Postcard: See You in St Louis

I'm on the road for a few days visiting the grand kids
on the Mississippi.

McKay (12)

Chase (10)

Hannah (almost 8)

We'll see if I can fake being the TravelinOma
I've cracked myself up to be.

I'll miss you, bloggie friends!
Take care!
Don't do anything I wouldn't do!
Love ya' til Niagra Falls!

(I'll be back soon.)

Oma Day

♫ It's Oma Day, it's Oma Day
The little girls have come to play. ♫
Tea-sets, dress-ups . . . shoot Hooray!
It's O-ma Day! ♫

Here's what we did for Oma Day. (The girls planned it themselves.)

1. Spontaneous talent show.
   
2. Scavenger Hunt: I made a list of ten things to find in my apartment building (elevator buttons, little chairs on the 2nd floor, desk in the front office, view from the staircase, etc.) We went as a group and when we found something they took a picture in their mind with their imaginary cameras.
3. Banner: After the scavenger hunt, I unrolled some butcher paper. All seven girls sat on the floor with markers and I reminded them of what they'd seen. They had 30 seconds to draw it. Then we all ooh-ed, aah-ed and clapped.
4. Dress-ups: Everyone (not me) stripped down to their undies and dug through my trunk to put together their own unique outfit.
5. Fashion Show: Each girl modeled her look to my commentary: "And here we have Ashley, wearing a lovely butterfly scarf to coordinate with her turquoise necklace, sequined purse and bunny ears."
6. Freeze dance: Wearing their new attire, they danced until I pushed the pause button. Then they froze in position until I turned the music back on.
7. Tea Party: Sandwiches with the crusts cut off, gourmet "cheese straws" (Cheetos) and grapes. After lunch, tea was served. Everybody got their own tiny teapot filled with apple juice, and a tiny creamer filled with Sprite. "May I have mo-a cream?" they asked daintily. They discussed far-away places they were from ("Oh, I'm from China, you know") speaking with elegant accents, drinking with their pinkies up.
8. Movie: Parent Trap. "Is it the old one or the new one?" they asked. They all loved Hayley Mills.
9. Treats.
10. Clean up.

♫ "It's O-ma Day!" ♫

(It doesn't take much to have fun with this group!)

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!

Long Distance Grandparenting

Keep in Touch

"The world is waiting for you." When I said this to my seven little kids, I didn't realize how quickly they'd respond.

College and career opportunities took them to far-flung places. We now have twenty grandkids spread across the country in Philadelphia, St. Louis, Denver, Idaho Falls, Phoenix, and Salt Lake City.

I feel blessed that our kids and grandkids get to live in beautiful towns, visit historic places and meet great people. While I miss having them close enough to visit regularly, I try not to dwell on it.

Our oldest grandchild is 13 and our youngest grand baby is 6 months. To help them get acquainted I created The Cousins Club. The kids all have membership cards, I wrote a club song that includes everybody's name and we have a quarterly newsletter.

Each newsletter has a front page article about what each family is doing that season (vacations, sports, lessons, awards, etc.) Another article tells a story from our family history about something funny that happened when our kids were little (the time the boys tried to make a swimming pool in the bathroom, the time the dog got run over, etc.) The grandkids love stories about their parents antics.

I include a family recipe that's easy to make for a family activity, plus a picture and article about Oma and Opa (us) and how much we love them.

Inside are some activity pages. Matching games with one list of grandkids and another list of interests help them find out about each other. I've gone online and created crossword puzzles and wordsearches, using their names and interests as the answers. I call and interview each kid to find out what they're excited about at the moment.

Knock-knock jokes, an idea for a craft or game, and a page of family photos for coloring. I print the newsletters in black and white so it's cheap enough to send each child their own copy. I always include some lollipops in the package.

Our Christmas and birthday gifts are always books. I have little round stickers with a photo of Oma and Opa reading a story, with the words "For your collection." That way the kids remember what we look like!

As president of The Cousins Club, I send a fun email to everybody announcing birthdays, anniversaries, etc. I forward articles or pictures of things they're interested in that I find in the newspaper or online, and email questions or contests that they have to respond to.

We call every week and try to talk to each grandkid. Even if they just tell us they lost a tooth, or they're watching Dora, it makes us feel connected.

I've written stories, made care packages, had an on-line Halloween parade, sent balloons with messages inside and put together craft supplies with a book of ideas for what to make. CD mixes, coded messages, and cards cut up into puzzles are all easy to mail.

Advice:
* Look outward. Whenever I feel homesick for grandkids, I get busy with an Oma project—anything that would be a fun little token of my love.
* Take a positive approach. We don't demand visits, or get our feelings hurt when they take a vacation to somewhere else. It builds our relationships when we support the families with encouraging words.
* Use technology. I read books into a digital recorder and send it along with the book. I take tons of pictures to email, just to keep our faces in their minds.
* Pray. I tell my grandkids that we pray for each of them every single night.
* Have fun!

Oma Connections.

This post was published on About.com Guide to Grandparents March 20, 2010

Still in the Closet

I'm in the closet again today.
I have a few more secrets.

*At the beginning of a season, put all your clothes in the closet with the hangers backwards. When you wear something, replace it in the closet with the hanger going the normal way. At the end of the season you'll know which items you actually wear and which things just clutter up your closet. You can then decide whether you want to keep them, or give them away.

*Keep a large plastic garbage bag on the floor of your closet. Whenever you wear something that feels wrong or looks wrong, (that makes you regret wearing it,) put it in the plastic bag when you take it off. If you need that item another day, get it out and return it to your wardrobe. After a couple of months, take the bag to a local charity without going through it. It will keep your closet current with the clothes you like best, and help women who are in need.

*Edit your clothes. Get out all your black pants. Decide which ones you actually wear, and which ones you're just saving for some reason. Keep the ones you wear, and put the others in the give-away bag. Do this with your jeans, your khakis, your T-shirts . . . anything you have in multiples. There isn't going to be a black pant shortage any time soon, and if there is, it won't help to have several pair in the wrong size.


*Keep a file of your favorite outfits. Get a recipe box, tab-style index cards, and a package of 3X5 cards. On the tabbed cards write your clothing categories. I have "Spring Dressy," "Spring Casual," etc. for each season. When I put together an outfit I particularly like, or one that gets compliments, I come home and record it on an index card, and file it in the right category. For instance: "Tan linen pants, red and white polka dot tank, navy blazer. Silver jewelry, tan sandals, tan and red purse. Wore to dinner with Nelson's 6/6/09." When you're wondering what to wear, you have some successful combinations to choose from. I keep my file with a pen right inside, on a shelf in my closet.

*Put together an emergency repair kit. Mine is a small sewing box with needles already threaded with various colors, some tiny safety pins, double stick tape, a seam ripper and a small pair of scissors. I also have a cute little jar of common variety buttons, where I dump the buttons that come with new clothes. An extra pair of glasses is stashed inside my kit, as well. If I want to wear something and discover a loose thread, a tag that itches, or a missing button I can fix it quickly. If a strap shows or a top is too low, I use a strip of double stick tape to keep things in place. I periodically re-thread the needles while I watch TV.

*I have jeans and khakis, etc. that are comfortable if I'm tending grand kids, or sitting in the car, and I have some that are more suitable for going out to lunch or attending a meeting. I use pants hangers with several bars, to save space in my closet. On one of them I have tied a white ribbon at the top to designate my "Oma" wear. The others hold the dressier versions. I've done this on skirt hangers, too. This way I can find the clothes that I wear for the particular activity without pulling everything out of the closet.


*I lined the inside of a cupboard wall with nails where I hang necklaces. I have a vintage lace collar where I pin all my brooches (I love to collect accessories), and on the shelf of the cupboard I have a fishing tackle tray. I keep my earrings and rings in the little cubby holes. I wear them more often when I can see what I have. Nothing is tangled or lost.

*A hanging shoe rack inside the closet can keep lingerie organized and available. No more emptying the whole drawer searching for the long half-slip, or the black bra.

*When I had a larger, walk-in closet I bought a cheap bookcase to place at one end. I stacked my sweaters, shoes and purses on the shelves.

* I have an Inspiration Board inside my closet with pictures from magazines and catalogs to give me ideas. It helps me remember that getting dressed can be a creative expression of who I am.

*Place nice-smelling soaps or sheets of fabric softener in your drawers and on your closet shelves. Replace them occasionally.

I'm coming out of the closet now.
Do you have any wardrobe secrets to share?

Become a Fashionista

Hey! There's an idea!

At the beginning of each season I go on a free shopping spree. I shop my closet! Here are 12 tips for a new spring look:

1. Make 3 piles: Reject, Repair, Wear.
2. Try on anything you're not sure of. Reject the stuff that doesn't sing to you. Be heartless.
3. Play dress-up. See what works together. Create outfits for your fashion show.
4. Take pictures of outfits for various occasions. (Wedding, funeral, out-to-lunch, meeting.)
5. Notice the orphans. Figure out how to make them belong, or send them to a new home.
6. Chuck all the shoes that hurt. Stack keepers on the shelf, in a hanging shoe holder, or in boxes on the floor (write "black heels" or whatever on the box.)
   
7. Untangle your jewelry, look over your scarves, and start looking for new ways to accessorize. (I peruse fashion mags, check out the news anchors, and window shop.)
8. Pack the Rejects into a big garbage sack, put it in the front seat of your car, and drop it off at a charity the next time you go somewhere.
9. Put on a good movie while you iron and mend your Repair pile.
10. Tuck the out-of-season stuff out-of-sight.
    
11. Hang your perfect wardrobe in a way that will help you get dressed: whole outfits together, separated by color, or by item. I have sections for jackets, cardigans, skirts, pants, dresses, "stand alone" tops, and "wear under something" tops.
12. Give yourself a facial, a bubble bath and a manicure.

13. *Bonus for another day: Get a haircut, visit the makeup counter for an update. Now smile!

You look amazing!

It's not selfish to spend time on yourself. In fact, I think more about myself when I'm dressed inappropriately. When I've put some thought into how I look, I can relax and think about making others feel comfortable.

(Come back to my closet tomorrow for some extra tips!)

Who Do You Think You Are?

Family historian at work

“If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.”

—Hanh

Orlando Bagley III is number eleven in my line of ghosts. He was a constable in Amesbury, Massachusetts in 1690. In his position as a rural policeman he was at the center of a terribly sad situation involving his parent's friend, Susanna North Martin.

Susanna was born in England and met her future husband, George Martin (a blacksmith) on the voyage to North America. Her father was the town crier and bell ringer for the tiny church on the green in Salisbury, Massachusetts when Susanna and George married 11 August 1646.

Friends to the end

The young, strong-willed couple was one of the first to settle across the river in Amesbury at the same time as Orlando Bagley, his wife Sarah, and their young son Orlando. George and Susanna had six sons and four daughters before George died in 1686, leaving his wife to manage the farm. She was out-spoken and made a reputation for herself as blunt, brusque and bitter.

Witch trial in New England

Susanna was age 67 when the community became caught up in the hysteria of witchcraft. People were suspected if there was "evidence of an evil hand," or if they exhibited "peculiar or strange mannerisms, or unaccountable conversation," and were quickly accused by their neighbors.

Accusation against Susanna Martin

For a time those who were accused were of the lower classes, but later people of rank and character were seized and imprisoned. Symptoms of menopause, depression, Alzheimer's disease and other conditions probably contributed to the behavior society condemned. Superstition and gossip were a deadly combination.

Constable takes a woman to trial.

Constable Orlando Bagley, age 35, was told of accusations towards Susanna and ordered to arrest her. Unwilling to follow through with this responsibility, he was assured by the judge that she would receive a fair and civil trial which would exonerate her, and "make citizens aware of the peril of such slander." Amesbury town records say "Constable Bagley knocked on his old friend's door reluctantly to take her to Salem where she was tried."

Much has been written about Susanna's ordeal as she was accused, tried and hanged as a witch, 2 May 1692. She went to the gallows a martyr to the delusions of the time and perhaps a victim of her own wit and sharp tongue. This episode is documented in Amesbury records as the "saddest event of the year, a dark stain which can never be blotted from history."

There's a little Nancy Drew in me. (Maybe she's an ancestor!) Ferreting out primary sources and obscure details to fill in the blanks, traipsing through wet graveyards to verify dates, digging through old books to meet ghosts from my past—that's my detective work. And now there's a TV show about what I do!

The other night I was played by Sarah Jessica Parker on a new show called Who Do You Think You Are? (I'm being played by Susan Sarandon in a couple of weeks. That's brilliant casting.) A show about people (celebrities in this case) who are searching for their roots, it's an example of why it's fun to find out where we come from. Sarah Jessica was practically in tears (she is an actress, or course) when she found out her ancestor was accused as a witch, astounded that her line didn't start in Cincinnati in 1850.

We all started before 1850, and you don't have to be a celebrity to find yourself inside historic times. Where were your ancestors in 1776? Somebody was alive then, even if they lived in China. And something interesting was going on. Look it up.

For instance, I have ancestors that went on the Crusades. I haven't found out many details, but it suddenly makes reading about the Crusades more relevant. My ancient kin lived in London when the plague was rampant. Where were yours? Was someone on a slave ship? Why? You're probably illegitimate somewhere along the line—is there a passionate love story revealed somewhere in the family scrapbook?

Look for the stories in your personal hiSTORY. Picture your name, birthdate and place of birth typed on a piece of paper. What if that was the only information your grandchildren ever had about you?

Imagine listening to some 3rd cousin of your niece's mother-in-law saying to your grandson, "We've got your grandma's info already written on the chart. Don't worry about her anymore." Wouldn't you want to shout out your story, and tell him what happened between the day you were born and the day you died? Tell him you were shy, too, and loved music, too, and hoped that he'd have curly hair like your husband? There's more to genealogy than dates.

Who do you think you are? Do a little digging and find out.

Dear John . . .

So it was time to dump the boyfriend.

This was embarrassing, because in my pre-true love days (just two weeks before) I had assured him I loved him, and even thought I meant it. We had dated for about three years, and I knew his whole family, even his grandparents and cousins. He wasn't really who I wanted to marry, but I thought he might turn out to be, after we'd grown up. I had grown up now, and he was still a kid on a mission.

He was in Brazil. The day I arrived in Salzburg I'd sent him a package of candy for a birthday present. His birthday wasn't for eight weeks, but I couldn't afford airmail, and surface-mail took forever. I'd been sending him letters every day for a year. Since my love affair with Dee had been so sudden, I hadn't done any "prep work." This news would come as a total shock. Even worse, I also had to break up with his mother.


All night my roommates and I composed my "Dear John," using the appropriate compassionate and loving words. I wrote it and re-wrote it. Then I wrote to his mom. The next day I mailed his letter, and a few days later I mailed hers. It was sad and liberating at the same time. I was a woman now, honest in my relationships, mature and adult in how I dealt with others. But I was terrified of what would happen next.

A couple of weeks passed before I finally received my response. It was one page. His mother had written him a condolence letter: "You'll get over her, you'll find someone else, it's all for the best," etc. He'd cut that paragraph out of her letter and glued it onto this page. "Thanks for letting me hear it this way," was the only sentence he'd written.

He hadn't gotten my letter! I felt awful. We always numbered our letters so we'd know if any went missing (that was a common thing in Brazil) but none had ever been lost before. The "Dear John" was the only one that didn't arrive.


After spending so much time on the first draft, I still remembered it almost word for word, but I couldn't re-write it in case the other one somehow appeared. So I composed a second compassionate and loving letter, which really meant, "Sorry, but I guess I didn't love you very much after all," and mailed it off.

In April I got a last letter from my old boyfriend. He had received the 2nd Dear John—and the birthday package—on the same day: his birthday. Not knowing about the early posting of the present, he assumed I'd sent it more recently. He wondered if that meant I still wanted to write to him. Apparently he was OK with me being in love, and even getting married, but he would miss my letters. (Maybe he should read my blog.) I had to write again and say I wouldn't be writing again.


I never heard from him after that. But I did see him one more time.

Fast-forward 16 months. I had just given birth (4 days before) to my first baby and I was staying at my mom's. I couldn't fit into anything, so I was wearing one of Mom's housecoats. My boobs were boulders protruding from just below my chin, and my stomach wobbled loosely when I shuffled down the hall (carrying my donut pillow) to answer the doorbell. And there he was.

Freshly home from Brazil, he was there to woo my little sister. I was mortified, he was speechless; I was a mother, he was a kid. Vast relief spread over his face: he'd been dumped.


*Homework:

~Write a letter of closure to somebody. It could be a thank-you to an former teacher, a late sympathy note you've been meaning to send, an apology letter to someone you've offended. Get it off your mind.

~Write a paragraph (truth or fiction) about running into an old flame.

~Go to the library and get 84 Charing Cross Road, by Helene Hanff. It's a wonderful love story written with letters.

Miracles

Sisters

Have you seen any miracles lately? They're all around.

My brave sister Polly has written a post about her experience with prescription drug addiction, drug rehab and what she learned during that time in her life. I'm inspired by her courage and the strength of character it took to turn her circumstances around. During those dark days I was continually reminded of the phrase "when bad things happen to good people." Now I'm continually reminded of how good people overcome bad things.

God first outlined a plan of life, with guidelines that would lead to happiness. Then He gave us agency: the opportunity to make our own choices. With that right, we accepted the fact that there would be consequences, good or bad.

Knowing we'd all make poor choices occasionally, God sent his son, Jesus Christ, to take the full brunt of the consequences for us when are humble enough to ask Him to. (That's a simple explanation of repentance and the atonement.) The miracle is when God allows a bad consequence to become a blessing in our life, increasing our wisdom. Our obligation then is to use that new wisdom to empathize, encourage and forgive others as they go through their challenges.

As I've watched Polly during the past few years, I've seen this miracle take place before my eyes. I'm grateful to know it happens over and over again for me, and my loved ones, and everyone else who has the faith to accept God's help. You'll be touched by Polly's story.

What Do You Think?

"Think over everything you say, and don't say everything you think."
—Dee

This is fine advice for someone who can think inside their head. My head is like an overstuffed, unorganized scrap-book drawer. Until I dump it all out, I don't know what's in there. Then I sort through, discover random bits and pieces, arrange them in different designs, and finally put it all together.

"Too much information."

You are the victim of my organization attempts. When I dump out my mind and sift through the junk, the dust settles in my blog.

"What I really meant was . . ."

Dee doesn't lay awake regretting the dumb things he said. He didn't say them. He never calls someone frantically after a conversation to try to restate what he meant, because he meant what he said the first time. I often say everything I think before I've had time to think it through, and then think better of it.

A man of few words.

Of course, Dee doesn't say much. Nobody knows him very well. He doesn't tell everyone his life story, and the life stories of everyone he knows, before they've finished lunch. People know me. My friends (and acquaintances) can tell my anecdotes better than I can, and correct me on the details. When I mention a memory, even my in-law kids can complete it in twenty-five words or less. I can't tell it in twenty-five words or less!

"Are you listening to me?"

I wrote a poem called Mama's Minutes that said:

"Mama had a diary she kept beside her bed,
I'd see her write by candlelight,
She said it cleared her head."

Nothing's going to change; I think I'll always clear my head by saying everything I think. It gives me a chance to think it over.

"Just thinking . . ."

Have you ever said too much?
What did you do then?

Slip-Slidin' Away

I'm on the downhill slide.

Feeling a little frumpy, a little dowdy, a little old, I invited myself on an outing. First stop: the hair salon for a touch of sass. Freshly streaked and tousled, eyebrows arched but not straying, I headed to the make-up counter at Nordstrom for a little pizazz.

"Do you ever wear foundation, Dear?" asked the 22-year-old expert. I told her yes, but because I'd just had my hair cut, I hadn't dolled up yet. I was here to be beautified. She got out her palette and had me sit down. "Let me brush off a few stray hairs," she said. "A couple of these are stubborn," she said, before we both realized they were attached. Beauty is a slippery slope.

"What color eyeshadow do you like?" she asked.

"I've been told to use Blackberry in the crease."

"Hmmm," she said, "your eyes are pretty deep set. Put the eyeshadow right on the lid instead. Otherwise you can't even see it." Pretty deep set? Is this the euphemism for droopy? I could actually feel my eyebrow sliding into my eyeball at that very moment. Needing an uplift, I made tracks toward the escalator.

Right in front of me stood a display of twinsets, similar to what I was wearing. A saleslady side-stepped over and gushed, "You got that sweater here a few years ago didn't you? I remember that teal. Well, as you can see, they're back in style." No joy in this department.

Nordstrom has a white chocolate raspberry bread pudding that follows a bowl of soup perfectly. While I was waiting for it, I made a call to Pete. "Am I still tending PJ tonight? I've been hoping to hear from you." (The bread pudding was placed before me, piled with whipped cream.)

"Mom, I sent you an email suggesting Saturday. You replied at 1:30 this morning, and said that would be fine. Don't you remember?" Actually, I didn't remember at all. Why was I answering email at 1:30 am? Was that after my Ambien? It's so embarrassing to have your kids notice your slip-ups.

Luckily, I was out to lunch, with a good mystery, and bread pudding that was sticky and sweet. I ate a few bites while I caught up with my novel. It really was sticky.

Engrossed in the book, I reached for the white napkin I saw from the corner of my eye. I should have looked closer. Instead of a napkin, I grabbed a handful of satiny whipped cream. "Is there anything else you need, Hon?" asked my 22-year-old waitress. Just a new pair of poles, I thought. I'm on the downhill slide.

"I'm officially getting old, so I don't need drugs anymore.

I can get the same effect just by standing up really fast."

*Homework:

~Write a paragraph that starts: "I prayed nobody had seen me. It was all so embarrassing. I had just . . ."

Falling in Love

A Brave Start

HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU'RE IN LOVE?

After our talk That Tuesday, I started to think about it. What were the important things? Hobbies in common? Interests in common? Similar childhoods? Religion? Financial or social standing of our families? Did we look like a couple? Should I get out the old Seventeen Magazine checklists to identify if Dee was the right guy for me?

The funny thing was that I didn't care about any of that. I knew. Deep in my heart I knew I loved him. I wanted to always have him in my life. None of the questions mattered a bit. I loved his heart. I loved how I felt with him. I remember thinking I ought to pray about this, but I didn't want to. What if I got a "No" for an answer? (I later realized that Heavenly Father helped us find each other under the perfect circumstances. He'd said "Yes" before I even thought to ask the question. That's actually why it felt so right.)

What's it like?

At 19 I didn't even know what I liked, let alone what Dee liked. How did I know what kind of father he'd be? I'd never met his parents, and I'd never seen the house where he grew up. I didn't know a single one of his friends. Because we were living for 6 months out of one suitcase, and everyone cut each other's hair, I didn't really even know how he dressed, or what he looked like in real life. He didn't know anything about me, either. We had none of the props that people usually judge each other by. We just walked and talked. I got to know how he thought and how he felt, what his values were. That's what we shared with each other, and that's what we fell in love with. Winter became spring and we blossomed, too.

Just the two of us.

I've often thought that shared interests and hobbies are overrated. So what that you both like tennis? Real life happens in the kitchen. If you can have fun together on the tennis court, that's awesome, but a marriage takes place in your hearts and home. It's based on how you support each other through life's ups and downs, how you show the other you're on their side, and what you do to face problems together. We love to travel together, but sickness, money woes, flooding basements and wrecked cars are faced on a more frequent basis than planning a trip. The trip is the reward for getting through the day-to-day. A great quote says "Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured." Love can make life enjoyable and happy while we endure it's challenging moments.

The weeks after That Tuesday were mind and heart expanding to me. I was like a caterpillar who had just emerged as a butterfly. It was spring, and I had felt myself metamorphosis from a flighty girl into a mature young woman, with purpose and new-found wisdom. I was in love. I just knew.

Blooming.

*Homework:

~Write a memory snippet: "That spring I was 19, and . . ."

~List ten things you think a couple should have in common to make it work.

~Finish this thought: "The color yellow makes me think of . . ."

Introducing TravelinOma

"Glad to meet you."

Marty Halverson began blogging before she knew what it was. Long "story emails" filled in-boxes until her overwhelmed son said, "You ought to start a blog." After exploring the Blogosphere TravelinOma discovered a world inhabited by kindred spirits: she had found her medium.

"Creative is a term I used to associate with crafts," she says. "I reserved it for people who produced a work of art you could hang on a wall, or tell your kids not to touch. My craft is with words. I write because I can't help it. It's like talking but it doesn't bother anybody. All the great ideas I've collected in my head all these years, from zillions of sources, can tumble off my fingers, be rearranged and organized onto a page, becoming a collage of my thoughts.

"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes, and art is knowing which ones to keep. The Blogosphere is a friendly place to make a mistake, toss it, practice, and finally polish a work of art. It's where I come for my daily creative writing class." Blogging is Marty's art form.

TravelinOma's Mission Statement says in part:

"Everyone has influence, and I want my influence to be for good. My blog will be my legacy, a memoir of significant experiences, told with humor and hope. I will encourage and support young mothers, be an advocate for strong, loving families, discern beauty in the dailiness of living and have fun."

Marty met her husband Dee in Salzburg, Austria where she developed a love for all things European. Sixteen years and seven kids later, they moved their family to York, England for a year, where she developed a love for all things English. Now, with twenty-one grandkids spread across the country, she is a traveling Oma. She thinks it would be fun to teach kindergarten (part-time only, with a couple of aides who would do all the cutting,) design window displays, model make-up for make-overs or compile songs for CD collections.

Marty and Dee have a history company, and do research all over the USA, Canada, Europe, and the British Isles. Marty has written a historical novel about a family in the old west, called Son of a Gun, which was released in 2011. Currently she is co-authoring a biography, and working on a second historical novel. "Writing is the only thing that when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else."

February 25, 1969

Carl Larsson

I'll never forget That Tuesday. I sat at the table in our "apt" studying the biography of Martin Luther "auf deutsch." It was slow going. The book was 800 pages long, and I was getting paper cuts from my German-English dictionary. Finally I decided I would just read and see how much I could absorb from the few words I understood. (Basically, I was inventing his life in my imagination.)

Another Marty

Suddenly I had an epiphany. I moved over to the couch to explain my new insight to Dee:

In the 14th century, church services were spoken only in Latin and the Bible was only in Latin. Martin Luther's congregation spoke German. Stained glass windows illustrated the stories—they were the main translation people had. Since they couldn't understand the Gospel as it was being taught, they had to make up their own version, based on what was familiar to them, just like I was doing with the biography.

Die heilige Familie

Luther got the church all upset because he wanted to hold services in German. Eventually he even translated the Bible into German. At last the scriptures were available to regular folks and they could study things out for themselves. Without understanding most of the words, I had caught the spirit of Marty's life.

As I was telling Dee my thoughts, I started feeling very strange. My heart started racing, and I could feel my pulse pounding. Tears tickled my eyelids like I was going to cry. Suddenly, without a doubt, I knew Dee was going to be my husband. I lost track of what I was talking about, and then I saw Dee looking at me in a very searching way. I said, "I don't know what's happening to me." He said, "I don't know either, but it's happening to me, too." He stood up and said, "I think we're supposed to get married!" in a panic-stricken voice. Then he turned quickly and left.

I have since had other personal inspiration, and I now recognize the pounding heart, the tears, and the overwhelming knowledge of truth that comes. But I had never experienced it before. I don't think this kind of revelation comes to everybody about who they should marry, but it came to us That Tuesday.

After Dee fled the scene, I sat there wrapped up in what I was feeling and what he'd said. One of my first thoughts was, "OK, I know he's The One. I guess we need to get to know each other, and fall in love."

Salzburg in the Rain

I waited all afternoon for him to come back. Finally I went to my room, and then down to dinner. He never showed up. It was pouring rain outside, and I was starting to really worry about him. What if this had given him a heart attack? What if he'd just run away? Had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe he didn't say married . . . he could have said harried, or buried . . . maybe he just thought we both had the flu . . . maybe he had dashed out because he had to throw up. All the certainty of the afternoon was fading into doubt. I'd never heard of this happening.

It was Fasching, the traditional Austrian carnival season, and there was a dance that night. Everyone was going. I didn't know exactly what to do, so I decided to go without Dee. I was outside when a car pulled up and he got out. He rushed over to me and hugged me with one arm. "Everything's fine," he said, and miraculously everything was. On the bus he told me about his day.

He had felt the same sudden knowledge that I had felt. It was scary and unexpected, but definite. Needing to think, he had gone walking. When it started raining, he dropped in on one of our professors.

Doug Tobler, 1969

He didn't know Dr. Tobler very well, but he trusted him, and found himself pouring out his heart about our experience that day. Dr. Tobler didn't seem skeptical, which calmed Dee down a bit. Something similar had happened when he was dating his wife Carole. He said that although they were young and poor, getting married was the best decision he'd ever made. They lived on $5 a week for a while, but didn't regret their choice. He advised Dee to "Go with it. See where it leads. You have a few months. Just see what happens."

A sense of peace settled over us, even though we were overwhelmed with what this meant. It was a little like the Martin Luther book. We didn't really understand it, but we had caught the spirit. We would have to wait to translate it all and decide what to do, but in the meantime we could trust our feelings.

That night at the dance I saw a whole new side of Dee. He was dancing the Twist! (That was way before my time. I danced the Surf.) We had so much to learn about each other, so much to talk about. It was beyond exciting. I'd never felt this way before.

"Sehr schön."

On the bus home we cuddled and whispered. An endearing little lady in a hat with a feather was sitting across from us. She smiled wistfully, and told us love must be wonderful. "Die Liebe müss schön sein." Jawohl.

♥♥♥

*Homework:

~Write about the time you just knew the direction you should go.

~Finish the story: "I waited all afternoon for him to come back . . ."

~Remember the day you walked in the rain? Where were you going?