You Smell Like You

I'm excited for a long weekend to cook, linger over long dinners with family and friends, sleep-in, do some gardening, read, smell my herbs...

For the past few years I've planted pots of herbs in the spring.  This year I planted my herb friends a month ago and they're already thriving.  I keep the pots right on the back steps and snip as needed to use in my cooking, or when I need some aroma-therapy. 

I'm not sure where I come up with these slightly bizarre odd kinds of therapy, but they help.  Really.  

Remember my demolition project?  Well, sometimes I need a little bit of therapy while I'm lifting those bricks off the wall.  There's nothing like a deep whiff of rosemary to keep me going.

A few times lately I've slipped a sprig of basil or rosemary into my bag, brought it to work and put it on my desk.  In the middle of a crazy-paced, stress-filled day, I inhale deeply, and instantly I'm reminded of a favorite food or transported to my kitchen where I'm sipping a glass of wine while I cook.  Crazy huh?

Certain smells connect me to memories or return me to moments in time.  A strong scent will take me to places or people that I love; pungent smells will bring me to places of pain or joy or both.

And then there are people smells.  My husband gives off a unique smell--I'm still in love with his scent after 31 years.  Ouch!  That sounded ridiculously sentimental, but it also happens to be true so I can't take it back.  During times when we're snuggling together I'll lean into husband's hairy chest and breathe deeply.  I'll want to stay with him--with his scent--for a good, long while, and all that while I'm inhaling and exhaling him.  Husband.

And then I give him my one-liner--my smooth, sophisticated, how-did-you ever come up with such a profound statement-kind of line:

Husband, I say, with my nose burrowed into his chest, You smell like you.

Who knows, I may feel the need for some herb-aroma-therapy this weekend.  I'm on a mission to use all six of these herb friends in my cooking...

Rosemary in a sauce or rub or marinate?

 

 

Basil in a Thai dish or marinara sauce?

Chives wedged inside baked potatoes on the grill?

Oregano for a marina sauce?

Dill for baby carrots?

Mint for mojitos!

More Bricks and New Trees

Just in case my last post dragged weighed you down with all that heavy talk about lifting bricks and excavation, I thought it was time to let you DIG a little deeper into another process I'm involved in when it comes to my marriage.

Or, to put it another not-so-poetic way--I want to let you know what I'm doing after I successfully manage to lift a stinkin' heavy brick off the freakin' wall! 

I plant a tree. 

Let me explain--because this isn't just imagery, I promise.  There are steps in between the brick-lifting and the tree-planting.  And, if I'm honest, it's almost always two-steps-forward-and-one-step back (or one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back).  'Cause it's hard, very, very, hard.  Back-breaking, actually.  But you should see my new muscles. 


As an excavator I will ...

- Lift heavy bricks such as this:  You should know me by now, Husband.  I'm hurt because you still can't read my mind don't know me and can't anticipate what I need from you. 

Or this brick:  Why don't you want to hang out with me more?  Why do you have to be so maddeningly independent? (...unless I'm wanting to be independent, in which case I'm all-to-happy to let you be independent...) 

Or, this one:  Husband, I have changed and my perspectives are not at all what they were early on in our marriage; I think differently, and I see the world and its people through a very different lens than I once did.  Your ideas, philosophies, and perspectives have not changed all that much, Husband, or maybe your views have only deepened--you seem absolutely convinced that your earlier lenses are clear and you're keeping them firmly in place.

Or this brick, or this brick, or this brick, or, or, or...

- Gasp and become horrified when I see the gross bugs, maggots, cobwebs, etc., that were under the brick I lifted:   Husband, not only do you reflect to me that you're wondering why I wear new lenses, but, even more, you reflect to me that you're wishing I'd put my old glasses back on so that we'd be more in-sync.  Except I can't. go. back, because that prescription doesn't work any more.  And you, husband, you shouldn't have to get new lenses just because I want us to look through the same lenses together.  (Or, just because it would be SO MUCH EASIER if we looked through the same lenses...)

- Avoid the temptation to avert my eyes or put the brick back in the wall:  I will face this unearthed truth.  I will first and foremost consider and admit to my own selfishness, my own unreasonable expectations and the unfair spoken and unspoken demands that I place upon you, Husband.  I will stare every maggot in the face, and I will not first blame you for its existence.  I will consider what's really bugging me, and I will dig deeply to root out any rotten muck that I brought with me in the first place.  BUT I WILL NOT TURN AWAY OR PUT THE BRICK RIGHT BACK ON THESE WALL(S).  But wait, Husband, there is more.  While I'm staring at the bugs and maggots and cobwebs and grossing out over every one, I will not play the blame game just for the sake of having one of us to blame.  Instead, I will do my best to extend us each the grace, love, mercy, forgiveness, and understanding that we both so badly need and we both so much deserve.  


And then I will plant a tree where there's a gap in the walls. 

- I will reach out to you, Husband, and ask you to help me lift the bricks I cannot lift alone.  I will move toward you rather than away from you.  I will trust in your love for me even when I cannot see it, feel it, or touch it.  We will swing together.  We will walk together.  We will dance together (hmmmm...  are you scared yet?).  I will ask you out on dates rather than wait for you to ask me.  I will, I will, God will, I will, God will, I will...

I love you, Husband.  Let's go green together.

Wall-Builders Anonymous

Genius photo taken by Grace, my favorite photographer

It's really, really, really hard to change.

After 31 years of marriage I'm still finding it slightly hard to change.  Duh.  I didn't erect these walls overnight; I'm a skilled builder, and this type of solid construction happens one brick at a time--brick by brick, these walls are thick.

There's a risk in doing this heavy-lifting with you--here--on this blog.  This post won't tell you all the good things, the sweet spots in our marriage.  You'll just have to trust me; there are cracks, openings, swinging gates in the wall, enough to keep me around for 31 years.

Somehow including you is worth the risk.  Because, for some unknown reason, I'm convinced that you're part of the excavation/demolition process.  I think I'm getting serious about starting the group I mentioned here before, Wall-Builders Anonymous.  Ok, so I'm not all that anonymous.  


Here are just a few of the carefully constructed, patterned responses that have all contributed to this massively-walled edifice around my soul...

BRICK BY BRICK
Brick one - 
Whenever I'm walking through an emotionally tough week/month and husband knows my insides are a mess, he just so happens to get extremely busy elsewhere--especially since hanging out with me may be like navigating a land mine--watch where you step, or KABOOM!  So I turn elsewhere--to a girlfriend, to exercise (well, not enough), or I take nature walks, or, or, or...  But I don't go find husband, pull him out of hiding, ask him to just listen (not fix), and assure him that the pin is still in the grenade.  Just another brick in the wall.

Brick two - 
A special occasion (or weekend) comes along and I set up internal expectations for how husband is supposed to help celebrate said occasion/weekend.  Then I begin to drop not-so-subtle hints far in advance--hints that no one who really cares about me would ever miss.  When the special occasion/weekend arrives, some of my young adult children and/or girlfriends show up and they exceed expectations or spring fun surprises, leaving poor husband in the you-just-don't-get-me dust.  Just another brick in the wall.


Brick three -
We're sitting in a group, and I begin to tell a story or contribute to a discussion.  I look over at husband and he suddenly looks bored or disengaged or impatient.  (Whereas, a few minutes before, he seemed utterly fascinated by someone else's story or opinion.  Hmmmm...)  I feel voiceless and invisible and disconnected.  Just another brick in the wall.

Brick four -
We're together with friends or family, and as I listen to husband's passionate opinions on the evening's topics, I realize that we couldn't be more opposite in our perspectives.  How in the world did we get here?, I ask for the trillionth time.  Finally, I muster up my courage to respectfully voice my oh-so-different views; as I speak, I watch husband's face and note his incredulity.  How in the world did she come up with that?, his expression seems to be asking.  We're both taking passionate, opinionated, strong stances, but we're each standing on polar-opposite sides of the fence.  Just another brick in the wall.

There are more bricks.  A lot more bricks.  And they're quite heavy.


Change is hard.  I'm going from being a wall-builder to being a heavy-lifter, an excavator.  I tried the huge wrecking-ball approach, but my excavator was too small.  Instead, I'm clawing apart the bricks, scooping out the __________, and lifting off each brick, one at a time.  Brick by brick...


Allow me to change Dictionary.com's definitions for change in hopes you'll begin to dig understand my excavation process.  The words in italics are my edits...

change

 [cheynj] 

verb (used with object)

1.

to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone: to change one's patterns/responses; to change one's perspective; to change the course of history; to change a marriage.

2.

to transform or convert (usually followed by into ): The self-protecting wife changed into a vulnerable, transparent, freely-loving woman.

3.

to substitute another or others for; exchange for something else, usually of the same kind: She changed her expectations into offerings.

4.

to give and take reciprocally; interchange: to change places with husband.

5.

to transfer from one (conveyance) to another: You'll have to change from wall-builder to brick-mover.

 

I love you husband.  You're not just another brick in the wall.

Wise Guy

It's not my saying.  I'm only quoting him, my long-ago colleague and friend.

Back in my first grade teacher days I developed a fun friendship with one of my coworkers--frankly, I thought he was one of the funniest and most entertaining people I had ever met.  When I needed a look on the lighter side of life, E was the one I turned to for a smile or a good belly laugh...

These days I've no idea where E is or what he's doing; I don't think of him much.

But, when E comes to mind, I realize that he was wise--terribly, sagely, stroke-his chin and philosophize--wise.

E gave me one sentence to live by every day; the sentence offers a profound truth that makes all the difference in how I view the world and all the people I encounter...

We're all just bozos on this bus.

So when I take myself too seriously and I'm busy beating myself up, I remember to lighten up since... we're all just a bunch of bozos on this bus.

Or, when I'm full of myself and I'm patting myself on the back because of some wonderful move I just made, I hear E's voice and it hits me again.  Wait a second--you're feeling good about yourself today, but what happens when you mess it up tomorrow (or in ten minutes)?  You will mess up eventually, 'cause we're all just bozos on this bus.

And when I'm nit-picking or finding fault or just plain critical, I hear it again.  Who do you think you are anyway?  You're just another bozo on this bus.

It's rare to find one simple sentence that sums it all up--life, humanity, mess, forgiveness, truth, grace, understanding, compassion, humility, fragility, insanity, pain, humor, love, courage, this flawed existence.  For me, this sentence says IT all:  We're all just bozos on this bus.  

Imagine my shock a few weeks ago while watching American Idol when I hear Steven Tyler say, “You know, what is funny man is – that we are all bozos on the bus, until we find some way to express ourselves.”  Unbelievable!  All those years of giving E the credit for his profound wisdom wrapped up in one sentence. 

But Steven Tyler doesn't get the guru title either.  As it turns out, there's a comedy recording released in 1971, "I think we're all bozos on this bus."

In the overall scheme of life, does it really matter where this simple sentence originated?  E, your gig is up, but I still love the simple truth wrapped up in a simple sentence.  After all, we're all just a bunch of bozos on this bus...


How about you?  Do you have a sentence that says it all for you?  I'd love to hear it.

Wish I Was There - Wish You Were Here

Our oldest turned 27 years old at 12am today, Alaska time.  I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself because I want to help him celebrate and it's not possible because...

Anchorage is 3348 miles away.

We all have day jobs that keep us from taking long vacations whenever it's someone's birthday.

On each of our children's birthdays I relive their actual birth days.  Of course, it's a good thing cognitive dissonance kicks in 'cause I remember all the good parts of their birth and completely forget to remember the excruciating pain, the hard labor.  What pain?  What labor?  Easy-peasy delivery.  NOT.

Often, on each of their birthdays, I pull out their photo albums and stare at them as little people, trying to remember them as babies, toddlers, first graders...  Again, cognitive dissonance kicks in and I focus on only the best moments--the ones I tried to freeze dry in my memory.  But since he's 27 today--yikes--I'm really having to scrunch up the forehead and tax the brain to pull up this grown-man son of ours' as a wee babe, a toddler.

 So now I'm on to remembering our vacation to Alaska last summer and trying to live off those memories.  It's not the same as being there with him right now.  Happy birthday Samuel.  I love you to Anchorage the moon and back.  You are an amazing 27-year-old man.  When did this happen?