Wherever You Go. . . There You Are

We're on vacation.  An extended one.  The first and perhaps only really long vacation we'll take, because, well, we just don't do that.  This one was planned especially as a celebration of Bruce's retirement.  I had a lot of fun searching out houses and apartments we could rent and take Natalie along both in Minnesota and in the St. Louis area.  And, boy, did I find us a couple of dandies.  Both with views of the water - Lake Superior and the Mighty Mississippi. 

Because we're not staying in hotels, we have had all the comforts of home including full kitchens.  We've eaten out plenty of times, but there are only so many meals you can sit down to in restaurants before they start becoming, well, less-than-special.  So, we've shopped for groceries and cooked which has made mealtime in those cases seem pretty normal, except for the view. 

We've roamed quite a lot, too, exploring some little towns we'd not been to before.  In Minnesota, we experienced Lutsen, Grand Marais, White Bear Lake, and Rochester.  In Missouri, we've discovered Clarksville, Louisianna, Elsberry and Hannibal (as well as some old favorites like St. Charles and St. Louis).  We've walked rocky stretches of beach, two different breakwaters on Superior, a paved path through the north woods, a more rustic trail through another part of them, little town sidewalks and gravel alleys, grassy paths, and the river's ever-changing shoreline.  In all, very reminiscent of what we do at home.

Today, rather than roam, we read.  I finished one novel and started another.  I've had times where I just wanted to sit down and write, too. 

We laugh together about how some people would think our version of vacation is terribly boring.  We laugh at ourselves at how similar to our "real lives" our vacation seems to be.  And then we congratulate ourselves upon the reaffirmation that we are happy people who are happy in their lives together, because it seems that no matter where we go, there we are.  And, we're okay with that.

Shellie

Life As I Know It - The Sequel

Today was the prologue for the next chapter in my life. I'm retiring from the classroom and today Shellie and I drove to the retirement office in Jefferson City to sign the official paperwork. Yes, I could have just sent them in, but we decided to make a day of it. After a very satisfactory and encouraging meeting with a young lady named Susan, papers all signed, we headed downtown for lunch. Shellie treated me to a delicious Thai meal at Chim's and then we decided to walk the area. We found shops, bookstores, and toured by the river, capitol, and governor's mansion. We saw bus load after bus load of children in the area. But as we weren't responsible for any of them, we could just smile and watch them having such a good time. It was a windy, cool, and thoroughly enjoyable day. On the road home, we stopped at a small town eatery for coffee and pie (peach cobbler, actually, with vanilla ice cream).

The apostle Paul writes that some have the gift of singleness. I guess I'm not one of them. I can't imagine entering into this next phase of my life without Shellie by my side. How often I see or hear something and just can't wait to share it with my wife. The joy shared isn't divided, it's multiplied. Just as we strolled the streets of the state capitol, so I plan to embark on the second half of my life, hand-in-hand with my partner, my love, and my friend.

Bruce

Random Bursts of Excitement

Last night I saw a news clip about the Aurora Borealis.  I'm hoping so hard that we'll see it this summer, going farther north into Minnesota as we are.  That and a moose - at a distance, mind you.

Those northern lights?  They are kind of like the random bursts of excitement I feel when I realize Love Under a Dark Sky will be out there for people to read in just over a month.  I forget about it because I'm working at Glendale, writing grant applications, trying to build collaborative relationships with colleagues, all the while keeping up housework, menu planning, grocery shopping, yoga practice, and on and on and on.  Then, once in a while, my mind and heart just light up with the realization of the great blessings I've been given and that this, realizing the dream of being a published author, is one.  And I'm renewed.

Holding Hands

I love holding hands.  I have to admit, sometimes I feel a bit silly when I realize someone has noticed we're holding hands.  They smile when they see they've been caught in the act of staring and they always have that "Awww - isn't that sweet" look on their faces.  But, then I realize I should be (and am) very proud that I have a husband who is willing to hold hands in public.  Of all the things our hands are busy with during the day - sorting papers, shelving books, hooking a leash, folding clothes, steering the car, swiping debit cards, tapping keyboards and keypads, and preparing meals, the simple gesture of offering one's hand in friendship, comfort, affection, and love is second only in significance to hands folded in prayer.

So, today, tickle your fingers together, clink those wedding rings, give in to the luxury of the touch of your true love's hand on your own.

Thank You, Charles M. Schulz

When I met Bruce, the first thing I noticed about him (besides the fact that his last name was the same as someone I knew from college - but, that's another story) was that his shirt, a hunter green button-up, had a small, embroidered Joe Cool on the pocket.  I didn't know he was an elementary teacher.  I just knew that any man who could proudly wear clothes with the Peanuts characters on them had to be someone with an appreciation of the whimsical.  Knowing him as I do now, that was an under-assumption of colossal proportion!  Bruce not only appreciates whimsy, he creates it - every day.  The joy of life surrounds him.  He is amusing, light-hearted, quirky, clever (remind me to tell you the "As for me and my mouse" story sometime), and downright funny.

Me?  I was always a very serious girl.  I grew up with the tendency to smile easily and to get tickled at things I found really and truly funny; but a return to tears, worry, and sadness was just as quick.  My imagination tended toward the serious rather than the silly.  Because of this I could cry at the drop of a hat, fail to see any humor in a situation that had a hint of sadness in it, and get angry at people who didn't treat things I cared about with the same gravity I thought they deserved (okay, I still do that sometimes).

Knowing this, you might wonder how we ever got together.  In answer, I refer you to Charles M. Schulz, creator of The Peanuts.  (Are you seeing a trend here?)  Come on, now.  Two people, ages twenty-nine and thirty-nine respectively, who have had their shares of life's sorrows and come out on the other side a bit lonely, perhaps, but wiser for the trouble, who have managed to retain the joy of watching Charlie Brown try to kick that football year after year after year and who still laugh at lines like, "Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you're the Charlie Browniest" and scenes depicting a beagle boxing with lawn chairs belong together?  It was meant to be!

I laughed at something today that I might not have laughed at years ago.  I can thank my husband for encouraging that lighthearted spirit in me to grow.  His humor has tempered my seriousness over the years.  Yes, I still cry when I watch Snoopy, Come Home ("No dogs allowed. . .").  I'm not ashamed to say it.  But, Bruce has lightened my load in life by leading me to laugh more easily and more often.

So, in tribute to the guffaw, I challenge you:  find someplace private and do something utterly silly!  Make a face.  Sing a goofy song you remember from childhood.  Put on a ridiculous outfit and parade up and down the room.  Reenact a miserable scene from your workday with the part of you being played by Robin Williams or one of the Stooges or Carol Burnett.  Let your snicker become a chuckle become a giggle become a chortle become a laugh!

And, if that doesn't work. . . start small.  Check out Donald O'Connor's "Make 'em Laugh" routine from Singin' in the Rain.

To Drive to the Country, Perchance to Eat Pie

Bruce and I are known for doing things like this, so if you know us you won't be a bit surprised to learn that we drove to Golden City today to eat at a place called Cooky's because we heard they have great pie.  The tales were true.  And, the pie alone would have made the drive well worth it (not to mention the calories it cost me).  But, there was so much more to our drive through the countryside.

Our son recently told his dad, "It's a good thing you two found each other."  Hidden meaning:  you're both weird and no one else would put up with either of you.  He's probably right.  Today, I had a blast enumerating the animals I saw that I don't see on a daily basis:

1. cows
2. goats
3. sheep
4. mule
5. chickens
6. horses
7. buffalo

We saw land as flat as that through Iowa and, though we've lived in Missouri all our lives, we didn't know we had areas so flat through the southwest part of the state.  We looked through flea markets in three little towns along the way and stopped at Coffee Guru for cup of joe.  

It was wonderful to get away, just that hour or so out of town, to take in the wonderful, pastoral view; to pick up those interesting and old things in the shops, inspect them and consider them; to savor the rich and complex flavors of coffees and German chocolate pie; to hold hands and exchange smiles; to recall song lyrics and movie lines as we drove; to laugh at and appreciate the whimsical nature of someone in Greenfield, Missouri who had painted a door on the house to look like the TARDIS; to add this day to the stockpile of memories of other lovely days spent together, of little towns we've driven to, little sites we've seen, little experiences we've shared that remind us of who we are as individuals, who we are together, and why we're still in love.

(NOTE:  I did try to get a picture of the TARDIS, but there was no shoulder on the highway through there and, though Bruce did try for me, I couldn't get a clear shot without actually crossing a very deep ditch and walking up the hill and onto their property)

You Know He Loves You When

he doesn't flinch at kissing you after watching you eat roasted garlic at Ermilio's;

he laughs and shuts off the car when you decide you'd better pay a visit to the Ladies' at the gas station after all;

he not only notices and appreciate how you walk (dress, talk, present yourself), but tells you so;

he listens to you read about something called Phantom petunias from Better Homes and Gardens and actually looks at the picture you're pointing to;

he doesn't act defensive or huffy when it turns out you're right about something;

he puts off having a Krispy Kreme doughnut until a day when you think you have more calories to spare and can enjoy one, too;

he says he likes life with you and you know he means it.

Who Wants to Be in Love in a Movie When Love in an Opera is So Much Faster?

Puccini's La Boheme:  Act I - love between Rodolfo and Mimi (really Lucia, we don't know why she's called Mimi) happens, as Mr. Bean would say, in the flashiest of flashes.  Why would you want to be in love in a movie when it can happen so much faster in an opera?  Maybe it's because operas rarely (do they ever?) have happy endings.  Movies can end tragically, but the romantic comedies we're so fond of are engineered to make us feel euphoric, at least momentarily.

I heard a funny thing on the radio the other day.  Women respond more, romantically speaking, to action movies than to what we call romances.  Apparently the adrenalin works its magic through a good gun battle or car chase.  As I see it this "fact" works well for both men and women.  And, I'm not a bit surprised, really, when I think about how much I enjoy ice hockey and how the game inspired my first romance novel.  Considering further, my second romance novel was actually propelled by gorging myself on Doctor Who battling evil aliens and not on Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan sharing anonymous emails at all.

Maybe we should consider a new hybrid?  A fusion, if you will - adventuopera.  Or, romaction?  Hmmm.

My New Cover!

Witness to Your Life

One of my favorite movies is Shall We Dance with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon.  It is the story of a middle-aged man who has become a bit bored with his routines.  There are many things I like about the story, the first being that infidelity does not enter into it.  The man loves his wife and family and he doesn't betray them. However, in his secret pursuit of dance, his wife has reason to become suspicious.  She hires a private investigator to follow her husband.  When ultimately she decides that he is not pursuing an extramarital affair, she terminates the investigation.  Her conversation with the much-enamored PI leads to the question of why do people marry.  His answer is the obvious one:  for love.  She refutes that and says rather it is because we all want a witness to our lives.  In marrying, in making that commitment, we promise to notice.  I like that.

The reason I thought of it tonight is that I was engaged in one of my favorite weekly routines with my husband:  Sunday evening at Mudhouse with a bottomless and a book.  I've been shamefully unable to engage with a book all summer.  Inexplicably unable to engage.  However, I picked up a memoir I purchased several weeks ago with a gift certificate given me by a couple of teachers in congratulations and goodbyes as I moved to a new school.  It is called Here If You Need Me and it is the story of Kate Braestrup.  I've never heard of Kate Braestrup.  What made me pick up the book in the first place was the gorgeous cover.  A tree branch all alight with autumn colors stretched over a lake reflecting a colorful hillside, an abandoned canoe at the shore and a single unoccupied Adirondack chair facing out toward the water and the distant shore on which you can  see the white trunks of birch.  I had to pick it up.  Had to.  When I discovered the true story was set in Maine, I was sold.

I started reading the memoir several weeks ago when I first purchased it.  Unfortunately, the first time I picked it up was in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep.  Not really the time to start reading a memoir.  (More the time for reading The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog  - see a December post.)  I was too tired to focus and lay it aside, forgetting it until today.  I'm glad I remembered it.

Half-way through it now, I am considering the fortitude of this woman who, because of her conviction that genuine love means you take care of your family even in death, determined to honor her husband by taking care of his corpse herself.  He was an officer killed in a car crash.  She asked that he not be embalmed and that she personally take care of bathing and dressing him.  She also asked to be present at his cremation from start to finish (which, according to what she was told by the funeral home would take four to five hours or more for a young and fit man such as he was).  Her courage is unfathomable to me.  She writes:

"I wanted to do it not because it would help me heal - healing was both indefinable and unimaginable - but because it was the authoritative command of an authentic love."  The idea of caring for the bodies of your deceased loved ones is described as an "intimate privilege" that has been taken away from us by professionals.

I don't share these things out of horrified fascination or morbidity.  I don't say this is anything I would even consider or be able to do myself.  I'm not that strong and don't really want to be.  But, I do find the depth of commitment extraordinary and remarkable.  There's so much to be considered in regard to the link between physical and spiritual realms, the expressions of love, God's love, that is evident in creation, in emotion, and in spirit.  How far reaching His love is.  How far could my own reach if I would stretch it?