Wife to Husband

January 31, 2014

You know how it is when you’re getting ready for bed and turning out the lights and talking about your day, you come upon reflections of past lives before your current life. Regrets and baggage that you carry with you weigh heaviest at those times. I often wonder why it’s so hard to let go of the handle.   
 
If one of you is in the midst of a crisis of self, it would be easy for the other to lift, comfort, build up, support. When you are both trapped in the past, reliving your most painful, embarrassing, heartbreaking moments, neither of you is in a place to accommodate the additional weight without drowning. 
 
We beat ourselves up with an inner dialogue that would make a sailor blush. If we spoke to our best friend the way we speak to ourselves, we’d be alone.
  
I don’t want another day to go by with my husband having even the possibly of wondering, “Did she settle?” I did not settle, in fact, he’s too good for me. I’d like to think that he’d say the exact same thing about me. He is my perfect counterpart. We are enough alike to share a sense of humor and of the absurd. We believe in serendipity. Comparatively, we have enough details and strands of self  that are different about us that we compliment and balance each other. 
 
I often say that my husband is one of the men that I judge other men by. I don’t mean that he’s perfect; it’s more that he’s perfectly flawed. His regrets and his pain remind me of the kind of man he is. His care and his attention to them remind me that he’s working on becoming a better man, for himself and for me. 
 
There have only been a few examples of this in my life. They have set a very high bar of comparison. The flaws are part of what intrigues me. It’s the way we handle the hard, heavy, bad, serious things that really tell you who a person is and what they are made of. We’ve been through death, pain, sorrow, and heartbreaks. We have lost friendships, broken promises, and we have not only survived, but we have thrived. On the other hand, we have also been through life, healing, joy, love, and new relationships. We have shared passion, for each other, for new experiences, and life. There's so much more left to do, see, experience together. Jason Lee says it best in Vanilla Sky, “You can’t have the sweet without the sour.”  
  
I often, in my darkest, heaviest, bottom of the ocean, “I can’t breathe!” moments relive the butterflies in my stomach as I waited to hear our song that would bring me down the broken road to you, the tears in your eyes, the way my hands shook. The way you held me so tightly. No, I absolutely did not settle. 
 
We truly made a covenant to each other when we said those vows. Your pain is my pain, your joy is my joy, my duck/frog is your duck/frog, but always remember that your bacon is my bacon.

Dear Gramps

August 22, 2013

Dear Gramps, 

I remember when I was little and you’d pull candy lipsticks or quarters out of my ears and I am still convinced you are personal friends with God, the Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus.

I remember countless hours spent over the fire pit at Woodhaven, there is still nothing like the smell of wood on fire, food cooked over it, mesquite soaked in water so it smokes and doesn’t burn, and being reverent around the embers at the end of the night singing songs and watching the fire city come to life.  

I remember being curled up with you on your recliner watching TV under your striped blanket. It smelled like you-my original Old Spice man.  I’d wrap up in it and bury my face in it because it felt like a hug from you. It’s my blanket now and it reminds me of you and those days long ago.

I remember when we’d hike—Woodhaven, Owasippee Family Camp, or any of the state parks we’d camp at. I have this litany of memories; you teasing gram with your tall tales, dog tracks became bear tracks, and hawks became domesticated enough to land on your arm and eat from your hand with a piece of bread and a sing-songy, “here hawkie hawkie”. You have always been and will always be the knight in shining armor, the prince who kisses the princess, and the hero that saved us from monsters under the bed, noises that go bump in the night, and what the shadows become.

You can do anything.

I remember the photo spread in Popular Mechanics of your recreation of Lincoln’s bedroom furniture that you recreated from a picture. I was fascinated when you’d work on the lathe. I love your swirlies, your turtles, and the reindeer. If something was broken, bring it to Gramps, he can fix anything.

I love hearing you tell a story. The list of them is endless and of the boyscout stories,  the braces story is one of my favorites.  The Family Camp memories—Snipe hunts, potluck dinners, and skits around the bonfire. The smell of a basement or a cabin that has been closed up always brings them back in technicolor. The stories from Crystal Lake, pumping water out of the pump into a bucket that would be way to heavy for any of us kids to carry alone, the tiny tree frog hunts, the stories around the fire at night, the frozen yogurt still makes me think of that trip to the little shop in the woods.  Woodhaven and all of our family vacations and gatherings together are the foundation of who I am today.

George, living out his earthy rule in Aunt Toot’s dog, Lightning. You had many discussions with George. I think those discussions carved out for me the depth of your acceptance. You have always had the ability to live and let live and no story was too far-fetched for you.  

Remember that time at Crystal Lake when you lost your wallet while fishing with dad? I remember you and dad going out the next morning. You had had a dream about where it was. It was all there. You found every picture, every ID, every card, all your money.  I have NEVER forgotten that and all of your stuff laying out on flat surfaces to dry out. 

I never knew life without your green thumb. Cherry tomatoes in your garden. You grew anise for grandma’s cookies because it was expensive. You grew sunflowers one year because I wanted fresh sunflower seeds. You grew a forest of trees, one at a time, in your backyard and out at Woodhaven. Remember my tiny little baby fir tree? It was barely a foot tall. Today it is over 30 feet tall and about 15 feet across at the base. I will always remember you with dirt on the knees of your jeans and under your nails. (Which you’d later clean out with the pocket knife I never saw you without.) I remember you out in the front yard with a piece of white paper in the grass. You were reseeding the side lawn with grass seed you’d harvested from the front lawn. Green thumb? Who am I kidding, you are probably part forest sprite.  

The endless holidays at your house—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter…to this day I can’t smell nutmeg without seeing you grating it fresh over our eggnog in your special “holiday” glasses.  

You were always so proud of your Christmas tree. It wouldn’t be a holiday at your house without one of your famous centerpieces—the Easter bunny made from a bleach bottle, the first thanksgiving scene on styrofoam complete with a walnut turned into the turkey feast for the styrofoam cone Pilgrims and Indians. One wouldn’t even think of celebrating Christmas until Santa parachutes in from the light fixture.

The way that you would always give grandma a special Christmas present and she would blush and grin like it was the first one she ever received and each a surprise. The creative ways you would wrap them.

I still have one of your ornate 60’s ornaments, complete with seed beads and sequins, hanging from my Christmas tree every year. They always amazed me that you MADE them. The hours of craftsmanship and imagination never cease to amaze me.

I remember slide show nights in your living room. It was like a narrated family history unfolding before our eyes. Some of the best family stories came from those nights. I was often jealous that I was too young to go on those wilderness treks with all of you, but then I realized that I got to live them through all of you and didn’t have to carry a canoe over my head.

I have always admired how forward thinking and intuitive you are. All the things you have created in your home to solve a problem. The dormer on the upstairs to give Great-Grandma Mom & Great-Grandpa  O’dad a home. The speakers wired through the basement so that the wires didn’t get in the way upstairs. You had a fully wired, surround sound stereo home before that even became a job description. Now it’s standard in new home design. The side cabinets in the dining room, the shelves in the storm shelter, the nooks and crannies in the basement to store and preserve the “stuff” of your lives.

I remember the conversation we had in 1991 when you told me that someday everyone would have their own telephone number and there would be a computer on every desk in schools. I remember thinking of you when I walked into my classroom in 2000 and there was a computer on every desk. And today, Gram has her own phone number.

Remember when you melted our gym shoes in the fire pit trying to dry them out?

The jean jacket with the mother of pearl snaps on the front and the jean patches on the elbows. That jacket would hang in the stairwell to the basement and sometimes I'd wear it so I could be "just like gramps." 

I have the belt that mom made for you, leather punched with your name on the back and a 1976 coin belt buckle.

Endless hours of crushing cans with you, stamp collecting, crossword puzzles, busy work. It didn’t matter what it was, we were “helpers” and with that came stolen cookies from the cookie jar and eskimo kisses.

Remember when we'd go and pick grandma up from work? We'd hide in the backseat of the brown station wagon as if she didn't know we were coming to spend the night and "surprise" her by jumping out.

Remember when you'd cut our bangs? Every kid getting their first haircut from Gramps. It was like a right of passage.

How about the endless games of tetherball, jarts—the kind that are now banned for being “dangerous”, horseshoes, pushing us on the swing, listening to us jabber our stories, our hopes, and our dreams and never being too busy.

There is nothing you don’t already know. I have told you countless times how much you mean to me. I’ve shared with you that you are my hero. I have told you how much I love and adore you.

I hope that George tells you all his secrets and I can’t wait to hear all of your new stories someday.

Love Always,
xoxox

Rumplestillskinny

 

Pig Cake

In honor of Caetie:

http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2011/01/pig-cake/


Pig Cake
Prep Time: 10 Minutes Cook Time: 30 Minutes Difficulty: Easy Servings: 16

Ingredients
FOR THE CAKE:
1 box (18.25 Oz. Box) Yellow Cake Mix
1 stick Margarine (softened)
1 can (14 Oz. Can) Mandarin Oranges, Drained, 1/2 Cup Juice Reserved
4 whole Eggs
1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract
_____
FOR THE TOPPING:
1 package (4 Oz. Box) Vanilla Instant Pudding Mix
1 can (20 Oz. Can) Crushed Pineapple, Juice Reserved
½ cups Powdered Sugar
4 ounces, fluid Frozen Whipped Topping (such As Cool Whip)
Extra Mandarin Orange Slices, For Garnish

Preparation Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

For the cake, combine cake mix, margarine, 1/2 cup juice from the mandarin oranges, eggs, and vanilla.

Beat for four minutes on medium-high.
Add drained oranges and beat again until pieces are broken up and small.
Pour batter into greased and floured 9 x 13 inch baking pan and bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until golden brown and set.
Remove from oven and cool completely.
If desired, turn out cake onto a large platter.

Once cake is cool, blend juice from drained pineapples with the vanilla pudding mix.
Add powdered sugar and mix, then mix in whipped topping.
Stir in drained pineapple.
Spread on cooled cake and refrigerate several hours.

To serve, cut cake into squares and top each square with a mandarin orange slice.

Happy Anniversary of your Belly Button, J!

My youngest kid got the short end of the stick today.

His older brother has a family weekend in GA and a 36 hour pass out of Basic.
It's a six hour drive, a hotel visit, and much eating, drinking, and merriment.

I'm committed to going because I am so dang proud of him and cannot wait to see him in his uniform and hug him.

What you don't know is that today is J's 15th birthday and he really wanted me to come to WI to see him and spend the weekend with him for his birthday present.

And on top of already being committed to a trip to GA instead of WI, I couldn't get a card out to him because I had the wrong address, so it came back "undeliverable".

And, since I needed to save for his brother's trip, I wasn't able to get him the gift I really wanted to to get him.

The worst part is that I'm not there to sing "Happy Birthday" and make him a cake and take him out to dinner and treat him...well, treat him like he should be treated on his birthday.

Fifteen years and three days ago, J decided that he didn't want to wait another month to join us. He knew that his older brother's birthday party was coming up and did not want to miss it.

He attempted his escape early on a Thursday morning. The hospital said, "Nope, false alarm, mom, go home and he'll come when he's ready."

I knew that he was ready NOW. (And, man, I was so ready to not be pregnant anymore at that point.)

Mike was unbelievably clingy and I was touched out on Sunday, after two more days of false alarms, and he said, "Momma? Can we do the Tigger Dance?" (Insert big puppy dog eyes and an adorable freckled nose here)

Well, of course we can sweetie.

Over and over and over and over again.

Well, apparently J wanted to come and do the Tigger Dance, as well, because he was born 5 hours later.

I only have one hope for today, I hope that my youngest child, this child of my heart, knows how extremely proud I am of him.

I hope he knows that overcoming a near death experience at 11, learning how to not only live with diabetes, but thrive with diabetes is an inspiration to me every single day.

When I said, "I'm so grateful it's diabetes," it wasn't because I was grateful that my youngest child had a disease, it was because I was grateful that he wasn't going to die--eleven years was not enough time with him.

I hope he knows that every single day, he makes me glad that I was chosen to be his momma.
And anytime he wants to Tigger Dance today, I'm in.

Happy Birthday, J!

long and winding...a love note

“Seize every opportunity along the way, for how sad it would be if the road you chose became the road not taken.” —Robert Brault

This reminds me of the song Bless the Broken Road written by Marcus Hummon, Jeff Hannah, & Bobby Boyd sung by Rascal Flatts

I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You’ve been there you understand
It’s all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Now I’m just rolling home
Into my lover’s arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you.

The quote and the song remind me of you. Now it’s easy to see that every time I stumbled and every time it didn’t “feel right” was because there was a grander plan. There was a road not taken each time. Each decision, each opportunity led me to you.

There is joy and amazement in that knowledge. I had to experience everything the way I experienced it in order to be ready to love you the way you deserve to be loved and to know how I deserve to be loved.

There is serendipity in our lives. It is alive and well and I like it.

You give me joy and beauty every single day.

I think because this feels so good and so right, sometimes it’s hard to accept. Sometimes it feels like I’m not enough, I’m not worthy, and you deserve so much more.

“To feel undeserving of love is to have met love’s only requirement.”
-Robert Brault

Then I remember that, “There are some constants in this world. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and you are poetry.” BW

Thank you for being my poetry, every single day.

>NaCl

Birthday Ritual

How do you wish someone a happy birthday?

What is important to you?

Is it the perfect gift?
Is it time spent with the birthday boy or girl?
Is it a fancy card or just the right wrapping paper?
Is it the cake?

Is it a huge dinner or an elaborate birthday party?

Is it a private celebration?

I think that we all have public birthday rituals--dinner, cake, "happy birthday" being sung like a dirge--tolling another year older, gatherings.

I think that some birthday rituals are private, sometimes almost spiritual experiences.

My personal ritual includes a top-of-the-line pedicure and then I treat myself to breakfast or lunch. I don't do chores, I don't clean unless I want to, and I usually spend part of the day reflecting on how the previous year was and how fantastic this year will be. I'm fond of "odd" birthday years--the years I'm an "odd" year older. My favorite private celebration is handing the reins over to someone that loves me and having them plan an adventure for the two of us.

How do you help celebrate someone else's birthday?

What's important to them?
Are you a part of their public ritual or their private ritual or both?

It's hard, especially if they are important to you.

You want to make sure that they know how much you appreciate them.

You want to make sure that they know how important the day is to you because they are important to you.

You want them to feel loved and taken care of and maybe a little pampered.
You want them to feel as if their private ritual and celebration just flowed into the celebration with you.

You want to celebrate their life--because you are so grateful that you are a part of it.
You want to celebrate the joy that you see them bringing to the world, just by being.

So, no matter how you celebrate your birthday ritual--public or private--it IS all about you today.

And, remember that you are a blessing, you are cherished, and you are loved more than you know.

Happy Birthday!

PS--CAKE!

My faerie tale...

Once upon a time...

(I've always loved stories that start that way.)

A girl was born, grew up, and got married, ten years later she had three beautiful children and a broken home.

She tried to go about her business of moving through the world and tripped on a couple of pieces of it along the way.

One day, the girl and the family of her choosing moved to the land of trees.

The girl was happy.

Same girl going about the same business of moving through the world, went to a bar for a Halloween karaoke party and met a boy going about his business of moving through the world.

He was charming, charasmatic, intelligent, funny, and a magician with knots in a neck.

She was in a happy relationship, in a happy little town, far far away from "home".

He was happily married, in a happy little town, not far from "home" at all.

Months pass. Girl and boy meet and talk at parties and gatherings. They sing, both separately and together. They become friends.

More months pass. Girl hurts boy carelessly. They stop talking.

Girl becomes unsettled in her relationship and dark events occur. She takes her children and moves back north to what was once "home".

More months pass.

Girl continues to go about her business moving through the world. She learns how to stand on her own two feet. She learns how to support herself and her children. She makes new friends and misses her old ones.

She learns to be comfortable in her own skin again.

She learns that "home" isn't a place.

Girl discovers that boy has changed his profile picture. She likes it and decides to try once more to apologize for being flippant with his feelings.

Boy accepts apology and together they form a friendship that is stronger for the bending on both sides.

Girl continues to move through the world on her side of the moon, while boy continues to move through the world on his side.

Every now and then they reconnect through technology both simple & complex, each time

allowing the other to become more dear to them.

Soon, it's time for a visit back to the "home" of her heart.

Boy tells girl to clear a day for him to show her around his town, educate her, enchant her with the place, the lore, and the boy. The love and care he shows the girl and his town is a rarity. She is educated and enchanted.

Then, boy shows girl the dragon and she is lost, the home of her heart cemented permanently.

Girl returns to the north once more.

Girl continues to make her way on her side of the moon, but discovers that things have become flat, dingy, out of focus, black and white. She loses her step a time or two.

Then, girl finds cancer.

Girl questions life, love, happiness.

Girl struggles through it with the help of her daughter and sons.

Girl calls boy. He is worried for her.

Girl schedules surgery. Girl decides before being put under, that she misses the home of her heart and must return.

Girl's children don't share the home of her heart, they must find their own. They give her their blessing as she makes plans to leave.

Girl goes to doctor for the last visit before leaving, all cancer is gone. Girl is blessed.

Girl loads all her hopes, dreams, and her fuzzy slippers into her car and heads south on I65 until she ends up in the land of trees once again.

Girl is happy. She sees everything in sharp focus. The colors are vibrant again. The hills, the trees, the awe of "home" seep into her again.

Technicolor does exist in Oz, Dorothy.

Boy is on vacation. Girl and patience don't get along.

Little by little over the months following the homecoming, girl and boy become really good friends.

He takes her to meet mom, there's poker, karaoke, Tuesday dinner, carwashes, truck stops, adventures, misadventures, silliness, and commraderie.

Holidays are never alone, there's always room at boy's table.

One day, many moons after arriving home, girl realizes she's fallen in love with boy, from the roots of her blonde hair to the tips of her blue toenails, in love.

Slowly, sweetly, he's grown in her heart so that it's almost if she has two hearts, beating in sync.

She is sad.

She realizes that someday she will have to find another boy that will always be second to the boy in her heart and she grieves for what can't be and celebrates what is.

Boy and girl continue to be friends. There are still Tuesday dinners and silliness.

Life gets in the way.

Boy's marriage ends.

Badly.

Boy grieves.

Girl grieves.

Boy grieves some more.

Girl never lets him drown. She cooks, she cleans, she cajoles, she pushes, she bullies, she labors, she jokes.

Girl is there when boy breaks.

She rubs his back, covers him when he's cold, uncovers him when he's not. She holds him when he needs holding and lets him go when he doesn't. She watches crappy reality tv with him. Laughs with him when he's laughing and cries with him when he's crying.

Boy tells girl, I cherish you more than salt.

Girl thinks that is silly.

Boy tells girl the story. Girl falls a little bit deeper into the abyss of boy.

Moons pass.

Boy continues healing.

Boy gives girl kitten. (She'll blame him for that decision in the future.)

Boy and girl and cat find cute little abode together.

Boy and girl make it homey, each placing the title of "home" on wherever the other one is.

Boy and girl stride toward happily ever after, after all, it's not a given, it takes work and there are no glass slippers.

Just the beginning...

"I like..." for June 2010

I like:

Summer in TN when you have to drink the air you breathe just to get from one AC to another.

Fireworks

Impromptu picnics

Children laughing

Caetie's sense of the absurd

J's hat

Mike's fitness plan

When there is enough dinner leftover for lunch the next day

Overtime

Final Fantasy

Silly computer games

Backyard camping trips

Gardens

Taking pictures of beauty in nature and in architecture

Creating new things--poetry, artwork, pictures, songs, entertainment

Seeing time move--in slow motion, in real-time, and sometimes at warp speed

Remembering when my babies were babies

Enjoying that my babies are no longer babies

William Haviland Carrier

Golden French Toast coffee

Flavored creamer

Hot tubs

Love

Happiness

Joy

>NaCl

tattoos

quirkiness

oil paintings

The thought of Paris in the spring

blogs

Robert Brault

hiccups

sneezes

Murray snuggles, even at 5am...

When Barry sings, well, anything...

being surprised

Rice Krispie Treats

my job--getting paid to talk on the phone all day

Having been fortunate enough to see both of my sons graduate in the same week

fresh fruit

feeling comfortable in my skin

Hope

Hope.

It's underrated.
I believe the way I'd like to utilize it is as a verb.

Dictionary.com says this about it:

–verb (used with object)
6. to look forward to with desire and reasonable confidence.
7. to believe, desire, or trust: I hope that my work will be satisfactory.

–verb (used without object)
8. to feel that something desired may happen: We hope for an early spring.
9. Archaic . to place trust; rely (usually fol. by in ).

There are numerous synonyms for hope:

Synonyms: anticipate, aspire, assume, await, be sure of, believe, cherish, contemplate, count on, deem likely, depend on, desire, expect, feel confident, foresee, hang in, have faith, hold, keep fingers crossed, knock on wood, look at sunny side, look forward to, pray, presume, promise oneself, rely, suppose, surmise, suspect, sweat it, sweat it out, sweat, take heart, think to, trust, watch for, wish

And that's not even all of them!

I believe that my life is a reflection of hope.

I got a couple of silly random emails from my daughter today at work. Silly, joyful, and fun emails, not rocket science or deep intellectual conversations (at least not today).

That's how I found the random holiday generator...

It's a rebirth, a new beginning, hopeful.

I love her, never stopped, I'm glad that she never stopped either.
I'm glad that we are talking again and that it's just as random and goofy as it was before.

I'm so proud of her. (I'm proud of all of them, so much so I could burst!)

Gotta run, gotta find some fudge...

>NaCl

Thanks for sticking out this adventure with me.
It's never boring, but I'm glad I have a seatbelt. :)

It's hard to believe that we are finally here from there.

I can't wait to see what's next.

Welcome home, B.

831>NaCl
Always
xoxox