at my house does.
• my puppy would figure out the difference between a kiss and a bite, sooner rather than later.
• people would clean up after their dogs
• commercials weren’t louder than the show you are watching, causing you to leap for the remote to reduce the volume.
• I could tell everyone how much they mean to me.
• I understood that forever isn’t measured on a calendar, but in your heart
• I could fund all the causes that are important to me
• all those that want babies could have babies and those that don’t…don’t.
• I could play the piano
• I worked for the NHL
• we all were given time off work to volunteer at schools or in programs with children
• I paid more attention to Mrs. Kuhl in 4th grade, I’m sure I’d have better penmanship
• someone could figure out how to stop gym shoes from making that squeaky noise on the floor, and then I might like basketball
• it wasn’t so sadistically funny to give your dog peanut butter and watch them try to get it off the roof of their mouth.
• I understood why I am offended when some people call me Ma’am and charmed when others call me the same thing.
• I knew how to shut off the smart-ass in me sometimes.
• I was adventurous enough to take a piece of Godiva chocolate without looking at the guide.
• I was as confident as people think I am.
• I had a job that made a difference in people’s lives.
• sleeping in on the weekend meant 8 or 9 am not 6:30 am.
• we all routinely performed random acts of kindness.
• for world peace, duh.
• Gas prices were the same for gas with cash, credit or that silly car wash option.
• I didn’t crack up when I see someone driving this time of year, in a costume.
• people had the respect for small town police and fire fighters that they did when I was a kid.
• I could sing as well as I have fooled myself in to thinking I can… I’d be a rock star.
• I knew how to pick a ripe melon.
• I had someone warm and snuggly in my bed at night. Oh wait I do… a 14 week old, 13lbs puppy.
I should be careful what I wish for…
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday 10/21/2009 Girlfriends
This past weekend I had the unique pleasure of spending time with some fabulous women. As I have mentioned before, my late husband kept in contact with a group of women we affectionately called “the girlfriends” Friday was dinner out with a few of the GFs and a couple of boys from my husband’s high school clique. It was nice but where I had always been brought in to the conversation and up to speed by him, I was on my own. We did some wonderful dancing around the elephant in the room. Having said that, it was never intended to be a night all about my husband or me, but I would have enjoyed hearing more of the boy stories from the past. I did the smile and chat as I have become so good at. I did enjoy myself and there was plenty of laughter, but it’s a hard thing to feel so lonely with so many people right there with you. I found I missed the car talk. You know, the ride home from a nice evening where you recap what was said, how everyone looked and so on. It had turned cold in my area and the chill felt somewhat more profound as I took the dog out once I returned home. Sleeping that night I had the dream I have every night when my stress level is too high. I see my late husband out somewhere in public. He looks fabulous and from across the room or store or wherever that night’s dream is set, he sees me. He smiles at me, waves and turns and walks away. I yell to him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Each time I’ve had this dream, there is someone standing next to me… I tell the person that the man is my husband. The person always says “Yes, he was allowed to come back, it wasn’t his time”. I’m overwhelmed with joy, happiness love and lust. The person sees my reaction and says, “well he was allowed to come back, but he decided he didn’t want to come back… to you”. So yet again a good restorative sleep eluded me.
Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.
I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?
I hope so…
Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.
I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?
I hope so…
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tuesday - 10/13/2009 Fall
It’s cold and raining at my house tonight. Leaves are turning to their beautiful colors and falling from the trees. Our area orchards are bursting at the seams with a huge variety of ripe and wonderful apples. This is my favorite time of year, I think. The reason for my waffling is the same reason I have gone from being a pretty terrific, semi well adjusted wife and mother to …the current me.
My late husband lived all year for this season. He loved to hunt in the fall. He would start bringing out his equipment, checking his tools and supplies to be sure they were ready. We would make the annual trip to Cabela’s in order to replace any items that had been lost or damaged the season prior. I always did this kind of fake protest when he would bring everything up from the basement. He would leave things in little piles all over the house. Truth be told, I loved it. I loved it because of the excitement I saw in his eyes. He would begin this process about this time in October for a trip that usually took place the week of Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of his hunting gear, the order he kept everything. For many, the order is a surprise. But his uncle taught him well when it came to hunting and caring for the tools of the sport. We had only a few actual Thanksgiving dinners together and that was fine. I knew from the moment we met that his life included going up to the family hunting camp for the opening week of hunting. Most years the opening week was the same week as Thanksgiving. Autumn also began our “deer drives”. We live near a group of beautiful Metro parks. We would drive through the parks at dusk to look for deer. My husband was like a little kid. He would actually giggle when we saw deer and be so disappointed when we didn’t.
The fall also fed my husband’s love of sports. He was a huge fan of Michigan football and Red Wings hockey. Saturday’s were filled with the anticipation of the big game. Some of you know my husband always felt that I had the ability to sway a Michigan football game just by my presence. He believed that if U of M was ahead and I was out of the house, they could loose if I came home. Actually it proved to be true more times than not. The start of the hockey season brought out an excited anticipation of another Stanley Cup being awarded to the Wings. The schedules of everyday life were altered in the fall to accommodate these… traditions.
Also working to keep him forever young, was Halloween. The trip to the farm stand to get pumpkins, bales of hay, mums and cornstalks was an all day event. He would hitch his trailer to his SUV and we would spend hours finding just the right pumpkins, mums, and the biggest stalks of corn and deciding if we needed 2 or 3 or maybe even more bales of hay. He took great pride in turning our front yard into a cornucopia of fall colors, shapes and sights. He threaded electrical cord through bushes and underground to illuminate gigantic jack-o-lanterns. The corn stakes were staked deep into the ground, scarecrows, a man and woman would be placed on the bales of hay, their arms around each other... On Halloween he would bring our fire pit to the end of the driveway. Lawn chairs and the big bowl of candy along with a stack of firewood would be placed lovingly near the fire. After getting our fire started he would help the neighbors get their fire going. He loved to greet the kids and ask them about their costumes. We always had candy for the kids and wine for the kids over 21. We always enjoy this time of year, together.
So this past weekend, I went to the farm stand. All I could manage to get were the mums. I don’t have a hook up for the trailer on my car so I couldn’t get the corn stalks. At least that was my reasoning. Truth be told we only had the trailer for a couple of years. Before that they seemed to fit just fine in the back of my SUV, but not now. I stood staring at the vast array of pumpkins. Did we get 8 big and 10 little ones or was it the other way around? I was overwhelmed with making yet again another decision on my own. So I left the farm stand with my mums. I’ve taken out the stands for the jack-o-lanterns but cannot seem to go in the basement to actually bring the huge orange globes up. I think I’m supposed to check the lights in the lanterns and where are the little spare orange bulbs should one be out? Is all this decorating really worth all the trouble? As I write this I’m discovering that yes, it is. As with everything else for me now, I can have what I had before. It will never be exactly the same, but it can be just as wonderful. Will the kids in the neighborhood remember where the pumpkins were placed last year or the year before or if there were 8 big ones and 10 little ones? Probably not. But they will remember that there were pumpkins and mums and corns stalks and giant light up jack-o-lanterns. Will they notice that the female scarecrow is holding on just a little tighter to the male scarecrow this year? Probably not. But she will be holding on tight. Because this year, I believe we both understand how much can really happen from one season to the next. Next year will there be a lump in my throat as I go through these rituals again? I hope not. Maybe there will be a new scarecrow to sit on the bale of hay and hold the old girl. Maybe, maybe not but…
I hope so…
My late husband lived all year for this season. He loved to hunt in the fall. He would start bringing out his equipment, checking his tools and supplies to be sure they were ready. We would make the annual trip to Cabela’s in order to replace any items that had been lost or damaged the season prior. I always did this kind of fake protest when he would bring everything up from the basement. He would leave things in little piles all over the house. Truth be told, I loved it. I loved it because of the excitement I saw in his eyes. He would begin this process about this time in October for a trip that usually took place the week of Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of his hunting gear, the order he kept everything. For many, the order is a surprise. But his uncle taught him well when it came to hunting and caring for the tools of the sport. We had only a few actual Thanksgiving dinners together and that was fine. I knew from the moment we met that his life included going up to the family hunting camp for the opening week of hunting. Most years the opening week was the same week as Thanksgiving. Autumn also began our “deer drives”. We live near a group of beautiful Metro parks. We would drive through the parks at dusk to look for deer. My husband was like a little kid. He would actually giggle when we saw deer and be so disappointed when we didn’t.
The fall also fed my husband’s love of sports. He was a huge fan of Michigan football and Red Wings hockey. Saturday’s were filled with the anticipation of the big game. Some of you know my husband always felt that I had the ability to sway a Michigan football game just by my presence. He believed that if U of M was ahead and I was out of the house, they could loose if I came home. Actually it proved to be true more times than not. The start of the hockey season brought out an excited anticipation of another Stanley Cup being awarded to the Wings. The schedules of everyday life were altered in the fall to accommodate these… traditions.
Also working to keep him forever young, was Halloween. The trip to the farm stand to get pumpkins, bales of hay, mums and cornstalks was an all day event. He would hitch his trailer to his SUV and we would spend hours finding just the right pumpkins, mums, and the biggest stalks of corn and deciding if we needed 2 or 3 or maybe even more bales of hay. He took great pride in turning our front yard into a cornucopia of fall colors, shapes and sights. He threaded electrical cord through bushes and underground to illuminate gigantic jack-o-lanterns. The corn stakes were staked deep into the ground, scarecrows, a man and woman would be placed on the bales of hay, their arms around each other... On Halloween he would bring our fire pit to the end of the driveway. Lawn chairs and the big bowl of candy along with a stack of firewood would be placed lovingly near the fire. After getting our fire started he would help the neighbors get their fire going. He loved to greet the kids and ask them about their costumes. We always had candy for the kids and wine for the kids over 21. We always enjoy this time of year, together.
So this past weekend, I went to the farm stand. All I could manage to get were the mums. I don’t have a hook up for the trailer on my car so I couldn’t get the corn stalks. At least that was my reasoning. Truth be told we only had the trailer for a couple of years. Before that they seemed to fit just fine in the back of my SUV, but not now. I stood staring at the vast array of pumpkins. Did we get 8 big and 10 little ones or was it the other way around? I was overwhelmed with making yet again another decision on my own. So I left the farm stand with my mums. I’ve taken out the stands for the jack-o-lanterns but cannot seem to go in the basement to actually bring the huge orange globes up. I think I’m supposed to check the lights in the lanterns and where are the little spare orange bulbs should one be out? Is all this decorating really worth all the trouble? As I write this I’m discovering that yes, it is. As with everything else for me now, I can have what I had before. It will never be exactly the same, but it can be just as wonderful. Will the kids in the neighborhood remember where the pumpkins were placed last year or the year before or if there were 8 big ones and 10 little ones? Probably not. But they will remember that there were pumpkins and mums and corns stalks and giant light up jack-o-lanterns. Will they notice that the female scarecrow is holding on just a little tighter to the male scarecrow this year? Probably not. But she will be holding on tight. Because this year, I believe we both understand how much can really happen from one season to the next. Next year will there be a lump in my throat as I go through these rituals again? I hope not. Maybe there will be a new scarecrow to sit on the bale of hay and hold the old girl. Maybe, maybe not but…
I hope so…
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wednesday - 10/7/2009 Food
From my earliest memory, food was a major focus in my life. I learned to cook at a very young age. At one point in my childhood I cooked almost every night. My parents both worked outside the home and since I arrived home first, it was assumed that I would make dinner. There were times when my mom would leave a check made out to the grocery store on the kitchen counter. I would ride my bike the 2 miles to the store, shop for dinner, ride back and have it ready when my mom and dad came home. I learned to cook almost anything; turkey with stuffing, Coho Salmon on the grill, Firehouse Chili and everything in between. Some of my best culinary education came from the firehouse and the firemen who worked with my dad. My mom gave me the freedom to experiment in the kitchen. She was kind and gave all us kids a bit of a wide berth when it came to cooking. If you ever meet my mom and want to see a great older lady go pale in a heartbeat… ask her about the year we kids prepared green scrambled eggs, green butter, green home fried and green orange juice for her and our dad for St. Patrick’s Day brunch. Little did I know of the green beer consumption the night before. Just imagine the conflict… your children’s beaming faces, a tray of …green, everything. A raging hang-over, head, stomach… do you eat it? My poor parents. As an adult, I still get a warm, calm feeling when I am outside in the winter, cold and tired and I can smell pot roast or meatloaf wafting through the evening air. We’ve all stepped out of our cars on one of these evenings and had the aroma swirl up in to our nose and we start to pray… please God, let that smell be coming from my house. The summertime BBQ can cause the same desire in me.
The first time my late husband invited me to his apartment for dinner was in a word, interesting. He told me he was cooking and we were having steak and salad. I love a good steak, medium rare. I was really excited when I arrived at his very sparsely furnished apartment. He didn’t have a dining table nor did he have a sofa. He had one dilapidated, old, ripped leather recliner. The chair stayed with us for a few years, affectionate named the “whipcliner”. You could recline but to recover from being stretched out could cause whiplash. So that night we sat on the floor and had our dinner. Now I like to think I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll try new things and usually have an open mind. But I like to know before the unique foodstuff is actually in my mouth. I thought about having a really good steak all day. When I arrived at his home I was met with a glass of wine and a wonderful aroma of grilled onions, garlic and pepper. The salad was like no salad I had ever seen before. It was based in cottage cheese. It has become one of my favorite foods of all time. He took a carton of large curd cottage cheese. Chopped up green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers. He also chopped up onion, tomato and celery. Mix this all with a few tablespoons of Miracle Whip, salt and pepper to taste. Fabulous! Good to know that it is better the 2nd day but not as great the 3rd or 4th day. So my expectation of a nice lettuce and tomato salad was way off but delightfully so. Next came the steak. It looked a little different but it smelled good so I made the first crucial cut, stab and dip in to A1. Once in my mouth, I knew something was, not wrong but unexpected. All I could think of was what did he do to this steak? But I went with the flow and ate the steak. As we were cleaning up, he mentioned that he was surprised that I liked venison. I like venison? Over the course of the next few years, I did learn to like venison. I became a very good venison chef. Fajitas, stroganoff and chili became my signature dishes in the winter months. My husband was an excellent cook. I will miss his “Soup Sundays” this winter. I used to work on Sunday and would arrive home to wonderful smells and delicious soups during the cold winter months. He would always accompany his soup creation with homemade rolls or bread. I especially loved the nights when I arrived to find not only the soup but a crackling fire in the fireplace. I really do miss my Sunday evenings with my husband. As it gets colder, I’m sure I’ll miss them even more.
I have cooked for the same people for the past 30 years. I knew who liked what and with what. I knew who would need catsup or pepper. I knew who like a big breakfast and who preferred yogurt and granola. So now what? Will I have the opportunity to learn these things about someone special again? Is there a chance that there is someone out there who is just waiting to have my famous homemade ultra rich Cheesecake made especially for them on their birthday? Will I be smart enough to know him when I find him?
I hope so…
The first time my late husband invited me to his apartment for dinner was in a word, interesting. He told me he was cooking and we were having steak and salad. I love a good steak, medium rare. I was really excited when I arrived at his very sparsely furnished apartment. He didn’t have a dining table nor did he have a sofa. He had one dilapidated, old, ripped leather recliner. The chair stayed with us for a few years, affectionate named the “whipcliner”. You could recline but to recover from being stretched out could cause whiplash. So that night we sat on the floor and had our dinner. Now I like to think I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll try new things and usually have an open mind. But I like to know before the unique foodstuff is actually in my mouth. I thought about having a really good steak all day. When I arrived at his home I was met with a glass of wine and a wonderful aroma of grilled onions, garlic and pepper. The salad was like no salad I had ever seen before. It was based in cottage cheese. It has become one of my favorite foods of all time. He took a carton of large curd cottage cheese. Chopped up green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers. He also chopped up onion, tomato and celery. Mix this all with a few tablespoons of Miracle Whip, salt and pepper to taste. Fabulous! Good to know that it is better the 2nd day but not as great the 3rd or 4th day. So my expectation of a nice lettuce and tomato salad was way off but delightfully so. Next came the steak. It looked a little different but it smelled good so I made the first crucial cut, stab and dip in to A1. Once in my mouth, I knew something was, not wrong but unexpected. All I could think of was what did he do to this steak? But I went with the flow and ate the steak. As we were cleaning up, he mentioned that he was surprised that I liked venison. I like venison? Over the course of the next few years, I did learn to like venison. I became a very good venison chef. Fajitas, stroganoff and chili became my signature dishes in the winter months. My husband was an excellent cook. I will miss his “Soup Sundays” this winter. I used to work on Sunday and would arrive home to wonderful smells and delicious soups during the cold winter months. He would always accompany his soup creation with homemade rolls or bread. I especially loved the nights when I arrived to find not only the soup but a crackling fire in the fireplace. I really do miss my Sunday evenings with my husband. As it gets colder, I’m sure I’ll miss them even more.
I have cooked for the same people for the past 30 years. I knew who liked what and with what. I knew who would need catsup or pepper. I knew who like a big breakfast and who preferred yogurt and granola. So now what? Will I have the opportunity to learn these things about someone special again? Is there a chance that there is someone out there who is just waiting to have my famous homemade ultra rich Cheesecake made especially for them on their birthday? Will I be smart enough to know him when I find him?
I hope so…
Monday, October 5, 2009
Monday - 10/5/2009 Reunion
I am about to spend time with some of my best friends from grade school, Jr. High and High School. Yep, you’ve guessed it. It’s time for my high school reunion. I’m excited about it but as we all are, I’ve a bit of trepidation too. I’ll be seeing kids I haven’t seen in years. The last time most of these people saw me or talked to me, I was a married woman. I know there will be others there with a similar story. They may be single because of a death or divorce. I recently had the most fortunate opportunity to talk with some high school friends via Face book. Some were great friends since kindergarten, some friends from high school. Many were just classmates. I believe there is a distinction between friends and classmates but it seems muddled as the years have gone by. I have shared much of the past few months with wonderful people I would have classified as classmates before, but now they are friends. I can’t wait to hear their stories,learn of their lives and cherish the opportunity to reconnect and make new memories. I look forward to seeing their smiles.
Although I’ve not seen many of these folks in 10 or so years, I’m very excited to just know they are well. The process of growth is so subtle when you’re in school. Almost everyone goes through the same growth spurts both mental and physical at roughly the same time, give or take. But as we age, some reach different growth milestones at very different times. What I’m talking about is everything, maturity, body changes, career changes and all that leads up to you being a grownup. I remember at our 10 year reunion, it seemed all anyone really cared about was who was married, how much money you made and so on. There was a decided lack of concern for the individual. Our 20 year was so much nicer. People worried about the person more, but not exclusively. There were still the comments like “Oh boy did she put on the pounds” or “OMG is he bald or what?” I made some very fun connections and new friends at both reunions.
So the main events are over. I have laughed so hard in the past few days. I’ve shed a few tears as well. My tears have been for joy, sadness, nostalgia, love and if I’m honest, loss. The loss isn’t all you would expect. This weekend I’ve learned about loss from a side I have not yet experienced. I talked with so many people about the loss of their parents or in some cases their child. I find it both ironic and flattering that most shared their story with me without knowledge of my husband’s death. There is one woman, absolutely gorgeous, athletic, and intelligent; I always thought she was perfect. Perfect in high school may not be what perfect should be or is in the real world. We made eye contact at the event Friday and as I passed her once she said hello. In high school I wouldn’t have classified her as a “mean girl”. But I was never in her circle of friend and as I look at it now, it may have been more my reasoning’s rather than hers. I spoke to this wonderful woman at length and found her to not be… perfect. But that made her all the more wonderful. I learned of the passing of her Mom. I’d never had the pleasure of meeting her mom; I didn’t even know this girl. Her pain way still so deep and she seemed to need to talk about the loss. I felt honored she had shared this with me. It would have been inappropriate for me to share my history with her so I didn’t. She shared her dream of finding a lasting love. This dream had eluded her. She seemed unexcited about her career. She spoke of being sad never to have had children. For a split second, I felt somehow superior to her. But I’m not and I know it. I had just taken a different path. As she hugged me when we prepare to move on to make other connections, she seemed to have been genuinely happy for our moment together. As was I. The “mean girls” for the most part are still the “mean girls”. The highest echelon of coolness still exists. The cliques still live on but maybe with some softening of their admission criteria. There are the beautiful people who were beautiful only on the outside but who no longer meet that qualification. Of course those with both inner and outer beauty seem to have come through the past 30 years somehow even better. I was amazed how often I heard women say that they were not planning to attend the reunion. They had gained weight, gone grey, lost too much weight, were divorced, in a bad marriage and so on. But they came and I truly hope they are the better for attending. I know I would have missed them had I not been able to see them. I was really unsure why some of the faculty showed up. I guess I just never knew they would be interested. I think it is how I was raised but the personal life of your teachers was, personal. It was gratifying to hear that I wasn’t the odd duck I sometimes remember myself to be.
The career path for my fellow Spartans is wide and varied. We have doctors, attorneys, teachers, nurses, accountants and pilots. I was amazed to discover the huge amount in law enforcement or fire service. I’m a bit unsettled to know some of these guys are legally allowed to carry some serious guns. I understood there to be fairly stringent background and psychological testing done before these positions were awarded to these guys. I could tell a few stories about some of them. The best job most of these kids have is that of parent. Absolutely all of those I spoke with relished their children and proudly presented pictures and shared stories.
The bittersweet of the weekend was the sharing of the news about the passing of my husband. There is no easy way to tell someone this information, in this setting.
Because he had attended a reunion of mine before and I have always talked incessantly about him, people asked. Some kids new just because of my continuing relationships with them but for many it was a dark cloud I reluctantly cast. I was somewhat shocked that people who did not choose to acknowledge me at the events on Friday or early in the events of Saturday, sought me out to express their condolences. It was very nice but awkward.
Our time together ended on a wonderful note with a brunch on Sunday. One of my friends kept absolutely everything. She had every dance program, every pin, badge, everything and anything that signified our high school experiences.It was fun to re-visit the stuff that made these event just that much more, special.
On the airplane home, I sat at the window. A lovely woman sat at the aisle. Just before the doors closed a very handsome man came and sat between us. The flight attendant came by to see if we were interested in a beverage during the short flight. The guy pulled out drink coupons and asked for 3 white wines. Given the very short flight, the flight attendant said she could only give him 2. He looked at both of us and said “how about a glass of wine”? Both of us said yes and he presented 6 drink tickets. The gentleman had recently returned from a 14 month tour of duty in Iraq. The woman was a very recent widow. Her husband of 16 years was part of the NFL. She was returning from a Sunday NFL game where her husband was being honored. And of course there is my story. In the short flight, I learned so much about these two strangers, I’ll now consider friends. We exchange information and hope to continue the conversation. When we received our wine, the Navy man raised his glass and said, "ladies, here;s to chapter 2". We clinked glasses and as I attempted to regain my composure after the irony of his toast, we continued to talk. We plan to have a reunion. I plan to attend, just as I will do all possible to attend the next high school reunion and the one after that. I discovered friends and relationships that I clearly need to support. I discovered the friend, I want to be. I’ll look forward to nurturing my friendships and relationships as I look to being nurtured. We may all just get some healing in our hearts, minds and bodies.
I hope so…
Although I’ve not seen many of these folks in 10 or so years, I’m very excited to just know they are well. The process of growth is so subtle when you’re in school. Almost everyone goes through the same growth spurts both mental and physical at roughly the same time, give or take. But as we age, some reach different growth milestones at very different times. What I’m talking about is everything, maturity, body changes, career changes and all that leads up to you being a grownup. I remember at our 10 year reunion, it seemed all anyone really cared about was who was married, how much money you made and so on. There was a decided lack of concern for the individual. Our 20 year was so much nicer. People worried about the person more, but not exclusively. There were still the comments like “Oh boy did she put on the pounds” or “OMG is he bald or what?” I made some very fun connections and new friends at both reunions.
So the main events are over. I have laughed so hard in the past few days. I’ve shed a few tears as well. My tears have been for joy, sadness, nostalgia, love and if I’m honest, loss. The loss isn’t all you would expect. This weekend I’ve learned about loss from a side I have not yet experienced. I talked with so many people about the loss of their parents or in some cases their child. I find it both ironic and flattering that most shared their story with me without knowledge of my husband’s death. There is one woman, absolutely gorgeous, athletic, and intelligent; I always thought she was perfect. Perfect in high school may not be what perfect should be or is in the real world. We made eye contact at the event Friday and as I passed her once she said hello. In high school I wouldn’t have classified her as a “mean girl”. But I was never in her circle of friend and as I look at it now, it may have been more my reasoning’s rather than hers. I spoke to this wonderful woman at length and found her to not be… perfect. But that made her all the more wonderful. I learned of the passing of her Mom. I’d never had the pleasure of meeting her mom; I didn’t even know this girl. Her pain way still so deep and she seemed to need to talk about the loss. I felt honored she had shared this with me. It would have been inappropriate for me to share my history with her so I didn’t. She shared her dream of finding a lasting love. This dream had eluded her. She seemed unexcited about her career. She spoke of being sad never to have had children. For a split second, I felt somehow superior to her. But I’m not and I know it. I had just taken a different path. As she hugged me when we prepare to move on to make other connections, she seemed to have been genuinely happy for our moment together. As was I. The “mean girls” for the most part are still the “mean girls”. The highest echelon of coolness still exists. The cliques still live on but maybe with some softening of their admission criteria. There are the beautiful people who were beautiful only on the outside but who no longer meet that qualification. Of course those with both inner and outer beauty seem to have come through the past 30 years somehow even better. I was amazed how often I heard women say that they were not planning to attend the reunion. They had gained weight, gone grey, lost too much weight, were divorced, in a bad marriage and so on. But they came and I truly hope they are the better for attending. I know I would have missed them had I not been able to see them. I was really unsure why some of the faculty showed up. I guess I just never knew they would be interested. I think it is how I was raised but the personal life of your teachers was, personal. It was gratifying to hear that I wasn’t the odd duck I sometimes remember myself to be.
The career path for my fellow Spartans is wide and varied. We have doctors, attorneys, teachers, nurses, accountants and pilots. I was amazed to discover the huge amount in law enforcement or fire service. I’m a bit unsettled to know some of these guys are legally allowed to carry some serious guns. I understood there to be fairly stringent background and psychological testing done before these positions were awarded to these guys. I could tell a few stories about some of them. The best job most of these kids have is that of parent. Absolutely all of those I spoke with relished their children and proudly presented pictures and shared stories.
The bittersweet of the weekend was the sharing of the news about the passing of my husband. There is no easy way to tell someone this information, in this setting.
Because he had attended a reunion of mine before and I have always talked incessantly about him, people asked. Some kids new just because of my continuing relationships with them but for many it was a dark cloud I reluctantly cast. I was somewhat shocked that people who did not choose to acknowledge me at the events on Friday or early in the events of Saturday, sought me out to express their condolences. It was very nice but awkward.
Our time together ended on a wonderful note with a brunch on Sunday. One of my friends kept absolutely everything. She had every dance program, every pin, badge, everything and anything that signified our high school experiences.It was fun to re-visit the stuff that made these event just that much more, special.
On the airplane home, I sat at the window. A lovely woman sat at the aisle. Just before the doors closed a very handsome man came and sat between us. The flight attendant came by to see if we were interested in a beverage during the short flight. The guy pulled out drink coupons and asked for 3 white wines. Given the very short flight, the flight attendant said she could only give him 2. He looked at both of us and said “how about a glass of wine”? Both of us said yes and he presented 6 drink tickets. The gentleman had recently returned from a 14 month tour of duty in Iraq. The woman was a very recent widow. Her husband of 16 years was part of the NFL. She was returning from a Sunday NFL game where her husband was being honored. And of course there is my story. In the short flight, I learned so much about these two strangers, I’ll now consider friends. We exchange information and hope to continue the conversation. When we received our wine, the Navy man raised his glass and said, "ladies, here;s to chapter 2". We clinked glasses and as I attempted to regain my composure after the irony of his toast, we continued to talk. We plan to have a reunion. I plan to attend, just as I will do all possible to attend the next high school reunion and the one after that. I discovered friends and relationships that I clearly need to support. I discovered the friend, I want to be. I’ll look forward to nurturing my friendships and relationships as I look to being nurtured. We may all just get some healing in our hearts, minds and bodies.
I hope so…
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