Birthday Homage

"Duty, Honor, Country. Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be." ~ General Douglas MacArthur

Elton John wrote "Your Song" for his beloved....wanting to share the very essence of who he was through a gift for which he had the ability. The Taj Mahal was built by Mugal Emporer Shah Jahan in memory of his much treasured wife, Muhmaz Mahal. Painters use oils and watercolors to capture the essence of their muses. Chefs create spectacular menus to share.Unfortunately, I lack all of these gifts. I'm completely tone deaf, and listening to me sing has been known to send even the most patient of listeners running away in terror. I have only successful built a wheeling cart, by following the instructions from the kit, and even so, managed to put it together with the trays facing upside down. I'm afraid I can only draw stick figures that would embarrass a preschooler, and my cooking, shall we say, is experimental.

Yet, for my husband, Jeff's birthday, I want to do something for him that I can do without his assistance: a tribute to all he's meant to me, and all I've learned from him. I will never be William Wordsworth, Walt Whitman, George Sand or Jane Austen. I do not possess the contemporary skills of Tom Clancy or Anita Shreve. I lack the brilliance of Earnest Hemingway, Mark Twain and F. Scott Fitzgerald. However, the one gift that I have been blessed with is a bit of ability to write. I believe that I began writing books before I could actually even entrust the words to paper. I am not special in this respect, but it's the one thing I believe I can do with a bit of panache, and a lot of honesty. Therefore, I trust my keyboard to take down the thoughts of thankfulness I have for Jeff's being who he is in my life.

Jeff, grew up in a tiny New Hampshire hamlet on top of a large hill. His parents are hard working, capable and loving people. Jeff learned from them to co

ntinue to strive for improving himself, and for standing up for his own beliefs. His journey led him to the United States Military Academy at West Point, where in his own words, he received an excellent college education, as well as other stuff...like the ability to jump out of perfectly good airplanes. The New Hampshire state motto is "Live Free or Die", and I believe this essence of Yankee commitment to freedom has been at the forefront of the man Jeff would become. He is not a blind follower; far from it. Jeff learned to innovate, to create, to think laterally and to find exceptional ways to solve problems. This has made him an asset to any team, both during his military career, and since he has been a civilian. Jeff combines a MacGuyver-like

ingenuity, with the persistence of scientist and the affable social skills of a seasoned diplomat. There is very little he can't do...and if doesn't understand something, he teaches himself how to overcome his uncertainty. I admire these traits in him tremendously because I'm generally the first one to say "to heck with it"....and leave said project in a heap. I have learned, from Jeff, that sticking with any task, no matter how challenging, has it own reward. I have learned that quickest isn't always best....but that the most attention to detail can be the key.

Jeff and I are polar opposites in personality, background and interests. He has the strong skills of the three athletic sport captain he was, and I fall down stairs more easily than walk them. Jeff likes meat and potatoes. I constantly am craving curry and sushi. He's from the country and likes sports, and I'm a city girl and love Broadway. In short, if an online dating service had existed 24 years ago, we never would have met. Yet, it is these very differences that have enabled us to grow and learn together. Because we were married at 22 and 21 respectively, we went from our parents' homes to dorm rooms to our own first place. We didn't know that our mothers would no longer be providing the service of magic laundry. We had no idea that the "Pay By" date on bills was not merely a suggested time frame. We had one pot and one pan, and lived on Macaroni much of the time, since it was one of the few meals I could make without burning, scorching, undercooking or otherwise ruining. Jeff never once complained.

I realize that my very nature challenges the levels of Jeff's patience to its very core. My lack of methodical procedures drives him to the edge of insanity. And yet, he exhibits a good natured sense of humor about everything from my driving to my erratic filing method. Jeff has gone above and beyond in being a good husband and father to our two children. He has shown integrity, courage, resourcefulness and has never lost his sense of humor. Living with me is always an adventure. Jeff finds himself exploring those peaks and valleys of my dramatic personality, and just reels me back in when I'm getting too far off course. I am exceedingly thankful to have a husband with whom I've learned to be a grown up. We have made mistakes along the way (don't ask him about the Christmas tree sagas), but we have both discovered that it's better to be kind than always right. We have found that a smile and a hug can diffuse an argument after a rotten day. Most importantly, we have made the commitment that we are here, no matter what, for one another. We have been through hell and back together. We have lost family members. We have weathered illness, job uncertainties and parenting fears. We are almost empty nesters now, and while it's a little sad to think about every school day with no children in the house, we do look forward to getting to know each other all over again.

Jeff, I just want to thank you for believing in me. As you know, I'm my own worst enemy. Thank you for being my ally, my supporter, my best friend, my comic relief and my jack of all trades. You are a tremendous man, and I could not be prouder to have shared the last two decades with you. I wish you the happiest of birthdays, and hope the next 45 are just as eventful. I love you.

This Old House

When Jeff and I were very young newlyweds, we used to love watching "This Old House" on weekends. In the days before cable was widespread and new channels, like "HGTV" and "The Travel Channel" sprung up, we'd live vicariously through these occasional glimpses of historic restoration work on PBS. We would see, week by agonizingly slow week, the painful renovation of an old barn into a beautiful home, and imagine that we, ourselves, could undertake that wonderful journey ourselves. I fancied myself an amateur conservator, if we could find an old barn to restore ourselves, and to create a magical sanctuary, from what was once forgotten and decay.

In addition to an unrealistic and ill-advised passion for old houses, I've also always loved Scotland. The idea of it, the "William Wallace" soul of bravery, and the sheer beauty of the place have forever ignited a passion and a connection to this special country. One of my father's dream trips, that he was never able to take, was to go to see the Scottish Sheep Dog (Border Collie) trials. A lifelong love for this breed, and what these amazing dogs could do instinctively, led him to own two Border Collies over the years. But, he always wanted to see their amazing displays of prowess in Scotland. I just loved the romance of the land...even if I do have a long standing fear of Haggis. (Google it...not so appealing as adorable dogs and castles).

These two loves in the abstract sense, that of restoring an old house and that of Scotland, came together in Belinda Rathbone's memoir, "The Guynd". In this very readable story, Ms. Rathbone recounts her transformation from single New York City writer to life married to a Scottish laird. In her story, she writes "I knew that the house came with the man...or the man with the house." The Guynd (pronounced to rhyme with wind, especially fitting since it never stopped blowing) was a decripted, sprawling, mausoleum of a manor house, with 300 acres of former gardens and land...now all gone to seed, both the house and the land itself. Ms. Rathbone's discoveries in long forgotten rooms, outbuildings, basements and attics lead to her own passion for the estate, and for its restoration. She learns the vast history of being part of such a long lineage of homeowners, but more importantly, she learns that the history is more important than the present to her husband. Her painstaking care of restoring the gardens, and creating liveable family spaces in the house itself, are meticulously, and hilariously, described. In the end, neither her marriage, nor her never-ending 'to do' list survive, and yet, Ms. Rathbone's journey and adventure seem to have been an end in themselves. I admired her story. However, it also made me appreciate not having to live it myself.

While I still have my admiration intact for Scotland and historic preservation and renovation, I have come to realize that I may not have the chutzpah for a major overhaul on a property. Whenever I point out a great old house for sale, Jeff kindly reminds me of the 1980's movie, "The Money Pit". Still, when we're at Home Depot, he drools over tools he'll never need in our 1992 contemporary. I have grand dreams of a breathtaking restoration on a home that had historical significance in the Revolutionary War. Jeff has grand dreams of sheetrocking without any visible seams or being able to reroof our entire house himself.

Somewhere in the middle, I'm sure, lies our next great project. Maybe it will be historic. Maybe it will just need a fresh coat of paint. Maybe the universe just wants us to take care of what we have now. No matter what, sometimes it's a great deal more fun to dream of the next "big thing" than to actually live it.

"It's when you're safe at home that you wish you were having an adventure. When you're having an adventure you wish you were safe at home." ~~ Thornton Wilder

Men are from Mars. Women are from wherever they can get five minutes peace.

The balance of power in my house has shifted. For the past fourteen years, we have been evenly divided between male and female energy. Even though my son was just barely 2 when my daughter was born, we still seemed to be equally balanced because I had all the female pets on my side. Not to mention, that a toddler, even one who learns to make car vroom sounds before he speaks, still loves his Mommy in a way that doesn’t shift until he realizes that she can embarrass him at the hockey rink by calling out “Shoot, Honey Buns, Shoot!”.

With the leaving of my daughter to prep school 4 ½ hours away, I am now outnumbered in my home. Please don’t get the wrong idea. I adore my wonderful husband and my now 16 year old son is growing up to be a fine young man. However, there are times when I feel like the odd “man” (pun fully intended) out. It wasn’t expecting it but the situation just seemed to sneak up on me, as if I awoke and the entire planet had been taken over by aliens. The problem was that I happened to love these aliens and gave birth to one of them. It started with little things…..the TV permanently fixed to the NHL network, toilet seats being left up and a lot of sports equipment being shed around the house. Then, it progressed to our meal choices moving in the direction of meat and potatoes, almost exclusively, and annoyed eyeball rolls when I suggested chicken and big salads. Finally, it’s emerged as a whole new male bonding ritual that involves a vocabulary I simply don’t understand, much less speak. These involve grunts, short hand phrases and insults (like “Sieve”) that are simply beyond my level of comprehension.

In reality, I do realize that I’m incredibly blessed. I have healthy children, and a husband that deeply loves me, despite his annoyed comments of “Why do you put green stuff on my plate ? You know I don’t like it.” I have reached the point of melting down at them, but it never works…they simply give me the look as if to say “Treat her gently…she’s likely to blow a gasket”. I have politely, and gently, requested explanations of what they’re discussing. Most of the time, I simply don’t ‘get’ their “Dummies for Hockey” (or military history, or cars, or other guy stuff) versions, which only frustrates them more. Little by little, I’m learning to adjust my own way of thinking, to appreciate the little gestures of peace they do make (such as Josh bringing me home my favorite coffee and Biscotti) and to appreciate them as completely different species of animals. I am learning to approach these interesting, frustrating, funny and confusing men I live with as Jane Goodall would approach a new family of chimpanzees: with quiet respect, sitting and observing and not stepping in before I realize what I’m talking about. I had no idea I’d end up an anthropologist in my own home. But, the approach is helping me process their moods and behaviors, as well as deepening my own understanding of testosterone. My mom once told me, “Never respond in anger, and never take anything personally”. I’m repeating that as my mantra every day. It also helped that she told me this when we were the overwhelming force in my growing up home: it was the two of us women, our three female dogs, and my poor dad with all that female energy.

The fact is, men and women do process things differently. We respond differently to the same situations and we react differently to the identical stimuli. In Yoga, I try to offer poses that will balance the “male and female” or, Yin and Yang, energy in the class. Therefore, in addition to offering the traditional male based Warrior poses, I always to counter that pose with Female Warrior, or Goddess. This seems to not only bring a sense of completeness into our class period, but also to our bodies and inner natures. I also feel much clearer when I add these wonderful poses into our practice…and into my daily life.

For now, my life may not surrounded in femininity, but I also know my own limits. If I find myself cranky or short tempered, simply because the men are being men (and not intentionally rude), I realize I can remove myself from the situation. I can take a hot bubble bath, make a nice cup of tea, or a write a blog article to channel my thoughts. I can talk to a friend, paint my toenails and slip into another room to watch “When Harry Met Sally”. In short, I can create my own girl world in Manville. It’s not always easy, but hopefully, I will be able to decipher their language before long. And, short of that, perhaps I can teach them mine.

On the one hand, we'll never experience childbirth. On the other hand, we can open all our own jars. ~Bruce Willis, on the difference between men and women