photo credit to http://www.sxc.hu/profile/mzacha

It was a tour of many cities and we’d spend a few days in each. We’d explore and eat and see the sites. And then we’d hit the bus and go to the next stop.

I was in my room at the hotel. I think it was Philadelphia. Could have been anyplace. It was just a moderately dingy hotel from where I sat. It was time to go the bus. I couldn’t get up. Literally, I couldn’t make myself sit up. I tried. But I was so tired.

My good friend sat me up in bed and told me to put my shoes on. The bus would be leaving in 5 minutes.

PUT YOUR SHOES ON. You’re going to miss the bus.

But I couldn’t. I had a shoe in my hand, but couldn’t get it on my foot.

I was so tired.

She threw up her hands and said she had to go. Couldn’t miss the bus.

But I did.

Because I couldn’t get my shoes on.

It would be ok. I’d buy a train ticket home.

Except my purse with my wallet was on the bus.

I had my phone. I’d paypal. Except the battery was dead. And the charger? In my purse.

I wandered a while wondering how I’d get home. But I was having trouble concentrating.

I was so tired.

Photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/thegnome54

Today, I got a million things done, but got nothing done.

I’m frustrated. Annoyed.

My computer isn’t running properly.

The May/June nightmare schedule for the end of school year has begun.

I could go on. But I won’t.

Instead, I’ll work a little longer and hope that I can pick up fresh in the morning.

PS: Sorry, Andrew. I know it’s hardest on you when I get like this.

Photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/vancity197

I do regret putting that perfumed love letter in the awkward guy’s locker in 8th grade. I still feel awful about that. And I feel terrible about not sticking up for the girl at my art table in 7th grade when Billy and Michael made fun of her. I really don’t know why I didn’t.

I regret not talking to my parents about the 100 page creepy love/stalking letter that I was given in high school. I did, however, talk to the guidance counselor about it. (Sorry, Mom. I’ll tell you now, if you want.)

I regret this one other thing which I won’t be talking about. But I do feel crappy about it.

But in general, I think I made mostly good choices. And I was a pretty good kid and a good friend.

Though I’ve wondered lately. There are some ‘girls’ from my childhood and teen years that I’ve become reacquainted with on Facebook. They are funny and smart, interesting and engaging. So why weren’t we better friends back then? Did our groups of friends not mesh? Was there something else? Did one of us dress “wrong?” Were we too smart? Too not-smart? Too clique-y? Too shy?

And then there’s the bigger question. If we were in the same room, would we have stuff to talk about? Would we feel the love?

I have no idea.

I’m just wondering tonight.

photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/profile/Ayla87

I’ll never forget when my grandmother, Betsy, was sick in the hospital. She was [insanely] concerned about the hairs on her chin and needed someone (my mom, if memory serves correctly) to be sure those hairs were eradicated.

It’s not that I didn’t understand the vanity. I got that.

What I didn’t understand was how she could have enough whiskers to care about. I mean, I never noticed any. And yes, I see the irony. And what I also didn’t realize was that it can happen to the best of us.

So Nana, I’m sorry for being all judgey. And I sure hope that those evil thoughts aren’t the actual reason that I now have chin hairs.

Oh crap. Did I really write that on my blog?

Yes, I suppose that I did.

I don’t have ‘get the shaving cream and razor’ kind of chin hairs, but I do get the ‘where the heck did that long, black, wiry thing come from’ kind of hairs. I swear they grow over night.

Look. I have a great pair of tweezers. It’s fine. But what I don’t have is great close-up vision. So on the occasions that I am wearing my glasses and lean in to see myself in the magnifying mirror, it’s cause for alarm. HOW COULD I NOT HAVE SEEN THOSE THINGS? SERIOUSLY?

And let’s top that off with why didn’t my beloved husband see them? Why would he not have told me? Why wouldn’t he have plucked those suckers himself to save me the embarrassment of walking around like that? Oh wait, maybe he doesn’t see so well, either. (He is getting ready to turn 54. Just saying.)

Is ignorance bliss?

I say, no. Not in this case. I don’t want to be that crazy old coot who doesn’t know she has long, black hairs coming off her face. So friends, if you were wondering if you should mention it, the answer is yes. Together, we can keep this epidemic under control.

But I’m in search of something else. A hobby. Something to enjoy for no good reason.

I’ve thought about collecting. Painting. Canning.

Nothing has created a spark yet.

It seems that all my ideas lead back to business. And while that’s fine, I suppose, that’s not what I’m looking for.

I’ve thought about metal sculpture. But I don’t know how to weld. I did find out that the community college has welding classes in the fall. Good to know.

We lived 1200 miles away and it was hard. Very hard. I hated knowing I wasn’t there to support him through chemo. I talked to my mom most days. And I knew he was getting through with a great attitude. But it wasn’t like being there. Not at all.

When I came east to see him, I was truly surprised by how rough it was on him. He is the toughest guy I know. Not kidding. But even he was getting beaten down.

Not that he’d let on.

So on one of the visits, he gave me some cash. He asked that I buy something to remember him by. In case.

In case.

Deep breath.

He said he’d have preferred to have gotten me something but he didn’t have the energy.

So when I saw these three delicate bands – complete with engraving and lovely details – I bought them. With the cash. And I wore them on my right hand as a reminder.

My dad recovered fully. I know! How lucky were we? But since then, he’s had another run-in with cancer and triple bypass surgery. But he’s doing great and is living life with a great attitude.

As always.

I don’t wear these rings every day anymore. But I do wear them. And when I do, I take a deep breath and feel great appreciation for having my father around.

We’ve lived close by since 1999. August. And I’m thankful for the time I get to spend with my parents. And my in-laws. And the rest of my family. Because you know what? Nothing matters more.

Nothing.

So today, when I put on the set of rings, I realized how grateful I am. Because you know what? It’s so easy to forget. So easy to get caught up in the daily grind. So easy to get busy. So easy to lose track.

But nothing matters more to me than my family.

I couldn’t be more thrilled that I didn’t need those rings to remember my father by for all these years because I get to see him all the time. And he’s healthy. But they’ll always be a reminder of how fragile life is.

Tuesday is my anniversary. 

I know what you’re thinking. Andrew and I got married on October 2, 1993. (You were thinking that, right?)

But April 24 is the anniversary of my wedding to my first husband. (If you’re asking yourself if I had a first husband, the answer is yes.) 

And then you’d be asking yourself, why the heck Wendy would be celebrating the anniversary of her marriage to her first (and clearly mismatched) husband. And that would be quite a valid question. 

The answer to that is…of course I’m not celebrating that. Come on. Give me some credit, here. I wish the guy all the best. Really, I do. But he and I were about the worst match ever in the universe. Not kidding. He didn’t have the (ahem) appreciation for me that Andrew has. Or maybe he was intimated. Just saying. (Oh crap. Do you think he reads my blog? He might. If so, hi Mark.)

But back to the anniversary. Tuesday is the anniversary of the actual divorce decree of that first (and ill-fated) marriage. 

I know. How crazy that the marriage started and ended on April 24. 

Very poetic, if you ask me.

I am grateful for the divorce. Grateful for the get that allowed me to marry Andrew in a Jewish ceremony. Basically, a get is a Jewish divorce. It’s a release for the woman to move on. Seriously. It says, ”You are hereby permitted to all men.” Not kidding. And true story: I did not date all men after the divorce. Only about 30. And then I met Andrew. Andrew and I were married a couple years later.

A quick aside – I am very unsure if the rabbi who married Andrew and me actually did all that was required. He was quite old and not well. It was extraordinarily fast, too. So, I’ve wondered over the years if he forgot some of the important parts. I suppose it’s not particularly important, though. We’re legally married.

It’s obvious that I can’t stay focused here. I want to say that an old friend is getting married next week – to the woman she has been committed to for about a thousand years. I am so happy for them I can barely contain myself. Congratulations, Susan & Kay.  I wish you every happiness. 

So marriage. 

It’s a hot topic. I believe in marriage. I do. 

I believe that it’s possible for two people to work their butts off to stay moving in the same direction. To cherish the best of each other. To suck it up and deal with the worst of each other. 

I believe in forever. And don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that forever is the Cinderella kind of forever but I am saying that forever is my goal and that my husband and father of my amazing sons is stuck with me come hell or high water. 

And I like it that way.
I’ll make a quiet toast on Tuesday like I do every April 24. And I’ll thank my lucky stars.

Some smells just bring back the memories. Like cheap motel soap. Can you smell it in your head right now? I can. Well, I can also smell it because it’s right here on my desk. Hehe.

But seriously, can you imagine the smell of this soap? It’s the same as the soap from the Holiday Inn we used to go to in Ocean City and the soap from the roadside motels on every roadtrip I can remember.

And it’s the smell of the soap at the Shadowbrook Resort in Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania. If you go to that link, I’m guessing you’ll think it looks like a nice resort. And I must say, I’m super impressed with how nicely they translated the reality for the website.

Now, remember, I haven’t been to this place since the mid-1970′s. But I remember it like it was yesterday.

There was a bowling alley and an ice cream parlor on the grounds. Right near our room. And my brother, sister, and I went to those places WITHOUT PARENTS. I’m not kidding.

I remember what that felt like. The sheer independence of it all. My brother (the oldest) carried the money. I was nervous, but would never have admitted it. It was crazy. Just us kids. On our own. It was so bold. So courageous. Daring.

I know now that the both the ice cream shop and the bowling alley could be seen from our room. My parents watched us go. I know now that the place was really small and secure. That it wasn’t the huge worldly outing that I thought it was. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It was awesome.

My parents made everything so fun for us. They turned an inexpensive vacation into a lifelong memory. They made the most average meals seem like The French Laundry.

I can only hope that Andrew and I are giving our kids experiences to remember. And that one day, when they open a plain motel bar of soap, they too will travel back in time.

We’re just back from a nine-day family vacation. Nine days. And my teenagers actually wanted to go.

I josh you not.

While the trip started out a bit rocky. Rocky, as in I vomited all the way from the TSA line at National Airport through a layover in Milwaukee and onward to San Francisco. Rocky, as in the flight attendant on the second flight asked Andrew if I was a nervous flyer. He said, “No, she’s just sick.” Bet that made her day. And rocky, as in I missed the first 36 hours of our San Fran visit.

But Andrew and the boys kept on ticking. I had a great and comfortable place to rest (go VRBO!) and they saw the Golden Gate Bridge and Sausalito (which they fondly call Sausagelito). And they saw the SF Museum of Modern Art. And rode cable cars. And such.

I totally rallied for Alcatraz.

It was so interesting and a beautiful day. We were so happy to be together. It was, for me, the start of a wonderful vacation.

Did you know that there are still three Alcatraz prisoners alive? All are still in prison somewhere. Andrew is really into the show Alcatraz. I think it’s just creepy. But, I digress.

Dinner that night? So fun. We went to Range. And yes, my sons were the only non-adults there. But no one seemed to mind. They’re as tall as the adults, anyway. And they know their way around a nice restaurant. It was all good.

The next 4 days were incredible. Monterey. Yosemite. (We stayed in a Caboose and had fabulous Cajun food. Not kidding.) Sequoia.

And Death Valley. Very fun “resort” in Death Valley. We met the nicest people there. And honestly, I think that I slept better there than any other night. It was just so peaceful and we were so darn happy. After dinner, there was nothing to do. I mean nothing. No Internet. No TV. No cell service.

We bought a 40 at the convenience store (for the adults, obviously) and some snacks for all. And we played poker. All of us in one room, laughing and playing cards. So fun.

And the next morning, we headed into the park and saw the sites. We hiked. We took pix. (Okay, that was me.) and we went to the lowest place in North America.

We look happy, no?

After a full and exhausting day, we headed east to Las Vegas.

And the adventure continued.

There are a million details I left out. Like the Artichoke Capital of the World. Like the funny Mexican restaurant in Laughlin. Or Laughlin, in general.

I can’t express how happy I am that we had a week of laughs. A week of talking. A week of experiencing. A week I’ll never forget.

My boys are growing up so fast. Davis will be applying to colleges soon. And as of next fall, they’ll all be in high school. No more middle school. No more elementary school. No more preschool.

It’s shocking.

But it’s wonderful.

I’m so grateful. (Not for the throwing up part. But for every other minute of my life.)