It Was 20 Years Ago Today

Tomorrow is my 20th college reunion. I can’t quite figure out how that happened, because I’m pretty certain that it’s only been about 6 months since I graduated from college. But then I think about everything that’s happened in those “6 months”, and I guess maybe it really has been 20 years.

When I graduated from college in May 1990, I had a job lined up, a tiny hatchback with 80,000 miles on it, and not much else. I knew that the job wasn’t something I wanted to do forever, but it was a job in my field with a paycheck I could live on (barely), so I figured it was a place to start. I soon found an apartment and a roommate and started out on my “grownup” life. After 6 months, my boss announced that she was moving to Iowa and taking my job with her – although I was welcome to come with her. I declined and began job-hunting again. But at least this time I was already employed within a network, so I was able to find a new job within just a few weeks – a job I ended up staying with for nearly 8 years.

During those 8 years, I lost my roommate and found an apartment of my own. I got involved in church and theater and vocal groups and handbell choirs. I went on a tour of England. I grew out my hair. And I got sick of living and working in the city.

So I took a deep breath, moved to a different apartment, got a different job, and found a different theater group. I bought a new car. I won a couple of theater awards. I colored my hair. And then I cut it again. And then I grew it out again. I performed in a professional musical in Boston and I joined a cabaret troupe. I eventually moved again, this time with another roommate. And then, everything changed.

I decided that I really wanted to be married, and that it wasn’t going to happen unless I did something about it. So I took another deep breath and signed up on an internet dating site. I met a couple of really nice guys, and a couple of whackos. My ego took a few blows and got a few boosts. And then one day I saw the profile of a guy who mentioned both church and theater, and I dropped him a little note. Little did I know that that one little note would change both of our lives.

To make a long story short, we met, we fell in love, we got married, and we had a baby. One short sentence that summarizes three of the most amazingly wonderful years of my life. I suspect that many of my friends from college have a similar story on a very different timeline. In some ways, I wish I could have skipped some of the boring parts of my history and jumped into the last few years sooner. But it was those intervening years that made both me and Herb the people we were when we met, and the people we are now. So I don’t regret a moment of those intervening years. They brought me to the happiness I have now, and that happiness is worth every moment of waiting over the years.

I just hope that all my classmates I run into tomorrow aren’t too jealous of me!

Guitarzan

One of Ryan’s latest objects of fascination is the guitar that sits on a stand in our living room. He stumbled across it one day as he was exploring, and ever since that discovery, he makes several trips every day to visit it.

As he does with everything else within reach, he loves to bang on it. But being a musical instrument, it has the added fascination of making music (not just noise) when he bangs it. The strings hum with sympathetic vibrations when he bangs on the side, and if he happens to bang on the strings themselves – or even better, if he brushes his hand across them – they ring out with a loud chord. He is absolutely astonished by the sounds it makes. He often bangs on it, then turns to me with an amazed grin, as if to say, “Do you HEAR that???” He’ll often move away after a few minutes but then suddenly make a U-turn and come right back, as if a magnet is pulling him back to it.

I love his fascination with sounds and especially with music. I hope it’s a precursor of musical appreciation and talent to come. Music was always a big part of my life, and it has given me confidence, discipline, and opportunities. I learned confidence from having a skill that not everyone has and from discovering something that I excel at. I learned discipline from practicing even when it wasn’t fun – and from seeing the results of that practicing. I’ve had the opportunity to travel all over the world and meet all kinds of new people because of my involvement with music.

Above and beyond confidence, discipline, and opportunity, it was through music that I met many of the friends I’ve had throughout my life. The friends from high school and college with whom I still keep in touch are nearly all ones I knew from band and chorus and musical theater. The majority of the friends I’ve made as an adult are those I’ve sung with, whether in church or in the theater or in a choral group. And I know I’m not alone in the long-lasting relationships I’ve developed through music. Just yesterday, my family had lunch with my in-laws and two of my father-in-law’s former music students – from literally over fifty years ago. His relationship with student Luke, who went on to become a professional musician himself, changed over time from student and teacher, to mentor and protégé, to colleagues and peers. But it endured through all those years because of its foundation in music.

I hope that Ryan gets the same benefits from music. Then maybe fifty or sixty years from now, he’ll be reminiscing with a former musical mentor that he has grown to count as a friend and colleague.

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow - But Reunion Is Just Sweet

Over the past two years since Herb and I have been married, there have been a few times that we’ve been apart for a few days or more. Since his daughter lives on the west coast and we live on the east coast, there have been frequent occasions that he goes to visit her: the annual Father-Daughter Dance at her school, visiting colleges, cheerleading competitions, etc. This past weekend, he flew out to meet her in Colorado to attend her freshman student/parent college orientation. He was only gone for three days, so it wasn’t an especially long trip, but I still missed him terribly.

I was quite proud of myself that I didn’t cry when I dropped him off at the airport this time – I usually kiss him goodbye with a tear or two running down my face. I know I can manage fine on my own, and I’m certainly not worried about his safety, but I do feel very alone when he’s away. But Ryan and I waved goodbye (OK, Ryan had fallen asleep in the back of the car, so there was no actual waving, but had he been awake he WOULD have waved) and drove back home.

Although it was Sunday, the routine wasn’t that unusual. I’m used to being alone with Ryan until dinnertime on most weekdays. So nothing seemed too out of the ordinary until I was making supper for one instead of two, and eating by myself instead of with company. And of course, when Ryan’s bedtime rolled around and I was the one doing “tubby time” and tucking in instead of Herb, it seemed a bit odd – but kind of nice. I’ll admit I’m a bit jealous that Daddy is the one to do the bedtime routine every night, but it’s such a special time for the both of them that I don’t mind. And because Daddy is away (or just out late) every now and then, I do get my chance to have that special time sometimes, too.

In fact, even the quiet evening after Ryan was in bed, when I was puttering around and working at the computer by myself, didn’t seem that unusual, because sometimes Herb does work late, or is at a rehearsal, or having dinner with a friend, or is taking photos of a show, and I’m home alone in the evening. The time that I really felt alone was going to bed by myself knowing that I’d be waking up alone, too. I never sleep as soundly when Herb’s not home.

But the best part of his time away is always that wonderful moment when he comes home. I knew that his flight was scheduled to land in Boston at 5:01am, so I figured he’d get home around 5:45 or 6. So when I woke up this morning just after 5am, I crept downstairs and unlocked the door so he wouldn’t have to fumble for his key. I checked on Ryan, who was sleeping soundly, and then tucked myself back in to doze for a bit. Not ten minutes later, I heard a car pull up and then I heard the downstairs door open. Even in my mostly-asleep state, I felt myself smile, knowing that my sweetheart was home again, safe and sound. As I heard his footsteps on the stairs, I managed to rouse myself enough to welcome him home as he slipped into bed beside me. And as I snuggled close to him, I knew that the sweetness of reunion was worth every bit of the sorrow of parting.