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.
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