A Poem for our Silver Day

Scenes of our Love

Tickets to the Renaissance
Eyes meet across the table
Conversation in the Balcony
And it begins.

Escort to dark subways
Lessons in passing
Hands touch, drawing closer
A call about Starlight
And so it grows.

Two left-handed, third of threes
Fairy tale number
For a magical life.

Time passes quickly
Performances as partners
Bears in fancy dress
Then One, Two, Three
We count our blessings

Anniversary of silver
The promise engraved in gold
As you wish
Ever after.

Author's note: There is only one person who will understand every line. I hope. I'm the one with the better memory.

Marriage at a New Age

Our marriage is now old enough to buy alcoholic beverages in New York.

Twenty-one years ago, my husband and I got married. Like a newborn, our marriage was exciting and a little scary, had occasional bouts of colic, and didn't always sleep well through the night. Like any new parents, we just wanted it to be healthy. We had never shared living space before. I had never even lived away from my parents. He had been living on his own in apartments for a while. We had to learn how to live together. I think it's normal to tiptoe around a new marriage, wondering if it's OK, gently holding it through the night. The marriage grows. It starts to walk.

Then you are together for a few years. A marriage in its toddler age can be bumpy. We had our first child when our marriage was entering its terrible twos. Stress from financial concerns and days without sleep can make a couple irritable. Marriage can be impatient at this stage. I wanted to live closer to family. I wanted a house. It can demand attention, and really, it needs attention to keep it out of trouble. There is a testing of limits, learning to work together, lots of cuddling and scraped knees. The marriage grows. It starts to understand.

After the toddler stage, a marriage begins to understand that you aren't its enemy and things smooth out a bit as we enter the school years. Make no mistake, even if you are homeschooling your marriage, there are lots of tests and worries about grades. Each of us went through periods of feeling like we weren't doing enough and times when we felt overworked and under-appreciated. We had responsibilities and expectations. Eight years into the marriage, we had two children and bought our first house. Three years later, we would have a third child. At this stage, everything seems bigger than the marriage and it can't wait until it can reach the cupboards over the sink and do things on its own. It yearns for independence but clings for support. The marriage grows. It hits puberty.

There is nothing like the raging hormones of a marriage in its teen years. Literally. I started weaning Sierra when we were in our fourteenth year of marriage and had to deal with a clash of delayed postpartum depression coupled with perimenopause symptoms. I don't know how my husband lived with me. Of course, he was dealing with problems at work. A marriage in its teen years might want to run away because it feels like no one understands it. It gets wrapped up in its own problems and needs to be reminded that everything will be alright. Just hang in there and be there for each other. It's funny, during this stage, my husband went for counseling and I joined him at one of the sessions. We realized that our main problem was that each of us tried hard not to upset the other. I was wrapped up in matters of homeschooling and child-rearing, while he was wrapped up in trying to keep his job. We needed to listen to each other. A teenager needs to learn to open up and communicate on a new level. The marriage is learning to sit in the driver's seat and take control of its own life. A life formed by two people whose love unites them. The marriage grows.

Happy Anniversary, my love. As you wish.

Twenty

My husband took me away for two days. He wanted a little time alone. So we went upstate and went hiking and exploring. But first we got lost. This always happens. I should always make a point of buying a map first thing. The tourist maps are good for nothing. Especially when you explore an area that doesn't really believe in posting road signs. You can go for miles in some places upstate without any indication of what road or route you are on. City girl that I am, I'm spoiled. I like signs posted at every intersection.

Did I mention it rained? A lot? Luckily, we had half a day to walk some trails before the sky blackened and opened up. I'll have pictures up soon. Maybe tomorrow. They will involve many butterflies, a dragonfly, rock formations and a giant beetle that was out to get me. Tune in tomorrow.

Today we celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary. Here is a list of twenty reasons we are still together, in no particular order.

1. He laughs at my jokes. Even if they aren't funny. I do the same for him.
2. We like to read. Often we share books with each other. And then discuss what we read.
3. We can be quiet together, just sit relaxed, and know the other is there.
4. We touch each other when we pass. Even if there was plenty of room to get by.
5. He is one of the only people I feel comfortable talking politics with.
6. I know I can be truthful with him about everything.
7. I trust him. He trusts me.
8. We discuss, but we don't argue much.
9. He catches the bugs that would crunch if you step on them.
10. We are both nature lovers.
11. We are both romantics.
12. He steps in when I don't feel like being the responsible one.
13. I pay the bills so he doesn't have to worry about forgetting to do it.
14. We both read the comics first.
15. He edits and critiques my work.
16. We can finish each other's thoughts.
17. When I ask for the "thing", he knows what I'm talking about.
18. He is protective of our family.
19. We respect each other.
20. There is no one we would rather spend the next twenty years with!
    

As You Wish: Year 19

The summer I was 19, I was preparing for my second year in college. I had a lot of acquaintances, most of them guys, and I had a few close friends who were also guys. I could count on one hand how many dates I had been on. I wouldn't even need the whole hand. I was pretty sure I would never meet "the one." Guys just didn't seem interested in me in that way.

If, at that time, you had told me I was two short months away from meeting my soulmate, I would have rolled my eyes and said, "sure." And yet here we are, 22 years later, celebrating 19 years of married life. It still feels like this is only the beginning.

Those of you who are interested can read my "How we met" story here:
An Incredible Story of Faith, Rebellion and Falling in Love: Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Honey, you are the Happily in my Ever After. As you wish.

How We Spent Our Anniversary...

He gave me flowers, we got Chinese food, he brought home an ice cream cake...



We watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, then I lifted him on my feet....



I think it's important to be supportive of him.

Then Sierra wanted Marina to lift her...

As You Wish

Honey,

We've been together 18 years. We've helped each other through our struggles, supported each other, and shared the laughter and joy. I can honestly say that I am so happy with you and feel so blessed for every day I get to be with you.

As you wish.

Another year has passed...

A lot can happen in 17 years. And yet it can feel like a moment. I remember when I first sketched the idea for our wedding invitation...

I remember our wedding day. Smiling and playing with my new husband. Smiling so much my cheeks hurt.

I blinked and 17 years had passed. Almost 20 years since we first met. So much life and love fills the in-between. Gray hairs creep across our heads and babies grow into loving children. Through sorrows and happiness, my joy and blessing has been knowing my soul mate sits at my side.

You still hold my heart.

More wedding pictures at last year's anniversary post.
How we met.

Sixteen Years Ago Today...

We began our happily ever after...


And then we juggled.


(Pretty gown isn't it? I bought it from a Renaissance costume company called Moresca. Too bad I didn't realize I could tie the sleeves up higher, they really made it hard to juggle.)

Part 3 of an Incredible Story of Faith, Rebellion, and Falling in Love

This is the third and final part. If you haven't read Part 1 or Part 2, you might end up feeling a bit confused.

Part 3

The following week there was a meeting to discuss ideas for the Starlight Foundation’s next gala event. They were thinking a fairy tale theme. As I told them I knew someone who worked at the Renaissance festival, I could feel my cheeks burn and I knew my face was turning bright red. The following Thursday I asked R. for his phone number, explaining about the event. We practiced passing and then went out to a diner with the jugglers. As we sat together, our hands brushed against each other and we were holding hands. Bill sat across from us, and as he talked, I could see he was puzzling over what was happening as R. and I sat closer and closer. When I called R. the next day to discuss the Starlight Foundation and get numbers to pass on, I ended up on the phone for 3 hours. His deep voice made my heart melt. He asked me out. Our first date started at FAO Schwartz toy store, then we strolled through Central park and ended up seeing the movie, “Wings of Desire.” After the movie, he leaned over and we had our first kiss.


It always seemed like he could read my mind, and was as much an Incurable Romantic as I am. While we were dating, we lived on opposite sides of New York City, 1 and a half to two hours and at least 2 transfers apart by subway. Neither of us had a car. He would escort me home on the train and then hop back on to head home. I once asked if I was worth all that effort, and he told me, “I’d commute for you! Helen of Troy? If the Greeks had had to take the subway, they might have decided it wasn’t worth the effort, but I’d commute for you!” Even our wedding bands are inscribed with a message from our favorite movie, “The Princess Bride.” They say, “As you wish.”

The rest is history. I knew by the third date that we would always be together. (It took R. a little longer to come to that conclusion. He likes to ponder.) While we dated he was a struggling actor, but once we married and moved out of the city, family responsibilities made him settle into his other interest, computers. I like thinking back on how we met. There were so many factors, good and bad, that needed to play out to reach the point where we actually met. I figure that’s how God planned it. R. is my soulmate. In spite of our age difference, growing up hundreds of miles apart, my sheltered existence and fear of mass transit, we found each other.

She loves you still and you love her...Not one couple in a century has that chance, not really, no matter what the storybooks say...

Part 2 of an Incredible Story of Faith, Rebellion, and Falling in Love

Note: If you haven't read Part 1, start HERE.

Part 2

You can’t imagine my joy when I first entered the gym. I had never seen so many jugglers. The first person I noticed was a young woman named Cindy. She was effortlessly juggling 5 clubs in various patterns. I was in awe. A man named Bill came up and introduced himself as the person in charge of the group. He asked if there was anything in particular I wanted to learn. Passing. I had originally been inspired to juggle by the Flying Karamazov Brothers, a juggling quintet who do some fancy passing patterns. I definitely wanted to learn how to pass. He gave me some basic lessons and then set me to practicing with another juggler who was learning passing. Note: Neither of these guys is my husband. Looking back, I realize I was one of a very few women jugglers. Most likely I was also the youngest person in the group. It says something about my innocence that I couldn’t imagine any of the men in the gym had any interest in me other than as a fellow juggler.After practicing, the jugglers went out to eat. Two of them escorted me to the subway, because by now I was so confused about where I was I wouldn’t have found it alone. Streets in the Village twist around a bit, and they have names rather than numbers, so it’s easy to get lost. It was very late, so I guiltily called home from the station and steeled myself for the consequences.

I think my relationship with my mother changed a lot from that day. I was her baby, and because of my asthma she worried about me more than usual. We came to an understanding, and I agreed that from now on I would call when I was leaving and I would have someone walk me to the train.

At this same time, my father had promised to take me to the NY Renaissance Festival. I had known about it since high school, and had only been to it once. This year my father had agreed to take me on Sunday, the very last day of the festival.

The Thursday before the festival, I went to the gym to juggle, my third time at the juggling club. Afterward, we went to a Chinese restaurant called the Hunan Balcony. I sat next to Bob, the guy I had been practicing passing with, and Bill sat across from me. At some point, Bill asked if anyone was interested in going to the Renaissance festival for the last weekend, because R had comps. I said I was going. R told me he worked at the festival as an environmental player (walks around with a cockney accent). In my poorest imitation of a cockney accent I asked, “So how does one get to work at the Renaissance fest?” He told me. In great detail. And all the time I just met his piercing blue eyes and listened to his deep voice.After we ate, we stood outside the restaurant and I asked if anyone could walk me to the train, because I had promised to come home earlier. (Early being a relative term, as it was close to 11.) R volunteered. I remember exchanging looks with Bob for a second. He had driven me home the week before, but he hadn’t volunteered to leave the group early tonight. As I walked to the train with him, there was something very interesting going on. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, I only remember the feeling of energy that built up around us.

Of course, my father took forever to leave for the festival. By the time we got there, there were only a few hours left before the fair closed. My father and I watched the “Wooing Game” and hung around for “Trial and Punishment,” where environmental players accuse festival goers of outrageous crimes and mete out their unusual forms of punishment (like eating gummi worms). I scanned the crowd and saw R. standing on the opposite side of the stage. Or was it him? I have the misfortune of not being able to recognize people if they are out of place or wearing costumes. I also assume no one will recognize or remember me. After the show, my father wandered off to get some food and I wandered off to look at jewelry. That’s when R. grabbed my hand and started to take me off to the stocks!

Children were playing with the stocks, luckily for me. I had brought my clubs, so he suggested we pass. I apologized for my bad throws, explaining I was left handed. Imagine my amazement when he told me he was a lefty as well! We were also both the third of three with an older brother (first born) and sister! By the time my father ambled back, R. had rushed back to his next scene and I was floating!

Part 1 of an Incredible Story of Faith, Rebellion, and Falling in Love

Next week is my 16th wedding anniversary. In honor of the occasion, I am going to start the long and drawn out story of:

How I Met My Husband

Let me just reiterate, in case you didn’t realize, I am an Incurable Romantic. I believe in destiny, in soulmates, in love at first sight. I will now give the cynics a chance to gag and leave the room…

To tell about how I met my husband requires me to look back several years before I actually met my husband. There were several factors involved in bringing us together. The first was a request I made to God (we talk a lot). When I was 15 or 16, I was your typical awkward teen, very self-conscious and a bit boy crazy in my shy, withdrawn, “no one’s ever going to love me” way. One day I was sitting in my room and I asked God to please pick out the man I would spend the rest of my life with. I trusted His judgment, I didn’t care how long it would take as long as he brought us together. My only requirement was that I wanted him to be an actor (yes, I wasn’t too shallow). I then went on with my teenage life and entered my first crush. The word crush is extremely appropriate, because it aptly describes putting your heart on your sleeve, only to have it pounded into the ground by a sledgehammer when the feelings aren’t returned. I entered a period of depression that I will not dwell on here except to apologize to my parents for the h--- I put them through.

It was my original request that buoyed me past that first crush. I reasoned that it didn’t happen because obviously that boy was never going to get into acting. When I graduated high school without ever having a date, I always returned to that thought.

After high school, I took a year off from school. Dad made it clear that he didn’t approve, but I was sick of school at this point and didn’t want to rush back into a world of homework and tests. It was during this time that I learned to juggle three balls. It was also during this time that I found out about the Starlight Foundation and started volunteering at their city office. The Starlight Foundation (are they still around?) granted wishes to children with chronic and terminal illnesses, which set it apart from your typical wish charity. I was too young to grant wishes, so I worked in the office and helped at their annual fundraiser dinner.

The September following my year off, I started college. I bought my first set of clubs that autumn, and beat myself silly teaching myself to juggle them. I LOVED college. I wondered why elementary school couldn’t be set up the same way. It took some time for me to get used to the idea that I could take any class I wanted, provided it didn’t have a pre-requisite. I was very happy at this point in my life. By the second semester I was hanging out with drama students, even though I wasn’t in the acting program. I still hadn’t met “the one” and I could count on one hand the number of dates I had.

The June after my first year of college, there was a juggling and unicycling festival at Central Park. Now here is an interesting twist of fate. I could have met my future husband at this festival! We were both there! But instead I hung around the devil stick workshop area and tried to learn this skill (which eludes me to this day). The guy who ran the workshop, Alex, told me about the Carmine Street Jugglers, a juggling club that met on Thursday nights in the West Village in Manhattan. I was in love with juggling by now. The idea of being around all these fun people, learning to do all these interesting things. I wanted to go.

The only thing was transportation. All through high school I relied on my parents, especially my mom, to drive me there. The subway scared me, and I didn’t know that area of the city, so I was afraid of getting lost. I think my mother was also afraid of having me take a train downtown. She turned me off from the idea numerous times, telling me she would drive me down “sometime.” Summer Thursdays started slipping away.

The next significant event was a sad one, but it was very pivotal. My cousin died in a car accident. My younger cousin. My very popular younger cousin. I was 19 at the time, he was still in high school. His car had plowed into a tree. I remember being dumbstruck by the amount of cars in the funeral procession. He was so loved. Morbidly, I started to imagine my own funeral. I didn’t think anyone other than family would notice my passing. This compelled me to go to the juggling club again. I was desperate to break out of my sheltered existence. I called for subway directions to the club. When my mother started putting me off that Thursday, we had a big argument and I took off for the train station. With the amount of adrenaline flowing through me, I wasn’t scared of anything.