Valentines & Other Things

I came home from work Friday night to find a vase of red roses, a bottle of Coppola Pinot Noir, a funny card about marriage, a box of chocolates worthy of Forrest Gump & his mamma.

                                    

As if this were not enough, the biggest surprise of all...water color paints, brushes, cold pressed paper & a book on watercolor technique.

You could have knocked me down.

I haven't seriously painted since college.

I haven't tried since ten years ago when I bought myself watercolor supplies, several books and began sketching again.  I never followed through with any of it.

After profusely thanking him, I asked what made him pick up the art supplies.  His answer,  "You've always regretted not continuing with your art in college and I 'it's never too late' and went to the Art Store & talked with the owner about the proper supplies to get you started."

He paused and looked at me expectantly.

"Are you going to try?"

Well, yes.  Yes I am.

Hope your Valentine's Day was as nice as mine.  

Mother's Day Redux

Sunday was Mother's Day and I was joined by my sons, newly returned from a 17 month journey through Australasia.  It was wonderful.  Having them back is a gift. They bring meaning to my life in a way no one else can.  This obvious truth was patently present during their absence.  Being a mom is a wonderful thing.  It may not be for everyone but, for me, it has changed my life for the better.

My mother was an incredibly loving person.  She rarely judged anyone, let alone me. Other people didn't seem to bother her.  I am grateful for her loving hand.  Were it not for her, I might be exactly like my dad: judgmental, outspoken, sometimes quite rude.  As it is, I always have hope I may temper those dominant qualities with her gentle approach.

I miss her more than I can say.

Happy Birthday Honey!

My husband, photographer Cole Scott, celebrated his birthday yesterday with a new image and a quote from Chekhov.   Surprisingly, these are not stones below the water but ice flow in a pond.  

Happy New Year!

I don't often post personal photos on this blog.  I save the reminisces for "Empty Nest Evolution".  My husband and I said "Au revoir" to our sons the beginning of December.  We put them on a plane to Australia and we don't know when they will return.  They worked and saved to buy one way tickets and one year work visas.  We've heard from them once, Christmas Eve, and are happy to report they are having a marvelous time.

My sons (L & Ctr), their traveling bud (Rt) & their closest "girl" friend 
Dec 5th  Last night in Boston before leaving for Australia

Our farm house Christmas Day

Our yard Christmas Day

Creek running through the yard Christmas day

It snowed Christmas day and has continued since, great for our local economy which feeds 8 ski resorts and depends on tourism.  A white Christmas is always a plus.

Happy New Year to you and yours!

Happy Turkey Day!

As chief cook and bottle washer today, I know what I'll be nippin' between prepared dishes...

Enjoy your day, hopefully, with family, friends and loved ones.   

Mommies, Have A Wonderful Day!

A Day of Remembrance

The Easter season is the most poignant Christian observance with its many themes of persecution, mockery, innocence, death, and, ultimately, triumph over Death.  Christ  winds up his 33 years on earth with an accelerated round of appearances and talks designed to spread God's word before he goes.  Christ is crucified, dead and buried on Good Friday.  He is risen two days later to walk among his disciples as proof of his divinity compelling them to tell the story.  It's an amazing affirmation of Life after Death.

My parents, my brother and I celebrated Easter in the same manner each year.  Mother would take us to shop for an "Easter outfit" to wear to church.  Sunday morning, dressed in our finest, we would have a big breakfast, usually prepared by my father, go out to the back yard and snap some family pics, then head to church for services.  I would miss that to this day if it weren't for my awesome family.

Easter Morning ca 1965 or 66

My brother & I in our back yard

This morning, my sons got up early.  They showered and dressed and readied themselves for church.   I wanted to attend but cannot yet drive, thanks to a recent operation.  They were there to accompany me.  My husband surprised us as well by going.  It was wonderful.  Afterwards, we went home and began the time consuming process of putting Easter dinner together.  My leg is painful and swollen so I cannot cook.  My MIL bought an 8lb leg of lamb, dressed it and had it ready to go.  My younger son tried his hand at a 40 year old carrot cake recipe that is out of this world.  My older son peeled potatoes for mashers and helped anyone who needed it.  My younger son's GF made a beautiful salad.  My older son's childhood friend and GF brought Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory apples, beer and wine.

It was a group effort.  Everyone helped.  Everyone served dinner.  The meal was unbelievably perfect.  The dessert as well.  Afterwards, there was dancing in the living room, lots of happy talk and laughter.  My husband and I sat on the sofa, watching 6 young adults have fun; telling each other how lucky we felt and how happy we were at this moment in time.

Easter Morning 2012

Happy New Year...

...from my family to yours.

Man's Best Friend

Just in time for the holidays...



Merry Christmas to all who made it home.

Kiss Kiss Bye Bye

What happens when a "woman of a certain age" has had it up to here with her philandering partner to whom she's given what some may consider the best years of her life?

Joy Behar provokes an already angry Shannon Tweed to walk out on her partner of 28 years, Gene Simmons. If you want to see a guy squirm when confronted with his shortcomings (bwahahaha), watch the video.




Now, we all know she must have known what she was getting into when she hooked up with this guy.  I mean, who hasn't seen his tongue action?  She was once Hugh Hefner's GF so I'm guessing she liked the high life regardless of her partner's proclivities.

Once you reach a certain age, however, you want to relax.  You want to know your partner stands behind you, figuratively speaking of course.  You want to feel safe.  Gene Simmons does not equal safe. 

28 years = alotta dough, married or no.  You go Shannon!

P.S.  If you're out of the country & can't see the video, here's the link to Joy Behar's blog where I picked it up:  http://joybehar.blogs.cnn.com/2011/06/13/shannon-tweed-walks-out-on-gene-simmons-during-taping/

I Won't Send Roses

Many years ago, I saw the musical "Mack and Mabel" with Robert Preston (one of my great movie heros) and Bernadette Peters.  They brought it to San Diego for an out-of-town trial run and I was lucky enough to get a ticket.  Even though the show was unsuccessful on Broadway, it had two of the most poignant, memorable love songs I've ever heard. 

This is one of them:

This is the other: 

Elizabeth Edwards 1949-2010

 Wedding Day 1977

 

Young Couple in Love

 

 Happier Times

 Cancer

 

In Memoriam

Embracing the Past

As time goes by I find myself increasingly looking backwards, wondering how people are whom I cared about as long ago as high school; wanting to see friends who still matter, missing a piece of my life that is gone forever but comes back suddenly in unexpected ways.

Yesterday, while perusing the Facebook photos of one of those California friends with whom I reconnected at my last high school reunion, this photo popped up. My breath stopped and for a moment I was transported back to my giggly 15 year old self, a determined girl with a major crush on the boy on the left.  Now, this photo was taken a few years before we met but I already knew his brother, on the right.  We'd gone through elementary school together as little kids.  His older brother became my first serious boyfriend.

We were a couple for eighteen months.  He was two years ahead of me in school, a senior to my sophomore.  We were one anothers first love.  It sounds corny but it's true.  He was a serious person, excellent in school, a fine guitarist who played in one of the many amateur rock bands so prevalent in those days.  I was mad about him. 

He's one of the only persons I remember who knew what he wanted to be in life:  a pilot.  He had it all planned out; ROTC at Loyola, then fly school in the USAF, then go commercial.  That is exactly what he did.  Oh, and he married one of my best friends.

He wanted to get married after I graduated high school.  I was only in my Junior year and already flirting with a new boy with whom I had one date.  I couldn't see tying myself down in marriage.  Besides, I was 16 years old!  I broke up with him on my 17th birthday and it was painful.  By then I was falling for the boy who, seven years later, would become my husband.   I actually thought I could ease his pain and assuage my guilt by setting him up with a close friend who was infatuated with him.   She probably gave him everything he needed, especially devotion. They were married after he graduated college.  She couldn't wait to get out of her house.  They were both Catholic.  My dad liked him a lot but he couldn't abide my marrying a Catholic.  We're Protestants--Baptists.

I don't know if you can see the sweetness in both boys.  I suppose to anyone who didn't know them, they look like typical teenagers.  A few weeks ago I saw a current photo of him and didn't recognize him at all.  It was a shock.  I haven't seen him since 1970.  What did I expect?  I guess I didn't expect him to remind me of his father.  He's still married to the same girl, they have two grown children and he's now retired at the tender age of 61.

But I do remember the beautiful boy with whom I fell in love thanks to this photo which  brought a smile to my face and many happy memories. 

Life can be so  sweet. Tempest Fugit.

That, My Friends, Is Love

My husband and I are attending a wedding today.  It's being held outdoors as is the reception.  Since it's the bride's third marriage, it's not a formal affair but one does need something nice to wear.


Last Wednesday, returning from our trip to the coast of Maine, we stopped at a mall so I could look for a nice summer dress.  We went to The Loft, the Ann Taylor store of less expensive frocks.  My husband has great taste and he began to pick out dresses and tops he liked. I was hoping to wear a size 10 as I've been on this workout/nutrition plan since March and, per my post of  May 7th, I had lost 8 inches & 3 lbs.  Well, the 10s were still out of reach but I thought the size 12, which I've been wearing, would work.

Anyone who has ever shopped Ann Taylor knows they run small.  I say this not because I'm trying to lose weight but as a former devotee of all things Ann.  The clothes run small whether you're a 6 or a 12. I have been both.  Suffice to say, the two dresses he and I liked most did not fit my hips in a size 12.  He wanted me to go up a size.  I refused.  My sales girl, a young, sweet and quite helpful soul, thought I looked good in the 12. And I did.  But it was literally squeezed over me after she'd helped me into a body slimming piece of underwear.  Wearing dresses tight and accentuating curves is the style right now and I have curves galore.  Luckily my bosom balances out my ass.   But from the standpoint of comfort, the dress was killing me. 

An older (my age), wiser sales lady took over from mine when she went on a break.  At this point, I was sweating profusely and had to sit down in the dressing room to keep from fainting.  I think I was having an anxiety attack.  Nothing fit and I felt terrible about myself.  I mean, what was the point?  I looked in the mirror and I saw flab and fat; not the newly redesigned body I've been molding.  She sensed my despair as did my husband who took off for the sales floor to pick up a beautiful blouse for me to try.  He brought it back to me and it looked pretty.

He said, ""Wear this with a pair of black slacks and a long strand of pearls.  It'll look great."

I was mollified enough to agree and we walked towards the sales counter.  En route, he picked up a gorgeous piece of costume jewelry to compliment the top.  I agreed with him and we were suddenly enveloped by several older, well dressed, very kind sales "ladies" who wrapped and untangled and soothed me.  I walked out with my purchases, holding hands with my husband, thanking him for his kindness.

Later that day, while unpacking at home, I thanked him again for helping me out.  He turned to me and said,

"After all you went through in there, I wanted you to walk out with something.  I wanted you to feel it was worth it.  I wanted you to feel good."

You know what?  I did and I do!  Isn't he the guy?  This is what love is really about.

Artwork by Laura Trevey.

A Perfect Valentine's Day

The perfect night begins with the perfect dress.  This one?

One of these?

 

Perhaps something more fanciful to honor the occasion.

 

Shoes to match.

 

A bouquet of flowers; tulips are always appreciated.                                                     

An out-of-the-way inn...

 

...or a table with a view...

and a lovely cup of coffee, tea or nightcap.

 

Sounds like a perfect Valentine's to me. 

Art by Laura Trevey

Ex-Boyfriends

High School boyfriend & I Grad Night 1969

I married him... not once,TWICE!! 

Thanks to a new blog I'm reading, The Alchemist's Pillow, I found the following poem which goes perfectly with my last post, "Notes on a Former Lover".

Ex-Boyfriends

by Kim Addonizio

They hang around, hitting on your friends
or else you never hear from them again.
They call when they're drunk, or finally get sober,

they're passing through town and want dinner,
they take your hand across the table, kiss you
when you come back from the bathroom.

They were your loves, your victims,
your good dogs or bad boys, and they're over
you now. one writes a book in which a woman

who sounds suspiciously like you
is the first to be sadistically dismembered
by a serial killer. They're getting married

and want you to be the first to know,
or they've been fired and need a loan,
their new girlfriend hates you,

they say they don't miss you but show up
in your dreams, calling to you from the shoeboxes
where they're buried in rows in your basement.

Some nights you find one floating into bed with you,
propped on an elbow, giving you a look
of fascination, a look that says I can't believe

I've found you. It's the same way
your current boyfriend gazed at you last night,
before he pulled the plug on the tiny white lights

above the bed, and moved against you in the dark
broken occasionally by the faint restless arcs
of headlights from the freeway's passing trucks,

the big rigs that travel and travel,
hauling their loads between cities, warehouses,
following the familiar routes of their loneliness.

"Ex-Boyfriends" by Kim Addonizio, from What Is This Thing Called Love. © W.W. Norton, 2004

Notes on a Former Lover

Last night I received an email from a guy I dated in my late twenties.  We renewed our friendship last year when  I wrote him after seeing his address in a mass email to members of our media circle about a well liked friend who died prematurely.  This guy was, as Meg Ryan put it in "When Harry Met Sally", my transition guy; the first man I became attached to after my separation and divorce from my husband.  At the time, he was a national radio rep, running the LA office of a prominent national firm.  Basically, these guys represented radio stations throughout the US, calling on LA agencies for the placement of  national business.  I was a national media buyer, working in-house for the largest photo finishing company in the U.S.  I purchased radio & newspaper advertising in 40 out of 80 markets.

His interest became evident when he heard I was separated.  He approached my boss to see if it was appropriate to ask me out.  They had a good relationship;  she liked him and she liked me so she was all for it.  I'd had dinner with him many times on a business level and we got along great.  Dating was about to change the whole picture.  First of all, he invited me to accompany him to Kyoto.  His San Diego station had an annual client trip to which he was always invited with a "guest" and he invited me.  It was a week long excursion.  We'd never even kissed.  I called my mother and asked her what to do.

 "Go."  she said.

But my father got into the act.  He had been a national rep too.  He'd had his own business for thirty plus years before retiring.  He was bat shit.  The phrases "Not proper" and "conflict of interest" were applied liberally.

All my co-workers wanted me to go.  It was the trip of a life time and I was separated and my husband, soon-to-be-ex, was on the east coast.

"Go!" they urged.

I didn't go.  I couldn't reconcile any of it:  the conflict, the feelings I had for my husband and the fear I felt about being with the new guy.  Turns out, I'd have had my own rooms and needn't have worried but I was too inexperienced to ask.  He was very disappointed but when he returned we began to date and years later I realized I might as well have made the trip because, in the eyes of his competitors, I did compromise myself by dating him.  He always claimed I was much harder on him when it came to negotiations than I was on his competition and he was right.  But only he and I knew that.  It was doomed from the beginning but we became very good friends.

So last night he dropped me a note and it was sweet. He was bringing me up to date on his grand kids, his life.  He is still single having married and divorced twice, once before I'd met him and once after.  He ended the email referring to himself as an "elderly gentleman".    He just turned 67 which kinda blows me away as I remember his 40th and 50th birthdays.  We lost touch after that.

As my transition guy, we were better friends than anything else.  He was somewhat of a mentor, usually a good sounding board and very helpful through much of my career.  I was never in love.  I just had a serious crush.

What are the ramifications of looking up an old love?  Are they sweet?  bittersweet?  sad?  Do we only want to see the ones that ended not too badly?   How many of us know where our ex loves are?  How many of us care?  Food for thought.