Things that I love:
compasses
glitter
the sound of children sleeping
rain on a tin roof
snow on tree limbs
mix tapes and mix cds
blankets
busts of famous people
books and bookshelves
decoupage
whiskers and beards
Scrabble
glassware
dirty martinis
bird nests that are visible in winter
very high ceilings
trains
folding laundry
candlelight in church
haikus
Scott snoring
hardwood floors
pin-up culture
abandoned buildings
crafts
cardigans
Amethysts of all colors
watching a movie in the theatre
old Science Fiction
Peter Pan collars on shirts
empire waists
knitting
new sheets
book cases
a day off to clean the house
old alternative music
British slang
listening to music on vinyl
having a record collection
toasted bread
Las Rocas Grenacha 2007
Very large oak trees
duck confit
quilts
nintendo entertainment system
watching another person enjoy really good food/music/books
when my mother-in-law says "I love you."
pinball
junk stores
blown glass
Stephen King books, the best guilty pleasure
waves crashing against rocks
Mystery Science Theater 3000
philanthropy
fishing
Christmas ornaments
chemistry sets
documentaries about undersea life
space travel
coffee with cream and Splenda
coal stoves
spiral staircases
old Volvos
digital thermometers
men in vests
electric blankets
plastic rimmed glasses
Encyclopedia sets
ballets
picking blackberries
snails
80s music
polaroids
princess phones
the moon
bouquets
the harp
Skeptoid
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Will you still need me? Will you still feed me when I'm 64?
After another visit to see my grandfather in the hospital, I feel buoyed. He's doing better, in spirit at least. My grandmother is pleased with his progress. I had some quality time with my family that I don't normally get to have. It's the silver lining in this dark cloud.
As the recessional at our wedding, I chose the song "When I'm 64" by the Beatles. It was viewed by everyone in my family as a strange choice, but I felt like it was fitting. We promised to take care of each other until we cease to be, and I think that's the most important aspect of our marriage. We guard our hearts against infidelity, we guard each other's feelings ferociously. We take care to respect each other, even when we argue... we fight for one another's happiness. When we're in a similar situation as my grandparents find themselves in right now, I hope and pray that we can handle it with as much grace and courage.
I came home from being out of town tonight to find my husband asleep on the couch. When I'm away, I have a certain level of anxiety that I deal with until I am home again. Most people say that it goes away with time, that its a symptom of being a newlywed. I'm expected to start coveting time away and dreading coming home, I guess. I have no idea if they're right, but for now I love the feeling of coming home to someone who waits for me to be there to complete the circle of our tiny family here. I kiss his forehead and say "Please, never get old and sick."
"Okay." he says. "I'll never get old."
But I know in my heart, deep in the nucleus of all my cells, that I will still need him, I will still feed him, when I'm 64. I wouldn't have made all those crazy promises otherwise.
As the recessional at our wedding, I chose the song "When I'm 64" by the Beatles. It was viewed by everyone in my family as a strange choice, but I felt like it was fitting. We promised to take care of each other until we cease to be, and I think that's the most important aspect of our marriage. We guard our hearts against infidelity, we guard each other's feelings ferociously. We take care to respect each other, even when we argue... we fight for one another's happiness. When we're in a similar situation as my grandparents find themselves in right now, I hope and pray that we can handle it with as much grace and courage.
I came home from being out of town tonight to find my husband asleep on the couch. When I'm away, I have a certain level of anxiety that I deal with until I am home again. Most people say that it goes away with time, that its a symptom of being a newlywed. I'm expected to start coveting time away and dreading coming home, I guess. I have no idea if they're right, but for now I love the feeling of coming home to someone who waits for me to be there to complete the circle of our tiny family here. I kiss his forehead and say "Please, never get old and sick."
"Okay." he says. "I'll never get old."
But I know in my heart, deep in the nucleus of all my cells, that I will still need him, I will still feed him, when I'm 64. I wouldn't have made all those crazy promises otherwise.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
What to do when love breaks your heart:
My grandfather is sick.
He's sick in a way that can't be repaired. Sick in a way that sending a "get well soon" card would be like a horrible joke. He has Alzheimer's disease.
On top of his Alzheimer's disease, he has other age-related illnesses. Heart problems. Blood pressure problems. Mobility problems. Diabetes. He is not going to be well again.
Hearing myself admit that he is not going to get better causes me to feel light-headed. Surely that can't be true, he is the same man who had the unbreakable spirit, the staunch beliefs. He told me the hard facts of life, that dying is inevitable and that some people aren't good people. When he was a younger grandfather, he was described by all as being abrasive at times. Resilient. A man who fought in a war and came back without any regrets. A man who supported a family as best he could, who had to move around to find work as a welder, who left the tenderness up to his wife.
And yet...
There was a time a few years ago when his senility was just whispered among family members, and it was only suspected because he had become more gentle. I was at their farmhouse for a visit, and afterward he wanted to walk me to my car. He stood there, talking to me through my driver's side window for a half hour. We spoke of his time deployed overseas in Japan, and something miraculous happened. Instead of the usual "America! Land of the Free!" position he stood behind all his life, he broke down in tears. He told me about the children who had to be rescued from the sea from the port because they were swimming for his ship to escape, of the desperation in the women's eyes. I had never known that there was hidden empathy anywhere in him.
As his present condition worsens with every bleed and fall, the softer side of him comes out. He no longer knows who I am, but he still calls me "sister" just like he always has. When I ask him how he feels, he always smiles at me and says that he's just fine... even though I know he isn't. I miss him already, and he isn't even gone.
My grandmother is his safe haven, and is the only person that he recognizes these days. He panics when she isn't in the same room as him. When I asked her if she feels overburdened, she told me "We've been married for 63 years. I can't give up on him now."
As unlikely as their love is, it's the purest love I know. She doesn't get impatient when she has to explain things to him all over again.... And over. And over. She walks him to the bathroom, and changes him when he can't make it. She doses out his medicines and feeds him- literally feeds him.
I know that she needs him just as much as he has ever needed her. In this way, I am learning about the true nature of committed love: like the rings that we exchange, our love is constant and closed off. In our vows, we promise to guard that love until death do us part. I am figuring out that death is not the end of a marriage for the person left behind.
He's sick in a way that can't be repaired. Sick in a way that sending a "get well soon" card would be like a horrible joke. He has Alzheimer's disease.
On top of his Alzheimer's disease, he has other age-related illnesses. Heart problems. Blood pressure problems. Mobility problems. Diabetes. He is not going to be well again.
Hearing myself admit that he is not going to get better causes me to feel light-headed. Surely that can't be true, he is the same man who had the unbreakable spirit, the staunch beliefs. He told me the hard facts of life, that dying is inevitable and that some people aren't good people. When he was a younger grandfather, he was described by all as being abrasive at times. Resilient. A man who fought in a war and came back without any regrets. A man who supported a family as best he could, who had to move around to find work as a welder, who left the tenderness up to his wife.
And yet...
There was a time a few years ago when his senility was just whispered among family members, and it was only suspected because he had become more gentle. I was at their farmhouse for a visit, and afterward he wanted to walk me to my car. He stood there, talking to me through my driver's side window for a half hour. We spoke of his time deployed overseas in Japan, and something miraculous happened. Instead of the usual "America! Land of the Free!" position he stood behind all his life, he broke down in tears. He told me about the children who had to be rescued from the sea from the port because they were swimming for his ship to escape, of the desperation in the women's eyes. I had never known that there was hidden empathy anywhere in him.
As his present condition worsens with every bleed and fall, the softer side of him comes out. He no longer knows who I am, but he still calls me "sister" just like he always has. When I ask him how he feels, he always smiles at me and says that he's just fine... even though I know he isn't. I miss him already, and he isn't even gone.
My grandmother is his safe haven, and is the only person that he recognizes these days. He panics when she isn't in the same room as him. When I asked her if she feels overburdened, she told me "We've been married for 63 years. I can't give up on him now."
As unlikely as their love is, it's the purest love I know. She doesn't get impatient when she has to explain things to him all over again.... And over. And over. She walks him to the bathroom, and changes him when he can't make it. She doses out his medicines and feeds him- literally feeds him.
I know that she needs him just as much as he has ever needed her. In this way, I am learning about the true nature of committed love: like the rings that we exchange, our love is constant and closed off. In our vows, we promise to guard that love until death do us part. I am figuring out that death is not the end of a marriage for the person left behind.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Forcing a Moment: a Christmas Story
I am trying to make this the mother of all Christmases.
It's our first Christmas as a married couple, and I am more than a little sentimental about, well, everything humanly possible. I want to give him the perfect gifts. I want gasps of joy bathed in twinkle lights. I want Christmas magic.
This, of course, is not possible. We will be struggling to see everyone we are supposed to spend time with on Christmas: his parents, my 2 sets of parents, my siblings, both of our grandparents, maybe even some aunts and uncles... And with each, I will want to sit and laugh, to make memories, because I am a girl and we love Hallmark movies. I will see my grandparents and be reminded that my time with them is fleeting, and I will struggle to make each moment count. I will insist on helping with dinner, meaningful exchanges, hugs and kisses. I will force a moment. I will laugh too loudly and linger too long. I will continue to do this throughout the week before Christmas, and I will exhaust myself and my loved ones. My Christmas mania will spread through our apartment, and my husband will look forward to the end of the holiday season.
I have seen myself do this before.
I guess my crazy love for Christmas comes from my childhood, when Christmas meant finally having unity in our house. My parents didn't always get along, but on Christmas morning, the camcorder was rolling and our holiday movies reflect a kinder, gentler household. My parents laughed, probably giddy from sleep deprivation and rum cake. The presents weren't just under the tree, but piled up against it. There never seemed to be an end to them. My brother and I played together, lions laid down with lambs, and all was right with the world for 24 hours. Everything in my turbulent life was harmonious.
So yeah, nostalgia gets the best of me, and I replace the reality of Christmas with my whitewashed tinseled version of it. I love my husband, so much that sometimes I am bleary-eyed with joy. I want to give him everything in this world that I can: my love, my time, and yes, presents. I have to sail back down to earth and remember that I am a waitress in a recession, and any gifts I can afford are tiny miracles.
Fortunately for me, tiny miracles are the currency of love.
It's our first Christmas as a married couple, and I am more than a little sentimental about, well, everything humanly possible. I want to give him the perfect gifts. I want gasps of joy bathed in twinkle lights. I want Christmas magic.
This, of course, is not possible. We will be struggling to see everyone we are supposed to spend time with on Christmas: his parents, my 2 sets of parents, my siblings, both of our grandparents, maybe even some aunts and uncles... And with each, I will want to sit and laugh, to make memories, because I am a girl and we love Hallmark movies. I will see my grandparents and be reminded that my time with them is fleeting, and I will struggle to make each moment count. I will insist on helping with dinner, meaningful exchanges, hugs and kisses. I will force a moment. I will laugh too loudly and linger too long. I will continue to do this throughout the week before Christmas, and I will exhaust myself and my loved ones. My Christmas mania will spread through our apartment, and my husband will look forward to the end of the holiday season.
I have seen myself do this before.
I guess my crazy love for Christmas comes from my childhood, when Christmas meant finally having unity in our house. My parents didn't always get along, but on Christmas morning, the camcorder was rolling and our holiday movies reflect a kinder, gentler household. My parents laughed, probably giddy from sleep deprivation and rum cake. The presents weren't just under the tree, but piled up against it. There never seemed to be an end to them. My brother and I played together, lions laid down with lambs, and all was right with the world for 24 hours. Everything in my turbulent life was harmonious.
So yeah, nostalgia gets the best of me, and I replace the reality of Christmas with my whitewashed tinseled version of it. I love my husband, so much that sometimes I am bleary-eyed with joy. I want to give him everything in this world that I can: my love, my time, and yes, presents. I have to sail back down to earth and remember that I am a waitress in a recession, and any gifts I can afford are tiny miracles.
Fortunately for me, tiny miracles are the currency of love.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Sunrise, Sunset
We are fortunate enough to live in a very cool apartment. It's in a building that was erected in 1925, and it has a wood-burning fireplace and 11' ceilings. It has hardwood floors and those tiny hexagonal tiles in the bathroom. The kitchen cabinets are glass-fronted and the backyard is lined with trees and has a birdbath. If I were to imagine my dream house, it would look a lot like this one.
We live in a very small town in Northeast Tennessee, where hubs has a pretty stellar job working for a factory. It's a factory town, and the recession is killing off the factories one by one. Just like a lot of America, there is a pretty big problem with prescription drug abuse here. More than most places. When we first got here, I soon learned that every person I met had a family member or close friend who was addicted to Oxycontin. While the town is full of parks and trees and is just a 20-minute drive from the Smoky Mountains, there are some drawbacks.
Hubs has switched from second shift (3-11pm) to first shift (7-3pm), which is no small task. As 20-somethings, we had always relished our sleep... sometimes sleeping till 2pm. He switched to first shift right before the wedding, so it was like he fast-tracked his adult life all at once. The transition came with a bit of grumpiness, but who can blame him? I'd be grumpy if I had to wake up at 6 every morning too.
He's gotten fairly adjusted to the schedule, and I'm very proud of him for it. The new hours mean that we can have time together during the day, when stores are open, and we can actually go to dinner and do things that normal people do. I feel pretty terrible admitting this, but I've had a more difficult time than he had adjusting to our new hours. I still stay up after he's asleep, and I wonder if this is a problem that most married people have. I feel like it's a great opportunity to have time to myself, to read and watch bad tv shows and things like that.
But I still feel guilty for some reason.
Being married comes with its own gigantic set of preconceived notions that I don't know how to navigate. Do we have to go to bed at the same time? Do I have to make dinner 7 nights a week? Do we have to go on double dates with other married people? Is it okay if I don't chase kids off my lawn with a broom? Is it weird that I don't care if my husband plays xBox 360 for 12 hours straight on a Saturday?
I guess the answers will come with time. Right now, the best thing I can do for this marriage is to try to stay calm and pleasant when he wakes me up early to have breakfast on the weekends. We don't really have any married friends to ask, which is okay with me. Married people are boring anyway.
We live in a very small town in Northeast Tennessee, where hubs has a pretty stellar job working for a factory. It's a factory town, and the recession is killing off the factories one by one. Just like a lot of America, there is a pretty big problem with prescription drug abuse here. More than most places. When we first got here, I soon learned that every person I met had a family member or close friend who was addicted to Oxycontin. While the town is full of parks and trees and is just a 20-minute drive from the Smoky Mountains, there are some drawbacks.
Hubs has switched from second shift (3-11pm) to first shift (7-3pm), which is no small task. As 20-somethings, we had always relished our sleep... sometimes sleeping till 2pm. He switched to first shift right before the wedding, so it was like he fast-tracked his adult life all at once. The transition came with a bit of grumpiness, but who can blame him? I'd be grumpy if I had to wake up at 6 every morning too.
He's gotten fairly adjusted to the schedule, and I'm very proud of him for it. The new hours mean that we can have time together during the day, when stores are open, and we can actually go to dinner and do things that normal people do. I feel pretty terrible admitting this, but I've had a more difficult time than he had adjusting to our new hours. I still stay up after he's asleep, and I wonder if this is a problem that most married people have. I feel like it's a great opportunity to have time to myself, to read and watch bad tv shows and things like that.
But I still feel guilty for some reason.
Being married comes with its own gigantic set of preconceived notions that I don't know how to navigate. Do we have to go to bed at the same time? Do I have to make dinner 7 nights a week? Do we have to go on double dates with other married people? Is it okay if I don't chase kids off my lawn with a broom? Is it weird that I don't care if my husband plays xBox 360 for 12 hours straight on a Saturday?
I guess the answers will come with time. Right now, the best thing I can do for this marriage is to try to stay calm and pleasant when he wakes me up early to have breakfast on the weekends. We don't really have any married friends to ask, which is okay with me. Married people are boring anyway.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Well, I did it. I got married.
Cue the violins....
NOPE. Cut them. It isn't that kind of wedding, or that kind of marriage. I got to my father's house, the site of the wedding, the day before. It felt exactly the same as it always had. Not like it was a sacred site, or that my life was going to morph into another life the next day. It felt exactly the same.
I woke up on the morning of my wedding with no voice whatsoever... a leftover present from my nephew, who had a cold. I laughed at myself. My family members started to show up at the house to help with the setup, and my friend Mary came soon after to help. Still no voice. I called Scott. He was en route.
I put on my makeup and did my hair. Scott was finally there, but with limited availability. He couldn't see me in my dress, it's bad luck. But after seeing his face, and holding his hand, I felt like the whole thing was already over and we were married. Honestly, I had felt married to him for months. This day was just another day on my agenda, getting me closer to making a Thanksgiving turkey or buying a really awesome Christmas present. I was already in the life I had chosen for myself. There was no transformation to be had.
This is the one thing I can say to brides-to-be: there is no new life together. There is no starting point. You continue on from the place you are. If that place is a happy place, then you are doing the right thing. For me, it was the place I had wanted to be my whole life, and I could have gotten there without a wedding. Eloping was just fine. I love him, by golly. He's mine, and I'm his. That's the gist of the vows.
So then we were married and everything was just fine and beautiful. I still didn't have a voice, but who cares! We were on the east coast and I could only whisper the things I was thinking, which is pretty romantic at times. It took me a good 2 weeks to reclaim my voice and now here I am, back in action. Waiting to tell you all how being married really is. Wait breathlessly.
Cue the violins....
NOPE. Cut them. It isn't that kind of wedding, or that kind of marriage. I got to my father's house, the site of the wedding, the day before. It felt exactly the same as it always had. Not like it was a sacred site, or that my life was going to morph into another life the next day. It felt exactly the same.
I woke up on the morning of my wedding with no voice whatsoever... a leftover present from my nephew, who had a cold. I laughed at myself. My family members started to show up at the house to help with the setup, and my friend Mary came soon after to help. Still no voice. I called Scott. He was en route.
I put on my makeup and did my hair. Scott was finally there, but with limited availability. He couldn't see me in my dress, it's bad luck. But after seeing his face, and holding his hand, I felt like the whole thing was already over and we were married. Honestly, I had felt married to him for months. This day was just another day on my agenda, getting me closer to making a Thanksgiving turkey or buying a really awesome Christmas present. I was already in the life I had chosen for myself. There was no transformation to be had.
This is the one thing I can say to brides-to-be: there is no new life together. There is no starting point. You continue on from the place you are. If that place is a happy place, then you are doing the right thing. For me, it was the place I had wanted to be my whole life, and I could have gotten there without a wedding. Eloping was just fine. I love him, by golly. He's mine, and I'm his. That's the gist of the vows.
So then we were married and everything was just fine and beautiful. I still didn't have a voice, but who cares! We were on the east coast and I could only whisper the things I was thinking, which is pretty romantic at times. It took me a good 2 weeks to reclaim my voice and now here I am, back in action. Waiting to tell you all how being married really is. Wait breathlessly.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Extreme Couponing/ Extreme Lack of Tact
My sister is amazing, and that should preface any sentence I ever write about her. ex: My sister is amazing and she took out the trash today. My sister is amazing and she doesn't eat pork chops.
My sister is amazing, and one of the reasons for that is that she knows how to use coupons to her advantage. Combining her know-how with hubs' restraint/loathing of coupons has made me into some kind of a weird hybrid shopper. Hubs says I can only use coupons to buy things that we would have otherwise purchased, which makes sense to me. But on the other hand, sometimes I can get free things that we normally wouldn't purchase but could use, and this is a tough sell for hubs. If I want to get the free items, I have to wait until he is preoccupied and get them myself, under the cloak of darkness wearing a balaclava. When he finds said free objects in our house, I have to convince him that I have had the item for a long time. It's a delicate dance, marriage is.
And speaking of marriage, things have been weird lately. Not so much with hubs and I, we are pretty status quo. Other people- people on the outside- have been giving me their unbridled and unwanted opinions about my upcoming nuptials. I've heard things that range from "So, are you really going to go through with it?" to the more extreme "You are making a huge mistake." The people doing the nay-saying are friends, relatives, ex-boyfriends... but nobody who has ever seen our relationship in action, which makes me suspicious. I get the feeling that the world is down on marriage in general, not just specifically mine. Yes, it pisses me off to have to politely deflect these statements. In fact, I think something so bold and blunt should be met with equal force: "Yes, I am going through with it, but you're not invited anymore."
My sister is amazing, and one of the reasons for that is that she knows how to use coupons to her advantage. Combining her know-how with hubs' restraint/loathing of coupons has made me into some kind of a weird hybrid shopper. Hubs says I can only use coupons to buy things that we would have otherwise purchased, which makes sense to me. But on the other hand, sometimes I can get free things that we normally wouldn't purchase but could use, and this is a tough sell for hubs. If I want to get the free items, I have to wait until he is preoccupied and get them myself, under the cloak of darkness wearing a balaclava. When he finds said free objects in our house, I have to convince him that I have had the item for a long time. It's a delicate dance, marriage is.
And speaking of marriage, things have been weird lately. Not so much with hubs and I, we are pretty status quo. Other people- people on the outside- have been giving me their unbridled and unwanted opinions about my upcoming nuptials. I've heard things that range from "So, are you really going to go through with it?" to the more extreme "You are making a huge mistake." The people doing the nay-saying are friends, relatives, ex-boyfriends... but nobody who has ever seen our relationship in action, which makes me suspicious. I get the feeling that the world is down on marriage in general, not just specifically mine. Yes, it pisses me off to have to politely deflect these statements. In fact, I think something so bold and blunt should be met with equal force: "Yes, I am going through with it, but you're not invited anymore."
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