Valentine...

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I’d much rather stay home anyway.”

But I knew she didn’t mean it. I could see the pain clearly on her face. Her cap of gray hair shone almost silver against her festive red sweater. Alone all her life, she now has someone who loves her, someone who cherishes her. A true Valentine. And oh, she wanted to them to know. To show that she’s cherished. To walk in on his arm for all the world to see. 

But the banquet that night was for married-couples only. It has started as an open event  - married, dating, engaged- but morphed into a celebration of marriage and marriage only. As wonderful as that is, it was causing her pain. The office staff gossiped about the few couples they knew who were shunning convention and going anyway. But not her. She’d been the topic of gossip enough over the years – why put herself out there for more? It doesn’t matter that he loves her. It doesn’t matter than now, in their later years, they have found joy. They sit close together every Sunday morning. He calls to check on her during the day. Her face lights up at his name. But for this event, this should-have-been celebration, they have been deemed unacceptable, and shut out. 

We close up the office together. Everyone else is gone, preparing for the big night. My husband had to work, so I hadn’t purchased tickets either. We walk together to the parking lot, an empty stretch of concrete between our two lonely cars. 

“We are the only people here!” she sighed again. “What’s wrong with us?”

It’s not us, dear friend. And it’s certainly not you. They don’t see the beauty of your love, the purity of your affection. Your happiness together is not enough for them. He is a widower jut past eighty, and you’ve been single for sixty years. You have found joy in each other through simple companionship. You revel in this new-found affection, and they are foolish who do not see what a wonder it is. 

Don’t let their snub discourage you. Don’t let them damage your joy.  

"John Hofmann, 1952"

This evening I was going through the books in our study and pulling out a select few for “decoration” on the living room shelves. I had just purchased a candles-on-a-tray set and wanted some nice hardcovers to place around it. I pulled out a large blue volume from a lower shelf: The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Oxford Edition. The spine crinkled softly as I opened it and read the two inscriptions: 

“John Hofmann, 1952”

 “To Teal, May 2004” 

I sat down and just held it for a moment. I turned a few more pages to find the publication date: March 1938. 

I never met my grandfather. He died when my mom was only 2. Grandma always had a photo of John on her dresser; a smiling young man in black and white. He loved books, especially science fiction and the many Oz novels by L. Frank Baum. 

In high school I developed a love for Shakespeare – a passion that has never waned. On my 17^th birthday Grandma presented me with the heavy book, my first Complete Works. I read the inscription written in blue ink below and to the left of the original. Her handwriting was elegant and smooth; John’s handwriting in black above it was slightly sharper but still beautiful. Handwriting has already become a lost art. 

Grandma died of cancer two years after giving me the book. I cried for her at our wedding. I cried that she couldn’t be at my college graduation, or my brother’s, or see any of us growing and changing and coming into our lives.  

The book is water-stained in one corner and fraying around the edges, but I cried holding it tonight. I wish I could have known the man that bought that book in 1952. It was probably used when he purchased it, but he kept it and cared for it through the rest of his short life. Then Grandma kept and cared for it and gave it to me 8 years ago. I’m going to keep it and care for it the best that I can.

Snippets

Thoughts that have nothing to do with each other.

Rain
It’s been so long since it has rained consistently that I find myself waking up at night surprised to hear it. A comfort has become a novelty.

Film
“The Descendants” is an exquisite study of grief. Grief is messy, awkward and strange. We make odd choices, cling to strange people and shut out the ones who want to help. Eventually we are able to scrape it together and return to life; a new, unfamiliar definition of normal.

Travel
On a recent trip to the Northwest there was a short time, early in the morning, when the waters of Oyster Bay were perfectly still. No people, no boats, no birds diving for breakfast. A smooth reflection of trees untouched by waves or ripples.

Life
He saved her from a tragedy, and she goes everywhere with him. She is silent, and approaches with a friendly wag, but waits a few feet away until I reach out a hand in greeting. Her back is soft and bony all at once, and her gentle nose nudges my knee. I have never heard her make a sound. It’s almost startling when she appears around my desk or in the hallway, and I think I frightened her once when I gasped. She never stays long, returning to her master’s side. I wish she could tell her story.

Overheard
“It’s the American dream!” said the man with a laugh. “And if you’re American, it’s a nightmare.”

Future
Anticipation is wonderful because something long-awaited is on its way and terrible because it hasn’t yet arrived. Something wonderful is close but all the details haven’t yet fallen into place; I want to rush toward it as fast as possible but don’t want to overlook any important preparation.

Article

This is a very good article. I have written about this issue before. See here. It makes a marriage more difficult, but not impossible.

http://www.russellmoore.com/2012/01/23/should-i-marry-a-man-with-pornography-struggles-my-response/

Popular Destinations

I frequently get email promotions and discounts from various hotel chains. Today's shouted "Save up to 20% at Popular Destinations!"

But I don't want to go where everyone else goes. Right now I want a vacation of solitude. A cottage on the beach where it's just me, the waves, the sand, the crying seagulls. A cabin deep in the woods next to an untouched stream. A camper parked beneath a mountain, sharing the silence and the sunsets.

I'm not opposed to sharing it with good friends, but I've never been drawn to the packed beaches of Cancun or the swarming streets of Vegas. There are famous places I'd love to see, but sometimes...I just want nature, pure and simple.

Marriage and the Modern Sitcom

For the past few evenings I’ve been at our new home unpacking and organizing while Matt is officiating basketball games and other such obligations. I turn on the TV while I work for the sake of background noise (being home alone is definitely not one of my favorite things).

On Wednesday the show I usually watched was postponed, and the next channel up was showing the new sitcom “Up All Night." Less than 5 minutes in I was totally disgusted by it. The main characters are struggling to regain intimacy with each other in the early months of parenthood and attempt to schedule a night when they can have time with just each other. Several nights pass where they can’t make it work. Mid-week the wife comes home exuberant and ready to focus on her husband. He’s sitting on the couch in sweatpants, playing a video game. She starts to cuddle up to him, and he, not even pausing the game, informs her that he has already pleasured himself because he thought she was working late. She stomps off. The laugh track roars. I almost threw a bottle of window cleaner through the TV.

Was that situation seriously just played for laughs? Do you have any idea how soul-crushing that would be for a wife to hear? “I’m sorry, honey. My personal needs were so great that I couldn’t wait an extra half-hour for you to get home. Yes, I’m telling you that I don’t need you in this marriage. Yup, I know that makes you feel unattractive and unneeded. So what if we’ve been planning on this all week? My needs have been satisfied, and now this video game requires my full attention. Go away.”

I haven't been though it yet, but I know having a newborn is no walk in the park. I know that there will be long stretches of sleeplessness and frustration. But that kind of callous act is like tearing stitches out of a healing wound. Pregnancy and childbirth are awesome but also physically traumatic, and regaining the energy and desire for intimacy takes time. Obviously the husband will be ready before the wife is, but taking care of your own needs while completely ignoring your spouse is no way to strengthen a marriage in a time of hardship. There are many ways to be intimate without actually having sex. Focus on that first and rebuild the foundation.

Even if he no longer felt “the need” he should have turned off that TV and focused on his wife. Intimacy to him seems to be only about his satisfaction. Once he has been satiated, nothing else matters. And that will kill a marriage faster than almost anything else.

I could probably go one for hours about this show and several other popular sitcoms, but I won’t (at least not now). I could see some positive elements in the show: their wildly successful friend Ava has become dissatisfied with her glamorous yet shallow relationships and longs for something real. She begins dating a single dad who will hopefully show her what responsibility really means. Reagan and Chris do love each other, but often show it in very crude and self-centered ways. Humor is a vital ingredient to successful marriages and parenting, but true humor should never come at someone else’s expense. Build each other up, don’t tear them down.

Overall, the moments that could be considered heartwarming in that show are few and far between. In the end it is yet another prime-time stab at marriage and the (apparently) hilarity of selfishness and dysfunction. Marriage today is suffering enough already – does it really need to be ripped apart even more?

New beginning

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end…”

                                                                                         -Semisonic





I think our new beginning from last fall has finally come to an end and we are about to begin again. It’s a life restart. A second chance to make it, really make it, on our own.

Friday we got the call that our application had been approved. Saturday we began organizing our long-stored belongings, preparing for the move across town. Sunday we planned, and Monday we started packing, anticipating 9 AM the next morning, when the new place would officially be ours.

Tuesday at 8:45 AM I sat in the car and sobbed because we had hit an unexpected wall.  I should have expected it with every obstacle we’d been through to get to that point, but it still hit me like a falling piano. My pride crumbled as we called our parents asking for help, then called the realtor’s office and told them we had been temporarily delayed. I sat stiff and red-eyed as we arrived at the bank to ask for a high-interest cash advance on our credit card. The joy of the early morning was gone. I prepared to settle back into familiar disappointment.

But the bank representative who helped us was kind and encouraging. The lady processing our lease talked us through the paperwork with a smile even though we were over an hour late. The keys were put into our hands and we unlocked our front door for the first time. I didn’t show happiness as much as I could have, and I apologize to Matt for that. But quietly, tearfully, I was happy. I am happy.

We still have a long, uphill battle to defeat debt, but we’ll make it. We can’t run out and buy fancy new things for our house, but so what? After having our belongings in storage for 14 months, it will all seem new to us. And new isn’t what’s important anyway. The important thing is what we make out of what we have.

It may not seem like a lot, but it is to me. I’m ready to make that house our home.