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.

Stepping Back

When one of your adult children hits a rough patch, it can be tough to come up with the appropriate response .As a mother, it's so easy to want to jump in and shield your kids from any financial/emotional/physical discomfort that might come their way but how often should we? While Beverly Goldberg (the original Smother - if you're not watching The Goldbergs, this reference will mean nothing to you) would say always and forever, I'm coming to the painful realization that we're not doing our kids any favors when we make a habit of heading things off at the pass. (OMG. I am so old that I'm now quoting things that Edgar Buchanan would say in a John Wayne western).

What I'm struggling with is this: Does parental intervention really help our little darlings in any positive way? Are we just coming to the rescue to make ourselves feel better? And, more importantly, please tell me how to get a good night's sleep when I dig in and let one of them sink or swim without throwing them a line?

Money is especially tricky. If I have it and one of my kids doesn't, it seems like such a no-brainer to break out that check book. But what does that teach them? That it's okay to buy stuff they can't afford; that it's okay to shirk their responsibilities and risk ruining their good credit; that it's acceptable to expect to be bailed out when they've dug themselves into a giant hole? Not exactly a parental legacy worth carving into one's tombstone.

I guess it's all about common sense; possessing the ability to be more selective in the times and manner I offer my help. While I'm not quite the pushover (read enabler) that I used to be, I'm nowhere near the "you're an adult, it's time for you to figure it out" kind of gal that I aspire to.  When it's crunch time my kids undoubtedly know that I'll be there to lend a helping hand or offer words of advice (unless I'm cruising the Mediterranean) but I also want them to realize they have the strength and ability to fend for themselves.

They may never have to worry about sleeping under a cold, snowy bridge but they just might have to find out what the world is like without an iPhone.

The Circle Game

Joni Mitchell wrote a lot of great songs about life and love. One of my favorites was The Circle Game with lyrics extolling the joys and frustrations of living on Planet Earth for seventy or eighty years. If you're younger than I am (and who isn't?) you might not know (or in my case remember) the words:  And the seasons, they go round and round. And the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on a carousel of time. We can't return, we can only look behind from where we came. And go round and round and round in the circle game. (Just writing those words makes me want to go dig out my copy of Ladies of the Canyon.)

I was thinking of that song yesterday when I helped host a baby shower for one of my closest friend's daughter. She (and the other two hostesses) have been three of God's greatest blessings in my life for more than thirty years. As I watched her daughter gleefully open all the gifts that would soon clothe/educate/amuse her little one, I couldn't help thinking about how quickly the time had gone. Had it really been twenty-something years since my friends and I were the ones waddling around in maternity cloths? Had it truly been more than two decades since I was putting the finishing touches on the cake for my friend's baby shower instead of the cupcakes for this one? Could that really be my own daughter sitting on the floor tending to her six-month old son?

I know. I know. Time marches on. Time waits for no (wo)man. Everyone tells you how fast it all goes by (even if they don't say it quite as eloquently as Ms. Mitchell) but nothing really prepares you for it. And even though I made sure to add some pearls of wisdom about savoring every moment of her parenthood journey in my message to the mommy-to-be, I know it won't do much good.

She won't really appreciate it until she's the one watching her own daughter open up those presents.

Tossin' My Cookies

When Matthew Perry was looking for something to do after his million dollar per episode stint on Friends was coming to an end, he starred in a cute movie that I loved and all the critics hated called Fools Rush In. He played an uptight architect who had a one night stand with fiery Selma Hayek and ended up falling in love with her after finding out they were going to be parents. It wasn't up for any Oscars that year but I thought it was a fun way to while away a couple of hours with a bucket of popcorn.

You may be wondering why I'm bringing up some obscure little romcom but something happened to me the other day that reminded me of one of the things Selma's character kept saying to Matthew's - that there were "signs" everywhere, if only we paid attention to them. Of course, Matthew thought she was loopy right up until the time he realized that she was "everything he never knew he always wanted". If you haven't guessed, I like sappy movies where the girl gets the guy and everybody lives happily ever after. So shoot me.

Back to the sign thing. What was mine, you ask? Well, I had succumbed to the lure of McDonald's drive-thru and ordered not only a burger and fries but a couple of chocolate chip cookies to boot. After polishing off my oh-so- nutritious dinner, I ran into Marshalls to return something, tossing my McDonald's bag into the trash can outside. It wasn't until I was deep into browsing through the clearance rack that I realized the horror of what I had just done - my yummy chocolate chip cookies were still in that bag, now on the bottom of an icy-cold garbage can.

After briefly considering a little discreet dumpster diving, I remembered what Selma said. This was a sign. It had to be. God did not want me to have those cookies. He knows that I've been trying to cut back on sugar and was doing his best to save me from myself by having my absent-minded brain throw out a bag containing two perfectly good (and possibly still warm) cookies. Now what? Was I going to bow to the wisdom and possible intervention of a higher power, taking the hint to go home and eat an apple instead? Or was I going to slink my way back to the nearest McDonalds to replace my poor fallen cookies?

What do you think?

Why Ya Gotta Be So Mean?

I used to live in England, a country known for its dreary weather, love of cricket, and questionable cuisine. While I never came to appreciate those things, I did develop a fondness for the English sense of propriety, unfailing politeness and overall civility. While I only shared the island for a couple of years, I found my hosts to be level-headed citizens who would have rather eaten glass than offend anyone with a harsh word and had the decency to pronounce everything "lovely" even when it was far from it.

Not exactly the way we do things around here, is it?

Last week, my sister and I (in two separate incidents) were treated to verbal (and, in my sister's case, written) abuse by someone who escalated a situation WAY beyond where it had any right to go. My sister, having accidentally bumped some Neanderthal's truck door with her car door after it had been grabbed by the wind, was treated to a nasty tirade AND a note on her windshield that invoked the dreaded C-word. My encounter was at work and involved a clearly bi-polar, off-her-meds customer who bit my head off when I inquired if she needed my help.

I don't get it. I know people can have a bad day. I know people can be burdened with stress and anxiety. I know there are underlying causes that provoke someone to lose their temper. But why is it happening so frequently these days? Why is everyone on such a short fuse; blowing everything out of proportion? Why can't we all calm down a little and be a whole lot kinder to one another?

If something doesn't change, I may just have to pack up my family and head back across the pond. I could use a little "That would be lovely" right now.