A True, Crazy Love Story

August 3, 2015 By
1965 In Paris on our honeymoon.

1965 In Paris on our honeymoon.

Recently my husband, Bill was away on a trip. Even though we do love having time apart, we usually miss each other and talk by phone or computer every day.

That week was no exception. I was home cleaning out my studio, writing, feeling a bit cabin fevery, as the heat and humidity made it hard to be out and about. I felt a bit lonely and even bored at times. There were few if any distractions. Most people I know were away and this university town was napping until things heat up when classes resume in a few weeks and you can’t keep up with the list of interesting events that fill the local paper’s What’s Happening Section.

Bill was at music camp learning to play his Ukulele even better than before, sharing some time with our grand kids, and learning how to maneuver a trip with a bum knee.

Both of us are movie buffs and whenever we get away to a larger city, we check to see what’s playing at the local movie houses. Midway through the week Bill called and told me he was going to a movie that evening. It turned out the same movie, Paper Towns, was playing here in Charlottesville, too. Feeling the need to get out of the house, and not wanting him to get ahead of me on seeing a good flick, we decided to make a night of it. Both films, hundreds of miles apart, had the very same starting time. When we hung up the phone we promised we’d each blow kisses to each other as the movie titles were beginning.

As I was getting ready to leave home a few hours later, a huge thunder storm with predicted torrential rain came up. Though it wasn’t yet pouring, I thought it might be best to stay home and avoid being out on the roads. But knowing we had made a date, I told myself, Hell no! You really need to get out of here.

I parked my car under cover just as the heavens opened up. Safe and dry in my seat, I spent 25 minutes watching commercials for Coke, athletic shoes, and new cars. The trailers that followed were torturous and I wanted to leave the theatre when in a new Halloween film to be released in early October, a grisly looking grandmother asks her granddaughter to climb into the oven to clean it. I won’t go further here because we both know what good ole granny has in mind for the kid. Gingerbread aside, the rest of the trailers were also horrendous except for one or two which won’t be out until Thanksgiving.

When the movie finally started I blew kisses off to Bill, who was seated in an almost identical movie theatre in Asheville, North Carolina. During the first part of the film I almost got up and left. The cute, adolescent, female love interest was a witch, leading her innocent, handsome, male love interest astray; teaching him how to break the rules and make life into an thrilling escapade without getting caught.

My thoughts: , Coming out on a stormy night was such a stupid idea. Why don’t I just go home and read a good book.

As I sat thinking about going back out into the rain, I noted the girl runs away from home and the boy recruits his best friends and goes on an epic journey to find her. The movie, without the monstrous girl involved, became more appealing and the story turned out to be about true friendship, growing up, and finding our way through puberty into adulthood. According to the synopsis I read, it was supposed to be a love story, but it wasn’t. It was supposed to be a mystery, but I didn’t care what had happened to the girl. The end was somewhat uplifting and though I enjoyed the last half of the film, I had to wonder about the screenwriter and what he’d been thinking.

Back at home, I put the dogs out for their last potty break of the night. A few minutes later the phone rang. Bill had just arrived back in his room. We spent half- an-hour talking about the movie and what we liked and didn’t, (mainly the girl) what was on our agendas for the next day, and blew kisses into the phone as we said goodnight.

We’d never been out on a date like that before. As I closed my eyes and went off to sleep, I reached over to where he’d be had he been home. I was happy for my own love story and the craziest date I’d ever been on.

We all have love stories. What’s yours? Have you been out on any crazy dates?

Filed Under: love, marriage, Movies Tagged With: , , , ,

Graduation And Remembering A Life

May 19, 2015 By
The Daily Progress, May 18, 2015

The Daily Progress, May 18, 2015

This past weekend the University of Virginia held its 186th commencement. There were 18,000 folding chairs set up outside on the lawn for well over 6,000 graduates and their loved ones. The university expected some 35,000 people to be on grounds for this festive event. The rain respectfully held off until late afternoon.

Graduation weekend here in ole C’ville is always a big deal. When first year students come to UVA, their parents often make hotel reservations for their kid’s graduation, four years away. They may also make reservations for their celebration meal at one of the areas outstanding restaurants, making it impossible for those who live here to go out to dinner, never mind finding a parking place anywhere in town.

On Sunday, I observed a parade of cars towing U-Haul trailers leave town, and was forced to remember my own graduation from college many years ago and what commencement out into the world meant to me.

Most dictionaries define graduation as a time when you have completed your education and receive a degree. I’ll add that it’s supposed to prove you have done your work, and are ready to take on the world. It also means letting go of a whole lot of things. You’re suddenly a grown up and it’s time to leave behind your teddy bear, blanky, and all of your other childhood pacifiers. What you hopefully get is a job and the ability to live your own life away from the rules and regulations of family and University.

I’ve been through two graduation ceremonies. The first was in 1960, when I graduated from Northport High School, on Long Island, and then again in 1965, when I graduated from Castleton State College, in Vermont. Yes, it took me five years to finish up because I took a year off and went back to New York to work and figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.

During this memory-fest, I thought about how we will all one day graduate from The School of Life. Along the way there are no paper degrees that we can hang on the wall when we commence from one step to the next.

My mind traveled to other events in my life that marked times of letting go and moving to the next step. I took two steps at a time when I got married one week after graduating from college. In 1967 I gave birth to my first child, and commenced from being childless to being a mother. Gone were the days of sleeping in, having privacy in the bathroom, and being able to do whatever I wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it. Instead there were sweet hugs and kisses, and the thrill of watching my own children learn and grow.

When my kids had their own graduation ceremonies and moved out into the world, I was left with an emptiness I found hard to get over. I missed their mischief, their quiet presence when everyone was at home, safe and sound, and even the doors slamming when I said something they thought inappropriate. I took on worry, wondering where they were and what they were doing, until I slowly and gloriously realized that I was my own person and able to move about as I pleased.

When Lisa gave birth to Zoe, the word “grandmother” slipped into my vocabulary. Though I loved little Zoe to bits, I complained that I was too young for that. I didn’t want anyone calling me grandma, granny, grammy, nana, or ma-maw. A grandchild meant I was getting old. But I was in complete denial about aging. I finally caved when Zoe began calling me “Batty,” of her own accord. I took solace in the idea that this adorable little girl “got me.” We must have been together in a former lifetime.

Now Zoe is a teen. She’ll be fifteen and a sophomore in high school this coming fall, and already thinks she knows where she wants to go to college. She’s learning how to drive and will get her learners permit sometime in the near future.

So guess what that means? I AM old. My days are numbered and as Lisa used to say whenever I told her what to do during her terrible twos, “No, I don wanna.”

I’m seventy-two. I will have been married to the love of my life for fifty years on June 19th, and will have graduated from college fifty years ago, on June 12th.

Where has the time gone and where was I during all those happenings? I honestly have to say, I don’t know. It just all slipped by when I wasn’t looking.

I suppose my next and final graduation could happen any day now. But so far I’m feeling pretty good and trying not to complain too much about having difficulty getting up off the floor after a yoga session, or falling asleep before it’s bedtime. For now I’m going to pretend I’m fifty again. That’s when I really started figuring things out and began wanting to live life to the fullest.

I watch as new wrinkles take over my face and watch others my age retire to rocking chairs. I want to keep on going, full steam ahead. I figure that if I allow myself to accept those changes and find newness in my oldness, I’ll do fine.

How do you see it? What does graduation mean to you? What about aging?

Filed Under: Navigating Through Life, The Journey Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

An Almighty Plan?

April 21, 2015 By
My front garden.

My front garden.

I have always had the notion that I’m being cared for by some invisible force. Those is AA and the other 12 step programs call it their Higher Power. I called it the same thing before I got comfortable with the word, God. But that’s another story and you’ll be filled in on that one when my book is finally published.

For me, God is not a wizened old man with a long, flowing beard, who sits on a thrown, cushioned with clouds. Actually, I have no idea what He, She, or It looks like. For all I know, God may be Booby, my first dog and special pet when I was very small. He was a dachshund and full of unconditional love. I have always noted that dog spelled backwards spells you know what … I know, bad joke, but sometimes, I do wonder.

IMG_1437All I know is that when I need something, God, often shows up and takes care of the problem. I do wonder about those times when He, She or It doesn’t show up. Maybe it’s because I’m NOT a churchgoer … But whatever, I’m very grateful for the help when it does come and always say thank you loudly, over and over again, in case that special caregiver of mine has hearing troubles like mine.

I do believe that my decision to take a social media sabbatical was one made out of necessity with somebody else’s help. I just didn’t know it at the time. Things were going swimmingly. I was having fun. I was ahead in revising my book. My editor, Annie, and I talk every two weeks, discussing three chapters or approximately 5,000 words of my manuscript. At the same time I’d send her the next three chapters for her to read and point out the places where I’m not being clear and need some help.

I was taking long walks every day, reading, and even seeing friends, that too often, I haven’t had the time to visit with. I made a list of the most important things in my life, and where and how I wanted to use my energy before I leave the planet.

No, I’m not suffering from a terminal illness, nor do I think I’m about to slip away. I’m very healthy. My departure will happen, but not yet. I do reckon though, that it’s important to take time now and then to remind ourselves of what the plan is.

Oh, but is there a plan or does it all just happen? I’ve never figured that out. Life runs at too fast a clip, dragging me along, until one day I have to stop and say, “Whoa there, give me some time to think, before I lose my attention span!”

Two weeks before Bill, was scheduled to open as one of the dad’s in the musical, The Fantastiks, one of his knees decided to rebel. His doc, said it was Gout and gave him special meds to make it go away. In the meantime, he had most of his dance steps in order and worked with the choreographer to make things less painful.

But the pain intensified on a daily basis and he had a hard time just walking from one room to another. I took over his cooking nights, his afternoon walks with the dogs, garbage emptying, and all the other IMG_1438stuff he does around the house. When he saw the doc again, he was told, “It’s not gout. You need to see an orthopedist.” The appointment was made for a date after the show was to open. And there was no getting around the excruciating pain. None of the over the counter anti-inflammatory meds did anything for the swelling or the pain.

Two days before opening night, Bill had to break the dramatist’s credo, “The show must go on,” and made the very tough decision to excuse himself from the cast. The director, took over Bill’s part and the show went on to great reviews. We went to see it opening night and it was fun. But Bill was devastated. Having been a actor, director, playwright, and teacher most of his life, he’d never had to drop out of anything before.

A week and a half later, Bill saw the orthopedist, had a cortisone shot, and was scheduled for an MRI the following week. He was still in pain and I was frustrated. Suddenly I didn’t have a lot of time to write, walk, or take naps. Between my own usual activities and Bill’s chores, I walked well over the 10,000 steps a day without taking my usual long walks. Bill’s sleep was disrupted by pain, mine by worry. Some of his symptoms were similar to those of our daughter’s chronic lyme disease symptoms. Was he suffering from the same thing or was it what the orthopedist said was arthritis? We were both extremely grumpy because life was not going as we’d planned it.

Bill had knee surgery a few weeks ago to repair a torn meniscus. At the same time the surgeon scraped away some of Bill’s arthritis and has warned that he is a candidate for a knee replacement if cortisone shots and a brace don’t keep the pain away. He’s still in recovery, works on a bike at the gym, and walks a little bit further every day without his cane.

I’m sure my decision to take a Lenten sabbatical was God’s plan to give me the time I’d need to be the head honcho here a home. The timing was just too perfect. Every day we both learned new lessons about patience, life changes, acceptance, and the small things that are of the most importance to us.

So far we’ve lived a charmed life. But we were reminded that we do not run the show and that whoever, or whatever it is who pulls the strings, has already figured out what we’ll need ahead of time.

Happy Spring!

Filed Under: Change, Healing, Matters of the Spirit, Navigating Through Life Tagged With:

To Sell Or Not To Sell

September 23, 2014 By
My Last Bike

My Last Bike

Wanting to up our exercise choices, Bill and I bought us a pair of bikes eight or so years age. We were both members of gyms and worked out on a regular basis. I also did some flat water kayaking on the peaceful river we lived on at the time. Never really a fan of gyms and exercising indoors, I was interested in being outside where there were no membership fees or waiting in line to use a particular machine.

We took our bikes with us when we went to the Outer Banks on vacation every fall, where there are bike lanes along a straight expanse of road. Traffic at that time of year is always light and I felt quite safe when riding there. Along with beach walks everyday, I was getting plenty of exercise, and I loved being out in the chilly air with the wind in my hair and the sound of waves crashing ashore in the distance.

The biggest problem with riding my bike here at home was that there were no great places to ride. Living out in the country, the roads were narrow and curvy, and we knew someone who’d been badly injured when she was struck by a car, as she was biking along one of them.

Sometimes I loaded my bike in my car and took it to a county park, where I rode. But after a while that seemed like a pain in the butt. We lived on a lovely cul de sac that was long enough to get some speed up and also had a few little hills. I happily rode back and forth, burning calories for a while until I got bored with that.

As many things do, the bikes started gathering dust when we weren’t at the beach. When we moved here into town, where we thought we’d ride them more, they took up too much space in our much smaller garage. Though there are some bike lanes here in the city, I’ve seen too many near misses to get up the courage to launch myself into the community on my bike. So, our nice shiny bikes gathered even more dust.Once ion a while we’d  haul them out, wipe off the cobwebs, and pump up the tires. They were ready for a spin around the block, which never seemed to happen.

Last year we decided that it would be best to sell them. We were too busy, or was it lazy, to make the effort to get them ready for rides we’d never take. This past week, Bill finally hauled them out, cleaned them up, and listed them on Craig’s List. I took one last wobbly ride down the driveway and back, just to be sure I wanted to part with my loyal stead. I decided my long morning walks were much safer.

But when the first call came in just after Bill had listed them, I felt very sad. It seemed like the end of an era and my youth. I felt older than my soon to be 72 years, and like I was giving up too easily on my need to stay young and fit.

My bike sold immediately. Bill’s is still in the garage, but I expect it to go soon. Feeling the same way I do, he and I mourned our losses together at Sunday brunch, over a scrumptious frittata, crab cakes, salad, and a Bloody Mary.

I have a friend, a few years younger than I am, who recently bought a new car. She was excited telling me about it. But the conversation ended when she added, “This is my last car.” I was taken aback. Her comment probably has something to do with the way I’m feeling about my bike, that isn’t mine anymore. I’m not that old, but the fact is I have to, “That was my last bike.” I do not intend to get another.

A few days later, I’m now thinking that it’s best that I did sell it. I wouldn’t want it to go unused and be something I’d trip over when trying to find something in the garage. I’m not giving up on my need to stay fit and young. I’m being realistic. I will not say that the car I have now, or that the next one I buy will be my last. But I am allowing myself to feel comfortable with the cross trainer in my studio that keeps me dry when it rains or snows, and the magical walks I go on when the weather is gorgeous.

DSCF0620Like right now. The sun is shining, the sky is cloudless, turning leaves are drifting down in a light breeze, and a flock of starlings are gathering in the trees for their long flight south. I’m putting on a sweater, and am heading out down the street. Selling my bike was not the end of an era. It was an end of a season and the beginning of another. There are many more still left to be lived … a little bit differently perhaps, but always as wonderful as ever.

 

Filed Under: Change, Exercising, Health and Wellnes, Navigating Through Life, The Seasons, Walking, wonderings Tagged With: , ,

Renovating Life

January 7, 2014 By

IMG_0997It’s begun!  At 8 yesterday morning the crew arrived to start our much needed home renovations.  Bill and I spent the weekend, scurrying around getting the last of the kitchen items packed up and asking ourselves, “What the hell have we done? Couldn’t we have gotten along just fine with the way things were?”

The answer to the first question is that we’re trying to be practical and do some self-care by making our home more comfortable and safe for us to live in.  The answer to the second question is “yes” and “no.”  Sure we could have let it be and not go through having our house torn up.  As a kid I constantly lived in a construction zone, as my father was an architect and a home builder.  For me the sound of saws and hammers trigger old grumpiness and the victimhood I’ve worked on so hard to eliminate from my life.  Who would want to revisit that?

But on the other hand to do nothing about the hard stone floor in the kitchen would make my back problems worse than they currently are. It’s an uneven surface and both of us have tripped numerous times almost landing on our heads.  We’re having it torn out and are putting in a hardwood floor which will brighten things up and make going barefoot much more comfortable.

In our quest to simplify our lives and get organized we’re also adding built-ins to what we call the sunroom.  On this house built in 1935, it was at one time an outdoor patio just off the kitchen. It was closed in by a former owner. It’s been our mud room, a place to hang coats, and I’ve had odd pieces of furniture in there to house my collection of cookbooks and excess kitchen gadgetry.  But when we’re done it will all be one piece with everything hidden behind cabinet doors with a place for everything … and everything in its place.

We’re also moving the laundry room upstairs from the basement. It will be located in what is currently a small powder room and hallway, just outside of our first-floor bedroom.  I won’t have to lug baskets of laundry up and down stairs any more, which again increases the risk of falling. The stairs are steep and dark.

If it sounds like we’re a bit paranoid about falling, well, we are. Though we’re both in pretty good shape, we’re aging and more aware than ever that a fall could set us back in how we spend the rest of our lives. It was all brought home to us a week ago today when Bill fell in a bathtub/shower in the hotel we were staying in, while visiting Colonial Williamsburg. He got up early, wanting to be ready to hit the road and get back home.  I was just waking up. I heard the crash and found him on his back in the tub. He’d slipped on the sudsy floor.  He hit the faucet and it came off the wall.  He had scrapes and bruises but seemed fine as he got up.  It wasn’t until a few minutes later that pain began developing in his chest and we realized he had bruised or broken ribs.

Off to the emergency room we went for X-rays and meds for the growing pain. Fortunately nothing was broken … only some bad bruising. We both realized he could have been hurt more seriously or could have died.  So yes, we must do this renovation in order to take care of ourselves now. And it isn’t just us aging folks who fall. Since Bill’s unhappy event last week we’ve met other, much younger people who’ve fallen in bathtubs and showers …  dangerous places when you have soap in your eyes.

The midget tub.

The midget tub.

The final change will be adding a soaking tub to our master bathroom, which actually is leaving me trembling a bit.  We’ll need to use caution getting in and out. The tub we now have is an adorable claw foot tub built for a midget.  I love a good hot soak on very cold days and the midget tub is too small for me.  The floor in our new tub has a non-skid surface and we’ll have sturdy hand bars on the wall to hang onto as we get up and out of the bath.

I don’t quite understand why most of us are so averse to change. It is the only certain thing in life. For me the new technologies of the day are wondrous yet a pain in the backside to learn. But the seasons change, time marches on, and one day we find ourselves somewhere we never expected to be. We’re always searching for the place where the grass is greenest, where we are happiest, and life is easy.  Sometimes we get it. Sometimes we don’t.

Living a life is very much like renovating a house. In order to get what we want and need, we must take action, risk being wrong, and live uncomfortably while things are being rearranged. I find renovating a home much easier than renovating my mind. In the long run, however, they are both necessary and very much worth the struggle.

Filed Under: Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , ,
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