Thoughts on family life
Today,
I smell a yellow rose,
drink coffee from a smiley cup,
and watch PB read the paper across the table.
No deep thoughts,
no pressing demands,
no duties to perform.
I am taking a vacation
from myself.
“Come away with me to a quiet place and get some rest.” Mark 6:31
Last night PB and I went to a visitation at a funeral home for a dear lady that was a member of a church we used to serve. We wanted to offer our condolences to the family and support them during their time of loss. For PB, this is the equivalent of a Friday night date. I’m okay with that.
Upon entering the funeral home, I went to the guest book and started to sign our names. I glanced up at the 8×10 picture of our deceased friend and was stunned at how much she had changed in the last few years. That’s when PB whispered, “Umm…that’s not her.” Realization hit that we were at the wrong funeral home. I panicked.
Should I cross out the half-written name in the guest book? No.
Should I go ahead and finish signing our names? No.
So I took PB’s middle name and stuck it on as a last name and I hightailed it out of there.
PB was a few steps behind me because he had stopped to grab a few pieces of complimentary candy.
I sure hope no one saw us sprinting out the door and through the parking lot, exploding with laughter.
That might have looked bad.
We finally found the right funeral home and paid our respects to the right person. But every few miles on the ride home, PB and I would look at each other and start giggling.
I love going on dates with PB.
Here’s a sure sign of spring.
Flip-flops and capri shorts and hanging out on the deck.
So that means it’s time for some spring cleaning.
Luckily, I had a little help this weekend.
We polished the mirrors.
We dusted the end tables.
We vacuumed the carpets.
Evie pointed out where I missed a spot.
She’s helpful like that.
Then we organized the cupboards.
With all the extra help, the chores were done in no time.
Maybe I worked her too hard.
9:30 a.m. is a little early for an afternoon nap.
As a kid I wasn’t much of an athlete, although I tried.
In fifth grade I joined the girl’s summer softball team. The coach put me in when we were getting creamed and there were two outs in the bottom of the ninth and it was getting late and he needed a sure out. Thus ended my softball career.
In junior high, I went out for basketball. I made a basket once. For the other team. I cried my eyes out in the locker room, even though we lost by twenty points. So I hung up my sneakers for good.
In high school, I ran in the 440 relay. My real reason for going out for track was because my voice teacher told me running would be good for my singing. It was. I lost every race but got the lead in the musical.
When I had kids of my own who showed an interest in sports,
I finally found my true calling.
I was a great fan.
That’s why today is such a great day.
In fact, today is a doubly great day.
This afternoon, I will tune in to watch the Milwaukee Brewers’ Opening Day of Major League Baseball.
Tonight, I will cheer on the Wisconsin Badgers as they play in the NCAA National Championship game.
I have never been so excited to spend hours in front of the television,
but then,
that’s my calling.
March is so long.
And full of madness.
I tend to slink through late winter by hibernating with a stack of books. I’m always happy to have made it through this stretch of days while waiting for real spring to show itself after some false starts.
But this year, March has been surprising.
First off, these guys came back to the Western Hemisphere, the North American continent, the US of A, the Midwest!
Oh, and so did their parents!
For the first time in years, our kids are all within a few hours drive of each other.
Then, there are these guys.
Frank the Tank and the Wisconsin Badgers have made it to the Final Four.
March Madness is so much more fun when your team is winning.
Then there was this.
PB and I got in the car one Friday morning and drove to St. Louis. We saw our niece perform in a musical, ate some BBQ, and drove home the next day. I love road tripping with PB. He lets me pick out all the podcasts and music we listen to. He lets me read out loud to him. And sometimes he lets me drive. While he sleeps, I put on the earphones and listen to the audio version of “Pride and Prejudice” because that’s where he draws the line.
We were ready for a pit stop around Springfield, Illinois, so we stopped in at the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum. What a great place!
We celebrated birthdays, our church gathered in small groups for Lent, I went without sugar for three weeks, I read six books.
Thank you, March.
You weren’t so bad.
It’s PB’s birthday today!
On the day of his entrance into the world,
there was a magnitude 8.3 earthquake in the Aleutian Islands
which triggered a Pacific-wide tsunami.
He’s been shaking things up ever since.
Love you, honey!
Episode #7
A few weeks after our engagement, I was scheduled to go to Puerto Rico with my dad and step-mom. For some reason they thought it would be a nice idea to let me come along with them on their winter get-away. Since I was a grown-up girl, they figured I would be low-maintenance. They could do some sight-seeing and leave me to sunbathe by the pool.
It was extremely generous of my parents to share their vacation with me, and I was excited about going. That is, until a sparkly diamond ring was securely on my finger. The thought of leaving my brand new fiancé was more than I could bear. I wanted to be with him every second of every minute of every day. But, alas, the plane ticket was purchased so I had to leave the snowy, subzero midwest for the beautiful beaches of an island in the Caribbean.
I cried the whole time.
Well, not the whole time, but enough of the time that I put a real damper on the vacation. I wrote love letters and sad poems while sitting by the pool. I longed to talk to PB, but phone calls were out of the question. Every beautiful sunset made me cry because he wasn’t with me.
The day we were to fly home, there was a huge blizzard that shut down O’Hare. I was beside myself. We got as far as Miami but couldn’t get a flight back to Chicago. I begged my dad to get me home to my true love. I’m sure he was just as anxious to bring the vacation to an end as I was. He managed to find a flight to Kansas City where we waited on standby for another flight to Milwaukee. Finally, we three bedraggled travelers boarded a train and headed west. I called PB and explained the situation. Between “I love you” and “I miss you” I told him where the train was coming in (30 miles away) and when (midnight). A little blizzard wasn’t going to stop him from getting to me.
In the middle of the night, the Amtrak pulled in to a quiet station. Because we hadn’t planned on this route home, we didn’t have any winter coats with us.
The train stopped and the three of us stepped off with all our luggage.
Into a snow bank.
On the wrong side of the train.
We stood there, in our t-shirts and shorts, shivering as the length of the train zoomed by.
When the caboose finally passed, I looked up on the platform. I could faintly see an outline of a handsome figure through the falling snow. My rescuer. I was so happy to finally see him after suffering through that long week in Puerto Rico.
So was my dad.
Episode #6
By the time my ankle healed, PB and I were making plans for our future. There was no doubt — we were meant to be.
My mother’s diamond ring had been tucked away in a lockbox at the bank for several years. When mom died, it was understood that I would have her ring someday. So PB not only had to ask for my hand in marriage, but also for the ring to put on my finger. He drove to my dad’s farm early one winter morning to ask for permission to marry me. After having a man-to-man talk, the two of them went into town to get the ring. PB waited in the lobby of the Citizen’s State Bank and soon my dad walked out of the vault holding a little white box. There were tears streaming down his face.
On the night of December 23rd, PB planned a special date. He wanted to propose at one of the nicest places in the city — The Edgewater. When he called to make a reservation, they asked him if he would like a room.
“How nice, ” he thought, “this restaurant has private rooms for a quiet dinner for two. That sounds romantic.”
“Sure, reserve me a room,” he said.
When he picked me up at my house, the snow was starting to fall. It was a beautiful drive through downtown Madison. He looked so handsome in his suit coat and a tie. I was all dressed up and felt the excitement in the air. We walked into The Edgewater and PB told the man we had a reservation.
The concierge handed us a key and gave us a room number.
I looked at the key with a confused frown.
I looked at the man with a confused frown.
Then I looked at PB with a confused frown.
“I made a reservation for dinner,” my date said, his face turning red.
“You made a reservation for a hotel room,” the man replied.
“This is a hotel??? I thought this was a restaurant with nice little rooms to eat dinner in…..”
The staff quickly found a table for two in the restaurant, right next to the window overlooking the lake.
I said “yes”. To the proposal of marriage, not the room.
Episode #5
Following our trick-or-treat adventure, I was forced to hobble around on crutches for awhile. Getting to most of my college classes was doable, but twice a week I had Economics 101 in a building at the top of Bascom Hill. It was a fairly steep climb for a girl with torn ligaments in her ankle.
(As a side note: one day the professor started the class by writing the word “BOOKKEEPER” on the blackboard. “This word,” he said in his Boston accent, “is the only word in the English language with three double letters.” It’s the only thing I remember from Econ 101.) Back to the story.
I didn’t want to skip two weeks of classes since I was already having trouble keeping supply and demand straight.
Enter my knight in shining armor.
Or perhaps PB was feeling a little guilty about my injury.
Either way, he showed up at the bottom of Bascom Hill right on time twice a week and gave me a piggy-back ride to the top. It seemed like a fitting penance for dumping me off his shoulders and onto the sidewalk on Halloween.
When he carried me up the hill on those November afternoons, I started to believe that he loved me.
As I sat in that lecture hall taking notes on the Cost-Benefit Principle of goods and services, I began to see the many benefits of PB’s good heart. I started to believe that I loved him, too.
Episode #4
After a year of long-distance person-to-person phone calls, PB and I decided to quit monkeying around and get serious. We had known each other for four years, but never lived close enough to actually go out on a date. So he left Kentucky and I left Michigan and we both landed in Madison, Wisconsin the summer of ’78. Our relationship survived the long distances. Things got serious.
Looking for any excuse to be together, we offered to take my nephews trick-or-treating that October. The two boys were excited to have their cool aunt and her boyfriend take them around the neighborhood. PB thought it would be more fun if we dressed up as well. I got on his shoulders and my sister-in-law threw a big sheet over my head — we were a giant ghost. The boys were pretty impressed with their cool aunt’s boyfriend and his fun ideas.
Half way down the block PB started saying things like, “It’s so hot under here” and “I can’t see where I’m going” and “You’re getting kind of heavy”. I suggested ditching the fun idea. The next moment is still a blur for me. I tried to slide off his shoulders and he tried to let me down easy, but something went terribly wrong. I heard a crunch in the midst of arms and legs and a tangle of bed linens and hard pavement.
An hour later, in the hospital emergency room, a nice nurse finished wrapping my colorful swollen ankle — the ligaments were badly torn. She asked, “How did this happen?” Wiping away tears of pain I replied, “I was getting off him and my foot got caught in the sheets.”
There was a moment of silence as we all processed what I said. In an effort to explain further, PB said, “We were trick-or-treating.” The nurse smiled and quickly discharged me.
It was a memorable date. I’ve been wary of PB’s fun ideas ever since.
a small drop of ink 