Author: Monica

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Anchor and Chain

Last weekend I saw “The Vow” . I’d not heard of the film before coming down to Florida.  Partly because Dave and I almost never go out to the movies anymore and partly because we watch the vast majority of our yet television from our DVR, we just don’t hear about films unless they are heavily promoted.

The story was of a young couple who lived an artsy lifestyle. She had cut all ties with her family, he had none but her. One night they were in a horrible car accident where she suffered severe head trauma resulting in amnesia.  The last four years of her life, including her entire relationship with her husband were wiped from her memory. Her husband, refusing to lose the only family he had, spent months trying to help her remember him and their life together.

I won’t give away the rest of the story, the movie was worth seeing.  The reason I’m writing about it is because since seeing this film, I’ve been thinking a good deal about love and commitment.

Falling in love is easy. We do it all the time. We visit a new restaurant, try a new recipe, read a good book, meet a new friend or even see a good movie and we say we “love” them all. Making the commitment to be with any of these things for the rest of our lives is another story.

During the course of any marriage we all tend to suffer from amnesia.  At times we forget what it was that made us fall in love with our partners.  They seem so different or we are different (or so we think).   Without commitment to the relationship there is nothing to keep us from running off to find someone new to fall in love with.

Men often joke about their wives, referring to them as “the old ball end chain”. I’d hate to think of myself in that way. Instead, I think of my commitment to Dave as an anchor and chain, securing him, as he does me, when seas are rough. (Navy wife imagery).  We work hard to help each other remember why we fell in love in the first place.

We have had our share of white caps, but for the most part have enjoyed fair winds and following seas. Either one of us walking away during a rough spot would have only made a bad situation worse.

So, on this second day after St. Valentines Day, four months away from our 32nd wedding anniversary, I’m thinking I’m pretty lucky to have found someone not only to commit to but to commit to me as well.
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Morning Coffee with the Girls

I’m taking it easy this morning.  Yesterday morning Dave dutifully dispatched me to to the airport at 5:30 (although we really could have slept in another half hour) so I could catch my 7:00 flight to Charlotte.  Six hours later I was sitting in the Sarasota airport sipping a Freshens Smoothie with my Mom and Dad.

This morning I’m sipping coffee with Mom and my baby sister Barb, catching up on news and reminiscing about the past.  Barb and I are going to  take a walk down to the clubhouse to check out the gym equipment. That’s as far as we’ve got planned. . .

It’s nice to not have plans.

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Middle Aged Gym Rat

At my training session last Monday, Lorenzo asked me if I’d write a little article about my training experience for the gym’s monthly newsletter.  Naturally my first question was ,”Why me?”  He hemmed and hawed, but I think the bottom line was that initially he thought I was an unlikely candidate to continue the workout sessions and he was very proud of my progress.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined that I would become a gym rat.  In high school, I hated gym class.  I wasn’t particularly athletic and saw the hour of PE every day as torture.  I did enjoy spending time outside when we played field sports, but chose to play far outfield positions where there was little need to really participate in the game.  Once I did attempt to play short stop but was rewarded by catching a bouncing ground ball squarely in my nose.  My deviated septum reminds me of my foree into team sports on a daily basis.  Later, when running became popular and my friends were all jogging, my mantra was “I’ll only run if someone is chasing me with a knife!”

I wasn’t a total couch potato.  I have always loved to walk.  Before I owned my first car, I walked a lot.  I have also always loved badmitton, although tennis has eluded me.  Dave and I played once  and that was 35 years ago!  I just didn’t have the wrist strength for the racquet.

In the mid ’80’s, I joined the Jazzercise craze and really enjoyed the dance steps.  But, as I became more and more involved in PTA and church activities, my evenings were filled with meetings.  Dave’s schedule was always an issue so childcare was a problem

 My first step back into regular exercise was when Dave and I joined the YMCA. We usually went twice a week; Tuesdays and Thursday evenings.  The workouts were self guided and I was happy to just do the minimal routine.

Last summer, a few weeks after we moved to Ruckersville, I stopped by the Anytime Fitness Center to check out the facility. Mike, the manager was so friendly, and the gym so compact and conveniently located, I decided to join then and there. After my initial training consultation, I could see the benefit of working out with a trainer but wasn’t sure I wanted to make the commitment of time and finances.

In late August, I got a call from Lorenzo, one of the trainers at the gym, asking if I’d like another consultation.  We were still settlin in and I still wasn’t ready to commit so we agreed he would call me back in about a month.

One month later, Lorenzo called back and I made an appointment to meet with him.

I’d seen Lorenzo’s pictures in the gym.  He reminded me of a Marine DI – a compact muscular bauld  headed black man, with a brilliant smile.  When Dave was at AOCS in Pennsacola, I’d seen how those guys could be barking out orders to the troops one minute and then turn their heads and be as charming and polite to a wife the next.  I needed a DI to whip me into shape.  Lorenzo appeared to be the guy for me.

At our initial meeting, Lorenzo weighed and measured me (the most painful part of the process) and then did a thorough evaluation of my muscle strength, endurance and exercise experience.

The first couple of meetings were the toughest.  Getting my body to move in unaccustomed ways was not always easy, and my balance was not the best. There were times when I thought I’d never be able to keep up the work.  But early on, I could see that Lorenzo was not doling out more than I could handle.  I learned to trust that each exercise was building me up for the next.

Sometimes I felt downright silly running sideways through the gym with a huge elastic band strapped around my ankles.  Other times I felt like Charles Atlas as I bench pressed a 50lb bar bell above my head.

Lorenzo made sure that my sessions were rarely the same.  He has shown me how to use almost every machine, ball, strap, weight and elastic band in the gym, giving me the confidence to approach and use them when I come in by myself.  Now I can swagger up to the weights like the other “guys” who work out in the evenings.  But I refuse to grunt -that’s where I draw the line!

Lorenzo has pushed me to work myself harder than I ever would on my own.  He is immune to whining (I know because I tried- once) and simply will not accept less than my doing my best.

My first three month session in “The Lorenzone” has been so rewarding and fun that I’ve “re-upped” for another session.  I have learned that for me, the benefit of having a personal trainer is well worth the time and cost.  I still have a way to go to reach my goal but I know that with Lorenzo’s skill and my perseverance, I have a better chance at getting there.

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On the Road to Chinese New Year

This past weekend we were provided with an assortment of reminders of the fragility of our lives.  It all started Thursday evening when Dave came home from work.  After almost forty years together, I can read his face pretty well so I knew something was “up” the minute he walked through the door.  He said there had been a late afternoon conference call announcing the company’s plan to trim expenses by eliminating 10% of the upper management.  (As any good gardener knows, the best way to prune is from the top down.) All affected parties would be notified by 11:00 on Monday.

Dave was reasonably certain his job would not be cut.  Based on the criteria provided, he was fulfilling the requirements the company expected.  While I didn’t doubt that, I am wise enough to know that there are always exceptions to any company guidelines.  Sometimes the good folks are let go and the inept prosper.  Either way, it was going to be a long way from Thursday to Monday.  Fortunately, we were travelling to Virginia Beach for the weekend to visit friends and celebrate the Chinese New Year at the Peking Duck as we have for the past several years.  The distraction of “busy-ness” from business was welcomed.

We got a late start on Saturday morning because the roads were still iced over following a day of a “wintry mix”.  As I sipped my coffee, still in my jammies, I scanned my email, checking and deleting the scores of sales adds I receive every day when I spied a note from Wendy, my college roommate, labelled “sad news”.  In it she briefly related that her older son had been killed in a car accident last week and provided the service details and a link to the local news paper coverage.  I can’t even imagine how the pain from this type of loss feels, but just the thought of it caught me in the gut, as if taking on some of her burden. I sent her a short reply expressing my sorrow and acknowledging my frustration in not being able to effectively do anything to ease her pain.

Once I the road, I made a couple of phone calls to firm up our evening plans.  Since Dave and Vanya had a prior commitment, we were planning on attending evening Mass at St. Mark’s and then joining some old friends for dinner.  During that conversation I learned that a friend had passed away on Sunday.  He was an elderly gentleman, in his eighties but in reasonably good health.  Friends saw him at Mass Sunday morning where he went up to the altar at the end of Mass to get Communion to take home to his wife.  Later that afternoon while he was at the Library returning books, he suffered a massive stroke.  About 11:00 that night, after receiving the Sacrament of Healing, he passed.  He’d led a long and full life and died with his wife and family at his side.  It’s sad to know his wife will be alone for a while, but other than that, there isn’t too much to feel bad about.

So, with these three definite examples of just how quickly like can change, we headed back to Virginia Beach to gather with dear friends and celebrate a New Year.

Car trips are always a time of introspection for me.  Perhaps it is because the monotony of the Interstate highway or the constant low hum of the road noise that acts like a mantra and keeps me focused.  It was a cloudy day, with ever so brief breaks when the sun peaked through.  Whatever the reason, I had plenty to ponder as the miles ticked by.  Aside from the obvious, the fragility of life – not only of other peoples’ lives, but also of my own, I marvelled at the trilogy of examples provided me and now wonder what kernel of truth I am to glean from it all – what action, if any, I am being called to take.

I have an old friend who has what she calls her “Test for Truth”.   The test basically calls for some kind of verification from three unrelated sources.  Got three.  I’m just not quite clear what the question is.  I suppose that given the clarity of the answers, the question will reveal itself in time.  Perhaps another car trip will hasten its disclosure.

p.s.  Dave’s job was spared.  At least for now, the threat of our own life change was only a soft reminder.

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Looking Back – Un-Aging Gracefully

For the past few days, my Dad has been sending out photos from my childhood, which has resulted in my looking through my cache of old images, recalling happy days in my life when I really approached life as a child, not only because I was one but also because I have set a goal for myself to really approach my faith in God in that same childlike way.

Crazy Dinner in NJ

This is one of my favorite family photos.  We are not dressed for a portrait, nor are we posed, well, at least not in our most flattering light.  We are seated in “our spots” at the family dinner table, celebrating my 12th birthday. It wasn’t my birthday that the photo was to remember as much as the beautiful “castle” cake I had baked from a recipe in our Better Crocker Junior Cookbook. I’m not quite sure where my sister, Barb, got the rose in her teeth, but that is just one of those family mysteries.

We gathered as a family at that table in that tiny dining room every night for dinner for ten years until my family moved.  After that, we still sat at that table, just in a different dining room.  Family dinner time was sacred in our home.  If you were in the house at dinner time (and not contagiuos  you were expected to be there.  If you weren’t  there, you’d had to have an acceptable excuse. (Working, away at school, etc.)

At this humble table we learned the basics of social graces, not to cry over spilled milk (which happend frequently), negotiation skills (how much of this do I have to eat?)  and even some lessons in politics (after all, it was the 60’s).  Our table was a place of family bonding.  We shared the triumphs and defeats of the day and so many laughs.  My father kept us in order with my mother as XO.  When he was on the road, we’d gang up on poor Mom like a class with a substitute teacher which usually resulted in some zany behavior and even more laughs.

As a look through my life, I clearly see that I was born into privelege; not in the sense that my family held enormous weath or social ranking, because we did not.  Instead the privelege I received came from being surrounded by a large family who collectively have operated from an inner strength of value and purpose and a strong grounding in faith in God.  This type of privelege is precious and long lasting, spanning generations, with each generation looking to the past as a reminder of what can be accomplished with a good heart and hard work.  When I look back at the challenges my parents and grandparents faced, I can clearly see the pluck and self sacrifice it took to pass this birthright on to me.  I am both humbled and challenged to continue the chain unbroken onto my own children and grandchildren.

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Unpacking the Holidays

Yesterday afternoon,while meeting with my Bible study gals, when it was my turn to share my “highs and lows” of the Christmas holiday,  I began to unpack and take a good look at my one real low – not going to Mass on Christmas Eve.

In past years, the thought never would have crossed our minds.  Our routine was set in stone.  After the final preparations were made, we’d clean up the kitchen, shower and then Dave would drive off to pick up what has become our traditional Christmas Eve dinner – Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I know KFC seems an unusual holiday meal, but for so many years when Dave and the kids were in different choirs singing at different Masses, the quickest way to get a warm meal was to go through the drive thru and pick up a bucket of chicken and fixings on the way home from the first Mass.  Since we don’t eat fried chicken on a regular basis, it was a treat and the tradition stuck.  No matter where we lived from Virginia to Hawaii, it was KFC on Christmas Eve.

After our finger lickin’ good dinner we would get dressed and head to Mass where we would join our St Mark’s church family to celebrated Christ’s incarnation.  Even after Maggie and Andy had moved out on their own and seemed to only enter churches for weddings, Christmas was a time for their homecoming.  It was a time to be welcomed back into the warm arms of a church community that had know them most of their lives. It was my way of positively reinforcing church for them, albeit once a year.

This year, our first year away from St Mark’s, there wasn’t a warm Catholic community waiting to welcome Dave and I, let alone our children.   My friends at Peace Lutheran have been lovingly urging me to join them at their services but up until the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I assumed we would attend Mass, just because we always do.

As the time grew closer to the chicken run, Dave asked , “Do you want to go to Mass or not?”  Now I’ve known this man long enough to know the tone of his question implied that he was putting the decision totally on my shoulders.  Like the kids, he wasn’t feeling any strong reason to take time out of our Christmas Eve to go to Mass.  I don’t know if it was because I was tired, or had a weak moment, but I told him that if no one else wanted to go, we could just stay home.

Until that moment, I had been mostly happy, with very little thought about our being in our new home and away from all our traditions and friends and community.  Choosing to opt out of God because I didn’t feel a connection in our new parish left me feeling sad and alone for the very first time since our move.

So yesterday, as I shared my story with my friends, I was reminded my one of them that the empty spot I felt where my church experience should have been was something I should remember – to make sure it doesn’t happen again.  I wonder now if what I felt was not only my longing for God or God’s longing for me.  Just as I missed my time with God on Christmas, God missed spending time with me.

I had passed up an open invitation from the almighty.  What a maroon!  I certainly won’t let that happen again.

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A Patch of Color

fter almost six weeks of patient waiting, our amaryllis has finally opened. It is a welcomed patch of color in this drab time of winter.  The trees are bare, there is no snow.   Yet inside our home this masterpiece blooms.

I know it’s not an original idea to view flower bulbs as little miracles.  How could they not be regarded as such?  They start out looking like a dried up onion that you would toss if you found it in your pantry.  Set it on some rocks, give it a little water and wait.  In this case, all I had to do was remove the vase from the box and add two thirds a cup of water – how precise!  And voila, my own little miracle.

I don’t know how long it will last.  I see signs of another small bud emerging from the bottom, but don’t know enough about them to know if that will bloom as well this time around.  I am content watching this bloom open little by little.

I’m thinking I must have quite a dull life to take such delight in one flower.  But that’s okay.  I have what I need.  What more could I want?

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Year End Recap

I’m back….

After three weeks of baking, wrapping, cleaning and decorating followed by eating, unwrapping, more cleaning and un-decorating, I am back to where I started – in normal time.

It is good to be back.

Christmas was all I hoped it would be.  The kids were home.  This isn’t something I take for granted.  As the years go by I know that eventually we will have a Christmas where it will be just the two of us again.  But at least for this year there were many laughs.

Christmas Compressed

 Jim, Bonnie and the boys came up on Boxing Day.  We posed for this photo on the front porch.  As you can see, we didn’t have a white Christmas!

For New Years, we joined our friends, Dave and Vanya for a First Night celebration in Colonial Williamsburg.  We stayed in the Lodge which is very conveniently located adjacent to the historic area.  Our rooms were beautiful but sadly, the beds were hard and due to a boiler problem we didn’t have hot water our first morning – it was more of a realistic colonial experience than we’d expected!

New Year’s Eve is doubly special for us because it is also my Dave’s birthday.  He has achieved the unfathomable feat of turning 57 this year!  In my mind’s eye he will always be about 21, when my Grandma Farner nicknamed him “the boy who stayed to wash the dishes.”  Enough thinking about that….

We did manage to stay awake to watch the ball drop and see the fireworks as 2012 arrived and then promptly jumped into our hard bed.  Fortunately there was hot water  the next morning so we were able to start the new year clean.

New Year’s Day we treated ourselves to brunch at the Williamsburg Inn.  Just a few notches above the Lodge in terms of classiness.  We enjoyed a gastronomic delight that was the perfect way to bid adieu to all the rich foods and treats we’ve been indulging ourselves with these past few weeks.

On our extra holiday, “New Year’s Monday”, Dave and I took down the tree and put away all the decorations.  The return of cleared surfaces has revealed some accumulated dust which will need to be dealt with.

And now I’m back.  There are still a few remnants of sweets around the house but they will be heading into hiding or the trash soon.  I’ve started my training again in earnest and will be focusing on the fuel I’m putting in my body as well as burning it off.  Both will be challenging.

It’s good to be back in normal time.

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Tick…Tick…Tick

The last week until Christmas is upon us and clock is ticking.  I can actually hear it.  It’s the loudest clock I’ve ever had.  It’s our Island Fresh Milk clock featuring “Lani Moo” that we “bought” by redeeming milk carton tops in Hawaii so I don’t have the heart to part with it.  Tick…tick….tick… Lani marks the passage of time night and day.

As for preparations here, we are in good shape.  Saturday we decorated the tree and as always, it is a beauty.  Yesterday we wrapped presents, reclaiming the top of the dining room table.  The baking is just about done.  My Hello Dollies are in the oven and the dough for the Meltaways is in the frig ready for rolling.  The stollen will wait until Friday.

Now I need to plan for what we’ll eat besides baked goods and treats.  I seem to have misplaced my talent for meal planning.  Whenever I sit down to even think about a grocery list I’ll peek out the back window as if pondering the scenery will help me inventory the pantry.  Instead I am distracted by the large number of Bluejays we have at the feeders this morning – I’ve counted eight so far.  It’s not easy to count them either, since they keep moving about the yard.

I’m glad I’ve had the opportunity to get caught up this year.  It will be nice to have the next few days to relax before the kids arrive and the celebration begins.  Of course this is just an illusion.  There is still plenty of the everyday stuff to do this week; bathroom cleaning, floor mopping, vacuuming and laundry and  I still have a couple knitting projects to finish up.  Speaking of which, I guess I’d better get moving.  I only have half an hour before I head to the gym for my “training”.   Ho Ho Ho.

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Ten Days and Counting

Only ten days to go before Christmas Eve and  my baking is not done but ingredients sit on the kitchen counter in readiness should the mood strike me.  My cards are scattered in separate piles on the family room couch.  Some are ready for stamps, some need addresses.  All need address labels and newsletters inserted – neither have been printed yet.

Our tree stands undecorated in place in the living room.  We thought it would be a good idea to put it up and let our new kitten, Purrl, get accustomed to it before we added the extra enticement of sparkling dangling things.  Except for once incident of attempted bulb chewing, she hasn’t attempted to climb the tree as of yet.

My shopping is done (I’m pretty sure) but there is much wrapping to be done.  The gifts are stacked on the bed in the guest room in piles by recipient so I can easily guage that the stacks are even.  The dining room table looks like we’ve had a party in there.  Candy canes, ribbons and boxes cover the surface.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the Post Office.  Once I know where my parents will be on Christmas Day, I’ll be able to send them all out.

So, with all this left to do, I’ll bet you’re wondering why I’m taking precious time to write it down and post it for the world to see.  Well, it is my gift to you – whoever reads this.

My gift is my assurance that despite where you are in your preparations, in ten days, Christmas will happen.  It will happen without decorations, without cookies, without presents or cards.

We put so much pressure on ourselves to create “the perfect Christmas” for other people.  Why not create the same for yourself?   Instead of approaching the season with a list of everything you have to do, why not look at it is what you’d like to do?  Making your preparations a choice instead of a chore makes a big difference.  Give yourself the gift of peace.  Give yourself the gift of time.

If you’re a Christian, you believe God has already given us the greatest gift possible, His son.  Why would you want to try to top that?  If you’re not a Christian, why are you putting yourself through the whole thing in the first place?  Then it really is much ado about nothing.

Take my gift and enjoy.  Make yourself a cup of

tea. Put your feet up and relax for a while.  Make time for yourself.  You have ten days!  God only had seven when He created the world!