Something Special

Last week, in the hallowed pages of People magazine, I read an article about Hilary Duff. If you don't know who the heck she is, you're probably over thirty and don't make a habit of tuning in to the Disney channel. Anyway, she's out there promoting a new television series as well as speaking "candidly" about the break-up of her marriage. Recalling the recent "conscious uncoupling" of another Hollywood couple, she goes on and on about how she and her husband had given it their best shot, realized they weren't who they used to be, and decided to part as friends. All very civilized (although I'm pretty sure their three year-old son won't see it that way); all very honest and mature; all very hard-fought (they did make it to their fifth anniversary, after all).

So why did I find her words so infuriating?

As someone who's been married for more than three decades, I can safely state that my husband and I are no longer who we used to be. (Thank God). I can also confirm the fact that we have fallen in and out of love with one another at least 187 times. If we had thrown in the towel during any one of those "down" times (and believe me, I thought about it once or twice), who knows where we would be today. He might be tooling around Europe with some supermodel and I might be sharing a fireplace chat with that handsome devil I met on that Our Time dating site but that's beside the point. And even if we had managed to carve out some new lives for ourselves, I know one thing - we'd be all the poorer for it.

This week, my parents will celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. Yes, you read that correctly. Sixty-five. When they said "I do", there was no such thing as TV, women still did their housework in dresses, and the civil rights movement was still a decade away. They have survived countless changes of address, the ups and downs of parenthood, various illnesses, and retirement. They have remained partners for more than six decades for one simple reason - because they wanted to; because they never even imagined an alternative. They had stood in front of family and friends and said "forever" and they meant it.

Yesterday, when our family celebrated this monumental achievement, it didn't take much for any of us to realize how grateful we were that they hadn't "given it their best shot" and walked away. As we poured over photographs of their life together, all of us who owed our very existence to their partnership couldn't help but be in awe of the rich history they had created; of the amazing tapestry of their life spent loving (and every now and then hating) one another.

Together. Through it all. For better or worse. Till death do they part.

Hittin' the Road

One of the best things about having grown children who have flown the coop is the freedom their father and I now have to drop everything, pack a bag, and head out of town. Our latest adventure was a quick four-day trip down to Kentucky to do some work on the lake home we are hoping to sell. We knew going in that this was not going to be a "vacation" but anytime I throw my clothes in a suitcase and check into a hotel (hello, Super 8) is a holiday to me.

An eight hour car ride (especially one without the radio) tells you a lot about your relationship. By the time we stopped for lunch, our conversations had already covered everything from our adorable grandson (okay, his antics kept us going for at least a hundred miles) to the nation's rising racial tensions. By the time we reached our destination, it was obvious that even after thirty-one years, we still had not run out of things to talk (or laugh) about.

For the next two days we raked, cut bushes, moved furniture, painted, sucked up endless varieties of bugs, and packed as many boxes as our humble SUV could handle. We also basked in the first really warm days of Spring, hung out at the local marina, chatted with our friendly neighbors, took a walk in the forest, ate Chinese, and shared a kiss under an impossibly starry sky.

Yep. Being an empty-nester has its moments.

Take Me Away

For those of you who maintained a relatively conscious state during the Seventies (those of you eager to point out you were toddlers in that decade, I hate you), you're sure to remember that ubiquitous commercial for Calgon; the one where some harried woman was imploring her box of bubble bath to get her the heck out of there. That's roughly where I'm at - except I'm not putting my faith in some stinkin' soap product to do the trick. No, my escape has nothing to do with soaking in a hot tub (unless it's on the top deck of a cruise ship); it has everything to do with physically being transported to another place.

Hello. I'm Coleen and I'm a travelholic.

Not that my addiction is any kind of a secret. My mailbox is inundated on a daily basis with brochures from every known cruise operator detailing the latest Rhine River itineraries or round-the-world sailing bargains. Yesterday, I even got one from Linblad Expeditions, inviting me to explore the Antartic. (Clearly, this company has no idea who they're dealing with. Spending thousands of dollars to freeze my ass off when I can do it here for free is something that is never going to happen.)

My AOL (please don't laugh) inbox is full of e-mails from Cruise Critic.com, Tripadvisor, and Kayak. My Facebook ads are continually reminding me of the latest price reduction on a cruise to the Greek islands or the fact that there is only one more room left at that cute little hotel in Orvieto. And how do I go to sleep at night? Do my eyes start to close as I devour the latest bestseller? Not nearly as often as they used to. More often than not, I'm pouring over some Rick Steves' guidebook telling me how to get out of the port in Ajaccio, Corsica or finding out the optimum way to get from Perugia to Parma.

It's a sickness and I know it but I don't care. I love that I can now discover charming seaside hotels in far-flung places from the comfort of my own bedroom. I relish in the opportunity to find the "locals" way to get from Point A to Point B instead of signing up with some impersonal touring operator. Most of all, I love the fact that I'm always in the middle of planning my next trip, no matter how far in the future it may be.

It may be a sickness but I'm having so much fun I have no interest in finding a cure.