‘Tis the last day of August, and I can’t help but think: Good riddance, Month No. 8! I don’t think I’ll miss you.
Truth is, in recent years August has come to bog me down with its air stagnant as dog breath, its gardens that wilt overnight, its lake water hot as a bath.... I could go on, but it’s probably obvious already. The “in-between-seasons” blues hits me hard this time of year. Every year.
But August also happens to be “Happiness Happens Month!” So on that note, here are a couple lessons I've learned, or reconfirmed, during August. Some have made me happy. Others have just made me think. In either case, here you have 'em.
About the seasons: The seasons (and months) don’t just change with the weather, they change with our lives. August is a prime example.
As a kid, I loved August. Yes, it was hot and humid even back then, even up north in my native Michigan. But back in the day, school didn’t start until after Labor Day. August meant days at the lake. Nights to hang out. Time to wind down before back-to-school time hit. August was good.
Later, as a parent of school-aged children living in the South, I was surprised to learn back-to-school time didn't mean September but rather August. It was soooo early for the poor kids. But lucky mom. August became my second chance at a new year, a season to start with a clean slate once again. Equally important, August provided a chance to catch a breath before life really got busy, as in the HalloThanksChristmas season.
But August looks different in the grandparent season of life. I find myself happy but sorrowful as the grands return to school, their sports teams forming, their days less leisurely. They can no longer prioritize coming over for pool time or spending a day at the lake. That doesn't make me happy.
If I take an even deeper dive into this season of my life, August is one more marker of so many things I haven’t accomplished, like traveling to Scotland, finishing my work-in-progress, landing a literary agent, and marking all fifty states off my list of places I have been. Diving even deeper, if I get out of myself and plunge into the cavern of others’ lives, August reminds me there are loved ones of kids no longer with us (think Sandy Hook Elementary or Stoneman Douglas High School, just for two examples). Those folks truly have reason to mourn this bittersweet month.
Indeed, the seasons don’t just change with the weather. They often change on a dime. Much the way that life does.
About science and medicine. This past August has brought into focus medical miracles that continue to transform my life. I continue to be grateful and awed. And, no, I’m not talking about COVID vaccines, although they do fall into this category.
There are other medical wonders, besides the development of vaccines, that have transpired in the last seventy years or less. Specifically, I’m thinking about organ donation and transplant. The first successful kidney transplant occurred in the 1950s. Successful liver, heart, and pancreas transplants occurred in the late 1960s, and lung and intestinal transplants followed in the 1980s. Why do I care? Probably because my sister Lisa (below right) is alive today because my sister Tina (below left) bravely donated a kidney to her back in 2001.
Two other young women very special to me are facing a similar journey in the coming months of 2021. Needless to say I’m grateful for the advances in science and medicine throughout the years.
You likely have similar stories of medical miracles that have touched you. What about that sweet friend who’s battling cancer? Or the loved one struggling with mental health issues? Advances in science and medicine increase their chances for a positive outcome. A medical miracle touched my life yesterday when my husband had his left retina re-attached. Chances are he’ll regain at least 90% of the vision he’s lost. That’s the bomb. So I’m grateful for so many things. Advances in technology. Gifted doctors. Prayer. Good mojo. Positive outcomes are never guaranteed, but this August I’m reminded that miracles do happen.
About the garden. Oh, my, yes, Georgia gardens do get dry in August. (Dry, or plagued by floods, depending on the year and the time of the month.) In past arid Augusts, I blamed my wilting garden on my work schedule and not being able to water early morning. I no longer have that excuse. But I also don’t have the onus of fretting we’ll starve if the garden fails to come through. In that case, we’ll just re-till and try again.
But you know what? Sometimes even dry gardens produce. And that makes me happy.
So here’s to August—the lessons it provides, the happiness (and sadness) it brings, the seasons of life it touches. I may not be all that sorry to see this August's passing, but I damn well hope to be around to usher it in again in 2022.
Cheers ~ J
(It’s July again, the month that marks another year of marriage for my guy and me. Yup, for better or worse, this post is for Rice...as well as anyone else who ever muses about the marvels and mysteries of marriage. Happy anniversary to us!)
Last year, to commemorate our anniversary in the year of COVID, I posted 41 reasons I would still say “I do” to the Riceman, one reason for each year of our marriage. This year, I looked to the stars—the tabloid kind—for fun little tidbits on how to keep a marriage purring along. Here are ten morsels that resonated with me. #10 - RUNNER-UP, MOST APT POINTER:
Think about it. During the early years of togetherness, most of us practice our best behaviors, like flossing daily. Our partner finds our quirks—like maybe the way we blow our nose—cute. Then time passes. We get more comfortable, maybe a little lax. And suddenly one day, that honking nose becomes grounds for justifiable homicide.
So I think Mr. Franklin had a point: Before marriage, we need to take off our rose-colored glasses a little more often. After marriage, we might do well to invest in several pairs.
#9 - ANOTHER, MAYBE EVEN MORE APT POINTER:
Man, I miss me some Erma. She could make light of domestic life like nobody else. But beneath her wit came depth. I’m not sure what more to say about this observation of hers, except maybe this: “Point taken, Ms. Bombeck. Thank you.”
#8 - RUNNER-UP, NOT SO ROMANTIC BUT A TRUE-BLUE POINTER:
Okay, maybe some couples start out just liking each other. You know, as friends. Personally, I remember more lust and infatuation up front. (Note to our adult children: Sorry to gross you out. I’m just saying....)
Anyway, here’s what I take from Mr. Hanks’ statement: Love means little if we don’t actually like each other. And I mean really, really like each other enough to trust and share and lift each other when we’re feeling vulnerable, furious, devastated, afraid, nervous, neglected...and just plain bad. Because life together is not constantly awe-filled.
#7 - ANOTHER NOT-SO-ROMANTIC BUT TRUE-BLUE OBSERVATION:
The key phrase that strikes me with this one: It might work out.
I’m not sure why, but never in all my life did I imagine I’d be married as long as I have been. Shoot, I’m not sure I even envisioned living to be as old as I am. I am sure of this: marriage—and life—can get downright hard. So to the people who swear they know the secret to a long, happy marriage—whether it’s faith, great communication, super sex, knowing you chose right...whatever—good for you. As for me, I’m a realist. A hopeful one who’s not ready to give up on life. Or marriage.
Because, you know...it might work out.
#6 - SWEETEST OBSERVATION:
When it comes to relationship goals, Chip and Joanna Gaines have a lot of fans. Is their marriage as awesome as it appears on TV and social media? Probably not. Yet if it’s even close, I’d say they have a good gig going.
Speaking of marriage gigs, check out the exchange below:
Questioner: “How long have you been married?”
Rice: “Most of my life.”
Questioner: (face grows ashen) “Uh.... I see.”
Rice: (grins) “But it seems like just three months.”
Response: (eyes regain a spark) “Ahhhhh....”
On the downside, this exchange occurs often enough to make me realize we might just be downright old. On the upside, maybe Mr. Gaines will add it to his repertoire, once he and Jo-Jo get a few more years in.
#5 - FUNNY BUT OH-SO-TRUE OBSERVATION:
I dare you to dispute Mrs. Obama’s thoughts on separate bathrooms. Personally, Rice and I don’t have that luxury, although as empty nesters, I suppose we could make it happen. Instead, we live with the next best thing: a large master bath with a separate water closet and two sinks.
Love me the separate water closet. Absolutely. As for the two sinks, I’m grateful for those, too. I like to use his to wash my face and brush my teeth. Mine, after all, houses other accoutrements and remains a place to curl and dry the hair after applying makeup.
So who needs separate bathrooms?
#4 - RUNNER-UP – NOT-SO-FUNNY BUT OH-SO-TRUE OBSERVATION:
On a more somber note, there’s hate. If hate is an ugly word, it’s an even uglier emotion.
When our kids were young, they went through that lovely stage of shouting “I hate you” whenever they felt extra angry. I established a rule PDQ: They could think it with all their hearts, but they never, ever were to say it out loud. I wasn’t asking them to suppress their emotions, but I wanted to help them understand how much words matter.
The irony is, I personally remember telling Rice “I hate you.” One time. I think I even hit him on the chest as I said it. It was so long ago, over a matter that might seem trivial today but filled me with blinding rage back then. I said “I hate you,” and I meant it. We had to face the rawness of that emotion together. We could sink into it and let it win. Or figure out how to lift ourselves upward and onward. I’m grateful we chose the latter, over and over again. But I think I get what Mr. Richter meant. You don’t get to have a long-term relationship without feeling all the feels.
#4 - ANOTHER NOT-SO-FUNNY BUT OH-SO-TRUE OBSERVATION:
The phrase that strikes me with this one: We’re just not quitters.
God love the Smiths. The Rices also adhere to that mantra.
Please don’t get me wrong. Not every couple can move upward and onward. Not every couple should stay the path together. When things like infidelity, incompatibility, immaturity, abuse (physical and/or emotional), dire financial problems come into play, who knows how much any one couple can withstand? I’m sure it depends on the couple. And the circumstances. And probably a damned good therapist as well.
No doubt, there are times to quit a marriage. But I’ll stay out of yours if you stay out of mine.
(2) A PRETTY MUCH ON-THE-MARK OBSERVATION
When I try to think of the dorky things Rice and I like to do together, I draw a blank. (Maybe because they don’t seem dorky to me?) This probably doesn’t count, but here goes:
A few years ago, I discovered a concept called Otium. It’s the Latin term for a period of leisure—often, but not always, after retirement—when a person makes intentional time to enjoy eating, playing, resting, contemplating, and pursuing educational and artistic endeavors.
Who couldn’t use an Otium? I decided Rice and I needed one before we retired. Opting for something educational and artistic, I enrolled us in a watercolor class.
Guess who didn’t realize a prerequisite for painting with watercolors might be the ability to draw?
That would be me. So, okay, Rice and I became the class remedials.
Our instructor was great. She encouraged us to select simple projects and allowed us to use a special technique. It’s called tracing. And you know what? We survived the class just fine. We even learned (and confirmed) a few things.
Lesson #1: You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Proof: Despite the class, everything Rice draws—be it animal, mineral, or spirit—continues to look like a scared rat.
Lesson #2: You can’t get an old gal to move faster than she’s ready to. Proof: I remain freakishly cautious, fretting like a fiend over even the simplest tasks and assignments. (And I hate this.)
Lesson #3: Delightful surprises await where you least expect. Proof: We discovered Rice has an excellent eye for color and shading and working with light—way better than mine. We tackle our DIY projects (when we dare) a little differently now with that knowledge.
Was our Otium dorky enough for Ms. Kaling? Maybe not. But it reminded us that seeing and respecting each other’s strengths and weaknesses needs to be an ongoing process. A choice.
Speaking of choice, my sweet friend Mandy made an observation about marriage that bears consideration: “Some days I’m in love. Some days I choose to be..... Nineteen years into the institution, it's a choice I’m happy to have made again and again!”
There’s also this:
(1) THE JACKPOT ON-THE-MARK THIS-IS-HONEY-&-RICE OBSERVATION:
What more can I say? In many ways, this TV sitcom’s description of marriage nails it. At least for us.
And you know what? That may sound like a bad thing, but it's not.
Anyway....to Rice: Happy 42nd! Let’s not be quitters, okay? Let’s aim for 43. With a little effort and a lot of ongoing luck, it might work out.
To everyone else: Cheers ~ J
Happy summer, you all! Anyone out there been taking any road trips?
Rice and I have. Or, at least we’ve started to venture out more again.
Back in 2020, we both retired with big hopes to travel more often. We even toyed with blogging about our adventures, sharing his photos with my write-ups. He went so far as to suggest a snappy name for our posts: Honey and Rice Do Vermont. Or Maine. Or whatever. The point was to play off the nicknames we have for each other—I’m Honey, he’s Rice—and share our perspectives on our destinations.
For a bit, the pandemic kept us from venturing far. But Rice and I are getting our groove back, having just returned from a multi-state trip up the Southeastern coast and down through the Shenandoah Valley. So, yeah, Honey and Rice have hit the road again.
In some ways, it’s like the pandemic never happened. Here’s what we discovered as we prepared to travel longer distances again:
Honey still has to study various driving routes ad nauseam and make copious lists of the places she’d like to stop along the way. Rice pops open a travel app, gives it a cursory glance, and knows every step and stop of the trip without having to look again.
Rice shoves shorts, shirts, and toiletries into a bag over the course of, say, ten minutes.
Honey takes a week to pack, replenishing lotions and cosmetics, making and revising lists of outfits (including shoes and necklaces to go with), and frets that she’s under-packed.
Honey decides we need to do something important, like update our wills and durable powers of attorney, the day before hitting the road. Rice agrees, figuring it’s easier to acquiesce, plus it will only take an hour or so. Right? Ha! After revising content, mixing up pages, finding a notary and witnesses (who again mix up the pages), several hours have passed. We’re behind schedule. And the added excitement means Honey needs a nap.
Rice tells Honey he’d like to leave the house between 8:00 and 9:00 the following morning. Honey is proud when our actual time of departure is 9:27 a.m.
On our recent trip, we visited my sister and her husband, whom we hadn’t seen in eighteen months. Seeing and hugging them at their Bel Air, Maryland home was the icing of the trip. We had never visited their new residence before, and oh, my gosh, it was so beautiful. But there was plenty of cake along the way, too, especially in other places we’d never been before, like
Wilmington, North Carolina: Who knew you were such a charming port town?
Kitty Hawk, North Carolina: Do you think Orville and Wilbur would count “just driving by after-hours” as making a visit? (I sort of don’t.)
Chincoteague Island: You sure were pretty, but who knew we should’ve gone on to Assateague if we wanted to see the wild ponies?
Rehoboth Beach, Delaware: We can see why Dr. Jill and Joe make you their summer home.
St. Michaels, Maryland: We enjoyed you, especially our stop at Skipjack’s for gelato, as you were hotter than Hades.
Roanoke, Virginia: From your downtown and restaurants to your Mill Park view and wildflower gardens, we loved you, and we’ll be back.
If you’re like Honey and Rice, road trips come with predictable but as yet unpreventable glitches. Some of them are merely a bummer. For instance, she might get excited about some new destination only to be disappointed that it’s too commercial, or perhaps it tries too hard to be quaint. He might get giddy anticipating historic stops along the way (Kitty Hawk and Tudor Hall—the latter where John Wilkes Booth spent his youth) but forget to check their hours of operation. She might try to beat the rising temperatures but end up suggesting routes that follow a God-awful heat wave. He might insist on driving further for a better gas price when the gauge is pointing precariously close to the E. (No harm—as long as that tank does not go past the E.)
Of course, some glitches are extra irritating. And costly. For instance, say someone puts the pedal to the medal with a little more zeal than necessary. In a location almost eight hours from home. In a state that issues a fine and mandates a court appearance. But, hey, in lieu of a personal appearance, one can pay an attorney to make a court appearance on one’s behalf.
Oh, yeah. That happened. And if Honey and Rice live another fifty years, we will likely continue to sprinkle our travels with similar snags and squeaks that get us to squabbling.
But enough with the whining.
Some say that life is not so much about the destination as it is the journey. I truly do believe this. The thing is, when two people journey together for years, the potholes and ruts sometimes try to overshadow the vistas and seascapes. Power and love still exist, but they’re often eclipsed by routine—routine that helps keep us going but can also leave us stale and less than joy-filled.
So thank God for travel! Somehow it has sparked a little more power and love back into our lives. How else to explain Honey and Rice laughing over detours and traffic citations and missed destinations? How did it come to pass that Honey cheerfully obliged Rice’s requests to shoot a pic of him outside yet another obscure landmark in homage to (or to prank) friends who do likewise? or to eat at a hole-in-the-wall diner he researched and yearned to try. How did he hold back from grousing when she stopped to photograph the hundredth wildflower in her path? or the cemetery or old building or mural or animal sculpture decorated by a local artist?
Not quite sure what happened to us, but we definitely enjoyed our recent journey. Or maybe, much as Honey the homebody hates to admit, it might just boil down to this:
Cheers! And safe and happy travels to you, too, if you’re inclined ~ J
