Tag Archives: Relationships

Dear Tina

One of my closest friends is moving far away in just a few weeks. This is a bitter pill to swallow. Tina was one of my first friends in Charlottesville. Our children have grown up together. We‘ve grown up together. I had always assumed that eventually – we would grow old together.

One of the many things we did together over the years was to build a network of friends through a book group made up of kind, generous, brilliant, creative, and hilarious women. One of them rightly stated that it’s been Tina, who has been the glue that has bound us all together. She has hosted our get togethers every month for years and has plied us with dishes so decadent as to banish the thought of any foolish resolution made in a moment of self-delusion. On a diet? Forget about it! Gluten free? How adorable! No sugar diet? Pssssht! Lactose intolerant? Too bad! You might have to pay for it later, but in the moment? Oh, but in the moment you could not help but indulge in the sinful concoctions she would whip up for us. We would come dressed in our pjs, adjust the recliners just so, and settle in for a night of food, conversation and so much laughter. Tina would buzz about refilling glasses, cutting outrageously large slices of cake to put on our plates, draping comfy throws over our legs…

On Sunday it was our turn to host Tina. Our book group got together to take her out for dinner and to send her off in style. It was graduation weekend here in Charlottesville, which made it impossible to book a table for nine locally. We decided to take our party over the mountain to go to the award-winning farm to table restaurant Zynodoa in Staunton. I told Tina I would pick her up in my Chariot of Fire, aka my 14 year old beater minivan with 250,000 miles on it, but as a special surprise – one of our friends booked a limo.

IMG_9497

PTO President by day, Party Queen by night!

We rolled up to Tina’s house and I was dispatched to knock on her door. That’s when things got interesting. The evening started off with a no-holds barred wrestling match. There was blood! There was mud! And it was all captured on film! The next part of this post is in the form of a letter addressed to the woman who took me down like a cheap folding chair…

IMG_9499

Dear Tina,

We’ve been through so much together over the many years that we’ve been friends…

IMG_9506

“You don’t mind riding in my rattletrap minivan, do you? I did vacuum it just for you…”

We’ve had lots of adventures…

IMG_9523

(I love that there’s some kind of tractor parked right next to the limo)!

IMG_9508

“Surprise!”

We’ve had our ups…IMG_9509

And our downs…

IMG_9510IMG_9511

But through it all, we’ve always been there for each other. We’ve dropped everything to help each other get back onto our feet when life (or say, a dear friend) has knocked us down on our asses…

Blood and Mud!

We’ve laughed until we’ve cried. (And sometimes we’ve cried until we’ve laughed).

IMG_9518IMG_9520

We’ve shared amazingly wonderful times with amazingly wonderful friends…

IMG_9524

IMG_9565IMG_9559IMG_9555IMG_9553

IMG_5669

“Wait, why is my head three times bigger than yours? Are we even the same species?”

IMG_5672

“You need to go waaaaay in front so that our head sizes can be even.”

Wherever you go…however far away you may be…

IMG_5673We will always adore wonderful, o wonderful you!

IMG_9545 (1)

Fellow Travelers

It was a lovely Easter weekend, but Monday morning came crashing down upon our heads like a furious hailstorm. I will spare you the gory details, but it was not pretty. I drove to my early morning doctor’s appointment feeling beleaguered and rattled to the core.

I stood in line at the reception desk behind a man I would consider to be the exact opposite of who I am in just about every respect. He was a wiry, older white man with no discernible top teeth. He reeked of cigarette smoke. I caught only snatches of what he was saying to the receptionist, but I could feel myself stiffen when I heard him say in a thick southern accent that this country was goin’ to hell. I was just waiting for him to start extolling the virtues of Donald Trump. I wondered if the very sight of my non-Caucasian face might make him bridle. He finally got checked in and shuffled off somewhere. I finished checking in too and found an empty seat in the waiting room as far away from anyone else as I could.

To my dismay, the man who had been ahead of me reappeared and sat down next to me. I pretended not to notice, and was already deploying my imaginary bubble shield when he addressed me.

“Hello, how are you?” he asked politely.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I replied warily. “How are you?”

“I been better,” he said.

“Oh. Well…I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah…had to take another day off work to come back here to get checked out. When I was here last week they found a spot on my lung. A big one. I knew somethin’ was wrong, but I avoided coming to see a doctor, ’cause I was afraid of what they were going to find.”

“I’m sorry. I hope it turns out to be nothing…”

“That’s how my dad and my brother died.”

“Oh, that’s terrible…”

“Yeah, well it’s been a terrible year. My daughter just died too.”

“What?! Oh no!”

“She was in a big accident. You probably heard about it. It was on the news and in the papers. She was going to Richmond for a NASCAR race and she got hit by a tractor trailer as she was pulling onto 64.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“She had a little daughter too.”

“Oh no! That’s so sad!”

“Her husband’s fighting it out with insurance, trying to get them to pay. They want him to take a settlement, but he’s just trying to take care of his daughter. At least make sure she can go to college.”

“How old is the little girl?”

“She’s eight.”

“They should pay! Especially when there’s a child to raise.”

“Yeah, my daughter was a stay-at-home mother. Her husband’s doing the best he can. He works nights in a factory in Waynesboro. My other daughter stays with the little girl until midnight, and her daddy’s home with her during the day before he has to go to work.”

“It’s so good to have siblings.”

He nodded, “Yeah, it’s good to have people around you who can help out. I took care of her for a couple weeks too. She ’bout near drove me crazy.”

I laughed, but he looked me straight in the eye and said with emphasis, “I’m dead serious. She ’bout near drove me crazy. One day she set there on my lap and looked up at me and said ‘I miss my mama.’ I don’t know how much she really understands about what happened, you know? I asked her, ‘Do you know where your mama is?’ She said, ‘Yeah! My mama’s on vacation!’ Then when I told her I had to go to the doctor, she asked me, ‘Are you going on vacation too?'”

We both laughed ruefully and then I was called for my appointment. The man extended his hand to me. As we shook hands, he wished me luck. I wished him the same.

Nothing really changed. The problems I began with that morning did not go away. The man is facing a frightening diagnosis. His granddaughter is still missing her mama. But in the midst of suffering and pain, there was an unexpected moment of human connection and understanding. We were no longer strangers, but fellow travelers. For me, it was exactly the grace I needed that morning.

Weekend Snapshots 25

Even I, dogged chronicler that I am, have to admit that some moments are impossible to capture in words or on film. This weekend was full of those moments…

Friday

My fifteen year old came back from his pilgrimage with his youth group to Arizona. I picked him up late at night in the church parking lot. I drove him home with a smile on my face as I listened to him talk about the adventures he’d had.

“The Grand Canyon is amazing. Even more amazing than you can imagine. Pictures don’t do it justice.”

As we pulled off the interstate we slowed down so that I could show him another of the world’s wonders in our own backyard. There is a scrubby, weedy tree to the left as you exit the highway onto the dark country road which leads to my house. I believe it’s called a Tree of Heaven. In the daytime you wouldn’t look twice at it. For the past few nights, the whole canopy has been full of twinkling fireflies. The effect is indescribably beautiful.

Saturday

My very dear friendy Wendy, whom I’ve known since high school, came to visit me this weekend to say goodbye. After teaching elementary school kids in Arlington for almost twenty years, she is moving on to a new chapter of her life. Sadly for me, that chapter takes place all the way on the other side of this great big country.

My friendy Wendy

There would have been more photos, but for the fact that we spent the afternoon, evening, night, and the next day doing nothing but talking, talking, talking. (OK, and maybe we ate a little, too)!

Mas Tapas

As we drove back home late on Saturday night, I was glad to be able to show her the firefly tree.

Sunday

The next day as my friend prepared to drive back, I tried to express the ineffable sense of joy I felt for the new direction her life is taking mingled with my sorrow that she will be so far away.

“It’s NOT goodbye, Ada,” she said, using my old childhood nickname, “We’ll see each other soon, I promise!”

Later that night, I met up with my friend Katherine to go to the Charlottesville Free Clinic’s annual benefit concert at the Pavilion on the Downtown Mall. I was dismayed to see all of the signs forbidding any photography or recording. But as I sat with my friend in the sultry summer air and listened to the Indigo Girls and Mary Chapin Carpenter without once picking up my camera, I felt like I could swim in the music. For the final song – in gorgeous three-part harmony, some of it without any accompaniment at all – all three women sang The Water is Wide. I was spellbound.

On my drive home, I decided that I had to record an image of the firefly tree. I exited the highway, and pulled off to the side of the road where I tried and tried to capture the picture. No matter what setting or camera I tried, all I could get was a black frame. I finally gave up and drove the rest of the way home. My son was still up when I got back. We chatted about the music I had heard, and I looked up some of my favorite songs and played them for him on youtube. It just wasn’t the same. I kept finding myself saying apologetically, “It sounded much more amazing live…”

The truth is, sometimes the most beautiful moments can’t be pinned down. You just have to show up and be there.

Related Posts:

The Torpedo Factory with my Friendy Wendy

 

 

Keeping Tabs

I am alone in my house now. It’s quiet. It’s impeccably tidy. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want without interruption. I don’t have to rush around, ferrying kids from point A to point B. I don’t have to worry about feeding anyone else. I can eat popcorn and ice cream for dinner if I want.

I don’t like it one bit.

Thank goodness for the photo and video updates I’ve been getting on Facebook and through phone texts since my family left for their travels to Arizona and England.

I held my breath as I watched a video of my son and his fellow youth group members leaping off a high cliff into the water below, somewhere far away in Sedona. I smiled as I caught a glimpse of my lanky boy, looking very serious as he helped out at a food bank. And it made my day when I got these photos, sent by my husband from England:

An entire day went by without any photo texts, so today I sent a plaintive request for more:

My son is turning 13 tomorrow, and I’m sad that I won’t be with him on his birthday…

I was mollified when he told me that he had actually gotten my son a part for the computer he’s building and that they’ve baked him a birthday cake and are going to take him out for a birthday lunch tomorrow…

Being a jerk to my husband

What happens when a dog-lover marries a dog-tolerator? This:

On the way home from Tennessee last week we stopped for lunch and spotted a little pen set up on the grass with a litter of Jack Russell Terrier pups for sale. Obviously, we had to go over to admire the puppies. We were just going to look at the puppies, and maybe just pet them a little. But then I picked up this sweet little girl with two perfectly round spots on her back, and I fell madly in love. How could I not? She rolled over onto her back and fell asleep in my arms as I petted her soft little belly. I really, really wanted to take her home, and I’m pretty sure she really, really wanted to come home with me. I knew my dog-tolerating husband would be less than thrilled if I came home with a third dog, (to the say the very least). I imagined the shock and horror on his face as I walked in the door with my new puppy. Could I do this to the man I love, my husband of eighteen years, the father of my three children? I sent him a text:

Nah. But I could just mess with him a little.

Weekend Snapshots 20

Last weekend was perfect, because of all the things that didn’t happen. The snow wiped clean a full slate of activities, and we got to stay home in our pjs all weekend long, reading and napping and drinking hot cocoa. This weekend was perfect, because of all the things that did happen…

Friday

My beloved book group met this Friday. My friend, who has been hosting us for years, always puts out a lavish spread, which includes a decadent dessert she’s made and tea served in beautiful heirloom tea cups. Last month Calamity Jane here broke the handle of the one in the front. My friend let me back into her house anyway, and she even managed to repair the handle with some super glue. Our book group nights are always such a special occasion, and so I like to get dressed up appropriately:

What could be better than kicking off the weekend hanging out with dear friends who love you even when you break their precious things, and to do it in my pjs?! (Pajamas seem to be the common denominator for all perfect weekends).

Saturday

On Saturday morning I got an impromptu private concert with two of my favorite musicians:

Later that day another group of old friends and I got together over lunch. It was especially lovely, because it was a mini-reunion with our friend, who has moved away from Charlottesville. Drat! Forgot to take a photo! Next time, friends, next time!

As I drove away to the next appointment on my schedule, I got the news that the house we’ve been trying to sell is UNDER CONTRACT! Yahoooooooo!!!

Saturday was the first night of the two weeks that our church will be hosting PACEM, a roving homeless shelter that operates during the cold winter months in various churches around Charlottesville.

PACEM 2012

It was my first time ever being the nightly meal coordinator. My husband volunteered to make his famous lasagna:

and I had a willing crew of helpers, which included these three hooligans:

Sunday

I wrote about Rite 13 here and here. The last time I went through this brutal and sadistic ritual, I had some warning and time to prepare myself for the ordeal. This time I was completely caught off guard and the consequences were absolutely devastating.

After the service, I recovered enough to insist on taking a photo to commemorate the momentous occasion of my son’s Rite 13 and my public breakdown. Predictably, he began to complain about having to stop and take a photo. What I could never have expected were the shocking words that came out of his older brother’s mouth:  “She gave birth to you. Take the picture!”

Holy smokes! There is a God. And He and now I’m thinking more likely – She is good. Really, really good. 

The kids all insisted on closed-mouth smiles, because they were afraid goldfish crackers would be stuck in their teeth…

Goldfish cracker smiles all around.

And I even got to get a photo with my son, because I did give birth to him after all!

Me and my almost 13 year old boy

Chunky Fingers: A Love Story

Reposting from last Valentine’s Day…

There was an awkward period of time when, for the life of me, I couldn’t define the nature of the relationship between my future husband and me.

We met when we were both graduate students in New York City. We were in a singing group, and soon started spending a lot of time together outside of rehearsal. At first we hung out with a group of singers. Eventually, we started doing things on our own.

“So are you dating?” my sisters would ask me over the phone.

“Ummm…I’m really not sure,” I would reply.

I was getting some seriously mixed signals.

“You have the hands of a pianist,” he remarked one day.

I instantly understood that he was trying to flatter me. I imagined all of the things he was surely thinking…Your hands are so elegant! Your fingers are so long and tapered!

As he was obviously trying to find a pretext for paying me a compliment, I obligingly gave him the opening.

“Really? You think?…What do pianists’ hands look like?”

“Well, they have really chunky fingers,” he replied promptly and earnestly.

It never ends well when my husband and I discuss how the nature of our relationship was eventually clarified, but the resolution once again involved my hand. As I remember it, one day we were walking down Broadway, about to cross 113th St., when he held out his hand for me to hold. I took it, and that was that. From that moment, we both knew that we weren’t just really good friends who happened to take note of each other’s physical traits…We were dating.

My husband remembers it differently. One day he had the nerve to imply that I had made the first move.

“What?!” I protested, “You’re the one who grabbed my hand! Remember?”

“It was icy. I was just holding out my hand to help you down off the sidewalk,” he replied, “And then I was really happy, because you kept holding my hand.”

I had to resist a very strong urge to throw something at him.

That was seventeen winters ago. We were married a year later. We still argue about things. We still walk hand in chunky hand.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Oh, Brother

Future Geezers In Training

In the car the other day my boys were talking about how much fun it was to see their dad and his brother together. My fourteen-year-old, who was recently able to spend time in England with both of them, reported on the visit and one cherished moment in particular that he obviously considered to be a personal triumph. He had managed to crack them both up by showing them a video he had discovered of Mr. Methane, a professional flatulist, performing on Britain’s Got Talent.

Oh, you didn’t know there was such a thing as a flatulist? Me neither, until this past weekend.

For your edification and viewing pleasure:

“You should have seen them!” he reported with a huge smile as he recalled the moment, “They were laughing so hard!”

“Yeah,” his brother said with affection, “They always laugh so hard when they’re together. We should be like that when we’re older!”

The fourteen-year-old spun out this thought to its natural conclusion: “We will! We’ll live together in an old folks’ home and we’ll mess with all the other people who live there or come to visit us. We’ll cheat at bingo! And we’ll say things like, In my day, Sonny, men used tampons!” He chortled with glee at the thought of it.

“And we’ll motor around in souped up hoverounds!” his brother added, caught up in the spirit.

“What the heck is a hoveround?!” I called to them from the driver’s seat.

“They’re like motorized shopping carts you use instead of a wheelchair? You always see commercials for them on TV.”

I, personally, have never once seen a commercial for such a thing, or even heard of a hoveround. Is this what comes of binge-watching the History Channel when we spend weekends at Grandma and Grandpa’s house?

“And T (their sister) will live in a house nearby our old folks’ home and will take care of us!” my fourteen-year-old continued, “And when her grandchildren come to visit her, they’ll ask her to tell them funny stories about us…”

I love that they envision a future for themselves full of pranks, laughter, and good stories. I love the fact that they can’t imagine their lives without each other. I’d love nothing better than for their cherished dream to come true!

Old People Dating

Thanks to our church, which hosted a Parents’ Night Out yesterday, my husband and I were able to go out on an extremely rare date night. Our daughter fit the target age for the participants, and I somewhat eagerly enlisted the boys to be helpers. My husband brought the kids from home and I left work so that we could all meet up at the church at 5.

As we signed the kids in, the kind adults who were supervising the evening asked, “So what are you guys going to do on your date?”

“Uhhh…we’re not really sure yet,” I admitted, “but I guess we’ll go out to dinner.”

“Where do you guys usually like to eat?”

I’m pretty sure they weren’t asking about our dashes into Subway between soccer and piano practices, or to Panera on a Saturday in the middle of a day of running errands with a minivan chock full of kids…It’s the kind of question that would be easier to answer if a date night was something that happened more frequently than say, the appearance of Halley’s Comet in Earth’s atmosphere.

The last time we had a regular date night was fifteen years ago, when we were married with no children. We were both singing in the church choir and practice was on Thursday evenings. I was pregnant with our first child at the time, (the boy who is now 6 feet tall), and I was always ravenously hungry. We would go to Ruby Tuesday, which was both close to our rehearsal, and had a menu that met both of our needs. While my husband demurely nibbled at his salad bar dinner, I would devour every last bite of one of those Pantagruelian platters groaning with three different kinds of meat. You know…the kind that would only be appealing to obese middle-aged men and me in my pregnant, callow youth.

Yesterday, as we got back into the car, we giddily pondered our restaurant options as wondrously as if we were contemplating a rare and precious diamond. We made a spur of the moment decision to go to an Italian restaurant, because we can be crazy like that. We showed up at 5:30 with all the other geriatrics.

Me and my old man

As I sat there in the warm and elegant ambiance, I drummed my fingers impatiently, my eyes darting around, wondering if the bread would arrive in my lifetime. After gulping down the bread and an appetizer that we rashly ordered in our expansive mood, we were both full.

“I guess it’s too late to cancel the rest of our dinner, right?” I asked.

We had a couple bites of our main courses, but took most of them home in boxes. This would have never happened in our Ruby Tuesday days! After polishing off my meat slab platter, I’d still be picking croutons off my husband’s salad.

Dinner was done and we still had a couple of hours to go before we had to pick up the kids. The restaurant is right next to Trader Joe’s, so that’s where we headed next. We got into an intense debate about the merits of Trader Joe Honey Nut O’s versus Honey Nut Cheerios.

“Their version tastes much better than Honey Nut Cheerios,” my husband told me, “It’s less sweet.”

“Well, it may taste better, but the misplaced apostrophe is burning my eyes,” I replied.

As we rang up our purchases, we still had an hour and a half before we had to pick up the kids.

“Well…what should we do now?”

“Oh, I know! Let’s go to CVS and pick up my prescriptions and get Epsom salt,” my husband said.

“OK, Gramps! Let’s do it!”

As my husband was paying for our purchases, I remembered I had a $5 coupon attached to a CVS receipt that was floating around in my purse. I pulled it out and tentatively showed it to the cashier. “Would we possibly be able to use this?” I asked doubtfully.

“Sure!” she said as she tore it from my receipt.

As we walked back to the car, we were both jubilant. My husband said, “I can’t wait to try my Epsom salts!” I said, “I think this might just be the best day of my life. I feel like I just won the jackpot! This is the first time in my whole life that I’ve actually been able to use one of those CVS coupons. I’m so inordinately happy, I think I could dance a jig right here on the sidewalk! Could you smell the scent of victory, crackling like ozone in your nostrils when I got to use my coupon? Because I sure did!”

Flush with my unexpected success, I had another idea…

“HEY! Let’s go to the CoinStar at Harris-Teeter!”

We drove over to the grocery store and my husband obligingly lugged in the heavy container full of change that I had stashed in the car.

Have you ever used CoinStar? It’s mesmerizing to watch the sum grow from piles of pennies that have just been lying around the house. We didn’t want the magic to ever end. After emptying our container, we pulled out every last penny from our pockets and wallets until the clinking of the coins finally stopped.

“Wow. This is the best date ever,” I said with a sigh of contentment, “First, the coupon and now this!”

It was now 8 o’clock.

“We still have half an hour. We’re supposed to pick up the kids at 8:30.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure it will be fine to pick them up early. And then we can get home, so I can try my Epsom salts.”

And that’s what we did.

Picking up our helper elves…

And it was good. Really, really good. I can’t wait to do it again next year!

Later, you wake up beside your old love, the one
who never had any conditions, the one who waited
you out. This is life’s way of letting you know that
you are lucky…

Read the rest of Starfish, by Eleanor Lerman here.