Today, My Love
Twenty-two years ago, I spent the morning with some wonderful women preparing for the beginning of the adventure of a lifetime. We had our nails done (a gift for me from my employer), our makeup done (a gift from a friend), and Guy's sister did my hair (a gift from her to me). We laughed and dressed, wondered what affect the weather would have on our day, and marvelled at how quickly time was passing.
We'll start a brand new today, My Love
The kids arrived, with their lopsided smiles and fancy outfits, passing hugs out to everyone. D, with her hat, warmed my heart, telling me that she was so very excited that I would become her 'taunte' for real soon. I wonder if I have ever told her how integral a part she played in the early days of my relationship with her uncle; how special it has been to me that she was willing to have a part in that day, and in so many days since. Once my heart was warmed, Dan-O melted it, pointing out his "'Talian leather shoes" and saying, "You are so beautiful, Aunt Fannie!"
Let all our worries slip away, My Love
The big concern was how to get my lace boots out to the limo. The snow was wet and messy. The last thing I needed was cold feet--in the literal sense! Plastic grocery bags were produced, slipped on like Cinderella's slipper, and tied or rubber-banded to my ankles. I was reminded of elementary school, when Mom would have us put bread bags on our feet inside our snow boots, "just in case" the snow didn't stay out where it belonged. Back then, I was the only one with plastic boot liners; once again, I was the only one in the group with bags on her feet. A funny reminder of the circles in life.
Time for us to start anew!
As Guy walked his mother up the aisle, the soloist sang "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof. I peeked through the curtain to catch a glimpse of him, and immediately began to cry. Dad and I were alone in the little room, and he caught me in his arms telling me, "We don't have to go through with this. If you want me to take you out of here, we can go." At the time, I was so confused: I thought he liked Guy; I thought he was excited and happy for me. Years later, I realized it was one of only 2 times my father was so overcome by emotion he didn't know how to simply say, "You're my little girl. And you always will be." Despite my confusion at his reaction, I was overcome with joy that he was my Dad; the man I'd first given my heart to.
So let's pray My Love, All our tomorrows like today, Sweet Love
The rest of the day is a blur of ceremony, pictures, hugs, food, dance, laughter, and joy. Both our families were there (except my brother-in-love, who we thought of often that day, far away in Saudi Arabia) and so many wonderful friends. I have so many pictures, each of which brings back a sliver or the day--a word, a joke, a tear. Two of the dearest, though, I didn't see until many years afterwards: my college roommate snapped a picture of me dancing with Dad, and she had another of the two of us. Two very special moments, with two very special people. I love looking through those albums!
We'll be together this way, in Love
In the years since, we've had good days and bad days--heck, good years and bad years! We've not only aged, but we've also grown up together. We were so young when we married, and really did have so much to learn about everything. Have I ever wondered if we should have done things differently? Sure. Have I ever regretted any of it? Not a chance. There isn't anyone I'd rather have grown up with, learned with, made mistakes with. No one I'd rather be on this roller coaster adventure of a journey with. No one I'd rather dance with, laugh and cry with, talk with, fight with. Be with.
You for me and me for you.
We've faced challenges of all kinds: kids, financial, physical, emotional, marital.....but that can't break us. Together we are strong. At our wedding, against the wishes of some family members, when we lit our unity candle, we insisted on leaving our individual candles lit, too. We felt so strongly that we needed to be seen as individuals, as a man and a woman, in addition to being one, united couple, facing the world together. I still feel that way. Part of my strength comes from having the support of my husband behind me, but most of my strength comes from the fact of me, and my own experience, faith, and interests. We have more in common now than we did then; or, rather, we've found more of the things we share an interest in during these 22 years. But we've also come to terms with the differences we have. I will not likely ever want to just sit and watch a game on TV, just as he will not likely ever want to knit or sew. We still surprise each other with bits of ourselves: things we learn about ourselves and each other, still.
Much like the sunshine on a cloudy day, Love appears from no place
I wasn't looking for a soul mate when I found Guy. Far from it. I was looking to find myself. It seems that's when the best things happen: when searching takes a backseat. Since the first time I saw him, though, I've known that we shared something special. Could we have known each other in a past life, or were we destined to be together? Does it really matter why we found each other? The important thing is that we did, and that the love that has grown between us--though tested many times--has become a life force. I am blessed in that I have found the love of my life, and he has found me.
Just when I need someone to pull me through....
You'll be here for me, and I'll be there for you!
Happy anniversary, My Love. And thank you to all who have been there for us, with us, in support, in love, and in faith, whether in person or in spirit. We couldn't have gotten here without you.
Thank you to Midnight Star for the beautiful song we used for our first dance. Today My Love is engraved in our wedding rings, and has been a powerful reminder to us about how to live our marriage. Quite a departure from the songs for which you were known, and one that we can never request a DJ to play (no one knows what we're talking about!), the melody, lyrics and message come to me to "bring out the joy in me."
Showing posts with label celebrations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label celebrations. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
it's what's for dinner
Who would have thought that sauerkraut could cause such strong reactions in people? Honestly, I had no idea.
I grew up with no particular New Year's Day traditions, other than perhaps finishing my thank you notes before school started up again. My grandparents would come for dinner, but holiday dinners were always something different, and usually something we'd never had before (or again after, for that matter). [When I was a little older, possibly my early teens, I remember Gramma Katie meeting me at the door on New Year's Day, and telling me not to come in. When she saw the confusion on my face, she explained that it was good luck for the first visitor of the year to be male, so I would have to wait until Dad or my brother to walk through the door first. Since then, I have tried to more sneakily incorporate this tradition.] It wasn't until I met my husband that I started to experience the concept of "traditional" foods on holidays and other special occasions. Since then, we have developed our own food traditions, particularly on Christmas Eve.
The other day, while grocery shopping for the week, we modified Jonathan's menu to have steak on New Year's Day with Mom. After getting the steaks, chicken and some bacon from the butcher, I turned to Guy and asked if we should get some shrimp, too. I didn't think anything of it, other than it makes a nice appetizer when dinner's not quite ready. I found out later that when one of the boys asked why we'd gotten shrimp (it wasn't on the menu, after all, and we tend to be sticklers there), he said that it was because I'd remembered that it was traditional for his family to have shrimp on New Year's Day. When I heard the explanation, I admitted that had nothing to do with it, but I will try to remember to include it in the future, since it clearly means more to him than either of us had realized.
What does all this have to do with sauerkraut? Well, I can't stand the stuff. We live in an area of the country that is steeped in Germanic tradition, and apparently that New Resident Handbook that we seemed to have misplaced when we relocated from a totally different area of the country includes the fact that here, if you want to survive the year, you must have pork and sauerkraut on New Year's Day for good luck. For the first few years here, I would try patiently to explain that I did not have any ties to this particular tradition, and that since I didn't know it, it couldn't possibly apply to me. For most of the years since, I've just avoided talking about the menu for this particular day off. Today, however, I posted as my Facebook status: "So glad I did not grow up with that pork and sauerkraut on New Year's thing so I don't have to pass it on! Happy New Year! Bring on the surf and turf!" (Have I mentioned that I can't stand sauerkraut??)
What a response! Most people, as usual, had some variation of "if you'd only try mine, you'd like it!" And while lemon pepper or garlic and hot peppers do sound as though they would improve the stuff, I'm still not sold. The one comment about leaving out the juniper berries may have come closer to the issue, but still.
Before I go on, I should probably say that I am of Polish/Eastern European and Irish descent. Kraut is not completely foreign to me. I've known, from a very young age, that I would have starved at an even younger age had I been raised in the Old Country, based on those foods I was introduced to. Boiled food makes me hungry within an hour (except for pasta, which makes me hungry in 2 hours. Chinese food fills me for hours; sometimes days) and I just can't do kraut. Kielbasa and pierogies, on the other hand, I could eat, and is still one of my favorite meals, provided the pierogies are filled with potatoes and cheese, not kraut. We used to tell the boys that if they were not good, Santa would put a can of sauerkraut in their stockings. Seriously, that's how I feel about the stuff.
In college, the dining hall was on a 10-day schedule, and in the rotation was Reuben sandwiches and hermit cookies. The only day to get the hermits was the day with the Rubens. Those hermits were good. As a result, I decided I could like Reuben for the sake of the cookies. And they weren't bad, despite being made with pumpernickel, corned beef and kraut--none of which I liked. At all. I thought maybe it was the combination of all things together, or the hermits as a reward. Or the chocolate milk. Whatever it was, it got to where I actually looked forward to Reuben day.
Until the day I realized that Reuben night always found me feeling rather sick; wicked cramps, and a terrible grinding in my belly. My beloved lunch was turning on me, I thought, and then it occurred to me that until I started eating sauerkraut, I didn't have that problem. By Christmas, I had given them up, and didn't have the semi-weekly nausea.
You can say all you want that it was probably the bread. Or the meat. Or it could also have been the cookies. But I know, deep inside, that it was the cursed kraut. It's just icky. And how could that possibly mean good luck to me? Anyone who wants to can have it for their dinner on January 1. I'll stick with what I know will make me happy. And won't stink up my kitchen. This year, steak with buerre d'maitre, and all the fixin's. Oh, it was good!
And shrimp cocktail. It's tradition.
I grew up with no particular New Year's Day traditions, other than perhaps finishing my thank you notes before school started up again. My grandparents would come for dinner, but holiday dinners were always something different, and usually something we'd never had before (or again after, for that matter). [When I was a little older, possibly my early teens, I remember Gramma Katie meeting me at the door on New Year's Day, and telling me not to come in. When she saw the confusion on my face, she explained that it was good luck for the first visitor of the year to be male, so I would have to wait until Dad or my brother to walk through the door first. Since then, I have tried to more sneakily incorporate this tradition.] It wasn't until I met my husband that I started to experience the concept of "traditional" foods on holidays and other special occasions. Since then, we have developed our own food traditions, particularly on Christmas Eve.
The other day, while grocery shopping for the week, we modified Jonathan's menu to have steak on New Year's Day with Mom. After getting the steaks, chicken and some bacon from the butcher, I turned to Guy and asked if we should get some shrimp, too. I didn't think anything of it, other than it makes a nice appetizer when dinner's not quite ready. I found out later that when one of the boys asked why we'd gotten shrimp (it wasn't on the menu, after all, and we tend to be sticklers there), he said that it was because I'd remembered that it was traditional for his family to have shrimp on New Year's Day. When I heard the explanation, I admitted that had nothing to do with it, but I will try to remember to include it in the future, since it clearly means more to him than either of us had realized.
What does all this have to do with sauerkraut? Well, I can't stand the stuff. We live in an area of the country that is steeped in Germanic tradition, and apparently that New Resident Handbook that we seemed to have misplaced when we relocated from a totally different area of the country includes the fact that here, if you want to survive the year, you must have pork and sauerkraut on New Year's Day for good luck. For the first few years here, I would try patiently to explain that I did not have any ties to this particular tradition, and that since I didn't know it, it couldn't possibly apply to me. For most of the years since, I've just avoided talking about the menu for this particular day off. Today, however, I posted as my Facebook status: "So glad I did not grow up with that pork and sauerkraut on New Year's thing so I don't have to pass it on! Happy New Year! Bring on the surf and turf!" (Have I mentioned that I can't stand sauerkraut??)
What a response! Most people, as usual, had some variation of "if you'd only try mine, you'd like it!" And while lemon pepper or garlic and hot peppers do sound as though they would improve the stuff, I'm still not sold. The one comment about leaving out the juniper berries may have come closer to the issue, but still.
Before I go on, I should probably say that I am of Polish/Eastern European and Irish descent. Kraut is not completely foreign to me. I've known, from a very young age, that I would have starved at an even younger age had I been raised in the Old Country, based on those foods I was introduced to. Boiled food makes me hungry within an hour (except for pasta, which makes me hungry in 2 hours. Chinese food fills me for hours; sometimes days) and I just can't do kraut. Kielbasa and pierogies, on the other hand, I could eat, and is still one of my favorite meals, provided the pierogies are filled with potatoes and cheese, not kraut. We used to tell the boys that if they were not good, Santa would put a can of sauerkraut in their stockings. Seriously, that's how I feel about the stuff.
In college, the dining hall was on a 10-day schedule, and in the rotation was Reuben sandwiches and hermit cookies. The only day to get the hermits was the day with the Rubens. Those hermits were good. As a result, I decided I could like Reuben for the sake of the cookies. And they weren't bad, despite being made with pumpernickel, corned beef and kraut--none of which I liked. At all. I thought maybe it was the combination of all things together, or the hermits as a reward. Or the chocolate milk. Whatever it was, it got to where I actually looked forward to Reuben day.
Until the day I realized that Reuben night always found me feeling rather sick; wicked cramps, and a terrible grinding in my belly. My beloved lunch was turning on me, I thought, and then it occurred to me that until I started eating sauerkraut, I didn't have that problem. By Christmas, I had given them up, and didn't have the semi-weekly nausea.
You can say all you want that it was probably the bread. Or the meat. Or it could also have been the cookies. But I know, deep inside, that it was the cursed kraut. It's just icky. And how could that possibly mean good luck to me? Anyone who wants to can have it for their dinner on January 1. I'll stick with what I know will make me happy. And won't stink up my kitchen. This year, steak with buerre d'maitre, and all the fixin's. Oh, it was good!
And shrimp cocktail. It's tradition.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
love you all
As the day winds down, I find myself thinking of all the people I don't get to see nearly enough. My brothers and sisters, their spouses and children. My aunts and uncles, my cousins and their families. My godparents. My friends who have become, for various reasons, family to me. My large-ish family is a huge blessing, and coupled with a bit of Dad's tradition--the one wherein time and distance are not determinate of how close two people can feel to one another--I am even more blessed. Although I would love to spend the day (any day!) with any of my family members, I can't. I really just can't. I do my best to make memories where I can. But I am only one side of the equation. An equation with so many variables....
Merry Christmas to each of you:
Celeste, Arin, Richard, Patrick, Andrew, Mary, Kevin, Cindy, Anna, Mattie, Liz, Frank, Miss Chris, Stephen, Dan, Mike, Caren, Matt, Josh, Chris, Fran, Chris, Michael, Joe, Pat, Bob, Ken, Erin, Lexi, Dan, Jenn, Kinsey, Connor, Pam, TJ, Julie, Rudy, Andy, Janet, Adam, Colin, Nathan, Madonna, Tish, Chris, Connie, Rickey, Jake, Adam, Sean, Kathleen, Joe, Joe, Maria, Krislyn, Shawna, Danny, Danielle, Lynn, Lynne, Michael, Mark, Barb, Cory, Tia, Linda, Anna, Holly, Lu, Linda, Annette, Vicky, AnneMarie, Amy, Ed, Liam, Jack, Allison, Marilyn, Kelly, Ed, Diane, Catherine (!), Raymond, Evan, Christy......there are so many more! In my ideal world, each special day would have hours and hours for each and every one of you.
But the best thing is that you each know that, and feel much the same way. And each of you understand that the distance between hearts is no match for the time/space continuum.
Yeah, that's what Dad taught me. The time/space continuum is less than important when it comes to love and friendship.
Merry Christmas to each of you:
Celeste, Arin, Richard, Patrick, Andrew, Mary, Kevin, Cindy, Anna, Mattie, Liz, Frank, Miss Chris, Stephen, Dan, Mike, Caren, Matt, Josh, Chris, Fran, Chris, Michael, Joe, Pat, Bob, Ken, Erin, Lexi, Dan, Jenn, Kinsey, Connor, Pam, TJ, Julie, Rudy, Andy, Janet, Adam, Colin, Nathan, Madonna, Tish, Chris, Connie, Rickey, Jake, Adam, Sean, Kathleen, Joe, Joe, Maria, Krislyn, Shawna, Danny, Danielle, Lynn, Lynne, Michael, Mark, Barb, Cory, Tia, Linda, Anna, Holly, Lu, Linda, Annette, Vicky, AnneMarie, Amy, Ed, Liam, Jack, Allison, Marilyn, Kelly, Ed, Diane, Catherine (!), Raymond, Evan, Christy......there are so many more! In my ideal world, each special day would have hours and hours for each and every one of you.
But the best thing is that you each know that, and feel much the same way. And each of you understand that the distance between hearts is no match for the time/space continuum.
Yeah, that's what Dad taught me. The time/space continuum is less than important when it comes to love and friendship.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
turning points
Thanksgiving morning. My favorite holiday of the year. Actually, my favorite day of the year! I love the food prep (I love food!!) and the dinner planning. I love that our tradition is that the day is about gathering, and not much else. Most of the boys and my niece are sleeping in, Guy and I have had a wonderfully lively discussion about faith, Faith, life and love while sipping coffee and reading. Joseph is slightly sore from wrestling practice yesterday, but still his lovey and talkative self. It's chilly, sunny, and lovely. Soon, I will start getting our turkey ready to go in the oven and figure out just how I want to prepare the beautiful acorn squash I want to add to the menu. Most of the day will consist of food, wine, conversation and laughter, with a parade and some football thrown in, and maybe even a game or two of cards, and some old friends who may stop by tonight, or sometime over the weekend. I love the simplicity of the day, along with the complexity of thankfulness.
This year, I have more clarity than usual regarding just how thankful I am, and just how complex thankfulness is. So much has happened this year -- both "good" and "bad" -- about which I am, honestly, thankful; therein lies the complexity. In order for some of the good to have come about, I had to fully experience the bad, and for that reason alone I am thankful for both. If I were just to be thankful for the good, I would be denying the fundamental basis for the changes in my life that I celebrate. When we sit together and express out loud our thanks on this day, will I choose any of the valleys? Not a chance. That thankfulness is an internal force that brought about growth, healing, maturity, playfulness and a marked deepening of my faith -- all things that I had thought were mostly gone from my psyche, from my being, from my heart. Is it strange that I am, in my heart of hearts, grateful for the events, people and lessons? You might think so; in fact, sometimes I think so, too. But I don't have to "like" them to be grateful, and not because "it's the thought that counts." Far from it!
A lesson I learned long, long ago is that no one has to like what life dishes out. Ever. No one has to just accept it, either. But knowing that it's there, that it will come no matter what we do, say or hope for/against, and will come at us can be more than just a little daunting. Somewhere in there, I learned that the best thing to do is to face it all, process it, and determine how it will affect you -- what you have learned. More recently still, I've faced the magnitude of those lessons. It's more than "I'm bigger than this," or "This is who I am." What I've learned to do this year is that progress is the goal, and it really doesn't matter if that progress is measured in inches, miles or fathoms: any progress is something for which to be thankful, and to graciously accept.
Learning is important to me. I love to teach, but only because of what I learn in return. The sharing of lively minds is joyful and uplifting to me (even if the subject matter is painful) because in the end, we will have progressed, deepening our understanding, regardless of how (mental, physical, emotional). All in all, what I am most thankful for this year is progress, the ability and desire to learn, to share, to grow and to forgive. I am most thankful for my faith, and where it can take me, if only I let it.
This year, I have more clarity than usual regarding just how thankful I am, and just how complex thankfulness is. So much has happened this year -- both "good" and "bad" -- about which I am, honestly, thankful; therein lies the complexity. In order for some of the good to have come about, I had to fully experience the bad, and for that reason alone I am thankful for both. If I were just to be thankful for the good, I would be denying the fundamental basis for the changes in my life that I celebrate. When we sit together and express out loud our thanks on this day, will I choose any of the valleys? Not a chance. That thankfulness is an internal force that brought about growth, healing, maturity, playfulness and a marked deepening of my faith -- all things that I had thought were mostly gone from my psyche, from my being, from my heart. Is it strange that I am, in my heart of hearts, grateful for the events, people and lessons? You might think so; in fact, sometimes I think so, too. But I don't have to "like" them to be grateful, and not because "it's the thought that counts." Far from it!
A lesson I learned long, long ago is that no one has to like what life dishes out. Ever. No one has to just accept it, either. But knowing that it's there, that it will come no matter what we do, say or hope for/against, and will come at us can be more than just a little daunting. Somewhere in there, I learned that the best thing to do is to face it all, process it, and determine how it will affect you -- what you have learned. More recently still, I've faced the magnitude of those lessons. It's more than "I'm bigger than this," or "This is who I am." What I've learned to do this year is that progress is the goal, and it really doesn't matter if that progress is measured in inches, miles or fathoms: any progress is something for which to be thankful, and to graciously accept.
Learning is important to me. I love to teach, but only because of what I learn in return. The sharing of lively minds is joyful and uplifting to me (even if the subject matter is painful) because in the end, we will have progressed, deepening our understanding, regardless of how (mental, physical, emotional). All in all, what I am most thankful for this year is progress, the ability and desire to learn, to share, to grow and to forgive. I am most thankful for my faith, and where it can take me, if only I let it.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
dare: the truth
Affirmation of honesty and truth. The real kind, that makes you realize just how lucky you are to have someone in your life--yet again! That's what I've had every day lately. The kind that makes you want to chest bump, high five--no high TEN! The kind that makes you feel like the women's beach volleyball teams when they scored (or the Australians whenever they finished a volley!) and makes you want to sing from a rooftop.
Yes, yesterday was the best day yet, finishing off even better than it started, and today has been that much sweeter. Feeling sappy, am I? Why, yes, I am, and I won't ever apologize for it! I've been literally handed proof that my husband is my rock, my love, my joy. My life is rich for the sweet honesty we share, and the example we can set for our children.
Would I trade any of my experiences? Not a chance--anymore! Each one has made me, molded me, formed me, into the strong, healthy and happy woman I am. And each one has been mortar for the stepping stones of my future.
Is honesty easy? No way. Is it worth the difficulty? Absolutely! Am I more in love today than I was yesterday, last week, last year? Oh, I am, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I've added a new prayer to my growing list: a prayer of deep thanksgiving for the life we have together, and for how it can withstand life's storms.
Yes, yesterday was the best day yet, finishing off even better than it started, and today has been that much sweeter. Feeling sappy, am I? Why, yes, I am, and I won't ever apologize for it! I've been literally handed proof that my husband is my rock, my love, my joy. My life is rich for the sweet honesty we share, and the example we can set for our children.
Would I trade any of my experiences? Not a chance--anymore! Each one has made me, molded me, formed me, into the strong, healthy and happy woman I am. And each one has been mortar for the stepping stones of my future.
Is honesty easy? No way. Is it worth the difficulty? Absolutely! Am I more in love today than I was yesterday, last week, last year? Oh, I am, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I've added a new prayer to my growing list: a prayer of deep thanksgiving for the life we have together, and for how it can withstand life's storms.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
when I grow up
Last night, as I watched a portion of the London Olympic Opening Ceremonies, I cried. I missed the beginning, and only came in at the dream sequence. At work, we had been talking about the Beijing ceremonies, and we agreed that nothing could top them. (I remember I cried then, too.) London's, in my humble opinion, were pretty darn cool. They were not China, but I don't think they were trying to be--they were trying to be London.
What impressed me, what moved me to tears--as always--was the heart, soul and skill displayed. Each of the children played their role, nurses were recruited to show their pride in who they are through dance and pantomime. The villains came! And Mary Poppins saved the day. Through it all, there were dance steps, formations, facial expressions, costume and set changes coordinated with hundreds of thousands of individuals, all working toward a common goal. And a goal that not everyone understands the importance of--a performance.
Performance art is misunderstood. Some of it is really weird. But sometimes it can carry you away as much as a painting, a sculpture, a book. I'm a little biased, I know. I was a performer; I am still a performer at heart, although these days my performances tend to be a bit more personal and on a different scale. (And no one pays to see them, or I'd be rich!) A part of me wonders if some of the comments I've seen about the Ceremonies being "weird" were related to the earlier parts I didn't see, or to something else. The commentary was too much for me, but I didn't have program notes to read first, so I know it was necessary, and there were times when I would have been completely lost without those voices, but Bob Costas, with all due respect, is a sports guy. A dance or performance commentator may have sounded less, well, like Bob Costas. (I love his voice, don't get me wrong, but he really does remind me of The Wide World of Sports for reasons I cannot explain.) On the other hand, performance people can get a little more wrapped up in what they are seeing......
Which brings me back to my own tears, and the tugging at my heartstrings. I miss that atmosphere. I miss that anticipation of a cue, and the proximity of other bodies dancing the same dance. Once or twice I picked up a flubbed step, a missed turn (also amazing, considering how many people were performing!) and was so impressed that the person who made the mistake, as well as those around them, were smiling away. Clearly they acknowledged the mistake, but the show must go on, and it was FUN!! I miss being at performances, and watching them live, watching them come to life. I go to our school plays and concerts, but I miss the dream of seeing a performance every week, every month, of being part of the energy.
The goal, as I understand it, was for the London Ceremonies to reflect the personality of London, and of Great Britain. All I know of either is what I've heard in history class, so of course parts of it struck me as odd; just as a performance trying to depict my own personality and history would seem odd to anyone who doesn't know me. The key is acceptance with an open mind. Once you meet me and get to know me a little bit, you can make the choice whether I am 'weird' or not, but don't skip the 'get to know me' part. Anyone who has the guts to be completely themselves when first being introduced will probably seem pretty darn weird.
I admire that.
What impressed me, what moved me to tears--as always--was the heart, soul and skill displayed. Each of the children played their role, nurses were recruited to show their pride in who they are through dance and pantomime. The villains came! And Mary Poppins saved the day. Through it all, there were dance steps, formations, facial expressions, costume and set changes coordinated with hundreds of thousands of individuals, all working toward a common goal. And a goal that not everyone understands the importance of--a performance.
Performance art is misunderstood. Some of it is really weird. But sometimes it can carry you away as much as a painting, a sculpture, a book. I'm a little biased, I know. I was a performer; I am still a performer at heart, although these days my performances tend to be a bit more personal and on a different scale. (And no one pays to see them, or I'd be rich!) A part of me wonders if some of the comments I've seen about the Ceremonies being "weird" were related to the earlier parts I didn't see, or to something else. The commentary was too much for me, but I didn't have program notes to read first, so I know it was necessary, and there were times when I would have been completely lost without those voices, but Bob Costas, with all due respect, is a sports guy. A dance or performance commentator may have sounded less, well, like Bob Costas. (I love his voice, don't get me wrong, but he really does remind me of The Wide World of Sports for reasons I cannot explain.) On the other hand, performance people can get a little more wrapped up in what they are seeing......
Which brings me back to my own tears, and the tugging at my heartstrings. I miss that atmosphere. I miss that anticipation of a cue, and the proximity of other bodies dancing the same dance. Once or twice I picked up a flubbed step, a missed turn (also amazing, considering how many people were performing!) and was so impressed that the person who made the mistake, as well as those around them, were smiling away. Clearly they acknowledged the mistake, but the show must go on, and it was FUN!! I miss being at performances, and watching them live, watching them come to life. I go to our school plays and concerts, but I miss the dream of seeing a performance every week, every month, of being part of the energy.
The goal, as I understand it, was for the London Ceremonies to reflect the personality of London, and of Great Britain. All I know of either is what I've heard in history class, so of course parts of it struck me as odd; just as a performance trying to depict my own personality and history would seem odd to anyone who doesn't know me. The key is acceptance with an open mind. Once you meet me and get to know me a little bit, you can make the choice whether I am 'weird' or not, but don't skip the 'get to know me' part. Anyone who has the guts to be completely themselves when first being introduced will probably seem pretty darn weird.
I admire that.
Friday, June 8, 2012
beginnings and endings...
Tomorrow is graduation for our oldest son. It's hard to believe it has been long enough since.......well, since ANYTHING for this to be the eve of such a special, wonderful, and, to be honest, emotional day. Although life is busy right now, I have found myself thinking of what this particular graduation means to me and to our family: he will be going off to college, and there will be one less person in the house, but he will always be here in so many ways. I look forward to the changes and challenges more than anything, as I have since the beginning of this adventure called parenthood. I often think of other milestones when a friend or relative experiences one, but graduations evoke a special set of memories....
My brother's college graduation, when we drove all the way to Ohio and met his friends for the first time. And how HUGE the arena at the University seemed to me. I had never seen anything that big in my life!
My own eighth grade graduation--the first time I picked out a "stylish" dress which, along with my sister's high heeled sandals, made me feel like a million bucks! Our class planned the entire ceremony, and learned all the words to The Carpenters' "We've only just begun". Along with my classmates, I felt so grown up, so special, and so very excited to move forward. Somewhere in my drawer, I have the picture Dad took when I got my diploma. That photo, in my mind's eye, is how I picture that night.
Horseheads High School graduation: sitting in the sun, in alphabetical order on the football field, as one of the few white robes (for girls) in my row, and one of even fewer stoles (for honors) and actually wondering if my parents would know which one was me from the back. (Silly me!! At the time I did not know that we, as parents, KNOW our kids when we see them!) I got an award that day that I wasn't expecting--a small scholarship award from the Business Department. I had taken a Marketing class--the only business class I took in high school--and joined DECA Club, where I competed in Manager Level challenges. I loved it! Being selected to receive the award was such a surprise! And after I received my diploma, Dad surprised me by being on the field, where he really wasn't supposed to be, but he was bursting with pride, and gave me one of his one-armed hugs that I loved so much.
My college graduation had a much different feel. I had been sick and out of school for three months, so I had fallen out of the loop with some of my friends. I was able to go through the ceremony, but I still had classes to take. The College had just gotten accreditation as a University, so we were granted University diplomas, which some of us felt were not deserved--we had not studied at the "University." We were young and cocky, and I was somewhat aloof. Most of my friends were going to continue their studies, but I was going to take "a year or two" off after my Associate's degree. I don't remember much of that day because I didn't care as much. That makes me sad.
But then there was my sister's graduation, when Grammy took a whole pineapple from the centerpiece of one of the buffet tables and stuck it in her purse! We tried telling her that it was a decoration, but she proclaimed that it was on the table with the food we were supposed to take, so it was fair game--and besides, if she did not take it, they would only throw it away! To this day, we threaten each other that we want to "pull a Grammy" when we see centerpieces that are not just floral!
And my husband's graduation, which was the first party I planned on my own. His ceremony was beautiful, and hearing his name announced gave me goose bumps. As a gift, I had gotten him a beautiful leather briefcase. For a long time, he used it, and every time I saw him carry it, I thought about him standing in the sunshine in his cap and gown. (I try to forget the stitches he ended up with, causing him to miss the end of his own graduation party, but I remind him that everyone else had a really good time, although they missed him terribly!)
When I earned my Bachelor's degree, I had to miss the ceremony because it was hours away, and was the same day as our son's Confirmation. That was quite an emotional time, as these were the first such events that Dad was not here for, and that leads me to tomorrow....
At odd times this past week, I've found myself remembering that Dad loved life events: big birthdays, weddings, reunions, graduations, and he would have had just the right thing to say to Jonathan to make him laugh and know that Grampa was so very proud of him. I hope that I can find the words tomorrow. I hope that he will listen with his heart, and with his eyes, because I don't know if the words will come to his ears from my lips.
But with all my heart, I pray that he knows that I love him, I am proud of him, and I am so excited for his future.
My brother's college graduation, when we drove all the way to Ohio and met his friends for the first time. And how HUGE the arena at the University seemed to me. I had never seen anything that big in my life!
My own eighth grade graduation--the first time I picked out a "stylish" dress which, along with my sister's high heeled sandals, made me feel like a million bucks! Our class planned the entire ceremony, and learned all the words to The Carpenters' "We've only just begun". Along with my classmates, I felt so grown up, so special, and so very excited to move forward. Somewhere in my drawer, I have the picture Dad took when I got my diploma. That photo, in my mind's eye, is how I picture that night.
Horseheads High School graduation: sitting in the sun, in alphabetical order on the football field, as one of the few white robes (for girls) in my row, and one of even fewer stoles (for honors) and actually wondering if my parents would know which one was me from the back. (Silly me!! At the time I did not know that we, as parents, KNOW our kids when we see them!) I got an award that day that I wasn't expecting--a small scholarship award from the Business Department. I had taken a Marketing class--the only business class I took in high school--and joined DECA Club, where I competed in Manager Level challenges. I loved it! Being selected to receive the award was such a surprise! And after I received my diploma, Dad surprised me by being on the field, where he really wasn't supposed to be, but he was bursting with pride, and gave me one of his one-armed hugs that I loved so much.
My college graduation had a much different feel. I had been sick and out of school for three months, so I had fallen out of the loop with some of my friends. I was able to go through the ceremony, but I still had classes to take. The College had just gotten accreditation as a University, so we were granted University diplomas, which some of us felt were not deserved--we had not studied at the "University." We were young and cocky, and I was somewhat aloof. Most of my friends were going to continue their studies, but I was going to take "a year or two" off after my Associate's degree. I don't remember much of that day because I didn't care as much. That makes me sad.
But then there was my sister's graduation, when Grammy took a whole pineapple from the centerpiece of one of the buffet tables and stuck it in her purse! We tried telling her that it was a decoration, but she proclaimed that it was on the table with the food we were supposed to take, so it was fair game--and besides, if she did not take it, they would only throw it away! To this day, we threaten each other that we want to "pull a Grammy" when we see centerpieces that are not just floral!
And my husband's graduation, which was the first party I planned on my own. His ceremony was beautiful, and hearing his name announced gave me goose bumps. As a gift, I had gotten him a beautiful leather briefcase. For a long time, he used it, and every time I saw him carry it, I thought about him standing in the sunshine in his cap and gown. (I try to forget the stitches he ended up with, causing him to miss the end of his own graduation party, but I remind him that everyone else had a really good time, although they missed him terribly!)
When I earned my Bachelor's degree, I had to miss the ceremony because it was hours away, and was the same day as our son's Confirmation. That was quite an emotional time, as these were the first such events that Dad was not here for, and that leads me to tomorrow....
At odd times this past week, I've found myself remembering that Dad loved life events: big birthdays, weddings, reunions, graduations, and he would have had just the right thing to say to Jonathan to make him laugh and know that Grampa was so very proud of him. I hope that I can find the words tomorrow. I hope that he will listen with his heart, and with his eyes, because I don't know if the words will come to his ears from my lips.
But with all my heart, I pray that he knows that I love him, I am proud of him, and I am so excited for his future.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
our infamous day
Twenty-one years ago today, I awoke in a bed that was not my own, eagerly and nervously anticipating the day, the week, the lifetime ahead. Looking out the window, I discovered that the snowflakes that had begun to fall the night before had continued, and now blanketed the ground. I had lived in Rhode Island for four winters, and could have counted the number of snowfalls that stuck on the fingers of one hand, plus one more that had occurred that same winter--on the night of Guy's bachelor party. Here I was on the morning of my wedding wondering if this snow was related to the crazy storm in Maine a year earlier when we had become engaged. My next thought, and the question my future sister-in-law asked, had to do with whether the native Rhode Islanders would attend the wedding.
A rhetorical question, really; I knew my family, who had travelled in from upstate New York, Vermont, Minnesota (and Kentucky, but he had lived in Ohio for quite a while!) would think nothing of driving in the slop, and most of Guy's family lived close enough to avoid I-95, which ended up to be pretty clear.
My bridesmaids arrived, and we went to have nails and make-up done, Lisa did my hair, they got me dressed, the photographer arrived. There's a commercial on TV now in which a little boy breathlessly tells a bride as she finishes preparations for her wedding that she is "so beautiful!" and runs away. That could have been my nephew, Dan, our ring bearer--right after he showed off his "Tail-yon leadder shoos." Guy's niece, Danielle, could not have been sweeter in her velveteen dress and hat, telling me she couldn't wait for the moment I would become her Tante Stephanie.
So quickly, it was time to think about getting to the limo--through the snow. We had no choice once the suggestion was made: my bridesmaids put my lace boots in plastic bags and tied them up. With my feet inside them. Yes, indeed, I walked from the house to the limo and from the limo to the church sporting plastic shopping bags. And I was absolutely thrilled!! Fortunately, someone captured a photo, otherwise there will come a day when no one believes that!
As we waited behind the curtained glass wall of the cry room for the ceremony to begin, and the strains of "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof began, I peeked through the curtain to see our mothers being seated. The line "When did he grow to be so tall?" came just as Guy escorted his mother to her seat, I was overcome, and nearly began to sob. Dad was there, putting his arms around me and murmuring to me to calm me. I'll never forget that moment, those words. The way he smiled when I told him I was ready.
While I loved the ceremony, and the fact that it joined us as man and wife, I'm so very grateful for the numerous pictures taken by our photographer and our families and friends. Honestly, I don't remember much of the ceremony, other than silently directing Michael in when to sit and stand, while Guy did the same for Lynne, and wishing I could just chat with Guy while everything was going on.
I do remember Guy making his "lizard face" for a video camera while we waited for the reception; needing at least two bridesmaids to assist me in getting my dress out of the way so I could go to the bathroom; Rich and Guy causing a bit of a ruckus in the hallways in an effort to speed along our dinner; Andy laughing; all of us trying to hide in an alcove, as though anyone could have missed that huge white dress!
What a reception! From our introductions to our exit, we had a most wonderful time at the party! Whistles and hoots accompanied each introduction--including those of our parents, and I don't think I have ever smiled and laughed so continuously in my life before or since. All these years later, we still occasionally hear comments about our sorbet course, and Mom's dress. My family has always been quite "involved" in the glass tinkling tradition of getting the bride and groom to kiss. We complied, of course, dropping everything to exchange a kiss, or playfully searching the 3-5 feet between us--until, of course, dinner was served. That's when we got our wedding party involved. Mike and Lynne stood in readily, as they are married to each other. At one point, however, I remember motioning to Liz and Rich--Matron of Honor and Best Man--to take over, and I'm pretty sure there were times when each of us just kissed whoever was closest.
And the dancing! Our waltz that we learned under the careful instruction of Guy's cousin; sharing the dance floor with only my new husband for half the song, and then having our closest, dearest friends join us: our wedding party. Then a dance with our parents--me and Dad, Guy and his mom--that became a sing-along: Edelweiss. The polka I danced with Andy, who said he had no idea how; I back led him around the floor, saying "hopstepstepstep" the entire time. The dollar dance, where Liz and Rich required not only a dollar from each person in line, but also a kiss. The way we actually snuck out at the end, so we would not have to say goodbye or see the party break up. And neither of us had had more than a flute of champagne and a glass of wine.
It's hard to believe so many years have passed. I can still taste the cake--The cake!! A marvelous gift of the most succulent heart-shaped chocolate-chocolate mousse cake made by one of my college roommates!!--and I can still feel the warmth of that winter celebration. We were 21 when we married, so at some point in the next few months, we will hit that moment when we have been married longer than we were not. It's an odd thought, especially since there are times when I have to remind myself that Guy was not there when some singular childhood event happened, or that he may not have met this friend I've known all my life. It seems to me that he's always been there, and that we only just had to find each other. Neither of us is easy to live with, and at times we've each wondered at the wisdom of our love for each other, but I could not imagine a life without him in it.
All these things I think about every year on this day. The memories, feelings, emotions are not reserved for this day alone, but they come together in a rush each year on January 12th, the day that changed everything. The day that two became one, yet maintained their individual light, going against the grain. I love you, Guy, and am so happy to be your wife.
A rhetorical question, really; I knew my family, who had travelled in from upstate New York, Vermont, Minnesota (and Kentucky, but he had lived in Ohio for quite a while!) would think nothing of driving in the slop, and most of Guy's family lived close enough to avoid I-95, which ended up to be pretty clear.
My bridesmaids arrived, and we went to have nails and make-up done, Lisa did my hair, they got me dressed, the photographer arrived. There's a commercial on TV now in which a little boy breathlessly tells a bride as she finishes preparations for her wedding that she is "so beautiful!" and runs away. That could have been my nephew, Dan, our ring bearer--right after he showed off his "Tail-yon leadder shoos." Guy's niece, Danielle, could not have been sweeter in her velveteen dress and hat, telling me she couldn't wait for the moment I would become her Tante Stephanie.
So quickly, it was time to think about getting to the limo--through the snow. We had no choice once the suggestion was made: my bridesmaids put my lace boots in plastic bags and tied them up. With my feet inside them. Yes, indeed, I walked from the house to the limo and from the limo to the church sporting plastic shopping bags. And I was absolutely thrilled!! Fortunately, someone captured a photo, otherwise there will come a day when no one believes that!
As we waited behind the curtained glass wall of the cry room for the ceremony to begin, and the strains of "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof began, I peeked through the curtain to see our mothers being seated. The line "When did he grow to be so tall?" came just as Guy escorted his mother to her seat, I was overcome, and nearly began to sob. Dad was there, putting his arms around me and murmuring to me to calm me. I'll never forget that moment, those words. The way he smiled when I told him I was ready.
While I loved the ceremony, and the fact that it joined us as man and wife, I'm so very grateful for the numerous pictures taken by our photographer and our families and friends. Honestly, I don't remember much of the ceremony, other than silently directing Michael in when to sit and stand, while Guy did the same for Lynne, and wishing I could just chat with Guy while everything was going on.
I do remember Guy making his "lizard face" for a video camera while we waited for the reception; needing at least two bridesmaids to assist me in getting my dress out of the way so I could go to the bathroom; Rich and Guy causing a bit of a ruckus in the hallways in an effort to speed along our dinner; Andy laughing; all of us trying to hide in an alcove, as though anyone could have missed that huge white dress!
What a reception! From our introductions to our exit, we had a most wonderful time at the party! Whistles and hoots accompanied each introduction--including those of our parents, and I don't think I have ever smiled and laughed so continuously in my life before or since. All these years later, we still occasionally hear comments about our sorbet course, and Mom's dress. My family has always been quite "involved" in the glass tinkling tradition of getting the bride and groom to kiss. We complied, of course, dropping everything to exchange a kiss, or playfully searching the 3-5 feet between us--until, of course, dinner was served. That's when we got our wedding party involved. Mike and Lynne stood in readily, as they are married to each other. At one point, however, I remember motioning to Liz and Rich--Matron of Honor and Best Man--to take over, and I'm pretty sure there were times when each of us just kissed whoever was closest.
And the dancing! Our waltz that we learned under the careful instruction of Guy's cousin; sharing the dance floor with only my new husband for half the song, and then having our closest, dearest friends join us: our wedding party. Then a dance with our parents--me and Dad, Guy and his mom--that became a sing-along: Edelweiss. The polka I danced with Andy, who said he had no idea how; I back led him around the floor, saying "hopstepstepstep" the entire time. The dollar dance, where Liz and Rich required not only a dollar from each person in line, but also a kiss. The way we actually snuck out at the end, so we would not have to say goodbye or see the party break up. And neither of us had had more than a flute of champagne and a glass of wine.
It's hard to believe so many years have passed. I can still taste the cake--The cake!! A marvelous gift of the most succulent heart-shaped chocolate-chocolate mousse cake made by one of my college roommates!!--and I can still feel the warmth of that winter celebration. We were 21 when we married, so at some point in the next few months, we will hit that moment when we have been married longer than we were not. It's an odd thought, especially since there are times when I have to remind myself that Guy was not there when some singular childhood event happened, or that he may not have met this friend I've known all my life. It seems to me that he's always been there, and that we only just had to find each other. Neither of us is easy to live with, and at times we've each wondered at the wisdom of our love for each other, but I could not imagine a life without him in it.
All these things I think about every year on this day. The memories, feelings, emotions are not reserved for this day alone, but they come together in a rush each year on January 12th, the day that changed everything. The day that two became one, yet maintained their individual light, going against the grain. I love you, Guy, and am so happy to be your wife.
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