Everyday Life – Page 18 – The Monica Chronicles

October 22, 2013

A Life Called Normal

hamster in wheel

You know how hamsters seem run endlessly in their little wheels, frantically moving their little feet as fast as they can yet never getting anywhere? That’s sort of how I’ve felt the past month or so. First there was the wedding and as wonderful as it was, I was really looking forward to having at least a week to just kick back and enjoy the peace of an empty calendar. Sadly, things just didn’t work out that way.

Between Dave’s cardiac testing, doctors’ appointments and eventual angioplasty as well as the Fall start-up of my various volunteer activities, I found myself running from one day to the next, always with my eye on the 21st of October, the day when my first break arrived. I haven’t even had the time or brain focus to write, and I’ve missed it sorely.

I have totally enjoyed the past two days, just doing normal everyday stuff. Yesterday I did laundry, caught up on my correspondence and even did some filing. Today I left the house early and did the first real grocery shopping I’ve done in a very long time. I even had a list! Lately I’ve been guilty of using the Foodlion down the street as my own personal pantry, running in almost everyday to grab something. It’s not the going there that is problematic to me, it’s the running there.

So today, I did a “big shop”, leisurely walking up and down the aisles, thoughtfully deciding what to put in my basket. Surprisingly the store wasn’t crowded. I like to go on Tuesdays because I get a “senior” discount but compared to most of the other customers on Tuesdays, I’m definitely a “junior”, at least for now.

When I got home, I unpacked my purchases slowly and put them away with care and purpose. What a change from the last few weeks when I’d literally toss things on the pantry shelves and shut the door so I didn’t have to look at the mess! After everything was put away, sat down at the table on the deck and ate some yummy California rolls I treated myself to at the store. It was one of the first times I’ve been able to just sit and look at the yard in weeks. The leaves are about fifty percent changed, the mums are in full bloom and the grass is green. It was cool today, cooler than it’s been. We may even get our first frost in the next day or two. The year is winding down.

With my tummy full, I sat and worked on a pair of socks for Dave and then took full advantage of the quiet and stretched out on the couch for a decadent snooze. It is good to have life slow down, return to a sense of normalcy. I know today was really just a respite, a day to catch my breath before November arrives with another wave of events and activities leading into the Holidays. But that is off in the future, someday past tomorrow when I think I may vacuum and bake cookies. Aaahh.

October 15, 2013

Adjusting

Debbie (left) and me (right) in the days when it was okay to put baby in a corner!

My cousin Debbie is a treasure. We were born just a couple of weeks apart, lived in the same town and went to the same school for most of our elementary days. Here you see us sharing the same playpen. When we were little, we’d have great fun at our Grandma Farner’s house when the clan was gathered together. When we weren’t sampling Grandma’s talcum powder in the upstairs bathroom, we’d investigate her drawers, closets and attics for interesting stuff. No one seemed to mind our snooping. The one thing that generally yielded a shout up the stairwell to “KNOCK IT OFF!!” was when we practiced our “tap dancing” on the linoleum floor covering in Grandma’s front bedroom which sat above the living room. Our Sunday patent leather maryjanes made such a lovely sound on that hard linoleum, but there is no accounting for taste, is there?

Just before my tenth birthday, my family moved away from our hometown and only returned for vacations in the summer. I didn’t see Debbie as much after that and when we did, my awkward shyness held me back from seeking her out. (Yes, I was shy!)

It’s only been in recent years and through the wonders of Facebook that we’ve picked up where we started. As I get to know her again, as a grown-up, I am amazed at how much we have in common. Lately we’ve both been dealing with our husbands’ health and she’s been sending weekly letters to friends and family sharing her thoughts and experiences as she and her husband Bill travel an uncertain road. She writes so well that I asked her if I could share her words with you. (I think she should begin her own blog.)

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to my wonderful cousin, Debra Farner Hughes:

We all make adjustments all the time. We put a sweater on, then take it off, turn the radio up then down, open the window, then shut it. We switch channels, we turn the mirrors on the car, move the seat, all to fit our requirements. We do things without even thinking to make adjustments.

In the past 3 months, we have made lots of adjustments. Some of the time, they were ones that made us very happy, some not so much, but all were necessary.

Bill and I never had a set of “jobs” we do at home, there are no tasks either of us would not do. Well, I would rather not clean the cat boxes but I have done it when I had to. He has also written a check or two to pay a bill, but other than those things, jobs were just that, something someone needs to get done. He just as easily would vacuum or do the dishes as I would. Mowing the lawn is a favorite of mine and he never made me feel like it was his job.

But lately, we have had to make adjustments. This time of year we always have lot of branches and twigs that need to be broken into kindling for the wood burning stove that makes our family room a cozy place to be. We have always loved autumn with the changing colors that surround us and we never looked at the kindling as a chore.

Bill loves music so he had always routinely added one of his favorite cd’s to our tasks, making it a much more pleasurable experience, no matter what it was. Ever since the first of July, our tasks, no matter what they were, driving in the car to chemo or doctors, cleaning the house, walking the cats (yes, he walks the cats) there has been no music. I miss it. He only plays music when he is happy. I learned to live with the quietness in the car, in the house, in the yard. I adjusted, it was something that was taken from us when cancer came to stay. Evil cancer, evil, evil cancer.

So Saturday when we went to do our yearly breaking of the branches, Bill only was able to sit on a bench break a few, but I was thrilled he was with me trying his best. I was not surprised when he was tired and needed to retire, leaving me with a huge mound of branches to handle alone. I looked at the pile and thought how he must have felt about leaving me to do it myself, but I refused to give in to my fatigue so I lived up to his funny nickname he gave me, Little Mighty. That day, I produced 4 barrels of kindling. I am learning to do things alone. It is not how I want it to be but I am adjusting.

Just when I start getting used to the new normal, he does it again. He started singing! He put music on and started to sing, powerfully sing and it is from his soul. If you never really heard him sing, you have missed a great set of vocals. His gruffly voice is something that you would not expect to produce such a beautiful sound, but it does, and when he feels the emotion the song is meant for, now that is amazing. So he spent part of today putting together a cd that he could sing his heart out to when we had yet another adjustment. He is currently sitting in the infusion center and getting 2 units of blood, something he has not had to do before. I just glanced at him, reading his book on a high school football team and listening to a soccer game simultaneously, so Bill.

He has learned to live with cancer. He has learned to walk outside with his chemo pump on and not feel like he has to sit indoors for the 48 hours it takes to administer the drugs that are going to let him live with this. He has learned to smile again and to talk to people. He played 9 holes of golf, came home exhausted but oh so happy. He has adjusted to being a cancer patient, but it is not who he is anymore. He is Bill, who happens to have cancer but has chosen to live again. And now, He sings, thank you God for letting him sing and letting me see him again.

Debbie and I at our First Holy Communion

I told you she could write! Must be in the genes; something else I’m so very glad we share! Love you cuz.

October 4, 2013

Community in Church

Shepherd of the Hills Parish Picnic 2011

A couple of weeks ago something truly amazing happened. It was a Sunday morning. Dave and I got an early start, as always, to arrive at the church right around 8:00. This week was a bit special because the choir leader was going to be away, leaving him in charge for the first time. He wanted to be a little extra early this week so that he could warm up with the accompanist.

Even though Mass is scheduled to begin at 8:30, our priest lives on the other side of the mountains and also suffers from positional vertigo so he doesn’t always get out the door when he’d like to. So, our start time is usually at least a few minutes late. This week, as we passed the ten minute mark, one of the parishioners stood up and announced that Father was running very late and wanted us to “start without him”.

Strange as it may seem to many Catholics, that is what we did. The choir began the opening hymn, the first reader got up and read followed by the Responsorial Psalm. Then the second reader read the New Testament reading. So far so good. Where things began to unravel came when it normally would have been the place in the Mass for the Gospel to be read but Father still hadn’t arrived.

Unsure of whether or not we should pre-empt the Presider’s role, we instead moved onto announcements and the collection; to parts we knew we didn’t need a priest for. The choir led us in a few additional hymns until we were all getting a little tired of singing (and poor Dave was running out of material.) Still no Father.

Finally, the lady sitting next me stood up and called across the worship space to the first reader. “Bill, I think you should read the Gospel.” she said. “Do you think it’s okay?” he asked the congregation. After a few moments of mumbling affirmation, we all rose singing the Gospel Acclamation and Bill proclaimed the Gospel to us. From there we proceeded into the Prayers of the Faithful and Father made his entrance. Once vested, he came out to the altar, walked up to the ambo and announced there wouldn’t be a homily. The faithful giggled and then Father began to talk to us about his health.

With his vision failing, he’d been planning on having cataract surgery the following week. In the process of testing, the doctors had discovered a much more serious problem that would require the removal of a tumor from his pituitary gland or in other words: brain surgery. He expected to be away from us for at least three weeks. Wow! Father allowed a few minutes of questions and answers and then, after we let him know which parts of the Mass we’d already covered, he picked up where we left off and continued onto Communion. When Mass was over, the congregation blessed him with raised hands and prayer.

Last Thursday, Father had his surgery and is doing well.

In the weeks since this happened and I’ve gained the perspective of a little distance, I continue to be so very proud to say I am a member of Shepherd of the Hills. True, we are very small and perhaps don’t have a cadre of semi-professional church types who know all the ins and outs of protocol but what we lack in size, we more than make up with just by the sheer willingness of the average person in the pew to stand up and become part of the solution instead of creating a bigger problem. Maybe Mass that morning didn’t follow the strict rubrics of the Roman Missal, but we certainly came together in our “common-union”. And that’s what it’s all about.

October 3, 2013

Letting Go

Perhaps the biggest challenge I face these days is being comfortable with letting Dave out of my sight for extended periods of time. Just before he was discharged from the hospital, his cardiologist, Dr. Bove told him that within 48 hours he could do anything he wanted except lift weights and exercise strenuously. Sure, that’s easy for her to say, she discharges people from the hospital practically every day. Not so for me.

Since we returned home on Tuesday, I’ve been by Dave’s side, asking if he’s okay, (probably a little too much but he’s been very patient with me.) I make sure he’s eating properly, taking evening walks and getting sufficient rest. If he needed to go somewhere, I was his chauffeur. He’s been my own personal “bubble boy”.

This morning I let him go to the office by himself. The government has conveniently accommodated his condition by furloughing the majority of government employees working with him, so there just isn’t much going on for his contractors to support. Fortunately for us, our contracts are funded with last year’s money so we’re good to go for a while.

All of this hyper-vigilance is exhausting! When he’s around, I keep checking on him and when he was at the office, he was never far from my thoughts. This morning I even caught up on ironing all the dress shirts that have been stacking up on the laundry room door. It took me over an hour to get them all pressed. But, in my own small way, I felt connected to him in a penitential sort of way.

This evening I planned on riding along with him down to the community college where he teaches on Thursday evenings, just to make sure. I had myself and dinner ready in plenty of time for us to eat and then had the kitchen tidied in short order to get on the road. All I had left to do was to call Izzie in from the yard. Usually she’s positioned right under the bird feeders, waiting for the squirrels. Usually all I have to do is open the door, call her and she trots in. Not this evening.

Izzie hold court with her new friends under the bird feeders.

I called from the back door and then from the front. I walked around the house and up the hill for a better vantage point across the neighboring yards. No Izzie. We didn’t have any time to spend cat hunting. I figured she would be okay on her own until we got back and was ready to leave her to whatever mischief she was up to when Dave said, “Honey, I love that you want to come along with me, but honestly, I feel good – at least no more tired than I do any other Thursday evening. I think you should stay home.” So I did.

Maybe it’s a good thing that I let him go out on his own. For one thing, he needs to know he can do it as much as I do. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on poor Izzie either. After all, she was just doing what comes naturally to cats, whatever she wants to do. If it had been an emergency she’d be on her own. But it wasn’t. Instead, I think it might have been God’s way of gently nudging me to let Dave go. His doctor said he’s okay. He says he’s okay. I need to be okay with it as well.

And I will be; once he comes back through the door again later this evening.

October 1, 2013

Men (and Women) of An Uncertain Age

heart pic

Yesterday, in the wee hours of the morning, Dave and I drove into town. It was still very dark. With no street lights in our neighborhood, we had only the light of our headlights to guide us to the highway. At the very last bend in the road, a doe and two young fawns stood in the shadows of the shoulder; a peaceful reminder of God’s presence in our lives on our early morning drive. We rode quietly through the dark, there were no words to say, only silent prayers.

For the past several weeks, since our day in the emergency room before Maggie and Jan’s wedding, Dave has been seeing a cardiologist almost weekly; being wired and monitored, X-rayed and trotted on a treadmill to more clearly determine the source of his chest pain. It was finally decided that there was an improper firing in the left ventricle of his heart most likely caused by poor blood flow. Yesterday morning we drove to Martha Jefferson Hospital, the “most beautiful hospital in America” for a heart catheterization and possible implanting of stents to correct the problem.

Although this procedure is routine to the doctors and staff at the hospital, wires threaded through arteries and up to the heart are definitely not routine for Dave and me. Friday morning we had an appointment with the head catheterization nurse to go over the procedure and answer any questions we might have. Mel provided a blow-by-blow, step-by-step explanation of what would happen the day of the “cath” and even let us handle some of the tools the surgeon would use. I think Dave entered the “TMI” zone a bit and left a little more uneasy than we arrived. We spent the weekend quietly contemplating “what ifs” and praying.

We’ve held this information pretty quiet since it started, sharing only on a “need to know basis”. It’s been a lot for us to take in. Dave is otherwise in really good health; we eat well and get regular exercise. But, apparently, no matter how young we feel or look, the truth is that we are indeed getting older and our bodies are feeling it. Which is what brought us to Martha Jefferson Hospital so early in the morning.

Not long after we checked in with the information station, a nurse came out and called Dave’s name. I went back with him for a few moments as the prep began but soon excused myself and left him in their hands. My prep was over; I had come armed with my I Pad, knitting and a Sudoku book. All that was left for me was wait and pray.

Fortunately, I wasn’t alone. Last week my friend Carol called and asked if I’d like her to sit with me. My first thought was to politely decline her generous offer; I could handle it on my own. Then I thought, what if something goes wrong, would I want to handle that alone? Definitely not. I accepted Carol’s offer and true to her word, she arrived not long after Dave went in for his procedure.

We didn’t have long to wait. In less than an hour, an alert and smiling Dave was wheeled out of the treatment area and past the table where we were sitting. He saw Carol first. “Hi Carol!” he said. We were both surprised and relieved to see him so soon and looking so good. Carol gave me a hug goodbye and I followed Dave and his entourage down the corridor.

Not long after settling into the room, his surgeon arrived. Using the back of piece of paper on the bedside table, he drew a diagram of Dave’s heart and showed us where the blockages were. He implanted two stents in Dave’s Right Coronary Artery to improve blood flow to the heart. There were two smaller vessels that were completely blocked but his body had taken action by creating new blood vessels to keep blood flowing into the left side of his heart. Isn’t that amazing? With proper diet and exercise as well as medication, he said Dave could return to normal activities very soon.

The rest of yesterday was pretty unremarkable. As hospitals go, Martha Jefferson in a gem. All the rooms are private and the accommodations include pull-out beds so that family members can stay if they choose. I had planned on staying but Dave was doing so well and I felt he was in good hands so I decided to come home and sleep in my own bed. After all, no one gets a good night’s sleep in the hospital. So shortly after dinner, I headed home to my girls.

When I arrived this morning, Dave was chomping on the bit to be released. It was only a couple of hours, but it seemed like an eternity until his cardiologist stopped by to give him his marching orders. In the meantime, we walked the halls and watched reruns of “The Dick VanDyke Show” and “I Love Lucy” on TV Land. Eventually she came and gave him the green light. After grabbing a quick-lunch in the cafeteria, we were on the way home.

Here at home little seems to have changed in our lives. The cats are still here, the kitchen still needs tidying and the mail was waiting in the box at the end of the drive. The place hasn’t changed, but we have been changed in a fundamental way. No longer can we claim our youth by our reflections in the mirror. We are certainly aging and we’ve been reminded in a tangible way that out lives are finite. It is a bitter pill to swallow, and not one that most of us willingly embrace. Oh yeah, getting older is great when you’re waiting to get your driver’s license, buy your first legal drink or go off to college but add a few decades of age onto that same person and it’s not so much fun anymore. The life milestones we’re waiting for are not as much fun and no so certain.

I don’t mean to sound morbid. I’m not really going to make many changes in my life other than to take a little better care of the machinery that is my body. If anything, I want to live each day more fully. I don’t necessarily want to do more, but instead be more aware of what I am doing, and who I’m doing it with. As Ferris Bueller said, “Life comes at you pretty fast. If you’re not careful, you could miss it.” And I don’t want to miss any of it!

September 23, 2013

Children Will Listen

” Careful the things you say,
Children will listen.
Careful the things you do,
Children will see.
And learn.”

Several years ago when Maggie was a freshman in high school, she performed in the chorus of her school’s production of Steven Sondheim’s “Into the Woods”. As anyone who’s experienced being a part of a musical, or has lived with someone who has been part of a musical production knows, you end up listening to the score many times over until it eventually becomes programmed into the soundtrack of your daily life. Fortunately, I grew to love the quirky characters and pithy lyrics of the music in “Into the Woods” and eventually bought the CD and added it to my I Tunes.

Even though I would be hard pressed to choose a favorite song from the pack, one that resonated with me at the time of Maggie’s chorus-girl days was the “Finale – Children will Listen.” Probably because my children we in the midst of their teens and I was praying that the seeds I’d planted in their single digit years would grow and carry them through those years where choices can affect their lives in a big way. I took these lyrics to heart and used them as a prayer to remind myself that even though Maggie and Andy seemed to be challenging me at every point, they were really paying attention; or at least I hoped so.

“Children may not obey,
But children will listen.
Children will look to you
For which way to turn,
To learn what to be.
Careful before you say,
“Listen to me.”
Children will listen.”

Sometimes, when I look back at my career motherhood, I worry that some of the things my children heard me say have impacted on some of their adult life choices. Specifically, I wonder if my struggles with the Catholic Church which I shared in discussions with Dave and friends while my kids were around, have led to their lack of interest in participation. A dear friend of mine told me that on the contrary, I had simply catechized them too well; that they have a better understanding of what it means to be a part of the Church than most people do and they aren’t sure they want to be a part of it. Anyway, for me, that is the dark side of what children will hear.

On the bright side, the last time I chatted with Maggie she told me that she and Jan had received enough cash as wedding gifts to purchase the new, smaller refrigerator they were hoping to get for their kitchen. I was very excited that they would be able to remove the giant white behemoth dominating their tiny kitchen for something sized more appropriately. I asked, “Did you get it?” She said, “No. I told Jan we couldn’t cash any of the checks until we wrote the thank you notes.” I was delightfully gob smacked! That is exactly what I told the kids when they were little when they received checks for birthdays and Christmas! It’s been such a long time, I’d totally forgotten. I don’t have to wonder about that one.

September 16, 2013

Family Ties – A Note to Caleb

Dear Caleb,

Last weekend at Maggie’s wedding, I was saddened to learn that you were feeling a little like you didn’t belong in our family because your Asian features make you look a little different from the rest of us. Yes, our family is a little unique because both you and Seth were adopted. But please know that I truly believe that God shone his face upon us when He brought us all together through your open adoptions and through grace, we became family, just like Maggie and Jan were joined at their wedding.

Even though Seth is my biological grandson, when you arrived a couple of years later via a different birth mother, I never thought of you as anything but my grandson too. Although I can see my family traits in Seth, since I knew your birth mother and her family when she little girl, I can see them in you as well and feel that connection with you. Blood may be thicker than water, but love is thicker than blood and I have loved you, my little sweetie, from the beginning. It makes my heart heavy and sad to think that just because of the shape of your eyes, you could think you don’t belong to us. So, I thought I’d share a few pictures of some of my blood relatives to prove family isn’t about how you look. Now matter how you got here, you are my grandson and I love you very much.

Jordon Allen, UVA Freshman Soccer star; my first cousin once removed. — Jordan Allen, UVA Freshman Soccer star; my first cousin once removed.

This handsome young man is my cousin Jordan. His mother, Melissa, is my first cousin. I don’t know him very well because of the age difference between his mother and I (she was born when I was in high school.) At first glance, you might think he doesn’t look anything like me because of the coffee-colored skin he received from his Jamaican-born father. When I look at him, I can see the face of his mother, his uncles and even his grandmother. He’s just been added to the UVA Men’s Soccer Team so I hope to see him in action very soon.

Maggie, Andy and JJ, Christmas 1993 in Hawaii. — Maggie, Andy and JJ, Christmas 1993 in Hawai’i.

This next photo is of my nephew, JJ with Maggie and Andy. We were very lucky when Poppa received orders to be stationed in Hawai’i when my brother John and his family were also stationed there. With most of our family scattered around the country, it was a real joy to live within a few miles of each other so that these cousins could get to know each other. Because JJ’s mother, my sister-in-law, Queyen is Chinese, he looked like the local people in Hawai’i while we were “haole” (which means the “smelly ones” in Hawaiian).

Living in Hawai’i also provided Poppa, Maggie and Andy and I the opportunity to feel what is like to live in a place where you don’t look like most of the other people there. Most of the population were of Chinese, Japanese, Filipino and Thai origin so looked a lot like you! But we loved living there so very much.

This photo is of my cousin Beth and her daughter, Andrea. She’s about the same age as you are. Her mother, Beth is my cousin Bob’s daughter and is Jordan’s first cousin. She, too, might someday think she doesn’t fit in because she inherited a skin-tone darker than her mothers from her father’s Indian ancestry (India the country).

All of these people as different as they look, are my cousins. While family traits are evident if you know what to look for, people who don’t know all of us might not see them. I’d be willing to bet that every one of us has been teased when they were your age by other children who look for differences and then pounce with ugly names and words.

In my experience, it’s not just skin color or eye shape they go after, their venom can also be applied to height, weight, facial features, religion, ethnic origin, neighborhood, family, etc. The list goes on and on. If there is a weak spot, it can be found and hurt can be made. Believe me, after wearing braces for six years, was an easy target! Just try to remember that usually when someone picks on you, it’s because they don’t feel good about themselves and want you to feel bad about yourself too. That’s sort of sad, isn’t it?

So my dear young fellow, I hope this illustrates that being part of a family is definitely NOT about how you look, but the love that binds you together. You are a precious part of our family and I thank God everyday for bringing us all together. Our faces might not look alike, but our hearts are the same. If you ever feel like you don’t belong, give me a call and I’ll remind you just how much I love you!

Keep smiling buddy!

Love,

Nana

September 12, 2013

Maggie’s Wedding – A Quick Peek

There have been times in my life when time seems to take on a dream-like quality, when every sight, sound and action is so infused with importance and meaning that it is almost too much to take in. Maggie’s wedding weekend was like that. And, like most dreams, now that it’s over, the details have become blurry but the feelings of awe remain.

To say the entire event went off without a hitch would be an understatement. All forms of transportation cooperated allowing everyone to be where they needed to be at the right time. With the exception of one very smoky room, all accommodations were satisfactory. And the food! Both the Rehearsal Dinner and Reception Buffets were superb. The weather – well let’s just say that God shined his face down upon Maggie and Jan by providing them with the perfect day!

The only glitches were comical. First, when the wedding cake was removed from its box we realized we didn’t have a platter for it. Andy’s girlfriend, Amy and Isolde’s boyfriend, Austin, sprang into action and sprinted up to the visitor center where they were able to borrow a lovely pedestalled plate from the caterer. Then there was some excitement when a Copperhead snake had to be shooed from the path leading down to the perennial garden where the ceremony was to take place. Another oops moment occurred when one guest (who shall remain nameless) grabbed the wrong suit when he packed for the wedding and didn’t realizing it until he went to get dressed for the ceremony. Luckily there was a Men’s Warehouse right across the street from the hotel so he was able to purchase a new outfit in time for the reception.

The ceremony was awesome. I refrain from using that word too frequently because in my opinion, to be awed is extremely special and rare. I have to admit, when Maggie and Jan let us know they wanted to get married in a garden I responded with a polite, “nice” when I really secretly hoped they would get married in a church. The Catholic guilt was suppressed when I reminded myself that this was their wedding not mine. But, any fears I may have had that they had turned their backs on the sacred and spiritual nature of marriage were dispelled on Saturday.

Sitting in a lush green garden, surrounded by mounds of flowering plants beneath a sky so blue as not to be believed, I was quickly reassured that they knew exactly what a marriage was all about. No, they didn’t use the traditional symbolism that most of us use, but the symbols they did choose demonstrated clearly that even though she hadn’t chosen to be married in the Church, I had completed my task of handing on my faith to her. It may not be a traditional Catholic faith, but it is nonetheless a strong faith. In some ways, I envied the honesty and intimacy of their ceremony. Although I could hear sniffles behind me, I don’t think I shed a single tear. I was so totally drawn into the moment, full of pride and awe.

The reception party, as I hoped it would be, was a wonderful celebration of the coming together of family and friends. Since my family is so spread out and we’ve picked up friends from everywhere we’ve lived, most have heard us talk about the others, but this was the first time they together in one room. It was marvelous! They may have arrived as strangers but by the end of the evening we were all dancing and singing everything from Journey’s “Don’t Stop” to Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines”.

After dinner, as Teresa and I made the rounds from table to table to greet our guests and especially introduce ourselves to the ones we didn’t know, I received a complement from one of Maggie’s high-school friends that I will always cherish. She said, “Gee, you and your husband did such a great job with your kids, you should get an award or something. They’ve both turned out so well. You must be very proud.”

Wow! I didn’t know what to say except “thank you” because I am.

September 4, 2013

Falling Through the Cracks

birthday-cake-6

For the past several weeks Dave has been burning the candle at both ends, working on a proposal for a contract. It’s the same old drill we’ve gone through every September as the DOD scrambles to allot the remaining budgeted dollars for the current fiscal year before it ends on October 1st. So, our traditional Labor Day celebration consists of Dave working the entire weekend while I hang around the house not doing much of anything.

This year, he is really under the gun because this proposal is due this coming Monday and Maggie’s wedding is in three days. Even though his workmates are ready and willing to give him a hand, he wants to ensure the proposal is in good shape before he hands it over to them. Combine that with our extra vigilance in regards to his health, and the stress level increases exponentially. I’ve been pitching in to carry his load of household chores but occasionally some things do fall through the cracks.

Yesterday when he came home from work, he was pooped. He said he wanted to close his eyes for a few minutes and then eat a quick meal before heading back to the office. When I called him to the table he announced that he was done for the day and had decided that we should go for a walk this evening and he’d go in early in the morning to make up lost time.

True to his word, the alarm went off a little after 5:00 this morning. Per his custom, he hit the snooze button a couple of times and finally crawled off to the shower. I decided I would get him off to a good start by actually cooking him a breakfast – something I almost never do.

To the tune of Izzie’s whining to go out, I got the sausage and toast going before cracking the eggs into a bowl for scrambling. In short order I had set the table with nice cloth napkins, poured the juice and had two plates of scrambled eggs and sausage ready when Dave came down the stairs. I even had his coffee poured and mixed to his personal specifications of sugar and hazelnut creamer.

There was little conversation as we ate; Dave isn’t a morning person and he was a bit grumpy. He apologized for his dark mood and said he hadn’t slept well; so many thoughts were running through his mind. I felt badly for him and told him I had something important to tell him. He looked at me unconvinced that I actually had something important to say. I said, “Honey, I just wanted to tell you that today is my birthday.” He cringed and put his hand over his face. “I didn’t want you to get to work and look at the calendar and realize that you forgot and I don’t want you to feel like you have to run and get me a card. I’m okay with it, really.” And I was.

He said he was sorry and kissed me. I knew he was sorry as well as I knew that he hadn’t forgotten my birthday because he doesn’t care about me. Heck, with all the wedding stuff going on, I’d practically forgotten about it myself! It felt so good to let him off easy, like I was finally a big girl; mature and thoughtful. Being able to give him that gift was about the best gift I could have received for my birthday.

September 2, 2013

Girls Gone Not-So-Wild

With my fears of being to old to hang with younger gals set aside, I packed my bags, loaded the car, adjusted my mirrors and seat and headed off to Richmond. To set the mood for my trip, God comically chose The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues” as the first tune to play from the multitude of melodies that could have popped out the XM queue. The mellow voice of Jim Morrison telling me to “keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel” seemed like good advice and I laughed at the appropriateness of the lyrics. To my surprise on this holiday weekend, the heaviest traffic I encountered was at the intersection of the road that leads into our neighborhood and US 29 where two lanes of cars were backed up a good two miles in a southern crawl into Charlottesville for UVA’s first home football game of the season. Fortunately I was turning north, so once I made my left turn, it was just me and the open road on a beautiful late summers day.

I arrived just in time to take Maggie to her hair appointment in Carytown. While she was getting her trim, I popped across the street to Penzeys Spices to stock up on a few essentials (if you don’t have a store near you, check out their website: http://www.penzeys.com; their stuff is great! ). Half an hour later I returned with my bag of goodies to find Maggie still in “the” chair. As always, I had my knitting with me and enjoyed listing to her stylist chatter about everything from pregnancy to Miley Cyrus’ performance at last week’s VMA awards as I continued working on a pair of socks for Dave. Later rather than sooner, she was ready and we rushed home to change for the party.

I’d never been to Isolde’s home before. Jan had told me she was renting a room in some guy’s house and I had imagined her living out of some cramped, smelly room in someone’s basement. I wondered where she would be entertaining us. Contrary to my mental image, Isolde lives in a beautiful fully restored townhouse on the fringes of the VCU campus. The house is owned by one of the current residents, Connor, who did all the renovation work with his father. Not only was the home an architectural delight, but has some history as well; having been built by the first major elected by the city of Richmond after the end of the Civil War. I was in awe! It truly rivaled some of the flag-officer homes on Admiral’s Row in Norfolk where I attended parties back in our Navy days.

Isolde greeted us at the front door of this lovely home along with Leslie, one of Maggie’s childhood friends. In the dining room, Isolde had laid a beautiful table with trays of crudités accented with petite champagne grapes, a wedge of Brie, meringues and a bottle of Tott’s chilling on ice, all surrounding a grand arrangement of freshly cut flowers. Leslie popped the top on the Champagne, Isolde charged our glasses and we toasted Maggie. For the next hour or so we caught up with each other, laughing and snacking. Then I cut the chocolate cake I’d brought and the room grew quiet as we savored the dense chocolaty goodness of the flourless cake. Another glass of champagne and it was time to walk to the restaurant to make our reservation.

Before we left, Isolde presented us all with our own tiaras as well as a sash for Maggie to wear that read, “Bachelorette!” I was amazed by how almost all of the people we passed along the way, stopped what they were doing to wish Maggie well; including a bunch of guys tossing a football around in the street! It gave our stroll more of a parade feeling, with Maggie as our queen.

When we reached our destination, and began to look over the menus, we realized that none of us were particularly hungry, but the food looked great. So, we decided to order several appetizers and share. The food was phenomenal and despite our previous snacking and dessert, we managed to clean all the plates. After settling the check, it was back to the streets in our tiaras.

As we walked back to Isolde’s I told the girls that I had been afraid that I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with them because of my usually early bedtime. They all laughed and one by one assured me that their nights of late-night partying were long gone and were usually in bed by ten. It was amusing to think that among these young women, with two of whom I’d held a “grown-up” roll, I was now simply an older woman, not a Mom. It was a nice feeling.

After saying our goodbyes and good nights to our lovely hostess, Maggie and I headed back to her house with Leslie in tow for a quick tour before she hit the road back to Charlottesville. Once she had left, we changed into our jammies and settled into her couch to watch a sub-titled chick-flick about the Danish aristocracy and the Age of Enlightenment. It wasn’t long before her two cats, Rupert and Ivan were cuddled up on her lap and in the crook of her legs. When it ended a little after eleven, we both toddled off to bed.

So, despite my fears that my advanced age has rendered me unable to hang and party with younger women, I learned that going out with your adult daughter and her friends to celebrate is much less taxing than monitoring a slumber party of ten-year olds. It’s so much nicer now that Maggie and her friends’ tastes have moved on from soda and Cheetos to those of fine dining, a good glass of wine and witty conversation. That I can hang with; at least until ten or so.