The Last Eight Years

April 12, 2008, was a lovely, sunny day in New England. Well, actually, the early part of the morning was a bit overcast. You could see some brightness through the clouds as my mom and I climbed into a black stretch limo in front of the house I'd grown up in. We pulled up in front of a picturesque brick church on top of a hill, and just as we went inside the sun burst through the clouds. You could practically hear the angels singing.

It was a perfect day for a wedding: not too hot, not too cold, not too windy, not too bright. Not that anything short of a tornado would have bothered me; it was my wedding day, and there was enough sunshine in my heart to brighten up the darkest day.

One of the advantages of getting married older is that many of your friends have been married for a number of years and can give you good, practical advice - not only about the wedding, but about the marriage. One of the best pieces of wedding advice I got was to consciously take moments throughout the day to mentally step back and look around. Look at the faces of the family and friends around and share their joy. Take a good look at the flowers on the altar, the wedding cake, your groom in his formalwear, your bridesmaids dancing with their shoes off, your mom and your mother-in-law chatting with their faces close together. I have a lot of wonderfully clear memories of my wedding day because of that advice.

But by far the more important advice was regarding the marriage. One of the best pieces of marriage advice I got was that it's okay to not like each other sometimes. That may seem like rather odd advice, but if you understand that liking and loving are two very different things, it makes sense. Loving someone is a choice; it affects how you treat them, how you speak to them, how you relate to them. Liking someone is a feeling of the moment; it is affected by your own moods, circumstances beyond your control, and external events. If you love someone, you treat them with respect even when you're angry or frustrated with them. It protects you from saying something you don't mean, something you'll regret, in the heat of the moment. It guards your heart and your mouth from making stupid, hurtful mistakes. It guides your behavior.

And it gets easier with practice. I've learned how to weather those moments of not liking my husband, even when I love him dearly. And I suspect he finds his moments of not liking me a bit easier to take after these eight years. Because we've both learned to trust the underlying love and respect. We know that these small clouds will blow away and the brilliant sunshine behind them will break through. Because the sunshine is always there, even when we can't see it for a moment.

So I look forward to the next eight years together, and the next eighteen, and the next eighty. I know my love will continue to grow, even as my moments of dislike grow fewer and further between. I can manage any situation, as long as my love is beside me, sharing this wonderful, wacky, wild ride called Life!

Happy Anniversary

Today is my 5^th wedding anniversary. It seems like just yesterday I was waking up on the camp mattress on the floor of my mom’s living room and realizing that it was my wedding day. And yet, it other ways it seems like I’ve been married to my wonderful husband for as long as I can remember.

As I was thinking about an appropriate gift for my husband for our 5^th anniversary, I had to look up the traditional 5^th anniversary gift. I know that the 25^th is silver and the 50^th is gold, and I recalled that the 1^st is paper, but all the other years I haven’t the faintest idea. So naturally, I googled it. And the list of traditional and contemporary anniversary gifts is...unexpected.

The first five years aren’t too strange: the “traditional” list is paper, cotton, leather, linen or silk, and wood; the “modern” list is clock, china, crystal or glass, electrical appliances (seriously? yes, seriously), and silverware. Among the gifts my husband and I have exchanged have been a photo book for our paper anniversary, a hammock for our cotton anniversary, and a handblown glass vase for our glass anniversary. (I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t the faintest idea what we gave each other last year, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an electrical appliance or anything made of linen or silk.) What I ended up giving my husband for this anniversary was a wine carrier that is made of heavy cardboard covered in leather so I suppose it could technically be considered wood, and it came with a corkscrew which could conceivably be considered silverware.

Years 6 through 10 get a bit odd, however. The traditional list is iron, wool or copper, bronze, pottery, and tin or aluminum. What would you get as a gift for your spouse from those categories? A new railing for your front steps? A nice knitted sweater? An ashtray? For your 10^th anniversary, can you really imagine getting your wife a nice tin…anything? The modern list is a great improvement: “wood objects” (I guess that means "art"), desk sets or pen and pencil sets, linens or lace, leather goods, and (this is the winner) diamond jewelry. You could end up with some carved artwork, a nice fountain pen, Belgian lace curtains, a leather jacket, and a tennis bracelet. Which you must admit is a much nicer collection than anything involving, say, aluminum.

Years 11 through 15 are fairly evenly matched between traditional and modern gifts. Traditional gifts are steel, silk, lace, ivory, and crystal; modern are fashion jewelry or accessories, pearls or colored gems, textiles or furs, gold jewelry, and watches. Steel is a bit questionable, but I’m a sucker for ivory and crystal, and I don’t wear gold jewelry or a watch, so the two lists are pretty much a wash for me.

The traditional list goes to mostly 5-year intervals after the 15^th anniversary, with year 20 being china, 25 being silver (although 24 sneaks in with opal, for some unknown reason), 30 is pearl, 35 coral or jade, 40 ruby, 45 sapphire, 50 gold, 55 emerald, and 60 diamond. The modern plows on annually through year 25: silver holloware (I looked it up; apparently year 16 is when you finish breaking all the gravy boats you got for your wedding, as it refers to things such as creamers, soup tureens, teapots, and other tableware that is neither china nor flatware), furniture, porcelain, bronze, platinum (20^th), brass or nickel, copper, silver plate (to hold you over for those 2 more years before you hit “real” silver, apparently), musical instruments (so both an autoharp and a tuba are legitimate anniversary presents if you wait till your 24^th anniversary - which might also explain why the traditional list has a suggestion for year 24), and silver for the 25^th. Continuing from there in 5-year increments, the modern list includes diamond, jade, ruby, sapphire, gold (50^th), emerald, and diamond. The 75^th for both lists is diamonds or gold. The modern list goes on to add diamond or pearl for the 80^th, and ends, interestingly enough, with “wife’s birthstone” for 85^th (not that I expect to make it that far, but for the record, my birthstone is yellow topaz). Presumably the man only gets his birthstone if he makes it to his 100th anniversary.

All in all, these lists are mediocre to good ideas for gift categories for each year, but based on my experience and the experiences of my married friends, I’d like to propose a new list of gift suggestions for some of the key anniversary years:

Year 1: The first year of any marriage includes lots of adjustments, compromises, and learning to balance your respective habits and weigh your spouse’s needs against your own. The perfect gift for the first anniversary, therefore, is a scale.

 

Year 2: By the second year, you’ve got a system down. The second anniversary gift is a daily planner or a wall calendar, to make sure that system stays neatly in place.

 

Year 5: By the time you’ve been married for five years, you’ve settled into a routine, you’re used to each other, and you may even be taking your marriage a bit for granted. The fifth anniversary gift is a mirror so you can reflect back on the past five years and keep taking a close look at yourself and your relationship.

 

Year 10: Ten years of marriage is a pretty significant milestone, and deserves a reward in the form of time to rekindle your flame and spend time together, just the two of you. The tenth anniversary gift is a trip, preferably to someplace with a warm climate.

 

Year 15: By year 15 both you and your spouse have changed significantly since your marriage. You’ve grown, you’ve matured, hopefully you’ve become wiser. The fifteenth anniversary gift is a book, the purest symbol of wisdom, knowledge, and learning.

 

Year 20: Twenty years is a very long time to spend with someone, so the 20^th anniversary gift is something with special value: a photo album reflecting back on those last twenty years.

 

Year 25: This is one that both the traditional and the modern list got right: silver.

Years 30, 35, 40, and 45: Once you pass the 25-year mark, every anniversary is precious. Each of these years should be celebrated with the precious stone of your choice: amethyst, sapphire, emerald, ruby, amber, opal, jade, pearl, topaz.

 

Year 50: The traditional and modern lists both got it right again with gold.

With so many couples getting married well into their 20s and 30s and even later, fewer couples – even couples that take “till death do us part” at its literal value – are making it much past year 50. So every anniversary after the 50^th should be celebrated. Celebrate each year with candlelight and flowers. Celebrate each year with photographs and memories. Celebrate each year with love and laughter.

 And if you happen to be one of the lucky couples that reaches your 75^th anniversary, celebrate it with all of those things – AND a big sparkly diamond. Hey, if you can’t give yourselves a nice diamond for your 75^th anniversary, when can you?

 

June 24 Photo: On Your Mind

Today’s photo is another slight cheat, but again, for a very good reason: Today would have been my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary. Obviously, I wasn’t there at their wedding, so I didn’t take any photos. But that is definitely what is in the forefront of my mind today.

This is absolutely my favorite photo from my parents’ wedding album. Both my folks are so obviously glowing with excitement and happiness. And they are truly surrounded by family and friends. Unfortunately, the only groomsman I can identify is my mother’s brother, my Uncle John (the one wearing glasses). The women are, from left to right, my mother’s sister Elaine (who was only 16 at the time), my mother’s college roommate Myrna (the matron of honor), and my dad’s cousin Carolee (who, I believe, borrowed my mother’s wedding gown for her own wedding not long after).

I love the men’s white dinner jackets, the women’s perky little hats, the beautifully draping flowers, and my mom’s lace gauntlets and voluminous ball gown. I love her beaded pearl headpiece that I would wear (upside down and backwards) at my own wedding, nearly 45 years later. I love the familiarity of the backdrop, the room being the Ladies’ Parlor of the church I grew up in, with the same mirror, the same wing chair, and quite possibly the same curtains that were there during my childhood.

I love seeing them when they didn’t know what life had in store for them. When this picture was taken, they had no idea that they would have two daughters, or two grandchildren. They didn’t know that they would buy a house and live in it for their whole entire lives. They didn’t know that my dad would work for the same company for over 40 years, or that my mom would be a teacher, then a stay at home mom, then a children’s librarian. They didn’t know that their funerals would be held at the same church that they were married in, the same church that their children were raised in. They didn’t know that my mom’s dad would live with us for a year while suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, or that my dad would eventually need hospice care in our home, or that my mom would live in a hospice facility in the next town.

But they knew that they loved each other, and they knew that they could handle whatever life threw at them, with help from each other and from God.

I may not live long enough to be married for 50 years, either, but I know that with help from my husband and my God, I can handle anything that life may throw at me during whatever part of that 50 years I may have left. And that’s what’s on my mind today.

The Perfect Wedding

Four years ago today, I married my Prince Charming in the perfect wedding. Well, MY perfect wedding, anyway. Looking back, I still wouldn’t change a thing. Because these are the things I remember most from my wedding day:

Waking up in my mom’s living room, where I’d slept on the floor on a camp mattress shared with my mom, in a house full of relatives who were nearly as excited as I was.

Getting ready at the church, with my matron of honor and my mom. Watching myself in the mirror as my mom pinned her headpiece in my hair and laughing as my matron of honor got all teary and then tucked an emergency Kleenex in her budge.

Hearing the beautiful music of a brass quintet wafting through the church.

The look on my husband-to-be’s face as the doors at the back of the church opened and he saw me in my wedding dress for the first time.

Holding his hand as I slipped the ring on his finger. Well, slipped the ring partway onto his finger, at which point it got stuck and he had to help me. (Nice symbolism of the years to come.)

Practicing our first dance in the gazebo behind the reception hall.

Racing onto the dance floor for our first dance when the music started a bit early. Dancing the traditional waltz clog with my new family. Watching my husband do the Superman dance with all the teenagers.

Being serenaded by my new brother-in-law and then a barbershop quartet. Sitting back-to-back with my husband playing the “who” game, courtesy of my sister-in-law.

Making the rounds of all our friends and family, chatting and accepting all their congratulations.

Falling asleep on my husband’s shoulder on the plane on the way to our honeymoon.

But most of all, I remember smiling. A lot. And laughing. A lot. And being so happy, not only that I would be spending my life with this wonderful man, but that all our family and friends were so genuinely happy for us. It was a day full of laughter and joy and family and friends, which is exactly what a wedding day should be.

Happy anniversary to my dearest friend and my dearest love. Here’s to four more, forty more, four hundred more! I love you.

Happy Anniversary to Us!

Yesterday was our third wedding anniversary, and my wonderful husband spoiled me rotten by whisking me away to Newport for a whirlwind 24-hour trip. He made all the arrangements in secret and surprised me with a lovely, romantic, relaxing celebration.

We dropped off our son at my in-laws’ and headed down to Newport. When we arrived, our hotel room wasn’t quite ready, so we left our bags and took a stroll through downtown Newport, checking out some lovely boutiques and finding a quaint pub for lunch.

We found the glassworks shop where we had bought a lovely glass vase last year, and since the third anniversary is the glass anniversary (under the contemporary calendar, at least), we decided to find another knickknack as an anniversary present to ourselves. We chatted with the shop attendant and after considering a sculpted glass wave and a charming, curly-tentacled octopus, we settled on a lovely, deep amber glass vase similar to the one from last year. That wrapped up, we headed back to the hotel.

We had spa appointments, and since our room wasn’t ready, they took us in early; Herb for a massage and me for my first-ever facial. We disrobed and snuggled into the spa’s plush robes and comfy slippers and waited in the comfortable love seat of the lounge, listening to the soft trickle of a fountain and enjoying lemon-scented water until our attendants came to get us. The aesthetician settled me comfortably on a heated bed and examined my skin, which she pronounced “beautiful”, once she recovered from her horror over my admission that my skin care regimen consisted of soap and water plus an occasional dab of moisturizer. (If she knew I was lying about the latter she’d probably have fainted.) But she laid out an array of lotions and potions, told me to relax, and commenced the most thorough cleaning, exfoliating, massaging, steaming, masking, toning, and tightening that my skin has ever experienced. My pores have never been so clean and tight as they were when she finished with me, and my skin has never been as velvety smooth and glowing. I met Herb back in the lounge and he looked as relaxed as I felt. We dressed and went to check into our room.

Our bags were waiting when we arrived, and we took a few moments to check out the view before we began dressing for dinner. It was quite foggy by then, so there was little to see, but we could hear the haunting but lovely call of a horn buoy echoing through the mist. We found a television station that was showing clips of historic and beautiful sights around Newport, so as we relaxed, we enjoyed learning more about the fascinating city we were in. After that quick break, we got all dressed up for dinner – Herb in an impeccable white dinner jacket and onyx studs in his collar and cuffs, and I in a brilliant blue cocktail dress with the beautiful pearl necklace and bracelet Herb had given me for Valentine’s Day and my birthday. As we headed through the lobby, arm in arm, the concierge noted how elegant we looked and wished us a lovely evening. Herb brought the car around and the valet opened the door for me and gave me a smile and even a slight bow as I went through. Ever the gentleman, Herb opened my car door and made sure I was comfortably seated before closing me in.

Our dinner reservations were at the Castle Hill Inn, where we had eaten last year. After our meal last year, I pronounced it the finest meal – and in fact, the finest dining experience – I had ever had. I wondered if this year would be able to meet that standard. I never should have doubted. From the moment Herb dropped me off and went to park the car, I was treated like royalty. The hostess opened the door for me and escorted me to our table. We were the only diners in the room, which was a round, glassed-in section of the building that looked across a narrow lawn and out onto the ocean. The fog was so thick that the world seemed to vanish past the hedges with no glimpse of ocean in sight, but still the sound of a lonely foghorn echoing over the sea. A few wild bunnies were having their dinner at the edge of the hedges, adding a bit of country charm to the scene. And as the evening wore on, the gray fog took on a deep blue hue, eventually fading to a midnight blue-black, turning the windows to mirrors reflecting the glow of the candles on the tables and the sconces on the walls.

Our waiter remembered us from last year, as he had been our server then as well, and immediately brought us complimentary glasses of champagne. We toasted ourselves and then began to peruse the menu. Several dishes were familiar from last year, but several different items had been added to the menu. Herb recalled what a delightful way the waiter had of describing the various dishes, so we asked him to elaborate on several of the menu items. I was thinking of either the lobster or the duck, and was leaning towards the lobster, but after his vivid and mouth-watering description of the duck, I decided to go with his recommendation. He returned shortly with two freshly baked rolls still steaming from the oven, which he served by masterfully manipulating a pair of spoons like tongs. I enjoyed the bread while Herb studied the wine menu, eventually requesting a taste comparison of two different choices, again beautifully described by our waiter.

Shortly after the wine arrived (I didn’t have a glass, but I did thoroughly enjoy swirling and smelling Herb’s glass, and sampling a tiny sip), the waiter returned with an amuse bouche. This year’s tantalizing mouthful was a tiny slice of delicate veal served over a bed of chopped spring vegetables and garnished with a artistic swirl of veal jus. The meat melted in your mouth and the vegetables tasted like they had come from the garden less than five minutes ago. It was the perfect taste to stimulate the appetite and the senses.

Our first course arrived: Herb had scallops, served three in a row on a long narrow plate, with colorful and tasteful sauces and accompaniments adding both beauty and flavor, and I had a bowl of sunchoke soup. The soup was presented as a shallow bowl with a cake of lobster and other seafood topped with spring onions in it, and the waiter poured the rich broth over it with a graceful flourish. (Can you tell that the presentation of the food at this restaurant delights me as much as the food itself?) The soup was rich and flavorful, but somehow magically managed to not be filling, but instead to stimulate my appetite for the main course.

After a pause during which we were presented with two tiny bowls each containing a perfect scoop of strawberry-mango sorbet as a palate-cleansing intermezzo, our main courses arrived. Herb’s lamb was elegantly presented as two “lollipops” gracefully leaning against each other over a bed of vegetables and gnocchi. My duck breast arrived on a long, narrow plate, the tender, juicy slices leaning against each other like a splayed deck of cards, surrounded by swirls of salsify puree (no, I’m not sure exactly what that is either, but I can assure you it tasted magnificent) and laying over a cake of something marvelous involving potatoes. Neither of us spoke for several minutes as we took our first bites, both of us closing our eyes in ecstasy and making small, involuntary moans of pleasure as our taste buds were overcome by delicious sensations. We quickly exchanged bites, assuring each other than both meals were equally exquisite. I paused between bites, both to give myself time to thoroughly enjoy each succulent mouthful, and also to be sure to pace myself so I wouldn’t run out of room to finish the magnificent meal.

The crowning glory of any meal, in my opinion, is dessert, and I had no doubt by this point that the dessert could live up to the glorious dinner. Herb and I both selected the chocolate trio – and for once, we opted to each get our own instead of sharing. Our accompaniments of coffee (mine) and cognac (his) arrived just before the elegant desserts. On each plate, the words “Happy Anniversary” were spelled out in chocolate in an elegant script.

And they did not disappoint. From the rich chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream to the spicy sponge cake with whipped cream topping, to the rich smoothness of the pot au crème, the dessert was the perfect ending to a perfect evening.

We arrived back at the hotel in time for a quick dip in the pool and soak in the whirlpool. The mist and rain had begun to cause my knees and hips to ache a bit, so I carefully perched myself on the edge of the whirlpool, soaking in the soothing heat of the water and letting the powerful jets massage my feet. I found a step that was the perfect height to stand on to get my hips in the water without immersing my belly, and dangled my hands in the water while I watched a pair of sisters frolicking in the swimming pool. Herb and I laughed and imagined Ryan and Rutabaga doing the same eight or ten years from now. Soothed and relaxed, we headed back to our room and were soon sound asleep in our soft, comfortable bed.

We woke up to a clear morning with only a few high grey clouds and a temperature at a very comfortable 60 degrees. We took another look at the view from our patio and could now see the harbor full of boats and the picturesque Newport shops. We shared the view with a pair of huddling seagulls.

We stopped at the concierge desk to ask for a breakfast recommendation and the question was hardly out of our mouths when the concierge told us firmly, “The Corner Café” and handed us a map, while wishing aloud that she could join us. The walk was just the right length to work up an appetite, which was a good thing, since the breakfast was both generous and delicious. There were a few other diners, several of whom seemed to be regulars who ordered without a menu and were handed their morning paper as if it had been delivered to the restaurant specifically for them. The waitress/proprietress had a charming Irish brogue and brought me a perfect mug of tea that immediately flashed me back to my days in Zimbabwe and my visit to England. Herb had a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkling of cocoa powder that he immediately pronounced delicious. My French toast was made from thick slices of homemade Portuguese sweet bread and served with maple pecan butter that melted into a rich glaze. I dipped each succulent bite into a puddle of real maple syrup and cooed in ecstasy, alternating the sweet gooey bites with crispy, smoky bacon. Herb’s pancakes were fluffy and light, and he managed to clean his plate. Sadly, I had to bid a sad farewell to the last half of my second giant slice of French toast, because I simply did not have enough room for all its rich goodness. We bid farewell to our charming hostess, promising to return next year, and headed off for another stroll to burn off our breakfasts.

We stopped by a few more quirky boutiques and admired the local architecture, stopping for a few more souvenirs before heading back to the hotel to reclaim our bags and head for home. As we were driving out of town, Herb spied a formalwear shop and decided to make a quick side trip, since he’s been looking for a new black bow tie. As he chatted with the owner about how difficult it is to find a tie-it-yourself bow tie and they commiserated about what a shame it is that no-one wears white pique shirts any more, I browsed the selection of cufflinks and shirt studs, and found a beautiful set of Masonic links and studs. I had been looking for something similar as a gift for Herb for several years now, so I was delighted to stumble across this treasure. But there was yet another treasure to be stumbled across in this shop: there was a photograph behind the counter that seemed to be of a man dressed as Tevye from “Fiddler on the Roof”. When we asked him about it, the owner admitted it was him and immediately began quoting lines from the show in a marvelously rich, sonorous voice. He was delighted to hear that we were also musical theater performers, and we exchanged stories about the groups we worked with. He pulled out another photo of himself in character, this time as Jud Fry from “Oklahoma!”, and broke into one of Jud’s songs in a rich, resounding baritone voice. Of course, we took his contact information and invited him to check out the Reagle Music Theatre of Boston – especially since the shows Reagle has on the schedule for this summer just happen to be “Fidder” and “Oklahoma!”. He was so delighted with our chat and with the fact that Herb was a Mason that he gave us a generous discount on our purchases, and we left feeling that we had made a delightful new friend.
 
We arrived at Herb’s folks’ just before Ryan finished his nap and were able to fill them in on all our adventures and hear the report that Ryan had behaved himself admirably and had thoroughly enjoyed his own adventures before he woke up. It was wonderful to get away, but it was just as wonderful to be back home. It was such a lovely anniversary that I think we’ll have another one next year at the very same time.

 

Happy Anniversary To Us

Two years ago this coming Monday, I married the most wonderful man I have ever met.

In the past two years, my life has changed in ways I never could have imagined. They say that the first year of marriage is often the hardest, and if that's the case, we can expect pretty smooth sailing from here on out, because is many ways that first year was a cinch. Although when I think about it, we had a lot of tough things to deal with that first year. I had a miscarriage, my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I was laid off, and I began a very difficult pregnancy. But my memories of that first year aren't of the pain of losing a baby, or nearly losing a parent, or losing a job, or being nauseous 24/7. They're of having my wonderful husband by my side, supporting me and loving me and sharing those burdens. They're of the laughter rather than the tears and of the love rather than the loss.

The second year was also a mixed blessing. It began with six more months of being sick 24/7, but it ended with six months of watching our beautiful, sweet, good-natured, good-looking, absolutely perfect son grow up. For every sleepless night those first few weeks we've been rewarded with days full of baby chortles. For every tear shed over a baby who wouldn't eat at first, we have laughter over a baby who's so big he keeps growing out of his clothes. For every tense, stressed-out snipe at each other for some nonsensical reason, we have a hug and a kiss and apologies on both sides and feeling closer than ever because of it.

The saying goes that marriage is hard work, and I agree that's true. But it shouldn't be the kind of hard work that makes you wonder if it's worth it, that makes you feel like you're tilting at windmills, that leaves you exhausted and frustrated at the end of each day, and that makes you want to throw in the towel. It ought to be the kind of hard work that makes you proud at what you've accomplished, that makes you want to take on the challenge anew every day, that gives you a sense of confidence that you've created something wonderful that enriches your own life and the lives of others.

I love working at my marriage like that, and I look forward to continuing to work at it for many, many years to come. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.