giving thanks

Moments with The Mayor

The late morning August sun shines through the windshield so bright even the visor and their sunglasses do little to help the glare. He accelerates on the on-ramp of the highway, and he speaks clearly and directly, “Siri, directions to Jeffrey’s Antique Gallery in Findlay, Ohio…”

Actual picture taken by the author.

“Okay. Here are directions to Jeff’s Flooring Warehouse in Scottsdale, Arizona.”

They look at each other and start cracking up and he says, “Jesus fucking Christ, Siri, it’s way too early to be drinking.”

“I’ll type it in,” she offers from the passenger seat as he merges across the highway into the left lane to pass one of the many truckers on the road. She pulls up the directions and they appear on the Apple Carplay screen in the dash. He reaches cruising speed and sets the cruise control at 72. 

She has taken the day off work and he is taking her out of town to get a change of scenery from her home office that she has been confined to for the past two weeks. It is a blessing and a curse working from home. While she has the flexibility to take off when she needs to, being a contract worker means no vacation days—if she doesn’t work she doesn’t get paid. So she puts in long hours, often logging time on the evenings and weekends. This is her first full day off in over a fortnight.

They talk about what he plans to make for dinner and how they really need to start on painting the cabinets in the kitchen if they are going to sell in the spring. Since his job ended two years ago he has become a full-time homemaker—a domestic engineer, as she liked to put it—and if they could grant degrees he would certainly have a Ph.D. He has become so adept in the kitchen that she looks forward to what’s for dinner from the moment she wakes up in the morning. He used to turn to Food Network for inspiration, but lately he has been thinking of old recipes and how to jazz them up in his own way. Tonight he is taking a favorite recipe for a local restaurant’s shepherd’s pie and adding edamame and sundried tomatoes to the lamb and traditional veggies. She knows it will be killer—he rarely disappoints.

She catches him drumming along with his thumbs to Hall and Oates and smiles, singing along as she looks at the familiar scenery along 75. He is handsome, not in your typical Chris Hemsworth way, then again who is, but in an inviting and comforting way. More than his outward appearance, he has a gentle, caring nature that makes her heart gallop. He always knows how to take care of her, when to refill her water cup, when she needs physical touch, when she needs to be left alone, and when she needs to just let go and laugh. He is her rock and she could not be more grateful.

“So, what are your thoughts on just staying partners versus getting married?” she suddenly says, surprising herself with her abruptness as they pass Troy. “Are we gonna be like Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn and just never tie the knot? Or do you feel a strong desire to make it official?” She had always assumed they were on the same page, but they never discussed it in their hopes and dreams for their future together. She herself waffled back and forth between the romanticism of getting married, but she was also practical and knew there were financial consequences to taking the plunge. She loved looking at wedding dresses and engagement rings, but the idea of getting married again terrified her. 

He takes a beat and replies, “I mean, I feel like we already are life partners like Kurt and Goldie. A marriage certificate won’t change how I feel about you. If it makes sense for us to get married, then I’m game, but otherwise I say why mess with a good thing? If we decide we want to in the future, it’ll be on a whim by Elvis in Vegas or something like that,” and he laughs, casting a sideways glance at her to gauge her reaction.

She is relieved by his response and tells him that. They have eleven years under their belt, she can’t imagine herself with anyone else and a ring didn’t mean as much as his steadfast strength and compassionate shoulder as he stood by her during one of her darkest hours last winter. He would always take care of her, and in turn, she would always provide for him. She had come to realize how deep her love for him really was, and she felt his devotion and affection on a daily basis. 

Siri’s voice suddenly pipes up and notifies them of their exit in 10 miles. The trip has flown by, their easy conversations punctuating the comfortable silence as the western Ohio scenery passes by. They have some backroads after they exit and she looks out at the houses and churches in the little town by the antique mall. In a clearing, she sees a small graveyard and two solitary headstones right next to each other. The engravings are faded, but one of them has words that form the shape of a smile and it is tilted to the right, barely touching the headstone next to it. It is as if it is pressing its forehead to the marker next to it and even in the afterlife the two can’t be separated. She immediately gets the warm fuzzies and points it out to him.

“Look, it’s you and me! You must’ve said something in the afterlife that made me smile and want to always be near you…” Can you pull over? I want to take a picture. Such detours were not uncommon. They did a u-turn for a cheese castle during a recent trip to Wisconsin, he could take a break for a snapshot of something she found inspiring.

She gets the picture she wanted, is pleased with herself, and is already mulling the story she will write about it one day when she has more free time. They pull up to the antique mall, take a sip from their water bottles, and head in. He opens the door for her, following behind her, then takes her hand as they walk the aisles. She leans her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. Thinking back to the gravestones, she is thankful that she has a lifetime of tender moments and fun adventures to look forward to with him. But for right now, she is happy he is by her side exploring this tiny part of the universe, keeping her grounded and her heart full. 

Unexpected Hope from the Littlest Lovebug

We are having unexpected January temperatures in the beginning of December and my mood is that much poorer for it. We have barely made it above freezing for the past 10 days and we are expected to hit a balmy 5 degrees on Sunday. I could feel myself slipping when I started replacing my water for hot cocoa and my daily workout with doomscrolling in my recliner. I hung on to happy-go-lucky D!  with my fingernails, as if I were scratching out the demons’ eyes who were ready to overtake me with one skipped breath, one exaggerated sigh too many.  And then like they did when they announced their presence on the ultrasound 17 years ago, Ez gave me hope.

Our car rides can range from dead silence, as they lose themselves in their headphones and Spotify, to full on philosophical discussions that are only halted by my pulling into the driveway. The other day, they were feeling philosophical. 

“If you were a mouse and you could only eat three cheeses for the rest of your life (keeping in mind a mouse’s life is only 4-5 years) what three cheeses would you choose?” It took me a minute, but I finally chose Camembert, honey goat Gouda, and Muenster for everyday snacking. They responded with Colby jack for every day snacking, pepper jack for when they were feeling spicy, and Bella vitano for the fancier times. We agreed that I have a wider breadth of cheese knowledge than they do, but they classed it up with the Bella vitano choice. 

We then talked about making positive changes in our lives, with Ez taking steps to get healthier through exercise and more water, fruits, and veggies. Once they started talking they opened up about how they are feeling better, losing weight, and feeling the mental benefits of regular exercise. I knew they were right and that’s half the reason I started to tumble into the weeds of depression that ensnare me in winter. I eat just fine, with The Mayor carefully curating a meal plan that is both healthy and delicious. But exercise is my bugaboo. I had finally found something that seemed to work for me, lifting weights and doing my walking and step ups every other day through autumn, but since The Mayor quit his job before Thanksgiving, I bumped and rolled right off that wagon and into the mud of “I just don’t feel like it.” 

But something about seeing Ez get excited about their walks around the lake and packing their lunch for work instead of the regular Crunch Wrap Supreme on the way home gave me the spark of hope that I needed. I made it a point that afternoon to do my step ups and lift my weights that had been untouched for 10 days. Feeling the natural high of my blood pumping through my arteries and my synapses firing on all cylinders, I vowed to get some form of exercise every day, even if it’s a simple walk around Meijer or Fresh Market. It is so easy for me to slowly descend into slothfulness and inactivity with my commute literally being 22 steps from the bedroom to the recliner, but I legitimately feel better if I give myself that endorphin rush. 

From the moment I knew they were growing inside my belly, Ez has been a source of hope for me. I remember half-joking during my baby shower that I hoped they weren’t a dud, since I had already been blessed with two kiddos who were perfect in their own unique snowflake kind of way. Ez has been anything but a dud. They continue to inspire me with their words and art, and they give me hope that I can pull myself up when I see them making positive choices that will affect their future. I don’t think there is anything more you can ask from a 17 year old on the cusp of adulthood.

I love you all, some more than others.💜🌻

I Write Therefore I Am

It’s winter time, which means I have plenty of dark days to ponder such somber thoughts as what kind of legacy I will leave behind when my time comes to become stardust in the universe. As I collect past writings and journal entries into a collective published piece, I am reminded of the Latin phrase Verba volant, scripta manent, which translates to “spoken words fly away, written words remain.” I live and die by the pen, so this resonates particularly strongly with me. 

Between Facebook and my blog, I am pretty much an open book. This has enabled me to nurture and develop relationships with people from all walks of my life all over the world, and with some whom I have never met. Just this week, I have been messaged by three different people of varying degrees of familiarity who said they thought of me because of something I had written.

My friend, Nick, from my study abroad year in England, messaged that something came across his feed about people who can make jokes about grammar are the cleverest of the lot and he thought of me. My bff’s mom, Linda, texted that she thought of me because she got an entire bag of “foldy” chips with her dinner and she knew that bag should’ve been mine. And then my own daughter, J, has texted me at the exact same time numerous times, indicating that we are never far from each other’s minds. 

Just the idea that I crossed these friends’ minds and made them smile for a moment fills my love bucket to the brim. I am not one for long conversations, always a better listener than I am contributor, but I can collect my thoughts into an essay with relative ease. I think this has allowed me to be precisely in the moment soaking it all in, and then write about it later. While I hope to make an impact on people in real life connections, the reality of our virtual world is we have so many of those interactions online. We are who we are because of our words, and our written words are even more pertinent and meaningful today. 

It brings me joy and a sense of fulfillment that I can elicit a smile through my actions, but especially my words. My writings are an expression of my love for this journey we are on together, and that Love will remain in others whom I have touched after I am ashes. Hopefully I have plenty of years left to continue to make an impression in others who enter my sphere. At the very least, I will have left a library for my children and future grandchildren so that they will always know I love them. After all, scripta manent, amor manet. 

I love you all, some more than others 💜🌻 

The Ultimate Extravagance

It was the day before my 10th birthday. Double digits this year. The stores were already decorating for Thanksgiving, with hints of Christmas peeking out of the aisles.

 “We’re here just for necessities,” my mom said, leading me toward the cake mixes. I loved this tradition of picking out my cake flavor. Mom made my cake every year and she always used a Duncan Hines cake mix as a base, but then added her extra secret ingredients to make it taste better. And homemade frosting. Always homemade frosting. Because the cake mix itself didn’t matter so much, but the canned frosting didn’t hold a candle to her homemade icing. I looked over the options, mulling a carrot cake versus devil’s food cake. And, oh, there’s the German chocolate cake too, but that icing meant getting pecans and coconut as well, and mom made it clear that her paycheck was late so I tried to be mindful of the extra expense. Finally I settled on devil’s food cake and asked for chocolate chip buttercream icing. Mom added the red and yellow box to the basket and said, “we need more eggs, too. I only have one left at home.” 

We made our way to the dairy, saying hello to the lobsters in the seafood case on the way. In front of the egg cooler, there was an end cap with individual butter sculptures carved like turkeys. Mom paused and gasped when she saw them. “Aren’t these just the most extravagant thing ever?” She ran her fingers over the box, as if she wanted to poke at the waddle of the butter turkey to see if it would gobble. She lingered a little longer, sighing that it was an unnecessary expense, but boy wouldn’t that be cool on the Thanksgiving table, before turning to the egg cooler and retrieving a dozen large. The way my mom said “extravagant” with a hint of longing, a smidgen of preposterousness, and a touch of regret made me want to experience that butter sculpture. I wondered if it would taste different, being carved up to look like a turkey. Surely it had to, if rich people were buying it. I determined right then and there that I would get one of those butter turkey sculptures on our Thanksgiving table somehow.

Mom made my birthday cake while I was at school the next day, and I opened my presents when I got home after I blew out my candles. I hadn’t stopped thinking about that butter sculpture we had seen, so when I opened my card from Papa and there was a crisp $20 bill with a note that said, “Buy yourself something extravagant…” I knew what I had to do. 

That Saturday, I asked mom if I could walk down to Kroger by myself; now that I was 10 I felt I was old enough. She agreed, but insisted on following me down and back in the car. I felt so free and grown walking down the big hill and in through the double doors. I thought to myself, “ten is old enough to walk to the grocery store by myself. It’s also old enough to start contributing to the house.”

I quickly weaved my way to the back corner of the store, praying the whole way that nobody had bought all the turkeys, and was rewarded with a whole selection of butter sculptures in the dairy. I picked one up, purchased it, and went back outside to let mom know I had made it out okay. I handed her the bag with the butter turkey in it and said, “I bought this for Thanksgiving because I wanted you to have something special.” Mom immediately started crying when she looked in the bag and said I shouldn’t have, but that it would look perfect on our Thanksgiving table. She’s always good about being grateful for gifts, even if she thinks I wasted my money. I asked if she would drive me up the big hill so I didn’t have to walk it by myself and she said of course.

At Thanksgiving, I helped set the table and put the butter turkey on a little plate in the center of the table next to mom’s yeast rolls. We said grace and loaded our plates. It was just the two of us so when we went to butter our rolls, we looked at the turkey sculpture and then at each other. It seemed a shame to cut into something so beautiful, we didn’t even know where to start. Finally mom said, “aw hell, I’m just gonna go for it” and cut that butter turkey’s head clean off and smeared it in the roll’s crevice. I started laughing at the headless butter carcass that remained and said, “I’m going to go for its butt” and took the tail feathers right off. Mom giggled and watched me as I took a bite of the roll with the fancy butter. I felt the creaminess and saltiness of the butter on my tongue and lips and pressed the excess to the roof of my mouth. I wanted to taste the indulgence that wealthy people thought nothing of and let my whole body feel its richness. Mom smiled at me and said, “I’m so thankful for you, turkey butt. I love you so much.” 

“I love you, too, mama. Happy Thanksgiving” and we devoured our dinners with the headless, buttless butter turkey between us, both of us realizing that the ultimate extravagance was spending the holiday together with a home cooked meal.

Harmonizing for my 48th

I woke up today, my 48th birthday, at 7 a.m. on the dot, fully refreshed after a lovely night of sleep. There’s nothing super special about turning 48, other than the mere fact that I have made it around the sun for another year, but The Mayor immediately piled my presents on me before I could even have a sip of coffee as if it was a milestone birthday. I eagerly opened my favorite cheddar and caramel popcorn, some cool new scrunchies, and the cream on top, a brand new Kate Spade wallet/wristlet that The Mayor picked out specially. The man knows me so well, and has keyed into my love language of gifts with an enviable keenness. 

Ez’s birthday flowers and stuffed pumpkin

I did my DuoLingo lesson and made my way into the living room to watch ARC Cincinnati with Bob and Jen while I drank my morning coffee. My phone blew up with texts as my friends from all over checked in to wish me happy birthday as they woke up to the world. I heard from dear friends near and far, got a sweet text from my ex-husband, and a heartwarming text from my oldest daughter, J. I hopped on Facebook and, again, the well wishes continued to roll in. I was feeling the love.

On my way to pick Ez up for school, I said a silent prayer that they would be awake and I wouldn’t have to battle the dogs to go wake them up. When I rolled up to Spinnaker Drive, I saw a text from Ez that they were awake but running a little late. No big deal, I had built in plenty of time. And then The Mayor texted me and said I was featured on ARC with Bob and Jen with one of my answers to their question of the day and Jen called me out specifically. What a birthday treat! 

No incidents to and from school, with a stop at Dunkin for Ez’s breakfast, and I returned home to more texts and Facebook wishes. My BFF and his parents sent me a Jungle Jim’s gift card for some exotic treats from the International Market, showing yet again that they get me. I got to work on my physics account, getting so immersed that I forgot to eat my morning Bobo, my stomach rumbling around 11 a.m. to warn me that I better get something in there pronto, lest my blood sugar plummet and I am stuck with a headache. I gathered my phone and my purse and headed out for our neighborhood specialty market to grab my favorite ham and brie sandwich on a french baguette and to say hello to The Mayor while he was at work.

When I got home, I got a message from my sister informing me that she and my two littlest brothers had all chipped in and got me an All Access subscription to Alan Alda’s Clear+Vivid podcast patreon, proceeds of which go to charity but with a member perk of having Alan record an outgoing voicemail message for members. I was floored, as I had mentioned in passing that I wanted to subscribe once I paid off my final loan next year and had set it as a savings goal. I couldn’t believe that they got it for me early! My name is going to come out of the mouth of Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce and I am going to have that as my voicemail til the day I die! I may never get the opportunity to meet the man, but hearing him say my name counts as fulfilling a lifelong dream, and I could not be more grateful to my siblings.

At 3:30 I picked up Ez from school and they gifted me with flowers from their Flower Farming and Floristry class as well as a stuffed pumpkin from their sewing class. We stopped by Brooklyn Pizza and Pasta to pick up birthday dinner on our way home. Once home, we turned it on Game Show Network, per usual, and played along with the Master Minds until The Mayor got home from work, when I downed my stuffed shells and spinach salad. After dinner, Five Below’s blind bag selection beckoned, and Ez and I headed out the door. They played me the Birthday Sex song by Jeremih and then we played Young, Wild, and Free and sang along with all the naughty bits. Ez stocked up on their favorite blind bags and we headed back to their house to drop them off for the night. They got out of the car, thanked me for dinner and the ride, always respectful and courteous, and wished me happy birthday again.

On my way home from Ez’s, I was cruising down Columbia Road, zipping through the roundabouts, and Dobie Gray’s “Drift Away” came on. I turned it up and sang along, putting some extra sauce on the “Gimme the beat boys and free my soul…” because I was feeling good and sassy. When it got to the lines, “Thanks for the joy that you’ve given me…I want you to know I believe in your song. And rhythm and rhyme and harmony, you’ve helped me along. Makin’ me strong…” I started to tear up at all the people who have gifted me with joy over the years. My friends reaching out not just on my birthday, but throughout the good and bad times over the past three decades of being an adult. My family, my kids, my BFF, The Mayor, every one of them has a song that I believe in, and every one of them has contributed to making me strong. I will continue to believe in my own song and share it through my essays and Seven Sentences for Sundays. I thank every one of you for helping with the harmony, may we continue to make beautiful music for the next 48 years.

I love you all, some more than others. 💜🌻

Ingratitudes

So I had planned to post this over on my sister’s and my blog, crossingthestreams.net, but we are having some technical difficulties. Therefore, I am availing myself to the functionality of my current blog and am posting it here, with the intention of cross-posting once crossingthestreams gets up and running again. Please enjoy in the spirit it was written…

When discussing a possible Thanksgiving blog topic with my sister, she said, “Save the touchy feely stuff for your own blog. Be ungrateful on crossingthestreams.” As someone who is keenly aware of how good begets good, I was hesitant to unleash such negativity into the Universe, but then the humor in the exercise struck me. Sure, why not be snarky on the one day of the year you are supposed to be filled with gratitude? I am grateful for the tiniest things throughout the year, so how perfectly appropriate to flip that on its ass on Thanksgiving and be ungrateful. What follows is my list of 5 Ingratitudes. Now I just pray I have enough time to write my touchy-feely blog before karma bites me. Continue reading →

Championing Destiny!

I was challenged by my sister over on our blog crossingthestreams.net to take a moment to list the top 5 things for which I am most ungrateful. Snarky? Perhaps. But I chose to see the humor in the situation and went for it full force. However, after unleashing such negativity into the Universe, I feel compelled to provide some checks and balances and take a positive spin on justdestiny.com.

It seems the holidays bring out our most altruistic selves. From those feeding the homeless to the PETA folks looking out for the turkeys and pigs destined to become dinner, everyone has a cause to champion. In no way am I trying to undermine the work of my activist counterparts. However, this holiday, I am going to be completely selfish and champion my own cause…for today I am going to meet The Mayor’s family for Thanksgiving dinner. Continue reading →

Seven Sentences for Sunday: The Oddly Thankful Edition

A few weeks ago when I was visiting my sister in L.A., I visited her MOPS group. Along with their monthly teaching, they also did a craft project where they decorated mugs with things that they were thankful for that you might not necessarily be thankful for in the moment. With that in mind, here is my list of my oddly thankful things.

  1. I am thankful for sassy mouths…because it means my children have the power to reason with their strong vocabularies.
  2. I am thankful for middle of the night nursings…because those moments are so fleeting, and I know that it’s the only time that my baby will rely on me alone for nourishment. (respectfully borrowed from my sister, Lacey.)
  3. I am thankful for early morning wakeup calls during the school week…because it means I can make fried egg sandwich for R and see her and J off to school.
  4. I am thankful for past mistakes—the ginormous ones and the only mildly big ones…because they guide me through the stumbling blocks that are sure to continue to line my life path.
  5. I am thankful for heartbreak…because it makes me appreciate the swooning of a new relationship that much more.
  6. I am thankful for afternoon kindergarten…because it means I get special time with Ez every morning, even if it means stretching the budget just a bit tighter so I can stay home with her until she enters school full time next year.
  7. I am thankful for apartment living…because maintenance issues are not my own and because the kids have fun, understanding neighbors who don’t mind our loudness on occasion. 

I love you all, some more than others.