The Monica Chronicles – Page 22 – Out Into the World Again!

July 24, 2013

Bringing Home Baby

Like many other people, I too was caught up in the “Great Kate Wait.” What really touches my heart about seeing the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and their new little one really has nothing to do with them as much as it has to do with me, and the fact that they are young and living through such an incredible event in anyone’s life and we are privy to watching it. Since I don’t have any movies of getting in the car with my own children, seeing them reminds me of what it was like for me so many years ago when my babies were coming along.

The day my daughter Maggie was born started gray and drizzling. Dave was away; four weeks into a seven month Indian Ocean cruise aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. Except for my kitty companions, Punkin and Blossom, I was alone when I woke up about five that morning with mild contractions. The misery I’d been feeling about the unfairness of life putting twelve thousand miles between Dave and me at this important time was quickly replaced by a sense of excitement that the moment I’d been waiting for was about to arrive. Soon, after only twenty or so hours of labor, I had a beautiful baby girl and I was somebody’s Mommy.

Maggie and I at the NAS Oceana O'Club Pool two weeks before Andy was born. — Maggie and I at the NAS Oceana O’Club Pool two weeks before Andy was born.

Luckily, Navy wives are never really alone so I had a “village” all primed and ready to help me with everything and anything I needed in Dave’s absence. My neighbors provided me with meals, picked up my mother at the airport, showered me with gifts and checked in on me. One of them even came to the hospital with me as my birthing coach. They were so open and happy to help, and I was happy to let them.

When Andy was born seventeen months later, we were lucky enough to have Dave home, ever so briefly. When I announced it was time to go to the hospital he was in the middle of watching a Buddy Hackett special on HBO and wasn’t too keen on leaving. When I insisted, he got up, went to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich to take along. Of all the helpful literature he’d read about coaching a birth, the one thing he remembered was to bring a snack because he might get hungry during a long labor. As it turned out, I don’t think he had a chance to eat the sandwich, but at least he was prepared. It’s not that Dave is insensitive, only practical.

We brought Andy home in our first brand new car, a 1983 Nissan Sentra four door sedan in a deep burgundy. Our previous auto, a Volkswagen Sirocco was a two door coupe. It had been hard enough to climb into the back to buckle one baby over a bucket seat, two was out of the question. So, on that very hot day in July, we drove our new baby home in our new car in the heady fragrance of commingling new baby and new car smells.

Our first night home as a family was a little rocky. We started our night with Andy sleeping in a roll-away crib in our room but all his little noises kept us awake so it wasn’t long before Dave rolled him away into his own room. Hearing him when he awoke wasn’t an issue, the house wasn’t that big. The first time he cried he woke us all up. I remember sitting in my chair, nursing him while Dave held Maggie who when she heard Andy cry, starting crying herself. I was so torn, feeling tethered to this infant, who I really didn’t know, while my baby sat on her father’s lap, her little arms outstretched to me. I suppose I probably started crying too.

Eventually, Andy was fed and asleep, Maggie was comforted and back in her bed and I in mine. After that the nights were easier. Dave was soon back to sea for another seven month cruise and I was a more than full time Mommy. As I look back on those days now, despite the frequently interrupted sleep, poopy diapers and car seat buckling, those days of early motherhood were some of the happiest days of my life. My days had a natural rhythm, a cadence set by the day-to-day routine of feedings, naps, diaper changes, walks, hugs, and endless book reading. I never set an alarm, there was just no need. Most mornings I woke refreshed and most nights I fell asleep hard and fast. As a better writer than I once said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Fast forward thirty years and here I am, a nostalgic middle-aged woman, delighting in the sights of another young family taking their first “baby steps” together; remembering the days when I was in their shoes with great warmth and joy.

July 18, 2013

Baby Turns Thirty; Mother in Shock!

Our little family; none of us were thirty yet!

A week ago today my baby turned thirty. Thirty years old. Thirty years since I gave birth to my last child. No matter how you look at it, thirty years is a long time.

Obviously I can no longer use the excuse that I’m “trying to lose the baby-weight” when in actuality I weight about fifteen pounds more than when I delivered him. He weighed seven pounds, fourteen ounces. Subtract the weight of the other associated birthing goo and the truth is revealed that I have found a bit more than I lost when he was born. You do the math. They are numbers that try to define us; weight and age.

I remember when I was a kid, thirty seemed ancient! In fact, I can remember crying myself to sleep when my Dad turned twenty-nine because I knew the next year he would turn thirty, be old and probably die. Luckily for me that didn’t happen.

As a teenager, the cry of youth was “Don’t trust anyone over thirty.” At fourteen, it was more than half my lifetime away. The irony was that my own parents were only in their mid-thirties at the time!

At thirty, my “baby” is finishing the last push on his doctoral thesis. He posted that he was on his “last push” and a friend commented, “Are you pregnant?” He replied that metaphorically he was and indeed he has been. The gestational process of this paper has been a long one; even an elephant could have dropped at least two calves in the time he’s been working on it. It has been a journey of hard work, study, research and thought on his part and a great deal of prayer on mine. When he finishes and becomes “Dr. Andrew Scott Waugh, PhD” he will be the third in his line to have embarked on the effort and the first to receive the prize.

To say that I am in awe of this event and any part I may have played in this achievement as his mother is an understatement. Through his life, I have learned at least as much if not more from him than he ever could have from me. I like to think I just guided him through the early part of his life, although some pushing was required. He could be stubborn or more kindly put, dedicated to his position.

My little boy as he began his formal education.

In a few short weeks he will defend his dissertation and then move up to Washington State to begin teaching as a visiting Assistant Professor in the Political Science Department. My little one. I don’t know how he could be thirty and almost a PhD. He will always be my “Little Sweetie”; the baby who was full of laugher and smiled and flirted with little old ladies in the grocery store from his perch in the shopping cart seat.

Although at times it seems like the years have flown by, it is mostly because they were so full and rich. I’m sure in ten years, when he turns forty, I’ll be writing the same lament, “How can my baby be so old?” but I’ll really be thinking,” How can I be so old?”

Numbers. Huh!

July 15, 2013

A Desk of My Own

After more than thirty years of messy mountains of paper and a general atmosphere of disarray in our common home-office, Dave and I have separated – desks. In the end it wasn’t a difficult decision. It had been coming for a long time. Lord knows I tried to keep the inflow of paper in check, sorting them into piles of things to be filed, tossed or discussed. Nothing worked. Dave would come up to the office to work on lesson plans for his class or office work he brought home and he would move my piles to side, into one giant pile. It just could not go on.

I’d mentioned to him that I needed my space, room to call my own. My words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Then one afternoon we stopped by the Ruckersville Gallery to look around and I noticed Dave checking out drop front desks. “This one would be nice for you,” he’d say; oohing and ahhing over some mahogany piece. I gave a non-committal “ah-huh” and moved on. I was looking for something to put in the living room and an old-fashioned desk wasn’t what I had in mind for my special room.

My new desk. Isn't she a beauty? — My new desk. Isn’t she a beauty?

The Ruckersville Gallery is a big place and full of all kinds of things that catch my eye. Sometimes they are things from my childhood that bring back lots of memories. Last week I saw a wooden potty chair with a flip down lid. I know we had one of those in our house growing up. I see thing we used to use in daily life that are now so totally outdated and in many cases have no function in our modern world.

It was in this trance of nostalgia that I first spotted her in the corner; a curvy curly maple beauty with ball and claw feet. She showed her years but had aged very gracefully. Carefully I dropped her front which was still firmly secured with original hardware. She didn’t wobble a bit. Inside her back was full of pukas and drawers just waiting to help organize someone’s life. The question was, would that someone be me?

Dave looked at the price and said, “We should buy this for you, it’s perfect!” We can move the big desk out of the office down to the FROG (Finished Room Over the Garage) and I can make an office there. I wasn’t sure. We did find the ideal table for the living room and left without the desk.

I thought about the curly maple desk all week. The more I thought about it, I thought it would be perfect for me; just the right size for my laptop. I could put it against the wall and look out the window to the backyard. I was beginning to visualize myself sitting at her, writing my blog.

Last week flew by at warp speed. Before I knew it, it was Friday; the threshold of the weekend. My friend Angela and I got together after knitting for a lunch in Ruckersville and after running an errand in Stanardsville, decided to stop by the gallery so I could show her the desk. She agreed it was indeed perfect for me. So, with excitement surging through my body and a tad bit of price negotiating, a red SOLD sign was soon hung from my desk.

That evening Dave and I began our furniture shuffle upstairs. We worked for about and hour, getting a feel for where we would put everything and then started early the next morning so we would have a space cleared for our new addition. It was real grunt work, and we discovered many things that we thought we lost forever. It turns out they were only lost in the confusion.

By lunch time on Saturday, my new desk was happily situated against the wall by the window in my office. I gave her a good cleaning which make her curls shine so they almost seemed to bounce. Carefully, I filled her pukas with cards, envelopes and notepads and her drawers with rubber bands, paperclips and a variety of odds and ends. We’re still getting to know each other, but I can say we seem perfect for each other.

Last night I sat down and wrote my first blog at my new desk. While I wrote, Dave worked down the hall in his office. It was nice to have a place to be alone and yet together. As Bogie said at the end of Casablanca, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

July 14, 2013

A Starry Night in the Rain

Dave and I aren’t the kind of folk who are good at making plans to do stuff. We love doing things with our friends, but when it comes to planning an outing, our imagination rarely exceeds picking out a restaurant. Our time is usually centered around a meal, some wine and lots of laughing. Because of this, it is always extra special when one of our friends invites us to join them in an adventure.

Saturday afternoon our good friends Carol and Chuck asked if we’d like to join them at the Veritas Vineyard for one of its summer “Starry Nights” concerts featuring a Beatles cover band called Abbey Road. Veritas Winery opens its grounds the second Saturday of the month, June through September, and offers live music, a lovely selection of their wines, a buffet if you choose and some of the most breathtaking views of the Blue Ridge you’ll see anywhere. It sounded like the perfect combination; friends, wine, food, Beatles music and the beauty of Central Virginia so we jumped at the invitation.

Carol and I worked out the details of what we’d need to take along; food, chairs, plates, napkins, etc. and at 4:30 yesterday afternoon Dave and I were packed and ready to be picked up. Just before Chuck and Carol arrived I asked Dave if he thought we should bring umbrellas or rain jackets. Our weather has been crazy this summer, putting us three inches ahead of the average for rainfall this year. Dave, who considers himself a weather maestro, said, “No. It’s not going to rain.” Hmmmm. Like a twit I took his answer as gospel.

No. It wasn't going to rain — No. It wasn’t going to rain

No sooner had we claimed our patch of green on the lawn just by the winery’s veranda and settled into our chairs when we felt the first few drips that quickly became a bona fide downpour. Luckily, our “neighbors” had just finished setting up an awning. Without even really asking, I jumped up and ran under their shelter and asked if we could please just stand there for a few minutes until the rain stopped. “We have Oreos.” I offered to sweeten the proposal. (Who doesn’t like Oreos?)

No problem. From under the cover we watched umbrellas pop up all over the lawn. Fortunately the Chuck and Dave had grabbed the bottles of wine we’d just opened and we offered to share but they declined. We stood there for about fifteen minutes and chatted with our new friends.

When it stopped raining, we thanked our hosts and went back to our chairs. By then it was almost 6:30 and we’d almost finished our first bottle of wine so decided it was a good time to eat. Carol had prepared an amazing meal of homemade eggplant parmesan and brought, crusty bread. I brought carrots, celery sticks and grapes. We switched to the Veritas Five Star red which went superbly with the tomato sauce. We may have been wet and unprepared for the weather, but we ate very well.

The band began to play and we soon we were bopping and singing along to our favorite Beatles tunes. Naturally we knew all the lyrics. But then, all too soon, the rain came again and we again ran for the neighbors. By this time, introductions were in order. Our neighbors, Ken and Melissa, had driven up from Richmond for the event and were Starry Night veterans. The first time they came, they too had been rained upon. Now, they come equipped with a pop-up shelter, folding table and chairs. Even though we literally never game them the chance to say no to our request for shelter, they did so with great hospitality.

Dave and Carol look out at the rain from the shelter of our "neighbors" awning. — Dave and Carol look out at the rain from the shelter of our “neighbors” awning.

I didn’t have shelter to share, but the one thing we had that they didn’t was cell phone reception. Ken tried several times to contact his sister who was driving up to meet them but AT&T didn’t provide him with even half a bar. Verizon, on the other hand, gave me three full bars so I was happy when after a little coaxing, Ken borrowed my phone, called his sister and was relieved to know she was almost there.

Soon the rain stopped again and we moved back to our table and opened our dessert, a new package of Oreos. Carol made sure Ken got some which was a good thing because it made us feel less guilty when we ran for shelter a third time! Pretty much the remainder of the evening was spent that way; periods of time in our chairs followed by running for cover under Ken and Melissa’s awning.

Our table - what a gem! (Available at www.beachtables.com) — Our table – what a gem! (Available at www.beachtables.com)

During one of the breaks in the rain, Carol and I made a list of what we will bring the next time we come because there will indeed be a next time! Despite the copious amounts of “no chance of rain” we had a blast. If we’d come totally prepared we wouldn’t have made new friends and that would have been a shame. Without the rain we wouldn’t have had such a great memory, we probably would have sat in our chairs swatting bugs all evening.

I also learned a very important lesson; not to ask Dave if I should bring something to an outing. If I think I might need it, I’m just going to bring it along!

July 10, 2013

Summer Visitors

Yesterday morning I had breakfast with a much younger man. His mother, my friend Nicole, called me just the day before to tell me she was planning an impromptu road trip and asked if she and the kids could stop by to see us on their way to points north. Having not seen them in three years, I was ecstatic!

I first met Nicole and her husband Ralph when they attended a Baptism preparation class I was teaching at St. Mark’s in Virginia Beach. Nathan was just an infant and a preemie at that, just a tiny little thing. We quickly became friends and I loved getting to know Nathan and his older sister Natalie over donuts after Mass on Sunday. With my own children grown, it’s always an honor when a young child lets me into their world as a friend, allowing me to revisit my own childhood as well as the days of young motherhood when my own kids were discovering the world around them.

Nathan settled right in to the flow of things here!

Three years is a long time for growing children. After such a long separation, I was a little concerned that Natalie and Nathan wouldn’t remember me. But, as it turns out with all good friends, once they were here and settled in (which didn’t take long), we all just picked up where we left off. Natalie remembered me but Nathan said he didn’t. It obviously didn’t concern him too much though as he was soon running in the backyard, hunting out the cats and checking out the house.

Natalie was delighted that she would be sleeping in her own room. At twelve and a half she has grown into a stunning beauty, graceful and poised. Equipped her cell phone and unlimited texting possibilities, she was able to remain in constant contact with a host of earthbound spirits in various locations. She is quieter than Nathan, who is prepared to provide a running dialog on a multitude of topics, but her smile speaks volumes.

Their mother, Nicole, is one of my very favorite people in the whole world. She is warm, caring, funny, smart and a good sport. In short, she is one of those women whom I felt an instant kinship with; a sister by different parents. I was so tickled that she decided to make a side trip to come for a quick visit.

Our visit was a short one, but we seemed to pack a lot for memories into it. After a delicious dinner of grocery store rotisserie chicken and corn on the cob, Nathan spotted fireflies in the yard and just had to catch some. I found him a jar and sent him out on his quest, but it was obvious he needed some assistance. With very little coaxing, Dave joined him on the hunt, sharing the benefit of his boyhood experience in the wilds of the cornfields in Iowa. Soon, two lightning bugs were captured in the jar and after posing for a quick photo, Nathan ran upstairs with his booty to show his sister!

Before he went to bed, I told Nathan he was welcome to come down as soon as he heard us downstairs so I wasn’t surprised to hear his cheerful “good morning” around 7:00 as I finished my first cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?” I asked. He said he had and plopped in a chair. In full “nana-mode”, I asked if he needed to use the bathroom. Nope. “Would you like some pancakes?” Oh yes! So off to the kitchen we went.

He climbed up on the bar stool as I began to clear off the counter to make way for the griddle. “May I help you make the pancakes?” he asked. Never wanting to pass up help when it’s offered, I said yes.

After I measured out the mix and water, I passed the bowl to him and let him do the stirring, adding the water in parts to achieve the optimal batter. “My arm sure gets tired.” he said, switching the spoon to his left hand to spell the right. When if was thoroughly mixed, he passed the bowl to me and jumping down from the stool, trotted to the bathroom calling, “I never thought I’d have to go to the bathroom while I was making pancakes!” I don’t know as I ever thought I’d ever hear anyone express that thought before! What a hoot!

After washing his hands and returning to the kitchen we began to pour batter onto the hot griddle and in short order we were enjoying delicious pancakes along with some microwave turkey sausage. I asked Nathan if he needed help cutting his food. No, he could handle it. And he did! In fact, I have rarely seen such fine motor skills on a child his age.

As we ate our meal, our conversation grew more pensive. Nathan asked me if I had ever moved when I was a kid. I told him I had, a couple of times. Then he asked how old I was. When I told him I was 57, he looked at me for a moment as if he were trying to imagine so high a number associated with me. Then he grew serious and said, ” I don’t know what I would do if my dad died.” Where did that come from? I felt ever so ancient! He continued, “I think I would have to stay in my room and cry.” Then, looking down at his plate, stopping his knife and fork, he said seriously, “He’s done everything for me.” Moved by the sincerity of his comments, I assured him that his dad would be around for many, many years. After all, compared to my advanced age, he’s relatively young. Then, almost just as randomly as the conversation began, the topic shifted to something much lighter and soon Nicole and Natalie joined us.

As I said before, having a child share their thoughts with me is an honor. I am constantly reminded that even though they are smaller, and lack the life experience that we older folks do, their insight can be so poignant and pure. Thanks Nicole for sharing your beautiful young ones with me. I hope we can continue to see each other from time to time and be able to pick up where we left off. It is such a tremendous gift. I miss you already.

All packed up and ready to hit the road again.

July 7, 2013

Greene County Style Independence Day

Our second Independence Day celebration here in Greene County was similar to our first in many respects tut different in one major way; instead of merely standing on the curb watching the parade go by, both Dave and I had moved to the other side of the curb into the celebration. As a member of the Greene County Singers, Dave stood alongside the Judge’s Review Stand along the three block parade route dressed in his red shirt and white straw hat. When ever there was an awkward gap between floats, the singers would march out to the street and sing a song allowing the marchers to catch up. While Dave was working on space management, I was sitting at the Habitat for Humanity of Greene County table over on the Courthouse lawn between the Republicans and the stage. Our table was strategically set under the same cherry tree that shaded us during the Strawberry Festival celebration in June. My involvement in the parade ( except for waving) was to wave off marchers who mistakenly turned into the parking lot between the church and the courthouse instead of marching on to make the turn onto Stanard St. and back to the high school. Because of the gaps, it happened more than a few times.

The parade had its usual array of vintage tractors, fire trucks and other rescue vehicles, scouts of all types, political candidates and parties and of course, beauty queens. This year’s Grand Marshall was Ethyle Cole Giuseppe, who at 94 years young is a vital life force here in Greene County. Well known for her philanthropic gifts to the community including an endowment which was instrumental in opening a branch of PVCC (Piedmont Virginia Community College) in Stanardsville as well as much-needed restrooms at the Greene County athletic park, Mrs. Giuseppe was a good choice to lead the parade. Not long after her ride through town was completed, she walked back up to the courthouse and plopped in a lawn chair within earshot declaring, “I need to sit down!” I’m sure she did!

Greene County historian, Joanne Powell gives the crowd a little history lesson.

After the parade, the focus moved to the stage on the Courthouse lawn for the singing of the national anthem, pledge of allegiance and a selection of patriotic music performed by the Greene County Singers. For refreshment, the Republicans handed out slices of watermelon while the Democrats handed out bottled water and fans. Unlike last year, where the sun beat on us and the temperature climbed to almost 100, Mother Nature provided us with a sunny day and a nice breeze that made life in the shade down right pleasant. Following the music, there was a recitation of “The Old Ragged Flag” and a brief history lesson on the role Piedmont Virginia played in the forging of our new nation given by the county historian, Joanne Powell. Then there was a ringing of the bells to celebrate Independence Day as authorized by Congress in 1963 in the Let Freedom Ring National Bell Ringing Ceremony. Traditionally the ringing should be done at 2:00 PM, the same time the Continental Congress signed the Declaration of Independence, but better early than never.

Last year’s bell ringing was highlighted by day-time fireworks. I know it sounds a bit strange, but I liked it. No, the colors weren’t as vibrant against the daylight as they are against the night sky, but the booms were still there. The simultaneous booms and bells were a clear reminder that in any celebration of our independence, we should always keep in mind that there is a price for freedom and it has been paid time and again.

This year there were no daytime fireworks and frankly, I missed them. Instead, there was a ceremonial ground/sidewalk breaking to officially kick off the beginning of the revitalization of downtown Stanardsville that has finally come to fruition. A pile of soil and a chunk of sidewalk were placed in front of the stage and after much fanfare, a large vehicle with a jack hammer attached drove out onto the lawn. After the ceremonial shoveling was completed, the jack hammer went to work busting the concrete into small bits. That concluded the festivities for the day.

It didn’t take long to drop the tent and pack up our Habitat stuff. Soon, except for the stage and the pile of dirt and busted concrete, the lawn was pretty much empty by the time we were done. Many folks, Dave and I included, headed across the parking lot to the Stanardsville Methodist Church for a tasty lunch of pulled pork barbecue and trimmings held annually to benefit Habitat for Humanity of Greene County. Others moved on to family picnics or neighborhood celebrations. After many hours in the fresh air and our bellies full of good Southern cooking, Dave and I opted for naps.

Celebrating the Fourth of July has been greatly varied for us through the years. Dave and I have seen fireworks in small towns with modest shows, on Army posts with elaborate products including paratroopers descending at night with flares on their feet and even once in Washington, DC where we sat on the steps of the Museum of American History. Each event was special in its own way. What makes our small town celebrations here in Greene County so special to me is that after all the years of moving around, I am finally beginning to feel connected to this community and its people. The festivities here are uncomplicated, warm and open, just as the people who live here are. And that works for me.

June 27, 2013

Marriage is What Brings Us Together….

For the past several months and the next 72 days wedding planning has loomed on the horizon of my thoughts. With Maggie and Jan’s special day just ten weeks away, we are nearing the point of final contract signing and deposit paying with the venue and caterer. From here on in it will be just the occasional and final tweaking of details.

With all this wedding planning, memories of my own wedding and the meaning of marriage have been ever-present. I remember the excitement of the day when Dave and I finally stood up before our friends and family and committed our lives to each other. We’d taken a rather lengthy “test drive” with our relationship, more than six years, living together the last six months or so. People may think living together is the same as being married, but from my experience, it is very different.

The public expression of vows is not something to be pooh-poohed. It is a momentous statement on anyone’s part, akin to a president taking an oath of office or a service member swearing an oath of allegiance to serve the country with one major exception. I believe that when a couple vows to commit to each other, God is also present. It is not a contract, but a covenant. I don’t even believe the couple needs to believe in God, because God loves all people God has created, unconditionally.

So, given my current frame of mind, it is not surprising that two of the biggest items in the news this week have caught my attention. Both involve marriage; first, the fact that a growing number of heterosexual couples have declined going through the conventional channels of marriage to start families, finding it archaic and secondly, that homosexual couples have successfully fought DOMA for the right to have their marriages recognized. It seems that the GLBT community have recognized that living together is not the same as being married while many of our young straight couples have not.

It’s a curious conundrum.

I have joked with Maggie that when folks see on her Facebook page that she’s in a relationship with Jan, that folks would wonder if Jan was a guy or girl. (Jan, pronounced “Yan”, is the German version of John.) We’ve had a few laughs about it, but honestly, if Maggie had the kind of relationship with a female Jan instead of a male Yan, I believe I would be okay with it. Naturally it would have taken some adjustment, but in the end, the goal of any parent is to see their children living a healthy, happy life with a loving partner.

And, while the Church may not condone a same-sex marriage, I don’t think it is within the powers of the Church to put limits on whom God can love or approve of. If God is love, as we are taught and God’s love is unceasing and unconditional, who are we to make a judgement call.

Many people when making a decision, ask themselves, “What would Jesus do?” I tend to recall the image of Jesus in John, Chapter 8; sitting in the ground, writing in the dirt with his finger while the Pharisees and scribes asked him to condemn the adulterous woman. “Let the one among you without sin be the one to throw the first stone at her.” He said. If we are making a judgement on someone else, that is what we need to keep in mind. What he said to the woman after they all left; that’s between the two of them.

So, that’s a lot to munch on. I honestly don’t know what the right answer is, but at this point, I can’t see the wrong in choosing love.

June 26, 2013

Adieu Old Friend

My 2000 CRV, what a great little car she's been! — My 2000 CRV, what a great little car she’s been!

After thirteen years and more than one hundred thousand miles together up and down the Eastern Seaboard, it is time to say goodbye to my little cherry red Honda CRV.

We bought her in June, 2000, knowing we were going to have to begin toting massive quantities of stuff with our daughter, Maggie, when she headed off for her first year of college at the end of the summer. During the college years she made many, many trips back and forth from our home base in Virginia Beach to Longwood College in Farmville, Virginia and then to Duke University in Durham, North Carolina, all crammed to the gills with clothes, books, televisions, computers, stereos and all the assorted items a college student needs to make life bearable in a dormitory.

Summers we drove her up to New York, Massachusetts, and Georgia, and for the past few years, down to the Outer Banks (OBX) again chock full of stuff for vacation fun.

Most recently, my sister Barb, and I took her on a girls’ road trip down to Georgia to visit our parents and brother Scott and his wife Debbie. We had a great trip and as you will recall, that is where Barb tested the quality of the brakes, stopping inches before a “road closed” sign.

When it came to shopping, our CRV was perfect for big loads of gardening stuff from multiple bags of soil, or mulch, or both to large groups of shrubs and plants. We have been continually amazed on just what will fit in the back of that car. One time, we were in a Sam’s parking lot and saw a woman and a man attempting to load a television into the trunk of a Ford Taurus (in the days before flat screens). No way it was going to fit or even balance safely. I nudged Dave and told him we had to help them. So, he got out and asked them if they lived far away and offered to deliver the television for them. As it turned out, they only lived a few blocks away so, we popped open the hatch, loaded the TV and followed them to their home. The woman offered to pay a delivery fee, but we were just happy to help.

Yes, our 2000 Honda CRV has been a great car. We were holding onto it because we wanted to give Andy first dibs at it before we bought a new one. This past weekend, he bought his first car in preparation for his move to Washington State. Having no real need to wait, we decided it was time for a change. Monday evening we went off to look at and actually purchased a new car.

What did we buy? A 2013 Honda CRV of course! This morning as I drove my little car to the gym for the last time, I feel more sad than excited. My cherry red CRV has been my baby, my transportation, my reliable companion. I will miss her and hope whoever buys her will treat her as well as we have and continue the adventure.

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June 24, 2013

Paddling Outside My Comfort Zone

My friend Lynda, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, has a marvelous gift for embracing life at its fullest and grabbing the hands of those around her to come along for the ride. As I am generally inclined to err on the side of caution, it is good for me to have a friend like Lynda to pull me out of the observation booth and out into the arena of life with all the wonderful adventures it has to offer.

This past Saturday, Dave and I finally headed north on 29 to spend the day with Lynda and her husband, Larry, at the home on Lake Thoreau in Fairfax County. It was an absolute glorious summer day, the kind you wish could be the norm rather than the exception. It was warm and sunny, all blue skies with a comfortable breeze and low humidity. We arrived just before noon bearing Hoffman’s hotdogs my sister, Barb, brought down in April. Larry and Lynda are from Chicago and can truly appreciate the epicurean delight of a real hotdog in a natural casing.

After a quick tour of their home, we began assembling our lunch. First on the list was beverages. Lynda decided she would make a batch of her newly discovered summer drink, the “Beer-garita”, a frozen mixture of limeade, tequila, crushed ice and a bottle of beer. I know you’re probably cringing. I know I did. Especially given my episodes of “aversion therapy” with beer in college, I am still unable to tolerate the taste of beer. Lynda assured me it would be delicious and refreshing and surprisingly it was! It was less biting than a regular margarita and a bit sweeter. I highly recommend this at your next backyard party.

Dave and Larry grilled the hotdogs and we enjoyed them el fresco with slaw and potato chips; barbecue for Larry and I and kettle cooked for Dave and Lynda. Their property backs right up to the lake so the view was one of sun-kissed water lined by shady banks. On the water were a handful of party barges and floating docks ferrying folks out to relax on the water. Since the lake is relatively small, only electric motors are allowed on the watercraft, so there were no loud sounds of revving motors or waves slapping the shore after a boat went by. In fact, it was so quiet, that we could easily hear the song of a sparrow who perched atop the maple tree near our table.

It wasn’t long after lunch that we decided to change into our swim suits and hit the water ourselves. Once we were out a ways, Lynda and I jumped into large tubes and let the boys tow us around the lake. It was more like controlled drifting, but it was heavenly. We lay in the tubes, totally relaxed to the point of limpness, chatting and catching up while Larry and Dave took turns steering and napping. It was total self-indulgence for all of us and it felt ever so good and necessary.

All too soon it was time to head back to the dock so we didn’t run the motor battery completely down and strand ourselves in the lake. Without missing a beat, right after docking, Lynda walked up the house and grabbed her son-in-law’s paddle board and announced we would all be giving it a try.

After a shaky start, Lynda was soon paddling around on the board. I guess to ease me into my turn, she suggested I kneel in front of her on the board as she paddled me around. It was fun. I felt sort of like I was riding a gondola in Venice, or heading down the Amazon in a dugout canoe with Lynda standing behind me, carefully moving the paddle from side to side as we made circles around the lake. Then she headed back and it was my turn.

Keep in mind this is not an activity I would have ever attempted without a nudge. When I see someone doing this kind of activity, I secretly wish I could give it a try, but never voice my desire to anyone lest they actually take me up on it. Instead, it takes a sister-friend, who knows my fears as well as my secret desires to take me by the hand and give me that gentle nudge or in this case hand me the paddle and tell me to climb aboard – literally!

Happily outside my comfort zone paddling on Lake Thoreau!

With much coaching and a less than steady launch, I was off! I can’t say I was totally relaxed on my paddle board adventure. If I had been able, I think my toes would have burrowed into the fiber glass and gripped over the ledge. My arches ached from my attempts to grip with my feet, but I was doing it; I was standing on a board and paddling in small circles atop the water.

The photo Lynda took of me hide my volleying between moments of relaxation and tension but for the most part it felt so good to stretch my wings and try something new. As I look at myself, I see myself standing straight and tall, well-balanced and relaxed. I wish she’d sent me the last picture she took of my paddle board experience. My landing and “de-boarding” was a bit more abrupt and I was tossed over-board as I collided with the dock. Nonetheless, I came up laughing both relieved that my trip was over and proud of myself for giving it a try.

So, today I’m walking a little taller knowing that I tried something new this weekend and reminded what a good friend I have who will lead me into fun adventures despite my moments of doubt.

June 12, 2013

Journey To Jersey II – Changes to the Menu

As I said before, the Jersey Shore isn’t how I remembered it; or as anyone else remembers it either. They may have rebuilt the boardwalk at Seaside Heights but there are still many signs of the devastation wrought by Hurricane Sandy last fall.

It was surprising how little damage appeared on Sandy Hook. In fact, Fort Hancock and the Lighthouse seemed to have held up very well. The ranger commented that many of the basements of the quarters were flooded, but the water never even reached the lighthouse proper.

When we drove across the bridge to the mainland to grab some lunch in Sea Bright, it was quite a different story.

All morning long Arwed and Teresa spoke so much about the Sea Bright Pizzeria that our mouths were watering. Teresa was even putting dibs on which toppings she wanted. Having spent a good part of our youths eating good, Jersey pizza, were more than ready to “have a slice”!

As we drove along the beach road into town, I saw that many new walk-overs were being built over the wall. Then I turned my attention to the other side of the street and got a look at what Sandy had done to many of the homes. It was difficult to tell which ones were merely lucky from those who had better insurance, but it wasn’t difficult to tell which ones were truly unfortunate. Some home were gone, with just a sandy lot and remnants of pavement showing where a driveway was.

Downtown was the same, except that the more heavily damaged buildings had been demolished and were just gaps in the storefronts. Soon it became clear that our pizzeria, although standing, was not open for business. Arwed was crushed. We tried to find somewhere else to eat in town, to show our support, but there wasn’t really anything open but a small tiki bar offering drinks and grilled food from a make-shift outdoor kitchen. The patrons sat at small tables surrounded by giant walls of sand and the festive sound of steel drums filled the air. Clearly this was a local hangout and although it would have been okay for us to stay, it had all the ambiance of a neighborhood party, but the celebration was much muted.

Like small shoots of green on a hillside after a fire, life at the Jersey Shore seems to be beginning to recover. There are scenes of devastation and hopeful camaraderie standing side by side. On the positive side, I’ve never seen such light traffic on a sunny Saturday in June, either on the Parkway, or in the town.

The beaches are still there, so go and enjoy. But maybe just for this year, pack a lunch.