Happy 43rd Anniversary!

September 9, 1969

"Love at first sight is understandable.

Staying in love is the miracle."

September 9, 1969

"Tell me who you love and I'll tell you who you are."

June 1971

"A great discovery in marriage is that you can grow separately

without growing apart."

June 1983

"The most important things in life aren't things."

October 2008

"Love isn't just gazing at each other,

it's looking out in the same direction."

November 2011

Me: I think you're starting to rub off on me.

Dee: That's good. I've been trying to lose some weight.

I would rather do nothing with this guy

than something with anybody else!

Marriage Should Be Fun

"Falling in love at first sight is understandable.

It's staying in love that's the miracle."

Five things my true love and I have done together lately:

1. Discussed architecture.
2. Taken a road trip.
3. Chatted with grandkids.
4. Listened to Taylor Swift.
5. Counted our blessings.

Having fun together helps us stay in love.

Ten things I've been thinking about staying in love:

1. I think people fall out of love if they don't look for reasons to stay in love.
2. I think love is a verb. It is something you do, not something you expect.
   
3. I think a woman isn't grown up until she takes responsibility for her own happiness.
4. I think it's a shame that many women see a spouse or children as the cause of their downfall, and suppose that success comes only after they are free of them. This sad belief is everywhere!
   
5. I think couples who speak kindly and lovingly to each other will be happier.
6. I think we need to check the map and see if the road we're on is taking us to the place we want to go.
7. I think the weather segment on the 10:00 news has become way to long. (Just checking to see if you're still reading.)
   
8. I think it's too bad that some women are nicer to a stranger than they are to their husband.
9. I think that you can't work on togetherness if you're never together.
10. I think a good marriage takes a lot of practice.
    

Forty three years ago Dee and I fell in love at first sight.

It was fun.

We fall in love over and over, as we gain insight.

That is even more fun!

Trust Your Instincts

"Hi, Opa." The little voice squeaked with worried tears.
"We have a big prob-wem!" His panic came through the phone.
"Songbear needs surgery, and there's nobody else who can help us."

Songbear is Benji's best friend, and he'd been hugged til his stuffing was coming out.
A holiday bath had made things worse, and Benji was feeling his buddy's pain.
"Can you help us?" he whimpered.

Opa perfected his sewing skills years ago with Cub Scout shirts and Boy Scout patches. There's nobody he'd rather pick up a needle for than a little boy. He arranged to meet his patient at the Christmas Eve party.

All during the festivities Opa snipped and stitched.

"I'm trying not to hurt him," he said as the needle poked a furry backside.

When Operation Songbear was complete, Benji tied the final knot.
The perfect Christmas present.
(Who needs Santa when you've got an Opa?)

Forty three years ago, when I was just nineteen, I met a 22-year-old boy. We were on a semester abroad without the accouterments we normally judge people by. I didn't know his family, what kind of car they drove, how they interacted. I'd never seen him in real life—his clothes, his friends, his house.

Ten days later we decided to get married. My parents freaked out when they got the letter. What was I thinking? They didn't know a thing about him! But I did. Our first Saturday together he shined my shoes.

Something told me he'd be an awesome Opa.

Our First Christmas Morning

Our 8' x 35' home, and our VW Bug, 1969

As newlyweds we never noticed how cold it got in our trailer at night. Christmas morning we woke up to find our shower curtain frozen into it's folds. The moisture had turned to ice! To save money, we left our coal oil furnace off, so Dee jumped out of bed to light it while I stayed snug under the covers. I told him to open his first Christmas present before he lit the fire: his new extra-long matches (in a decorative box) took up residence on top of the "fireplace" as objects d' art.

When the room warmed up, we made hot chocolate with candy canes, and freshly whipped cream, and Dee lit the candles on the tree (which was dry and a huge fire hazard.) A tiny stash of presents was piled underneath. Although we'd set a $10 budget, both of us had overspent. Dee gave me a book of Bruegel art, a slip of ivory lace, and a small hymn book. Besides the matches, Dee got some 4711 Cologne, a collage of our memories, and a red flannel nightshirt that I had made. (He only wore the nightshirt once because it stuck to the sheets, and turned them red.)

Our first Christmas, 1969

The opening ceremonies took about five minutes. Part of me wanted to rush home to my parent's warm family room where a giant tree glittered and a real fireplace roared. Dad would be passing out presents for an hour, and Mom would be fixing a lavish buffet, and I could be a kid in receiving mode. But this year I was not a kid anymore—I was a wife with a home of my own and it was our first Christmas as a family.

Dee's enthusiasm for all our firsts made them fun: I cherish that about him. He has always put our family above anyone or anything else; since the day we were married his goal has been to strengthen and unify our little (now big) family. At first I would have been happy to play house, but return to my parent's home several times a week to enjoy their TV, refrigerator, and full-size tub. About a month after we were married I remember thinking, "Well, this was fun, but I want to go home where Mom does the dirty laundry, and Dad makes the scary decisions." I realize that we would have stagnated that way. It would have diminished our shaky self confidence, and kept our fledgling abilities unnoticed and unnecessary. I'm glad it was only a fleeting thought, because those attributes needed opportunity and reason to grow—too much supervision or hovering would have smothered them.

One of our great thrills has been to watch our kids start their own holiday traditions. It's fun to see which ones they include from their childhood, what their spouse brings into the mix and what ideas they come up with together (Anna). (Click the links to see their versions of our traditions.) I love hearing that somebody celebrates St. Nickolas Day (Gabi) and that somebody else remembers our George Bailey Award (Marta). They also incorporate new traditions such as the Nutcracker Ballet, sleigh riding or cooking their own fancy dinner on Christmas Eve.

We decided long ago that we would never put pressure on our kids to split their time equally, or keep track of on and off years. Now they have extra sets of parents, grandparents and even great-grandparents they want to fit around the traditions they're trying to establish in their homes. Our main gift is to take the pressure off, support their decisions, and enjoy being together in whatever configuration works best that year. Our old traditions have served their purpose, and now there are seven unique families we try to strengthen in whatever way they need—by being there, having them over, or giving them space.

Someone said, "Your traditions must not mean as much to you as mine do to me." I answered that as fun as our traditions have been, they have evolved over time. I want the tradition to work for the family, rather than the family have to work for the tradition. Although Swedish thin hot cakes were our favorite tradition for Christmas breakfast, trying to wedge in a thinny between breakfast and brunch (at three different houses, hauling three babies) seems ridiculous. The thinny won't have its feelings hurt and neither will I! "We'll be thrilled to see you anytime" has become our new holiday tradition.

Memories are worth making. I'm so glad our stubbornness in establishing that first Family Christmas in our trailer overrode my mom's heartbreak, my homesickness, and Dee's granny's disappointment. We established some traditions that year that have lasted 42 years—mainly that our marriage made us a family, and no matter how inexperienced we were, strengthening our family was our main responsibility as long as they were ours. Some year we would see them leave to establish their own family, and we would stand back and let them go. We each get our own turn—the Christmas of 1969 taught me that.

St. Nicholas Day

Some folks are just naturally merry.

Take St. Nicholas, for instance. Can you imagine him complaining about the cold? Or feeling sorry for himself because he works 24/7? He's a jolly old soul whose main goal in life is to make us smile.

Today is St. Nicholas Day. Children in Holland and Germany (and lots of other places) know that St. Nick is out and about, so they leave a carrot or apple in their shoe as a snack for the reindeer. When they wake up, the carrot has been replaced with a tiny thank-you surprise, and the season of giving is ushered in.

In honor of St. Nicholas Day, I'm thinking of people who always live life as if it were filled with twinkling lights, inspiring music, exciting adventure and endless promise. The ones that make my life better just by being part of it. Optimistic people, merry people.

A cute lady I know brightens a room whenever she enters, not because of her appearance but because of her attitude, her smile and her friendliness. She has lots of interests and is very interesting, but she still seems genuinely interested in me! Another friend always asks about everyone in my family, laughs about funny things I said years ago, and finds the best in any situation. Her enthusiasm is contagious; it's a gift I get whenever we're together.

A wise man said, "Like all human behavior, optimism is learned. No one is born with it or without it. You learn it. You practice it. You try it out until it becomes a habit. And then you can't imagine behaving any other way . . .

"Begin with a smile. Take a real interest in what others are thinking, saying, and doing. Get outside yourself. You can (and do) change everyone with whom you come in contact. The question is whether you add to or subtract from the day's experience." (Don Gale)

As my St. Nicholas Day gift to you, I asked the jolly old man his secret. "I wink a lot," he said. Mmmm . . . maybe that's why he sees only the best in us. (Haven't you always wondered why he leaves presents whether you're naughty or nice?) He looks at the bright side: maybe that's why he's so merry!

Merry Christmas!

Extended Family Christmas

Glancing at each other with sucked in grins, we tried not to giggle out loud. Our feet didn't touch the floor as we left the doctor's office that December 11, 1969, and burst out laughing, hugging each other before the door closed. It was true! Next year we would be known as Santa Claus to someone! We were going to have a baby.

We'd been married three months, and it was our first Christmas together. We were still kids ourselves, 20 and 23, and we were over the moon with excitement. Our own family. How could we celebrate such an eternal occasion? With an evergreen tree!

It fit in the corner of our 8' x 35' trailer (we're talking a pretty skinny tree) but it was green and crisply frozen; when it thawed out we swooned with the smell of fresh pine. We couldn't afford lights or ornaments, so we were creative. Strands of popcorn, and tissue paper snowflakes were hung, along with Christmas cards held on by fat red yarn bows. Even the cost of a package of cranberries stretched our budget too far, so Dee surprised me by stringing red pyracantha berries from the bushes near our mailbox. They shriveled within hours, so every morning he threaded new ones for fresh garlands.

Over our forty two Christmases we've had a forest of Christmas trees, but no tree stands out in my memory like our first one. It was like our marriage: it represented love, hope, effort, dreams and new traditions.

Christmas Eve we announced our good news by singing at the family party:

♬For unto us a child is born; unto us a son/daughter is given. ♬

(We each sang our own prediction.) It was snowing, so we left early and drove home for our own cozy celebration. After reading the Christmas story in Luke 2 we hung our brand-new, home-made stockings on the knobs of the stove and went to bed.

I'll admit, I wanted to stay at my mom's that first year, until I saw Dee's enthusiasm for our own Christmas. I couldn't imagine being away from my family on Christmas morning. Mom's Christmases were something from a fairytale, and Dad always had surprises on top of surprises. It took us a couple of hours to open our presents, and then our grandparents arrived with more. There were fires in both fireplaces, Mom made a lovely buffet in the dining room and Dad gave away cash prizes during football half-times.

I felt torn. I was the first kid to leave home and miss the big family event, and my parents were urging us to stay overnight. (Urge is a mild word—it was somewhere between insist and command.) They didn't support my new family when it upset their old family traditions. I felt traitorous choosing my little family over theirs, and I resented them for making it awkward to choose. I don't think that was their intention, but it was the result. Their lack of enthusiasm for our humble celebration encouraged me to resent Dee for hauling me away from their warm hearth to our chilly coal-oil hot plate.

I'm sure many newly-weds experience the same tug-of-war between childhood memories and adult responsibilities. It's easier to stay in mom and dad's Garden of Eden, than venture off into the cold and dreary world and work to plant a garden for ourselves. But it's a main part of the plan of happiness.

I love the quote that advises parents to "Hold your loved ones to you with wide open arms." It was our turn to start traditions, and Dee was anxious to have our first year together as just a couple—we'd never have it again. My folks were hurt and mad, as they often were when we began "tearing their family apart," (mom's words.) During those years we wondered: Why do we have to debate and defend our efforts to strengthen our marriage and home to our own parents, who ought to be thrilled we're trying to do that very thing!

I had wonderful parents, but they viewed me as theirs, even when I wasn't anymore. It caused a lot of stress, sapped my confidence, created conflict between me and Dee, and resulted in hard feelings that were difficult to overcome. From that first year we started setting goals for when we had adult children, hoping to avoid adding pressure and anxiety to our kid's lives.

1. We will be enthusiastic and support their choices, always, and congratulate them on making tough decisions, never second-guessing.
2. We won't throw cold water on their dreams with all our supposed wisdom.
3. When we tell them they're so awesome, they could do anything, we'll actually let them do the thing they choose to do.
4. We'll remember it's their life—their chance to make decisions (even wrong ones,) their chance to set priorities, their chance to learn it all line upon line, here a little and there a little, and our chance to stand back and enjoy it all from a distance.
5. We will plan for and develop interests that will keep us occupied so we don't have tons of free time to try to live their lives for them. We'll be available when they want us, and thick-skinned when they don't.

I started stressing over next-year's holiday the day after Christmas. How could I explain to mom how we felt, and not have it turn into a debate or a lecture? Or worse, hurt-feelings and comments like, "Grandma said she hopes she dies before you stop coming to the Christmas Eve party."

There was no understanding of the difficulty of dragging seven kids away from their Christmas whatever and keep them entertained (during the most hyper time of year) and well-behaved in a beautifully appointed house full of valuable keep-sake decorations, surrounded by a bunch of adults the kids don't know and who are annoyed by the chaos kids live in.

I've gotten carried away. It's 4:00 am and I'm leaving for Denver at 8:00 am! You're going to have to carry on this discussion! What do you think? We need opinions from all sides of the issue. Comment!!!

And, on a more festive topic: Where do you find Christmas magic? I'm ghostwriting a blog this season—my pen name is Kirby Puckernut and I'm one of Santa's elves. Click here for a sleigh full of fun Christmas ideas! Please visit—Kirby's more light-hearted than me today!

Marriage: What Brings Us Together

"Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday.
Mawage, that bwessed awangment,
that dweam wifin a dweam . . .

wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva . . .

So tweasure your wuv."

I love being married. Last week we were talking to a Social Security guy over the phone (Helen and Morty style: both of us on the line) and he asked, "How long have you been married." "Forty-two years," I said. "To the same person???" "Yes," we said together. "Forty-two years!" he gasped. "God bless you!" Then after a pause he continued, "You must be experts at it. What are your secrets?"

I have learned a lot about marriage over these past four decades and I'm going to share some marital secrets.

"Mawage is wot bwings us togeder." Dee and I stick together. Our first hours together were spent walking and talking. That's literally all we did during our courtship. We met as students on a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria—no money, no car, no TV, no friends, no family, no place to make-out—we just talked. Quickly we became friends, best friends, and we wanted to officially become bff.

That's a secret: talk. After we were back home with a job, a car, TV, friends, and family there was competition for our talking time. And finally we had someplace to make-out, so babies started coming and the din in our tiny trailer made chatting a challenge. But we've kept talking to each other (about anything and everything, all the time) a high priority.

And the bff thing? Another secret. Best friends don't blab about each others faults, frailties, foibles or flaws. They're loyal. I'm certainly not perfect at this but I must be nearly perfect, because lots of folks think Dee is perfect! (I'll leave it at that.) It's not a totally selfless thing to speak highly of my husband: I think it makes me look better to be married to an awesome guy. Why would I tattle on his quirks and make myself look like an idiot to be hooked up with him? When I do talk about his eccentricities, I try to do it with love and humor, because that's the way I decided to feel about them. (I see it as a choice.)

Beauty experts say to focus on the good stuff to take attention away from the bad stuff. If your eyes are pretty, play them up to take attention away from your double chin. If your ears are huge, don't wear huge earrings, and if your hands are expressive wear rings and bracelets. When you're looking for beauty in your spouse, don't focus on the warts! I don't want Dee looking me over with a magnifying glass—"Hmmm, you spilled coke in your car again . . . I still don't have any clean towels . . . you deleted BEAR GRILLS???" I love it when he says, "I'll make my own dinner. Just keep putting stickers on the grandkid packages. That's the important stuff." He compliments me and I compliment him on our tiny, unique attempts to improve the world, and we both feel good about ourselves. Which makes us feel good about each other.

So what are you thinking right this second? Are you thinking, "My husband NEVER does that. If he'd just change, our marriage would be happy." Or are you thinking, "I ought to do that. If I changed, maybe our marriage would be happy." I've learned that I can't change Dee. Trying makes me miserable—it focuses all my energy in a negative direction. The ONLY person in the whole world I can change is myself, and doing that focuses me in a positive direction.

If my marriage needs more empathy, I can provide that empathy—towards him. If my marriage needs more fun, I need to become more fun to be with. If my marriage needs more forgiveness, I can forgive. If my marriage has too much stubbornness, I can eliminate mine and there won't be as much. When my marriage is stagnant, I need to get out of my doldrums and become interested and interesting. It will be at least 50% better when I make a change.

The "bwessed awangment, this dweam wifin a dweam" sometimes becomes a nightmare. Having interests and hobbies in common, dating for years, living together first . . . none of these things can prepare couples for marriage. Marriage is life, and life is unexpected. You can't practice it first—you learn it together. Couples I know have lost jobs, children, houses, health, money, limbs, eyesight, hearing . . . they weren't ready for these nightmares to snuff out their dreams. But every one of the couples I'm thinking of learned how to be happy again. New characteristics were developed individually; they supported each other as they each learned to live with broken hearts, and then learned how to be a couple again. Being willing to learn is the definition of humility. Marriage is a continuing education that demands humility.

Buttercup's pastor said, "wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva . . ." I disagree with this part. Love is not a noun (person, place or thing) that follows you around, whimsically disappears and shows up somewhere else. Love is a verb, an action word; it's something you DO. That's why people say marriage is work. It takes effort, energy, enthusiasm—it's an endeavor. Think of something you're proud of in life: graduating, raising your kids, running a marathon, growing your bangs out, whatever. It took time and patience, you got discouraged, it was the pits, you thought you'd never make it, but you did. The reason you're proud of that accomplishment is because it was hard. A happy marriage is hard—fun and hard—and it's my proudest accomplishment.

"Tweasure your wuv," the wise old man said. Definitions for treasure are: value greatly, prize highly, hold dear, adore, cherish. To be happy in marriage, I've learned to value, prize, adore and cherish not only my husband, but the marriage itself—our couple-ness. When I'm making a decision, I often boil it down to Will this strengthen my marriage or be divisive? Since my marriage is my top priority, the choice is usually clear, even though it involves a sacrifice. (Secret: don't expect gratitude when you make a sacrifice. Most of the time, nobody even notices you made it. Just revel in the fact that you're becoming a wonderful person.)

Like I said before, I love being married. In fact, we've just moved in together full-time! Dee's office is now in the loft above mine and we can hear each other think. It's not a 24/7 situation—we still have places to go and people to see, but it's fun calling up to him with a geography question and have him ask me how to spell something. We're still learning from each other and about each other. That's our secret.

"wuv, twu wuv . . ."

Dee-Day

Dee, three.

This is a War Baby, born 9 months (plus a few hours) after his WWII soldier dad returned to his waiting wife. A true Boomer. And he's mine.

You could not meet a more interesting guy. That's a direct result of the fact that he's interested in EVERYTHING. By the time I met Dee when he was 22 he was already an expert in European History, World Geography, the British Military, photography, German philosophy, politics and US current events. He collected coins and stamps, knew diverse things about music, Rommel, Hubert Humphrey and art. I was fascinated.

He'd worked in a pizza place, hoed sugar beets, stocked fabric bolts, and managed a pro-shop at a golf course, saving for college from the time he was 13. He'd lived in Germany, met Bobby Kennedy, been a boy scout, worked at Grand Canyon, skinny-dipped in the river, hunted pheasants, and made fires to roast grasshoppers for a picnic. He'd tracked trains, then put nails and coins on the tracks to watch them get flattened. He had a Tom Sawyer type childhood, a hard-working, studious youth, and was smarter than anyone I'd ever met.

We'd been married a couple of years when he received a triple degree in German, European Studies and History from BYU (he had planned to go into foreign service, the CIA or the Intelligence field) and with a wife, a daughter and a son on the way, he continued a job in real estate as a developer and builder. He built about 50 homes, a subdivision, some condos, office buildings and a business park and was involved in the politics of water rights, irrigation feuds, and building permits. He arbitrated, negotiated, and stagnated. It was time to move on.

After reinventing himself with a year at The King's Manor in York, England he received another degree in Architectural History and Preservation. Dee's first business venture after returning home was to sponsor a three-day, world-wide conference on retro-fitting historic buildings with hydraulic springs to prevent damage during an earthquake. The Salt Lake City and County Building was the first building in the world to benefit from the new technology and Dee's conference was well-attended by architects from all over the world who wanted to observe and learn first hand.

Salt Lake City and County Building, World Wide Symposim

He began writing books on historic buildings, and architectural styles and features, which led to books about towns, individuals, businesses and families. He's now written over 50 privately commissioned books, becoming an expert on each new topic, spending months, even years, studying the various subjects.

It's fun to watch Dee immerse himself in a new interest. When he wrote a book about a Jewish Rabbi in Seattle, it led him to 1860's silver mines in Colorado and the beginnings of a rabbinical school in Cincinnati. The story of a San Francisco bridge building company took us to an ancestral winery in Germany, as well as a study of the construction of the Channel Tunnel between England and France.

Early logging in Ontario's rivers, and the establishment of Quaker Meetings in Pennsylvania, pirates settling Newfoundland and ghost towns in Southern Utah have become a few areas of expertise for Dee. He loves to dig out the stories behind the stories and he becomes well acquainted with people long gone. He knows people's businesses and ancestors better than they do themselves, and he appreciates the hard work and sacrifice of unknown heroes. His research skills are superb. He can find everything that's been written about anything, consolidate and unify the information, add to it, and then condense it to a form that's factual and entertaining. He would find the history of dirt intriguing, and you would, too, if he wrote about it!

Dee has an incredible memory for dates and places involving anyone else, and when he gets going on a little historic recitation he's thorough to the point of . . . well, thoroughness. But it's almost impossible to get him to talk about his own memories. He's foggy on the details.

We got married 42 years ago in September, and a few weeks later on his birthday I baked him a cake. He came home from school, saw it on the table and was overcome. "I've never had a birthday cake before," he told me emotionally. He hadn't? Where was his mother? What kind of deprived childhood had he come from? I vowed to make it all up to him. I'd give him memorable celebrations that would overwhelm his past disappointments.

The next year, true to my promise, I baked him a triple decker. When he walked in, his eyes misted over and he whispered tremulously, "Oh, my gosh, Dear. I've never had a birthday cake before."

Like I said, he's an interesting guy. The best part is that he's interested in me!

Happy Birthday, Dear!

Celebrating Peace

Spectators at the Parade by Norman Rockwell

"I want a little piece of peace."

People go lots of places in search of peace: a mountain top, a bubble bath, a voting booth, a garden, a museum, a convent. We all long for peace, but few of us have much enthusiasm for doing what actually creates it. Peace isn't like an unexpected rain shower; it is achieved deliberately. And luckily we don't have to wait for the whole world to be at peace to live in a peaceful world.

As a new bride I decided to create a home where our family could retreat from the tension and conflict of daily life. I had some great ideas of what this peaceful haven would be like. Interestingly, Dee had different great ideas. We discussed, then debated, then argued.

A war happens when one side wants their own way more than they want peace, and I was willing to go to war—lay down my life, if need be—to prevail. Dee wanted peace. I wanted to win, but I actually wanted more than that; I wanted to be right. It took me a while to realize that I was the cause of tension and conflict even while I was trying to carry out my dream of peace. I didn't understand that peace involved more than agreeing on a Christmas tree or who should wash the dishes.

Peace is not just an absence of hostilities, it is a state of mind; a decision to be cheerful, understanding, kind, loving and lovable.

"Men who cry for peace sometimes look upon peace as something that may be picked as an apple from a tree, something that lies about within easy reach of humanity. If I pick an apple from a tree, I have first planted the tree, cared for it, watered it, brought it to maturity. Then in due time I may have the fruit.

"So with peace. It is not a thing by itself to be picked up casually, but it is the fruit of something sown.

"Peace can only be obtained by the use of a body of principles which, if obeyed, in time would give us peace. Jesus Christ is the Prince of Peace. There is the way to peace."

---John A. Widtsoe

I love the Young Women's succinct list of Christ's teachings. When I apply them to myself, and remember they apply to others, the result is peace, in every circumstance.

1. Faith (The Lord will bless me.)
   
2. Divine Nature (I am a child of God.)
   
3. Individual Worth (I have something worthwhile to contribute.)
   
4. Knowledge (I must search for wisdom and truth, and learn from experience.)
   
5. Choice and Accountability (I will take responsibility for my choices.)
   
6. Good Works (I will serve others gladly.)
   
7. Integrity (I will be honest in my dealings, and repent when I fall short.)
   
8. Virtue (I will strive to be pure in my actions and thoughts.)

Eleanor Roosevelt said, "It isn't enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in it. One must work for it."

My marriage, my family, my home, my neighborhood: this is where I work for it. I want world peace, but I'm more likely to make a difference in my own little piece of the world.

(I'm repeating myself by reposting an old post. But I still believe it!)

Love Letters

Photo by Stie

Me: I think you're starting to rub off on me.

Dee: That's good. I've been trying to lose some weight.

Love Story Update

Artwork by Polly

It was for real now.

On a glorious Saturday in late April, 1969, Dee and I hiked up to the Cafe Winkler overlooking all of Salzburg. Dee asked me to marry him. I said yes. We knew we would arrive home in six weeks to $00.00 so the timing was yet to be decided, and I knew that until he actually gave me a ring, he wouldn't consider us engaged. I had considered us engaged since his first "I love you," but thought it wiser not to announce it, even to him.

View from Cafe Winkler, Salzburg

To celebrate we went on a (chaste) group honeymoon to Budapest on April 30. Hungary was behind the Iron Curtain, and we had to have visas and official guides to go. We were told that the border was strictly guarded and we were not permitted under any circumstances to take photos as we crossed.

Guard towers on the road to Budapest, 1969

The guard towers were all around us, and soldiers with machine guns were watching every vehicle carefully. As we passed one of them, Dee took a picture out the window of the bus. I was shocked at his blatant indifference to the rules; (I've since discovered that Dee never thinks rules apply to him.) A few minutes later some soldiers on motorcycles pulled up next to us and waved us over. We stopped and the officers boarded our bus.

Guards working before they stopped our bus.

The driver was Czech and the communication was awkward between our German and English, and these foreign tongues. Of course it didn't take a linguist to figure out what they wanted. They had seen someone on our bus take a picture and they wanted to confiscate all our cameras for retribution.

Dee, realizing it was time to step up, volunteered that he was the criminal and they didn't need to take every one's camera; they could have his. After a little negotiation, the soldiers said he could just give up his film. This was 'back in the day' when it was impossible to tell what was on a roll of film until it was developed. Our friend Bryant slyly passed Dee his own film, allowing Dee to keep the fatal shot of the border towers. He handed over the phony film. To our relief, we were allowed to go on. None of our fellow travelers saw the humor in the event, or even the adventure; everyone was just mad.

Communist May Day parade

May Day in Eastern Europe had special significance because of the giant Communist Parade. I was clueless, and pictured floats and costumes. It turned out to be thousands of factory workers carrying Communist flags, marching past the government officials.

Dee said he wanted to take a picture and left me in the stands. He didn't come back. After the events of the day before, I was worried that he'd been arrested and sent to a concentration camp. The atmosphere at the parade was not comfortable for us Americans, and I could feel the oppression of the people.

Dee's new Commie buddy 1969
(We still have this flag, which Dee liberated from Communist captivity himself.)

Our guides started rounding us up to load into the buses and Dee still hadn't returned. I looked down at the workers in the parade and there he was, marching between 2 men, carrying a huge Hungarian flag. Somehow he made it back to the bus with photos of President Kadar and others who could put him in prison . . . I could hardly wait to get out of this country!

Gypsy singers in Budapest cafe.

That night we went to a quaint restaurant, decorated with brightly colored embroidered linens and hand painted pottery. There were gypsy musicians wearing tall, black hats, puffy shirts and baggy pants tucked into boots. Playing their violins, they wandered from table to table while we ate Chicken Paprikas and Palatshinken. As we were eating, some girls at the next table began talking about candle passings.

Back in the dorms there would frequently be a sign on the door announcing a special ceremony that night. Everyone would gather in anticipation, wondering who. Standing in a circle, with crossed arms, holding hands, we sang love songs while a candle decorated with flowers and ribbons was passed from girl to girl. Sitting on the candle was a diamond engagement ring. There were sighs, and whispers, and a little warbling:

♫ They say there's a tree in the meadow,
a tree that will give you a sign . . .
♫ Come along with me, to the Sweetheart Tree,
♫ Come and carve your name next to mine . . . ♫

After the candle had gone around the circle once, (or twice to add to the suspense,) the lucky girl blew out the candle and put her ring on. Squeals, hugs and tears followed.

That night in Budapest someone started passing a candle. It went around one table and then another before it came to our table. I was sitting next to my true love, the gypsies were playing, everyone was watching, and when it came to me, I blew the candle out. Our engagement was official.

It must have been a trick candle.
After forty-one years, the light has never gone out.

What keeps your candle burning?

Alzheimer's: Remember Me?

Norman Rockwell

I was alone in the pool when an older woman joined me. (In my world, older is 75 and up.) She seemed anxious as she climbed in, looking around for someone. She said she was waiting for her husband.

When he came, he seemed surprised to see her. "Oh. Hello," he said. He got into the water and she splashed him a little bit, and he said, "You know, I don't know how to swim." She replied, "Oh, you know how to swim, don't you?" He said, "When I was a boy, we lived by a lake, but I never learned to swim."

Then he went under water and swam the length of the pool, turned around and swam back to her without coming up for air. She splashed and teased him a little bit more, and he turned a somersault in the water, like a teenage boy. He looked older than she did, but they seemed kind of flirty, and it was fun to watch them. After a minute he said, "I never learned to swim. Did you know we lived by a lake?"

I wondered if they were newlyweds. It seemed that he was telling her something she would have already known about him. He started off again, doing the backstroke this time, and she caught up with him saying, "I'll race you." They both got to the other end, turned around, and returned to my side of the pool.

She tousled his thinning hair, and then kissed him on the nose. "What's your name?" he asked her. Then he repeated, "You know, we lived by a lake when I was little and I never learned to swim." She said gently, "Yes, dear. You told me. But you do know how to swim." He looked at her wistfully, and asked, "Do I?"

When I told my husband, I said, "She was so sweet. What if that happens to us? What if someday you don't remember my name? What should I do?"

"Wear a name tag," he said.

Necking

A little library in the back corner of Steinlechner Hotel was called the Stüberl. Dee and I were "studying" one day when another student came in. "Hi Linda," we both said at once. She backed out quickly, embarrassed to have walked in on us, and rushed to spread the news. "Dee and Marty are in the Stüberl necking." When I heard the gossip, I retorted, "No we weren't. She's blind." It was partly true. Linda was blind.

Does anybody say necking anymore? Or petting? Snogging, making out, canoodling? Locking lips, smooching? When a couple is a couple how do you say it nowadays? We used to say, "They're going together, my mom called it going out together, or you could say, "Sharon's dating Stan." (Now there are no Sharons, no Stans and no dating. I assume there's some kissing involved with hanging out, however.)

What are the modern steps of progression toward, you know, a home run? (I played first-base, with some short stops on occasion.) Back in the day, there were definite rules for when to run the bases, when you were safe to steal, and when you struck out. It was easier to play the game before bucket seats: the first pitch involved "sitting close." (On Monday morning the question was always "Did she sit close?" or "Did she hug the door?")

A movie was where the couple was going. After he opened the car door to let her out, she took his arm (if she wasn't frigid.) While coats came off, there would be an accidental bumping of hips, then the initial brushing of elbows as they arranged the arm-rest. Finally their arms would come together and begin to bond. (Summer time dating was the best—bare naked arms.) When their skin got sticky from perspiration, the guy did the fake stretch, which resulted in his arm across the back of his date's seat. By then, both parties had lost complete track of the movie.

The actual shoulder touch was the next move. A girl could manipulate this by adjusting her sweater, or leaning up to fix her shoe. At the end of this procedure, she'd settle in a little closer and his finger would accidentally drop to her shoulder, caressing it just a little before the palm of his hand settled comfortably on the bone. There was a short period of anticipation. She unclasped her sweaty hands (what a temptress) and let one sit seductively on her lap while she reached up and played with the necklace glinting on her collar bone.

Tickling her neck with his fingers, he reached over and grabbed her damp hand with his equally slick one. At this point subtlety became unnecessary. Her head collapsed on his shoulder and her lips grazed his neck. Full-fledged necking began.

This all took place inside the theater, and was totally acceptable on a Saturday night. (Nobody actually watched The Sand Pebbles or Becket.) The audience was involved with proceeding-towards-necking, necking, or watching-other-couples-necking. Using the phrase made immortal by teenagers ratted out by neighbors, "Everybody was doing it."

And now to our sponsor: Need help in the necking department? Get some glitz. Sarah sent me a beautiful white gold pendant, in a lovely little velvet box. The chain is 18 inches: the perfect length. I've wanted a substantial looking necklace that's easy to wear everyday. This one adds new meaning to the term necking. I think I'll wear it to the movies—or the Stüberl.


*Homework:

~List the words your generation used for dating, mating, and the fun stuff that you did in between.

~Describe a typical date.

~What were the some award-winning movies when you were a teenager?

That's the Write Idea!

Love Language

"Happy Valentine's Day, Vera," I said when she answered the phone.

"Oh, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. Nobody gives me anything anymore." (Well, I just tried to, I thought.) She continued, "My granddaughter brought me a box of chocolates yesterday. I can't believe she forgot I have diabetes. I gave them right back. She made it clear she was too busy to come on the actual holiday." (And you're so lovable, I thought.) "I guess you want the report," she went on. "None of my ladies called me, as usual. I sat here all day long and waited, but they obviously never consider my schedule. I can't deal with their rudeness much longer."

♥♥♥♥♥

"Happy Valentine's Day, Florence." I said.

"Oh, Dear, what a delightful way to answer the phone!" she laughed. "After such a sweet greeting, I feel bad about what I have to say: I need to be released as a Visiting Teacher. It breaks my heart. I love the women I visit, and we'll stay friends, but I can't have the responsibility of looking out for them anymore." I glanced down at my roster. Florence was 98-years-old. She continued, "I'm almost blind, you know, and it's all I can do to take care of Ray." Ray is her ailing 103-year-old husband. "I'll just serve as their unofficial sister, take a loaf of bread over, bring up their mail, that kind of thing. I just hope I haven't let you down."

♥♥♥♥♥

"Happy Valentine's Day, Carol," I said.

Carol made room in the elevator and continued another conversation. "You graduated in 1980?" she said to the girl. "I'd lived my whole life by then." "Well, obviously not," I observed. "You're still here." "You know what I mean," replied Carol. "Life hasn't had much to offer since then." "What about your family, the people you love?" I asked. "Oh," she answered, "I gave up on love after my divorce."

♥♥♥♥♥

"Happy Valentine's Day, Sarah. Are you doing OK?" I asked.

"The last few months have been lovely for me," she said. I strained to hear her soft voice. "Since I broke my hip I've had more time to pray. When I was up and about, there was so much to attend to, I got lazy about some of the important things. Now, I have a chance to think about the people I love and really talk to God about them. I can't serve them dinner anymore, but I serve them just the same."

♥♥♥♥♥

Love is different things to different people. To Vera it's something she never gets. To Florence it's something she always gives.

How do you define love? Is it one big event? Is it something somebody else does to you? Is it something you receive? Is it something you say? In Sarah's language, love is a verb, not a noun. In Carol's, it's a boat she missed. Love is too often lost in translation.

Years ago I attended a woman's conference on marriage. Earlier, the speaker had asked all the husbands what they did to say I love you without words. Each wife stood up while her husband's quote was read: "Julia's husband took her to Hawaii for their tenth anniversary." "Nancy's husband sends flowers once a month." "Lydia's husband takes her out to dinner every Friday."

It started feeling competitive. "Karen's husband gave her a new diamond ring for her 40th birthday." "Carma's husband tells her she's beautiful whenever she dresses up." "Marty's husband empties the dishwasher." There were a few giggles, but my eyes filled with tears.


Dee had done all the showy things in one form or another. But the way he routinely said I love you was by emptying the dishwasher—before breakfast, after dinner, while I cooked, while he cooked, at 4 in the morning, on Sunday afternoons . . .and I hadn't been listening. He was saying he loved me all the time!

Love isn't one giant, glittery nugget, and it's not one breathless, passionate moment. And it's certainly not just for sweethearts on Valentine's Day. Love is something you can do, every day.

It's this,

and this,

or this,

and even this.

Marta says it perfectly.

♫ When your heart is filled with love,
Others will love you. ♫

What's your love language?

Strengthening Marriage: Evergreen Christmas

It was hard to fit our Christmas Spirit into our one-bedroom mobile home. We were the new kids on campus, married in September, and excited to start our own brand-new family traditions. They were bursting out of us.

Could we fit a tree in our 8' x 35' home?

We celebrated our 3rd month anniversary with a visit to the doctor's office where we found that I was, indeed, with child. Thrilled (as only first-time unsuspecting parents can be) we dashed out to buy a full-sized evergreen tree: symbol of our ever-growing, everlasting little family.

Prickly and green, it perfumed our tiny home with the smell of the forest. It was tucked into the corner where it fit perfectly, and only needed a little embellishment. Since we couldn't afford lights, or new ornaments, we were creative with strands of popcorn, tissue-paper-snowflakes, and Christmas cards tied with little bows. We borrowed a few shiny blue ball's from Dee's mom, but I still thought we needed a touch of red.

Our first Christmas, 1969

The cost of a package of cranberries stretched the budget too far, so we accepted our tree for what it was and went to bed. The next morning I was surprised to see beautiful red swags encircling the tree. Dee had strung red pyracantha berries that he picked off the bushes outside our trailer. Shiny and red at first, they shriveled up very quickly, so every morning until Christmas, Dee threaded new strands for fresh garlands. (Leaving me a little kindness-surprise in the morning is still a Dee trademark.)

I have to admit, I wanted to stay at my mom's that year. I couldn't imagine being away from my family on Christmas morning. Mom's Christmases were something from a fairytale, and the presents were always stacked to the rafters. It took us a couple of hours to open them all. There were fires in both fireplaces, sweet rolls for breakfast . . . how could I miss all that?

Dee, however, was very excited for our Christmas, so I decided to be excited, too. My parents were urging us to stay. It was the first time they had to recognize that I had new loyalties, and it was hard—I felt a little guilty choosing my family over theirs. There's a great quote for parents in this situation: "Hold your loved ones to you with wide open arms."

As newlyweds we didn't notice how cold our trailer got at night. Christmas morning we woke up to find that our shower curtain was frozen into it's folds. The moisture had turned into ice! To save money we usually left our little coal oil furnace off, so Dee jumped out of bed to light it while I stayed under the covers. I told him to open his first Christmas present before he lit the fire. His new fireplace matches (in a decorative box) took up residence on top of the fireplace (as we referred to it) as on object d' art after that.

When the room warmed up, we went into the kitchen and made hot chocolate with our candy canes, and real whipped cream. Dee lit a few candles we'd put on the tree (which was dry by then, and a huge fire hazard, I'm sure.) A few presents were piled underneath.

We had agreed to a $10 budget for each other, but both of us had overspent. Dee gave me a book of Bruegel art, an ivory lace slip, and a tiny hymn book. Besides the matches, Dee got some 4711 cologne. I had made him a collage of our 11 months worth of memories, and also a red flannel nightshirt. (He only wore the nightshirt once because it stuck to the sheets, and turned them red.)

Our opening ceremonies took about five minutes. There we were at 7:05 am on Christmas morning with nothing else to do. I think we reminisced a little, and probably fixed something fun for breakfast. I can't really remember the rest of the day.

Dee's priority that year was for the two of us to establish ourselves as a family. I cherish that about him. He has always put our family above anyone or anything else since the day we were married. It has given us strength and unity. At first I would have been happy to return to my parent's home several times a week to get waited on and pampered. In fact I remember thinking about a month after we were married, "Well, this was fun, but I want to go home where my mom does all the work, and my dad makes all the decisions." Now I realize that would have diminished our abilities and self confidence. I'm glad it was only a fleeting thought.

It's our 41st Christmas, and we stroll through the aisles of our memories like we would a Christmas festival. Some years blend together, and we sort out which aisles we've visited twice and which ones we've accidentally skipped over. But our first Christmas and the tree without lights is my brightest memory. It represents our hope for the future, our willingness to sacrifice the frills of past Christmases and start fresh, with nothing but each other.

Nowadays we're still stringing our life together, day by day. But every Christmas reminds me to be excited about the season of life I'm in, and the need to be evergreen.

Art by Guy Untereiner