I Carry Your Heart (I Carry it in My Heart)

 

Two years ago today, I went on a date. I had no idea then that it would be THE date. The first date. The last person I would date. With the man I would marry. 

We knew each other growing up, went to the same junior high and high school, but lost touch after receiving our diplomas and tossing our caps. We were photos in the yearbook to each other, and a few shared memories.

We reconnected 21 years later, through the magic of Facebook, and more than a little nudging from my best friend, who also happened to be my husband’s prom date at one time. (Their one and only date).

I probably knew around the third date that he was the one. But, I also knew my history, my luck with love- or rather lack of—so I held my breath and waited for something to go wrong. It didn’t.

We were married a year ago today.

Love stories happen every day, all the time, magical stories of all kinds taking shape and ending with cake and frosting, a white dress and vows. Sometimes, it all begins to seem commonplace or even expected.

I am not saying our love is any more special than anyone else’s, and although our story is unique and I think romantic, there are a thousand more out there like it, or even more beautiful in their histories, their struggles, or what they have survived or overcome for love.

But what I can say for certain, without pause, and with all my heart is that we are lucky. Lucky to have connected after so many years, lucky to be so well matched, lucky to know that we both are in this for the long haul. Lucky to have found each other in a world that can be harder than it should be, and less like a fairy tale with each passing year. Life is hard, life is uncertain, and the pain and dreadfulness that people go through, survive, or sometimes perish from can make me weak in the knees to witness.

I had my own journey before meeting my husband Shea, and he had his. We both endured our share of pain, loneliness, and longing. We both readily agree that it was worth it—however trying, however painful—so long as we ended up here. I had given up on so much watching the world wiz by, thinking that I wasn’t destined for some of the better parts of it. But, here I am today, lucky in love. And I know it doesn’t happen for everyone, and I know there are no guarantees. I know that being single and wanting it can be one of the loneliest places in the world.

So tonight, as we slice into our wedding cake – the small top layer we have preserved in the freezer to share a piece each year on our anniversary- I will say thank you  to the universe, to fate, to Facebook, and my best friend Kim Linville, for making this happen. I will say a thank you in my heart for Shea’s heart, which is so giving and compassionate, and which beats in time to mine. 

I will close by sharing a poem that my dear friend Judith read for us at our wedding. It is one of my favorites, and I love that it was a part of our ceremony.

i carry your heart with me

by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

Read more...

The Unexpected Lessons of Marriage

As my husband and I get closer to the one year mark in our marriage, I have been thinking about how quickly time passes, and how much has happened in such a short time. It is hard to believe that we have been married almost a year, and together almost two.

Rarely a day passes when I don’t think about all the times in my life that I have settled. I think that word could describe a lot of my life—settling for some friendships that weren’t good for me, settling for treatment from my parents- my father in particular- that I should never have accepted, and mostly settling for relationships where I wasn’t valued, respected, or even really loved.

I think about all those times now, because I am no longer settling and I realize what an incredible, life-changing feeling that is. I wish I could take hold of all the young amazing women out there and make them realize that you should never settle—not in your career, in your family, and especially not in your relationships. I gave up on finding love because I believed that I had outrageous ideas about what it meant, when really, somewhere along the line, I had whittled down my expectations to be so low, that being generally respected and treated well seemed a far-fetched fantasy.

It still amazes me that at work I could talk to a room full of board members, company officers, and management members, suggesting new ideas that I had come up with, stressing my opinions, and handling tough questions with ease, but in my own personal life, I could not take up for myself when someone was treating me like crap. But, I see it with a lot of women—I don’t know why we sell ourselves short, but we do.

I have also realized in the last year how strange and wonderful it can be to live with someone after more than twenty years of living on my own. I have learned to sacrifice and compromise, not in a bad way, just in a normal co-existing way. It hasn’t been easy as I am stubborn, impatient, and did I mention stubborn? Luckily, my husband meets me equally on all fronts, and has also had to adjust to an unfamiliar new way of life—but one that we both want and delight in.

After a lifetime of feeling that I really could only count on myself, to actually let someone in on the times I am weakest is odd and amazing. I cannot believe how much I am myself now, more than I ever have been—hiding nothing, expressing practically everything, and feeling no worries or self consciousness. It is liberating and a lot of times—amusing. One particular thing, that I can’t believe I am about to share, comes from the freeness of living on my own for so long, with only my animals to witness my antics.

I have this habit of…dancing. Not necessarily to music, not at appropriate times, not expectedly. It happens, oh, when I am standing with the refrigerator door open, trying to decide what to choose for a snack, or when I am loading the dishwasher. It is not pretty or choreographed dancing; it is some Elaine Benes-inspired shaking and spazzing that my husband says he now believes is completely out of my control. It just happens, and sometimes I catch myself, but most of the time Shea will jolt me out of my dancing by saying, “Right here”—to remind me that there is indeed another person in the room. Luckily he finds this endearing, and enjoys my embarrassment more and more each time.

But what this has taught me is how right we are for each other, and how truly comfortable and happy I am with Shea—and with myself in this relationship. It has been startling for me to realize that after twenty some odd years of dating, I have never felt so comfortable, so real, so much myself, and I have never really been myself. That’s scary to realize. For so long, I felt I had to be some ideal person/girlfriend/woman, and molded myself to fit what I thought that was, or what the person I was dating thought that was. It is astonishing that it never really dawned on me to be myself—and that maybe that was enough.

I am sure through all those faulty, short-lived, painful, and doomed relationships I had moments where the real me surfaced, but I know that even in longer term relationships, it never felt like this.

Having said that, we do argue- intensely- usually about the stupid things married couples do. I have never had the foundation I have now. Even within my family, I grew up believing that things were so shaky, that one person might leave at any moment—and more often I just felt forgotten in the struggle. Fighting or arguing scared the hell out of me because to me it meant loss and abandonment. This continued throughout all my relationships as a learned behavior. If a boyfriend and I were fighting, even if I was 100% right and it was something I should have fought or defended myself for, I was so reluctant to stand my ground for the fear of feeling it pulled out from under me. I gave in or panicked and back pedaled often just to make it stop. In the end, all I knew was nothing was really better, and I wasn’t being left or abandoned, but I felt incredibly alone.

In watching my friends go through ups and downs in their own marriages over the years, I have given advice, parceling out strong opinions and shock at how angry my friends could get over their husbands not handling a chore they had asked for, or forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning. Then on the other side of the coin, I would talk to my guy friends about their frustrations with their wives, again lecturing them on overreacting and not appreciating what they had. It is so funny how little you know until you are married. For the most part, we both try to take care of each other, but the little annoyances and grievances are there, and I have thought about my advice many times and chuckled to myself. You just don’t know until you are in it how difficult it can be at times, especially since we both had our first marriage at 40 years old, after a long time of being set in our ways.

What I love though, is that we are able to patch things up, usually make each other laugh, and feel stronger after. I know this is our first year of marriage, and this is the “honeymoon” phase. But we have also had to deal with some huge issues- painful, stressful family issues that we shouldn’t have had to deal with- but we have. And I know in my heart that if we can get through this in our first year of marriage, with all of the other “normal” adjustments, we will be fine. For a very long time.

This morning, we went to church for the 11:00am service. I have been honest with my husband about my struggles with religion—what I believe and what I struggle to believe. For my own past pain, for the pain we have both endured in the last year with family issues, for the pain I see in the world, and in my friends lives…for the randomness of lives taken, and repeated tragedies befalling the dearest people… I can’t always make it make sense. I can’t always believe there is a reason or a plan.

But as I sat in a pew this morning listening to hymns sung quietly in the small church where I became Shea’s wife, I knew more than anything that I had no doubts about how solid our marriage is and will be-- no doubts about how beautiful and perfect that November day was when we got married.

And most of all, no doubts about the man sitting next to me.

Read more...

Finding Home

Over the past few weeks, my husband and I have had to navigate more than a few twists and turns. He has started a new job- a new career path- and I am so proud as I watch him work outside of his comfort zones and find success, one step at a time. That is never easy at any age or stage in life.

We have been preparing for a move into a new place that we have been so excited about. When we first moved to the beach area where we live, we were in a mad rush. I had just gotten a new job and we literally had only a few days to find somewhere to live. We were so lucky to find a place close to my office, and only a few blocks from the beach—and also within our budget. To top it all off, the place was furnished (one of the benefits of moving to a vacation area). We signed the year lease and moved in and started a life here.

Within six months of moving here last year, we were married in a small local church with all of our family and friends. After the ceremony and reception, we went with our photographers to a quiet area of the beach for some photos by the ocean. It was November 13^th and the day was spectacular. It was 70 degrees out and I didn’t see a cloud in the sky all day. That was unusual even for this area—and there wasn’t another day like it that fall. We both felt there was something magical and perfect about that day, and that we were meant to be together, and be married right then, right there, in that moment.

Then, last week, I got laid off from my job. We have had a few little bumps here and the days leading up to that, and I think both of us wondered if our luck was changing. Just a week before I found out I was getting laid off, we had bought some furniture for our new place (which is unfurnished), and recently had to buy a car, so our finances already felt tight. For a few days we both discussed quietly what we had to do to make things work, and what changes we needed to make.

We knew we needed to go forward with the move, and we had already signed one lease and ended the previous one. We had to have furniture, and had a ridiculously long time to pay off what we had purchased, without finance charges or fees. We made excel spreadsheets and budget plans. I have been down this road a few more times than my husband, and have been in some seriously dire financial straits. Even though you can’t help but worry, I have learned that these situations can cause you to sink—not feeling like getting out of bed or facing the world—and that is the last place you need to be when money is tight.

After a few days, we shook ourselves out of the funk we were in and rolled forward—giving thanks for what we DO have—that we can eat and pay the bills—and most of all- we can make each other laugh. I am so thankful for that part of our relationship. We laugh so much—even in tough times. We know each other’s funny bones so well, and there are times I almost can’t breathe when Shea says something too witty at just the right moment. There is a saving grace in that kind of laughter, a kind of safety net for when things seem too dark or serious.

So today, I stayed home and waited for the delivery of our furniture. I had a million thoughts in my head, thinking of where we are right now money-wise, and how excited I was to see how our place would look filled with the pieces we had chosen. The delivery men carted our living room pieces up flights of stairs and unwrapped each piece. Our bedroom furniture fit into the room as if I had planned and measured carefully (which I had not).

Gathering up the plastic wrap and moving blankets, the movers left and I walked back upstairs. I stood in my living room and took it all in. To me, this was not just furniture. This was a home I had been waiting for thirty-some odd years. This was the start of a life I had dreamed of for so long, and had given up on having a long time ago.

As dramatic and sappy as it sounds, I stood in this room, quiet with only the whir of the ceiling fan in the background. I closed my eyes and let a thousand scenes play in my head. I remembered walking to the end of the dirt road we lived on when I was 10 years old and staring into the field that spread out beyond our neighborhood. I remembered wishing out loud to just be on my way in the world and find to find love and hope and a good, happy life.

I remembered moments with my father that made me stop believing in myself—moments I wish I could forget.

I remembered nights during my college years, feeling like I was slipping into an abyss that would engulf me—out in the world on my own for the first time and having no family or support to tether me and wanting more than anything to feel better, feel happy, feel loved.

I remembered stupid choices, failed ventures, lost love, and battling depression for the better part of my life. I remembered finding a therapist who finally saw the truth behind everything and lit a path for me to follow and find my way back to the living.

Most of all, I remembered sitting in a parking lot in California over three years ago. A mixture of a toxic work environment, a huge heartbreak and betrayal and ongoing, painful family issues had overwhelmed me. I was out there by myself and had just had the final blow hit me. I remembered how absolutely alone I felt in the world and how hopeless. I remember vividly that I did not want to be here, there, or anywhere anymore.

More than anything, I remembered how much I believed, with all of my heart and soul, that things would not get any better.

And then, I opened my eyes in my home, our home. I looked around at the beautiful furniture, and the life we are building. And despite money worries, work stress, life changes and everything else, I am so grateful. So grateful, that somehow I made it through, that somehow Shea and I found each other and that somehow, today I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here.

The money will work itself out. We have everything we need.

The fabric collage featured here "My Home, My Heart" is by Marty Mason. Click here to see more of her beautiful work.

Read more...

Dreams do come true...

Read more...

Name Change

I have a new last name. It is bizarre after 41 years to say the name, write the name, know that it is mine. It is a gift.

I was married last Saturday, November 13 in a small church near our home. If I had handpicked one day out of the year to tie the knot, I could not have picked a better one. The weather was absolutely perfect, around seventy degrees, and if there was a cloud in the sky, I didn’t see it.

Without a doubt, I had given up on this dream ever coming true. About 3 years ago, after a combination of heartbreak, bad luck, and just life, I remember writing in my journal: I am on my own for good, I know it. I have to face that.

I didn’t have some hope off in the distance, I wasn’t writing those words to be dramatic. It was my truth. I knew it in my heart. 

I am writing these words now because I want so badly to give hope to someone out there who feels the way I did. And I want to be so clear that I was in such a low place, as low as one can get. I just remember seeing emails and stories of friends and strangers finding love, bliss, happiness, and it seemed like another species on another planet to me. Depression had an unshakable hold on me, had grabbed me with its tentacles, and pulled me into the shadows and gave me no hope of breaking free. Depression had found me as a result of many things—my childhood, failed relationships, career let downs, and my own self esteem.

Today, my life has changed. It wasn’t just because someone walked into my life and flipped a switch. It was a process of healing, therapy, and friends and family circling the wagons for me. It was a long look at myself and my life, and somehow letting love in—cracking the door enough to give my life another chance.

It was not easy. I can honestly say that the last four years of my life were the hardest because as an adult, I had to face down demons, fears, and patterns that had grown accustomed to living with me. Going through everything through the years was excruciating, but trying to relive the worst parts, dissect them, and then make sense and heal was at times worse. There were things I kept shut away, and it was easier temporarily not to put them out on the table.

My husband (I still can’t get used to saying that!) and I do not have a perfect, flawless relationship. We argue, disagree and sometimes annoy each other to pieces. But we do have an honest respect for one another. And we truly like each other as we are- flaws and all. I have never ever been in a relationship where I was myself. I couldn’t be for one reason or another. (all signs that you are in the wrong relationship). It has alarmed me how at ease I am around him, how I catch myself being totally silly or just effortlessly free.

I have realized that I have settled in the past in so many ways, and I beg of anyone reading this—man or woman—don’t settle. Not in any way, not in one cell of your being. And we all know when we are settling. That inner voice tells us. We just ignore it because we think we don’t deserve better or can’t do better. And you can. 

I have cried happy tears every day since the wedding. I have stopped and relived the happy moments of our wedding a hundred times. One of the greatest joys for me was seeing all the people who circled the wagons for me when I needed it, there with us to witness the fruits of their labor. These were the people who refused to give up on me, who saw the hope of something I couldn’t see. These are the people that built a pathway for me to take to the place I am today.

All the decisions Shea (my husband!) and I made about the wedding were the right ones. We fretted over tradition, family pain, our own beliefs, and of course, all the food and event decisions. I can’t count the number of times we have looked at each other since Saturday and said—it was all so perfect.

So many women- my friends and fellow bloggers and women who read my blog- wrote to me before the wedding and told me to try and slow down on the day of the ceremony, to drink it all in. Several women said they couldn’t remember a lot of the day- it was a blur.

I talked to Shea about this a few days before the wedding. We made a pledge to each other that we would savor the ceremony, really take care to be in the moment and drown out everything else.

As I followed my bridesmaids to the back of the aisle, I took a long deep breath. I looked around at the women who would lead me into the sanctuary. I caught a glimpse of the blue sky as we walked by the open back door of the church. And I watched my dear friends wink and wish me well as they headed down the aisle. I will never forget those moments, or the moment I stood at the back of the aisle and saw Shea’s face just as he saw me for the first moment. We never lost eye contact for a second as I walked down the aisle to him. 

It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

It was the beginning of my new life. 

My new life with a new name.

~~We had an amazing photographer at our wedding, the photos won't be ready for a bit. For those of you that asked and want to see them, I will post a link when they are ready. Thank you to everyone for the sweet wishes for our wedding!~~

Read more...

Circle of Love

In the last few months, with the wedding date ahead of us, my fiancé and I have been tumbling through a bittersweet time. There has been so much shared joy- first between the two of us. Both of us are 40 (ok, I just turned 41), and neither of us has ever been married. Although it may not be too uncommon these days for folks to wait to get married—or even not to get married at all—for us, it was never not wanting to get married—it was not having found the right person. We both feel such a sense of gratitude in having finally found each other. It was a long wait, and both of us doubted we would ever have this bond and this love in our lives.

The other joy has been sharing this time with family and friends, feeling the love and happiness pour over us. So many of our friends have been wishing this happiness for each of us—and to see them so happy for us is as touching as anything I have encountered. Our close friends knew how badly each of us wanted this happiness—this love--this wedding—this life. To share it with people who have been along with us for our journeys before this—all the heartbreaks, the career highs, the life losses—it is all so special. At our wedding shower last month, we looked around the room at all the people there, remembering all the milestones we have shared with so many. All the weddings, showers, birthdays, holidays, family additions…the list goes on. These people made our lives whole up until we met each other, and now the intermingling of everyone just makes everything complete.

The bittersweet explanation is the turmoil we have been dealing with that only a few close friends know about. We were betrayed and hurt by people we trusted…so deeply that I cannot find words to write. We continue to try and tiptoe through the daily reminders of this pain, a pain no couple should ever face in the days leading to their wedding. I have watched my fiancé hurt in a way I cannot completely heal, and I have shared his pain in a way I have never shared anything else with anyone. I worried for weeks that our wedding would be tarnished by this pain. I worried that these memories would somehow cast a shadow on everything—darken the day somehow.

Instead, we have found this new strength…knowing how good we are for each other, knowing how strong we are. We have had rough moments but have never for one second doubted one another. This test of us has almost, just almost been a blessing.

I had never doubted anything about the man I am marrying- his morals, his heart, his honesty, his simple goodness and inability to be false. But, even knowing that in my heart is strengthened by seeing it in action. This time of trouble has shown me who he is and who we are. It has let me know how we will handle a crisis. We are not perfect, not without flaws or the ability to make mistakes. But, in the end, in times that are as tough as these moments have been with the worst possible timing, I know that we can swim our way through together, picking up for each other where one leaves off, saving each other in the process.

If it is possible, I will walk down the aisle more sure than I could have imagined that I am headed in the right direction, into the arms of my best friend, my soulmate, my happiness. 

I am finally at the point in my life that I believe I deserve it. 

We both do.

Read more...

Yours and Mine

It is all yours and mine…

This unexpected pain

Robbing us of time

That should have been

Dedicated solely to joy.



We share the weight

We keep going, you carrying me

When I should carry you.

And all I want is the moment

Thirty days from now.



A white dress

The scent of freesia

The faces of friends turned forward

Then back to me…

I want to just be there.



Seeing you

Waiting for me

Beckoning me to take the first step

To hope

To know we are each other’s fate.



My heart worries

My soul is restless

Afraid I bring dark clouds with me

Snatching the blue from your sky

Robbing you of light somehow.



You promise me

Every day

That I am the other half of your heart

Your happiness, Your light…

Your life.



I can’t imagine

That I am to you

What you are to me-

Peace, hope, love, joy

Laughter in the darkest moments.



If you only knew

The pain you soften

With your words

The memories you erase...

The hurt you heal with a glance.



It is all yours and mine…

To take back our own sky

Paint the clouds, find the light

Hear no voices

But our own.

Read more...

Crumbs

I can barely begin to explain the tumble of emotions I have been through over the last three weeks. There is first and foremost the utter and complete happiness of being with my fiancé and making wedding plans. Plans I thought I would never make with a man I thought I would never meet. The only certainty in my life for so many years was sadness and the belief that it wasn’t going to get any better. I can honestly say that a day does not go by where I don’t stop for a moment at some point during the day and give thanks. I waited a long time for this happiness, and so did he. I sometimes think (and worry) that all brides and grooms must feel this way at the beginning when they walk down the aisle. No one knows for sure if they will last- if they won’t make it. How do I know my situation is different? All I can worry about is the now, and the now is wonderful. And after that, I know I can’t take one second for granted.

Planning my wedding has been more than I ever bargained for. Finding the florist, the photographer, and picking a caterer…all those details are daunting enough. Add a full time job and anything else into the mix and it gets overwhelming quickly. In the past, I have helped friends plan their weddings, have worn more bridesmaid dresses than I care to count, but nothing can compare to planning your own. It is more than picking out a white dress and asking friends to stand up for you. It is more than choosing colors and selecting flowers. There is so much emotion tied to your own wedding. Not just the love and commitment, but all the family decisions and involvement can complicate (or deepen) everything to a place you never imagined.

I have struggled with the situation over whether or not to have my father walk me down the aisle. My mother has been terribly hurt and completely unable to understand why I wouldn’t want him to accompany me at the church in November. Her level of denial still astounds me. She cannot go to a place where she has to see the reality of what my father’s alcoholism has done to our family, and the lasting effect it has had on me. Since I brought up the issue and expressed what I wanted, it has caused weeks of arguing, awkward conversations and tears on both ends. It would be easier, it seems, to give in. Again, it is only 30 feet and maybe 5 minutes, right?

I keep telling myself that. And even though I know it seems to my mother and maybe to everyone else that I am trying to punish or hurt my father, I can honestly say that is far from the truth. My decision is for me. I didn't truly realize it until all the talks with my mother recently. I also believe it won’t really hurt him- except maybe his pride. Maybe no one understands my reasons, and I have a difficult time expressing them. There is bitterness from me towards him, I think that is apparent in my past blog entries. There is pain and anger. A lot of that comes from the years I have spent in therapy and trying to heal. Years I feel that I ‘lost’ in my life because of it all. Going through the pain was enough, but losing time made it all seem to last forever.

But my reason for this decision is apart from that. I made promises to myself growing up—things I would do and have—things I would be one day. The love I would find, the life I would lead. And it has taken me so long to even begin to fulfill those promises. I feel as though now I am leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the little girl I was, leading her to where I am now. Finally, I am here. All of the pain was worth it. We made it. I made it.

I am proud of myself for getting through everything I have gotten through. I survived. Just barely. I am so thankful I did. And emotionally, I did that myself. I had friends and a therapist who helped me with the tools I needed to be able to fight, who held me up so I could walk through the door. But emotionally I had to get there myself. And I fought hard. I want to walk down that aisle knowing that in order for me to be here, to be in that church and say those vows, and find the peace and joy I have waited so long for, I did it. In spite of my father, in spite of setbacks and heartbreak. Somehow, I did it. And those steps down that aisle belong to me, each one of them.

To me, and the little girl I was, the little girl I made promises to- promises that have finally come true.

Read more...

Pain vs. Tradition: The Walk Down the Aisle

It’s not that far to walk. Maybe 30 feet I am guessing? It is a small church. And at the end of that walk, a part of my life will be over and a new one will begin. It will take 3 minutes or less. And yet, it is the one thing about planning this wedding that has caused me the most worry, the most heartache. It has been the one argument my fiancé and I have had over anything to do with the wedding.

Will my father walk me down the aisle?

I actually have already talked to my mother about where my father should get fitted for his tux. I have already had a disjointed conversation with her about him walking me down the aisle. I never called her to formally ask. He and I have not really spoken in over a year. The last time we spoke was by necessity at a family gathering for Christmas last year. My mother called me a few months ago once I started to plan the wedding, simply asking what my father should wear to walk me down the aisle.

It seems easy enough to those outside the situation. Knowing my history with my father, knowing my feelings about him, knowing the pain he has caused in my life—NO—he should not have the honor of walking me down the aisle. It seems easy enough.

Do I want him to? No. Mainly because I have had to take care of myself for a long time. I may have done a poor job of it at times, but I have had to find a way to navigate through this world, to honestly survive my relationship with him. It was his voice I heard in my head for the better part of my life. The voice that made me doubt myself, that made me make choices I would not have made otherwise. The voice that told me I wasn’t worth a healthy relationship or belief in myself. The voice that constantly made me doubt myself and at times hate myself. That voice I heard—his voice-- became my voice. I was 36 years old before I even began unraveling that mystery; before I began to try and hear my own self in there. Before I realized it was his voice and not mine I had been hearing.

This isn’t about breaking with tradition. For me, tradition went out the window years ago. I could care less about wedding etiquette or rules, or what people see as right or wrong. A lot of people don’t know the truth about what went on in my house growing up, or who my father was behind closed doors, or who he is now. So yes, there might be questions at the wedding, but that isn’t it either.

It begins and ends with my mother. Although I have wanted to pummel her at times over the years for concentrating on nothing but the fact that I wasn’t married, that I was getting older and was going to end up ALONE, that I was going to get too old to have children—I am happy that she is getting to see this happen. It has worried her to death—almost literally. I know she only wanted my happiness as she completely missed the irony that she was begging for me to enter into an institution that had brought her nothing but pain, disappointment, and loneliness. I know that it will be one of the happiest days in her life to be at my wedding. And I think she has had too few of them. I know if I tell her (because I will have to tell her since my father and I don’t speak) that I do not want him walking me down the aisle, that it will be she who suffers. She will hear him venting, he may refuse to come, and my mother is at times dependent on him when traveling. Not because of any illness or anything like that, she just relies on his opinion, almost his permission, to do anything.

My mother is living in the biggest state of denial I have ever witnessed. Part of this is that in her world, we are the perfect family, have had no issues or dysfunctions to speak of, and every holiday has been a Normal Rockwell painting. My wedding is just another painting in progress, and everything should be in place: the bride in white, the handsome groom, the three tiers of cake, and the father walking the daughter down the aisle.

As much as I want to just let it go, and do the easy thing…I woke up yesterday asking myself who this was easy for. I have, too many times in my life tried my very best to make things good for everyone else. And to be honest, because I grew up living my mother’s denial, I too kept up appearances that everything was normal, if not wonderful in my family for many years. You can learn denial and keeping secrets just like you learn everything else. Everyone at college went home for Christmas and excitedly talked about relatives not seen all year, presents, family meals, and just happiness. At times I even made up stories, or at least very heavily embellished what I had to look forward to. The truth was, Christmas was one of the most painful times of year for me. There were several Christmases that my father either made me leave the house (on Christmas Eve) or things became so explosive that I had to leave. I wasn’t a problem teenager. I didn’t come home with a tattooed boyfriend or a pregnancy announcement or any of the other afterschool-special problems that might send a parent over the edge, even at Christmas. It was as if just my existence, my very being, and all the disappointments I had become were too much for him to handle without loads of alcohol and profanity spewed in my direction. It took me awhile to stop trying to be the last missing piece in my mother’s Rockwell painting, coming home to make it complete for her. Finally, I started taking vacations at Christmastime, saving my vacation time at work, and not always being honest with those who I knew about where I was going. No one wants to hear that you are spending Christmas alone, even if it is in Maui or Paris. It is best to just let people assume you are heading home with the rest of the world.

I took baby steps in trying to preserve my sanity. Not going home for holidays, and then not visiting when my father was home. I felt guilty making things hard on my mother, but had to, at some point, save myself.

And in about two months, I am getting married. It will be one of the most important and happiest days of my life. And though it may seem like an easy decision one way or the other…to spare my mother’s feelings or to say no to someone who doesn’t deserve the honor…it isn’t easy. But, I have waited so long for this. For this love. I honestly had completely given up on it happening for me. And the joy I have had in my life for the almost ten months I have been with my fiancé has changed my life and made me stronger. I honestly believe I had to learn to love again, and my fiancé has taught me. They say you have to love yourself before you can love someone else. I think for the most part, that is true. But sometimes, you can’t see yourself until someone else sees you. Believes in you. Helps you hear their voice and your own above everyone and everything else. And that has happened for me.

The thought of even the gesture of letting my father walk me down the aisle makes my stomach hurt, makes me angry, makes me sad.

The thought of walking myself down the aisle, toward the man I love, toward my new life makes me nothing but happy.

Maybe it is an easy decision after all.

Read more...

Cherry Grove

I never thought of living here—in the Myrtle Beach area. This was a place my family vacationed when I was a child, specifically in Cherry Grove. My parent’s best friends had a family beach house there, and some of my happiest memories of childhood are those weeks we spent together, our families comingled, sharing bedrooms, bathrooms, beach towels, and sunscreen.

Since we were spending time with their closest friends and their small children, most of the tension of my family was left behind as soon as we headed south in the direction of Cherry Grove. I remember just loving the sound of those two words- Cherry Grove. It meant a week of laughter, good food, and feeling almost normal. I have known the Harris family since I was six years old, have spent as much time with them as any of my extended family, and have always been in awe of the happiness in their house, their family—that has only grown more beautiful over the years. I feel so lucky that I grew up spending so much time with them, really seeing firsthand what a healthy marriage and family looked like- what it felt like. And I always felt at home in their house- and still do to this day.

Once we were all at the beach, the minute we drove up to their orange and brown house on stilts, I felt relaxed and more myself than most any other time. I loved the Harris’ daughters as if they were my own sisters, and reveled in the role of big sister—and the opportunity to do it for a whole week was thrilling to me.

I couldn’t tell you the exact years we started going to the beach, or when everyone’s schedules got too busy and children grew up, moved away, and finally the house stopped being a gathering place. But of all the places I have traveled and lived, Cherry Grove held a special place in my heart.

I remember so well waking up in the mornings on vacation, slipping on a swimsuit still damp from the day before, finding flip flops (mine or someone else’s) and trekking the block to the beach. I can still see pictures in my mind—photographs we would get developed after the trip, showing one of the Harris girls as a toddler in a tiny, baby-sized bikini on the beach, eating fistfuls of sand, usually with me hovering somewhere nearby, laughing, the ocean breeze sweeping my hair to one side.

Nighttime was spent with us all gathered in the kitchen, seemingly everyone cooking something, eating until we felt we would burst; or we would all head out to dinner, trading children in each other’s cars and heading to Calabash to eat fried seafood in a restaurant overlooking the water.

Slipping into bed at night, my skin still felt warm from soaking up the sun all day, and I felt more a part of a normal family than any other time.

But I never thought of living here. This was a vacation spot. I think there was also some magical association I had with the time I had spent here, and the thought of marring those memories would have been too risky. Better to leave those experiences safe and in the past—and not return to see a reality of some sort, or create any unhappy association.

Then, when I met my fiancé, one of the first trips we took together was to this area. He had also grown up vacationing here, but had continued that tradition himself as an adult through the years. He also had an almost magical view of this area, and said he had hoped to retire here one day. He had dreamed of living here, but never saw a way for it to work out.

And then, in a bit of a whirlwind, we got serious, his work situation changed, my work situation changed, and I made inquiries about a job here. Neither of us thought it was likely we would really be able to end up here, but it was nice to entertain the idea and put a few feelers out. His dream became my dream.

It all popped into place so quickly, it is still hard to believe. And as much as I am thrilled to be here with him writing our love story, I see the signs for Cherry Grove and I am taken back immediately, decades ago. I almost wish I could go back and tell that girl—me at 12 years old—that all the love I needed, all the things I hoped for—were going to find me—a little farther down the line than I might like—but in a place I treasured. This beach, these roads, these places I knew and loved would one day be home for me…in more ways than I could have imagined.

In the past month as I searched for a church for us to get married, I googled information, called churches and pastors, and drove around looking for a place that felt right. One night, I came across a Facebook page for a little church nearby. I called the next day and made an appointment to visit. The moment I walked into the sanctuary, I knew this was where we would say our vows. And the address, of course, is Cherry Grove. I can’t imagine a better place for this new beginning, this new chapter of our lives. I will walk down the aisle in a church in a city that held nothing but happiness for me, and that happiness will continue... right where I left off so many years ago.

Read more...

Plans

Life is a little more hectic than usual these days. I stare at the ring on my finger, still so new to me—the ring and the idea of it. At the age of 40, starting this journey with someone who has also never been married, is almost strange—but beautiful at the same time.

Both of us have had heartbreak in our past, and both of us doubted this ever would happen. So every step is a little sweeter because we waited so long. For me, it was a more painful journey than I would have wished for, but this happy ending is making up for a lot of old wounds.

Years and years have passed since I wore one of many bridesmaids dresses for friend’s weddings. Those were the years when everyone I knew was getting married, and I wanted so badly to follow in their footsteps. I felt like an outsider, like there was something wrong with me that I wasn’t planning my future with someone at the age of 22. I can remember vividly the bittersweet moments at friend’s weddings—so happy for them—so moved by their commitment and joy—but on the car ride home, a sadness would hit me wondering if I would ever find that kind of love.

Over the past few weeks, I have started planning our wedding. We have found a church, made our wedding list, looked at cakes and invitations. I bought my wedding dress last week and picked out the bridesmaid dresses with my maid of honor. When I first started planning, it felt awkward to think about trying on dresses, asking friends to be bridesmaids. At this age, women might be planning a second wedding, not a first. I wondered if I would stand in the dressing room at the wedding shop, surrounded by twenty-somethings, and just feel old and out of place.

But I didn’t.

I felt incredibly happy, lucky, excited, and in love. All the things a bride-to-be should feel. And I was surrounded by twenty-somethings. Looking around, I felt I might have something they didn’t—a little wisdom—and an even a deeper appreciation for the blessings I have. For the hope of it all—the days to come—and the knowledge that years and years of loss and disappointment can lead you to your very own happy ending. Nothing you could have foreseen or planned, nothing anyone else could have predicted.

I am enjoying all this planning—the chaos, the creativity, and even the stress. And I am careful not to take one moment for granted. Both of us remind ourselves how lucky we are all the time—and how worth the wait all of this was.

I have an absolutely beautiful ring on my finger. I catch myself staring at it often. And as cliché as it may sound, it is even more beautiful because of what it stands for—what it means—what I waited and hoped for. I honestly had given up on all of this ever happening for me.

And finally, it has…all at the ripe old age of 40.

Read more...

Something Old, Something True

If you notice on the right hand side of my blog, under the heading All Things Paris, there is a link to my favorite blogspot, the Paris Daily Photo. The title is self explanatory. A wonderful frenchman named Eric posts a new picture from the city of Paris each day with a little explanation about the subject matter. It is my little "Paris fix" each day, and I love to check in and see what he will show us next.
I post comments sometimes, and in doing so, I have noticed some of the other faithful readers (and bloggers) that comment. I will sometimes click over to their blogs and so on and so on. It has been a fun way to learn about places and people and new things.
I happened upon a blog this way called Things UK, written by a woman named Lynn. (she actually has a few blogs). But, one of her entries in particular touched me, and I emailed her and asked her if I could post it here, because I thought you would all enjoy this as much as I did.
Lately, I have watched so many of my friends struggle with broken hearts, the challenge of marriage--and making it work, and I have to tell you, there are days when I think-- Are there true love stories anymore? Not that any of my friends have failed, and that is the worst part. I see all these wonderful, amazing, unique individuals, and it all seems so hard.
Following is the post from Lynn's blog. The story tells itself. And it is nice to know that even though the stories are few and far between, that there are some love stories out there that have stood the test of time. It gives me hope, and to my friends out there struggling, all of whom I love, I hope you read this, and that it gives you hope, too, wherever your own path takes you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poetry after 65 years? Must be Good!





Recently my father sat down and wrote a poem to my mother about their lives. They lived in Whetstone and Finchley in north London. I'm so touched by it and hope you will enjoy it too. He's a romantic old thing.

-----------------------------------


I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of forty two
The sirens loud
The guns and bombs
In Britain's struggle
To win through

And at that time
A change of schools
Sent me to Holly Park
So strict, but fair
No place to suffer fools

Then in these momentous days
A happening so great
To shake my youthful ways

I remember, yes, I remember
The girl that I saw there
In class 1a, the same as I
I tried hard not to stare

Her hair so dark and neat
With eyes more brown than brown
I glimpsed her in her seat

And even then
My heartstring woke
And stirred within my mind

Her name was Joyce
And plain to see
She was the girl for me

We went through school
And not a class apart
Until our time was through

Fourteen, the year to leave
Our working life to start

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty five
Her schooldays done
Six months in front of mine

This must be it!
She’s gone
And I’d not sense to ask
To meet again
And could it be soon?

New ways for us so young
Find jobs and learn a trade
A year slips by
Sad thoughts of dates not made

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty six
While working in my office
A new girl is employed

I know this girl!
It’s Joyce’s friend
From Holly Park, our school!

I ask her how Joyce is
The answer “very well”
I say “and will you please
Ask if we can meet?”

The answer relayed back to me
It really is a yes!

The meet’s arranged
It’s in our lunch hour
We’ll meet on her way home

Ten minutes by bus
And I am there

I know where she will walk
My tie is straight
Excitement tense
But can I sensibly talk?

I see her then
It’s her, and no mistake
Her hair so dark
Eyes sparkling brown

The schoolgirl that I knew
No longer was in view
But here, grown up
And very lovely too

We talked and walked
To where she lived
Time short
Can’t be late
I had to catch my bus

Must go, but then,
I have just made the date!

I remember, yes, I remember
The evening of our first date
Cold January twenty nine
I’m early (can not be late)
I wait outside the Odeon
Who’s cold? Not me! I’m fine

The bus, a one-two-five
Comes rushing to a stop
I see her getting off and then
I greet her with a smile

Two 'two and nines'
The price I pay
The best seats in the house
And would she like some chocs?
The ones we both will always share
Our favourite ‘Dairy Box’

The film show over now
We stand for ‘God Save the King’
It’s time to take her home
We queue together at the stop
The wind blows freezing cold

I wrap my coat around us both
I say, to keep her warm
But truth to own
It brings us close
So I can look
Into her eyes so brown

I remember, yes, I remember
The Autumn of nineteen fifty
Three happy years we’ve spent
Together all the while
And now it’s National Service time
My call-up soon is sent

Two years to serve
It’s in the RAF
How long to be apart? -It’s not so bad
As I had thought

I often can get home
On many a Weekend Pass

Our letters to each other
Pass, daily in the post
Mine sometimes do contain
A short but loving rhyme
And hers to me the same
But sometimes also this
End with a lipstick kiss

My National Service days now done
I’m back in Civvie Street
So good to see her all the time
To make our plans complete

Ten years have now gone by
Since the summer of forty two
When first I saw her face
Then was it luck?
Or maybe fate?
That winter of forty six

I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of fifty three
The Queen and Coronation Day
But no, much more than that!
In June that year our wedding
At All Saint’s, Oakleigh Road

I turn and look to see her
Coming down the Aisle
She’s on her Father’s arm

Her dress pure white
And darker shows her hair
Her eyes of course are shining brown
But finely covered by her veil
Then smiles that both we share

She says “I will! So softly
Then, and in my turn
I say that “I will” too

A fine reception
Enjoyed by all
Was in the Springfield Hall
Then came the time
For Bride and Groom to leave
The music, food and wine

Her Mother came and held my hand
And said “look after her”
She knew, of course, I would
I said “You know I will”
The best way that I could

I remember, yes, I remember
The spring of fifty seven
In March that year
Was born, and to our joy,
A healthy baby Boy

Two years on
Then April fifty nine
To put us in a whirl
A lovely baby Girl

I remember, yes, I remember
All the years since then
A further forty eight have passed

So can it really be?
Sixty years and five
Since that summer of forty two
When first we met in school

Two images have stayed
Fixed always in my mind
Of Joyce at Holly Park School
Sitting at her desk

And see her then so clear
Stepping from the bus
And knowing that from there
It’ll be not You or Me
But Us

-Roland Ede 2007

Read more...