It seems to me I'm always mentioning how I find treasures rifling through drawers and files while I'm looking for something else. Today's tale is no different, except I don't recall that I was particularly looking for anything. I just recently stumbled across the little card I used to tell Tom I was pregnant with Agent 96 on Valentine's Day, 1996. And even with the evidence in my hand, including the positive pregnancy test, which today still shows the [+] (and no, I'm not going to show you a picture of it!), I honestly have no recollection of doing this. I recall the card; in fact, when I was putting together photos for his memorial I wanted to include the card, a small, die-cut tiger. A little secret between us was that I called him "Tiger", and he called me "Kitten". Eww, I know. What worse, when 96 was born, we called him "Tigger" sometimes. (Remember that rattle Zoet chewed up? It was 96's Tigger.)
Quick, get the insulin.
I remember giving him the card for Valentine's Day in 1996, I just don't recall the whole "I'm having a baby" spin. How does a person forget something like that?
Usually, events with the second child take a back seat to the first: 96's baby book is complete, including the first day he sat, unaided, in a grocery cart (5 months) and his first fat lip (during the April Fool's Day blizzard in 1997); I sold 98's baby book in a yard sale, factory seal unbroken. The photos in 96's first year album are labeled; I don't even have a first-year album for 98. Of course, I famously have both boys' umbilical stumps in a carton in the attic. They are in the jeweler's boxes my engagement ring and wedding band came in. Suffice it to say, saving those little belly buttons had me off raisins for a while.
Back to Agent 98. It's hard to imagine a memory burned more strongly into my synapses:. There I was, 40 years old, in the upstairs bathroom: 6-month-old 96 (who was still nursing full time, for the record) in one arm, and there, in my other hand, another [+].
"Tom ... can you come up here for a sec?"
Showing posts with label Tom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tom. Show all posts
Monday, February 14, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
January 17, 2011
I have struggled with how to recognize today: what would have been, and what should have been, Tom's 58th birthday. So I thought I'd share some more moments. In no particular order:
This was Agent 96's first cous cous dinner. About a half-step lower on the spectrum than a Thanksgiving feast, cous cous dinners were a ritual at our home. In fact, on Kwaj we once had a cous cous feast instead of a Thanksgiving turkey dinner. Tom loved himself some Moroccan food. Tom loved himself food, and sharing it with his friends.
We had to put Neko to sleep in 1998, when she was 18 years old. I knew we'd be going to the vet later this day, and my heart knew Tom wouldn't get to hold her again. Poor little Neko looks comfortable in this photo, but she could barely stand, and could no longer walk. A few months before she died, Neko, who had taken to hanging out with Tom in the office (where Tom had jury-rigged a running water fountain out of a plastic box, an aquarium pump, and tubing) and increasingly tired of walking up and down two flights of stairs to the litter box, had taught herself to use the toilet. We were alone in the house one day, just Tom, sleeping 96, and I, when from the kitchen we heard someone using the bathroom upstairs. We looked at each other, and remarked upon it, but it wasn't until days later that we actually saw that little kitty sitting up there, assuming the position.
Oh, how we loved our tropical Christmases. And what better way to spend Christmas Eve than teaching your 4- and 5-year-olds how to drive?
This might be my actual, official wedding portrait ...
... but here, my friend Laura caught Tom speaking his vows -- proof! This is my favorite wedding photo. In our church service a few months later, Fr. Hehir, unhappy that we used the same vows, tacked on to the end that God had put Tom in charge of family security, and put me in charge of the household. So whenever I'd ask Tom to take out the rubbish, he had to do it ... because God said so!
About two weeks before we pcs'd from Kwaj in 2002, Tom and I spent a long weekend in Pohnpei, FSM, where we visited Nan Madol. We met our friends Mooch and TOO (short for "The Other One") who let us stay in their thatched hut at The Village as long as we fed them. I don't remember which is which, but I know they were fatter when we left than when we got there.
Our first visit to the Big Island, 1999. Don't you love 96 & 98 all matchy-matchy like that? I'd still put them in matching t-shirts if I could! This was moments before the dotcom bubble burst, and if we had had our checkbook with us the day we stepped off the plane on that vacation we would own a little piece of paradise today. And we would never have left.
Lake Mooselookmeguntic, Oquossoc, Maine. Tom had been going there with friends for years before we met, and I was quite honored the first time he invited me along. We went once with the kids in the early days, but were so mortified by "the great magic marker debacle of '99" that we were afraid to make reservations again until the summer of 2006. Ever wonder what to do if you find an unattended black magic marker? Stop. Don't touch. Leave the area. Tell an adult.
I don't know which was more of a chick magnet: the cool Daytona, or Maxwell. They're both pretty hot. Hmmmm ... all three of them were pretty hot, actually!
I treasure every moment, every memory. The lifetime of moments that make the life of a man.
This was Agent 96's first cous cous dinner. About a half-step lower on the spectrum than a Thanksgiving feast, cous cous dinners were a ritual at our home. In fact, on Kwaj we once had a cous cous feast instead of a Thanksgiving turkey dinner. Tom loved himself some Moroccan food. Tom loved himself food, and sharing it with his friends.
We had to put Neko to sleep in 1998, when she was 18 years old. I knew we'd be going to the vet later this day, and my heart knew Tom wouldn't get to hold her again. Poor little Neko looks comfortable in this photo, but she could barely stand, and could no longer walk. A few months before she died, Neko, who had taken to hanging out with Tom in the office (where Tom had jury-rigged a running water fountain out of a plastic box, an aquarium pump, and tubing) and increasingly tired of walking up and down two flights of stairs to the litter box, had taught herself to use the toilet. We were alone in the house one day, just Tom, sleeping 96, and I, when from the kitchen we heard someone using the bathroom upstairs. We looked at each other, and remarked upon it, but it wasn't until days later that we actually saw that little kitty sitting up there, assuming the position.
Oh, how we loved our tropical Christmases. And what better way to spend Christmas Eve than teaching your 4- and 5-year-olds how to drive?
This might be my actual, official wedding portrait ...
About two weeks before we pcs'd from Kwaj in 2002, Tom and I spent a long weekend in Pohnpei, FSM, where we visited Nan Madol. We met our friends Mooch and TOO (short for "The Other One") who let us stay in their thatched hut at The Village as long as we fed them. I don't remember which is which, but I know they were fatter when we left than when we got there.
Our first visit to the Big Island, 1999. Don't you love 96 & 98 all matchy-matchy like that? I'd still put them in matching t-shirts if I could! This was moments before the dotcom bubble burst, and if we had had our checkbook with us the day we stepped off the plane on that vacation we would own a little piece of paradise today. And we would never have left.
Lake Mooselookmeguntic, Oquossoc, Maine. Tom had been going there with friends for years before we met, and I was quite honored the first time he invited me along. We went once with the kids in the early days, but were so mortified by "the great magic marker debacle of '99" that we were afraid to make reservations again until the summer of 2006. Ever wonder what to do if you find an unattended black magic marker? Stop. Don't touch. Leave the area. Tell an adult.
I don't know which was more of a chick magnet: the cool Daytona, or Maxwell. They're both pretty hot. Hmmmm ... all three of them were pretty hot, actually!
I treasure every moment, every memory. The lifetime of moments that make the life of a man.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
It Was Bittersweet
It was bittersweet.
Today Agent 98 had a bowling tournament in Lowell and the Garmin sent me up on 95 to 495 which is my preferred route to points north. But it brought me home via Rte 3, a route I always detested because before it was rebuilt many years ago it was narrow, curvy, slow, and crowded -- and all speedtrappy whenever it wasn't slow and crowded. I have never have gotten into the habit of using it, and almost didn't today, but it was a Sunday afternoon, so I went along with the instructions.
It was bitter, because for the first time since May 10, 1994, when we crossed 110, I didn't hear how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the Wang Labs building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. It was sweet because, well, for the first time since May 10, 1994, I didn't hear how Mr. Wang had bought the land and built the building for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. I mean, really, Tom? You've told me that story before. Like. Every. Single. Time.
So what did I do? When we crossed 110 I pointed out the building and told 98 the story of how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's.
It wasn't quite the same, but family traditions have to start somewhere, right?
Today Agent 98 had a bowling tournament in Lowell and the Garmin sent me up on 95 to 495 which is my preferred route to points north. But it brought me home via Rte 3, a route I always detested because before it was rebuilt many years ago it was narrow, curvy, slow, and crowded -- and all speedtrappy whenever it wasn't slow and crowded. I have never have gotten into the habit of using it, and almost didn't today, but it was a Sunday afternoon, so I went along with the instructions.
It was bitter, because for the first time since May 10, 1994, when we crossed 110, I didn't hear how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the Wang Labs building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. It was sweet because, well, for the first time since May 10, 1994, I didn't hear how Mr. Wang had bought the land and built the building for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's. I mean, really, Tom? You've told me that story before. Like. Every. Single. Time.
So what did I do? When we crossed 110 I pointed out the building and told 98 the story of how Mr. An Wang had bought the land and built the building (which is shaped like a "W" you know) for something like $60m in the 70's and sold it for something like $100k in the 90's.
It wasn't quite the same, but family traditions have to start somewhere, right?
Friday, December 3, 2010
Buried Deep in the Back of my Already Overpacked Linen Closet ...
About a week before Tom started his first drug clinical trial (mid-2009) we spent an afternoon and a fair pile of cash in our local Vitamin Shoppe, GNC and CVS on vitamins, supplements and whatnot. Of course, one of the caveats of clinical trialdom is "no non-prescribed drugs or supplements". So while he had consumed a few pills from some of the bottles, some of the bottles are still factory sealed.
Here's what I have. If I note that the bottle is open, then only a few days' worth are gone.
If you are interested in any or all of these dietary supplements, drop me a comment or send me an email and we'll work something out. I don't want to sell them; I want to give them to you. I'll even pay postage. I just don't want these to go to waste.
You will see that some have passed their expiration date. Keep in mind that I have codeine in my medicine cabinet that was prescribed in 1998 after my son was born (in case you didn't notice, their blog nicknames are their birth years - Agents 96 and 98) by a doctor in Medford. Then we moved to Kwaj for nearly 5 years, and we've been back in Medford for 8 more years. And I took one a couple of weeks ago when I had that sinus headache. So no, we're not so much into expiration dates around here. I won't side-eye you if you respect them. Just don't lecture me that I don't.
Here's what I have. If I note that the bottle is open, then only a few days' worth are gone.
- American Health Chewable Super Papaya Enzyme Plus 360 tablets - open - exp 6/11
- MushroomScience Certified Organic Coriolus Super Strength 90 tablets 600 mg - exp 1/12 (I have five of these factory sealed and one open)
- Osteo Bi-Flex 120 tablets - open - exp 2/11
- Vitamin Shoppe Selenium 300 tablets 200 mcg - open - exp 10/10
- CVS Glucosamine Chondroitin Double Strength 120 caplets - exp 9/10 (I have one of these opened and one factory sealed)
- Nature's Way Reservatol Synergistic Formula 60 Vcaps 37.5 mcg - open - exp 2/10
- GNC L-Glutamine Powder 8 oz - factory sealed - exp 5/11
- Vitamin Shoppe Borage Oil 300 softgel capsules 1000 mg -open - exp 10/09
- Vitamin Shoppe Soy Isoflavones 120 tablets - open - exp 1/11
- Vitamin Shoppe Turmeric Extract 95% curcumin 300 capsules - open - exp 11/11
- Vitamin Shoppe Green Tea Extract 75% Polyphenols 300 Capsules 250 mg - open - exp 8/10
- CVS Natural Fish Oil 198 Softgels 1200 mg - factory sealed - exp 7/11
- CVS Spectravite multivitamin 250 tablets - factory sealed - exp 1/10
If you are interested in any or all of these dietary supplements, drop me a comment or send me an email and we'll work something out. I don't want to sell them; I want to give them to you. I'll even pay postage. I just don't want these to go to waste.
You will see that some have passed their expiration date. Keep in mind that I have codeine in my medicine cabinet that was prescribed in 1998 after my son was born (in case you didn't notice, their blog nicknames are their birth years - Agents 96 and 98) by a doctor in Medford. Then we moved to Kwaj for nearly 5 years, and we've been back in Medford for 8 more years. And I took one a couple of weeks ago when I had that sinus headache. So no, we're not so much into expiration dates around here. I won't side-eye you if you respect them. Just don't lecture me that I don't.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I Think I'll Wait 'Til It's Over to Put This Up
Part 1
I learned quickly after Tom's diagnosis mostly to trust (dot)gov, edu, and org websites when looking for educational information about cancer. While lots of (dot)coms are there to sell stuff, some will provide helpful anecdotal information, which is valuable if you're looking for anecdotes. When I was searching for information, information that I literally was going to bet my husband's life on, I only trusted (dot)gov's and org's and edu's. And not just any (dot)gov or (dot)edu. Along with Harvard Medical School and its affiliated institutions, my top go-to sites included the NIH (National Institutes of Health), Johns Hopkins and Memorial Sloan-Kettering. They served me well and are eminently readable. The Mayo Clinic was the major exception to my "no-dot-coms" rule.
I have a little time on my hands today to blog, because I need to stay close to home. At home, actually. At home near the bathroom.
I'm prepping for my colonoscopy tomorrow and have started the - ahem - clear liquid part of the process. So here are some sites I'd recommend for information about colonoscopies, and colorectal cancer prevention and treatment:
No offense, Dr. Gastroenterology, but for those of us being so conscientious and getting our colonoscopies starting at age 50, and then following up the recommended every 10 years unless abnormal results are found, when can we STOP getting screened for this type of cancer?
I'm not exactly clear on the benefits of a virtual colonoscopy. You have to go through the same prep process, the verb "insert" is still a major player. But if anything out of the ordinary is found, the doctor cannot take a sample (for a biopsy) or remove it (in the case of polyps). In that case (remember, I'm no doctor), wouldn't you have to have an old-fashioned colonoscopy anyway? One question I haven't been able to find an answer to online is why this electrolyte solution has to taste so freaking bad. If we can put a man on the moon, can't we at least make this stuff taste like Moxie? I don't think I'm asking too much.
I don't know if it's just because my grandfather died of colon cancer when I was very young and he seemed very old (he was probably in his sixties), but I think of it as an old man disease; certainly it's not front-and-center on my radar. But these famous non-old-men have all been diagnosed with or died of colorectal cancer.
I'm just sayin' ...
—————————————
Part 2
I can't not have pictures, can I?
Everything's fine. Back again in 2015.
—————————————
Part 3
And I thought this was just too funny not to include. So during the prep I had a question, and called the doctor's office, and spoke with someone on his staff. She mentioned in passing, "Oh, I'm late for mine; I need to schedule it for myself." I made a comment about cobbler's children, and then asked what was probably wildly inappropriate, but I know for a fact I've done worse: "So", I asked, "when you need a colonoscopy do you go to this Dr. Gastroenterology, or do you have your own?" I could hear her shaking her head, responding that she does, indeed, have her boss perform her colonoscopy. Just think about that the next time you think your boss is way too far up your a$$.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Have You Ever Owned A Dog?
There couldn’t have been a more straightforward question, particularly coming from the adoption desk at the Northeast Animal Shelter while you’re adopting a dog. As I was uttering my response, I knew I had misplaced my modifier, and the woman at the desk, Marianne, wasn’t going to understand. I tried to take them back, but the words had already spilled from my mouth.
Standing next to me, my sister Jeanne heard the words as they were floating through the air, and tried to grab them and give them back to me. No such luck.
Marianne heard my answer, and replied with the only reasonable response.
Marianne: Have you ever owned a dog?
Me: My husband had a dog, but he died.
Marianne: Your husband or the dog?
Jeanne and I looked at each other, then looked at ashen-faced Marianne who realized what she had just asked, and all three of us laughed at the absurdity of the exchange. Then I told Marianne about my animal loving husband, Tom, feeling pretty assured we'd take our dog home after that.
Standing next to me, my sister Jeanne heard the words as they were floating through the air, and tried to grab them and give them back to me. No such luck.
Marianne heard my answer, and replied with the only reasonable response.
 | ||
| Tom with Maxwell, about 1989 |
Marianne: Have you ever owned a dog?
Me: My husband had a dog, but he died.
Marianne: Your husband or the dog?
Jeanne and I looked at each other, then looked at ashen-faced Marianne who realized what she had just asked, and all three of us laughed at the absurdity of the exchange. Then I told Marianne about my animal loving husband, Tom, feeling pretty assured we'd take our dog home after that.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
No Dog Yet, You Say?
I started wanting a dog when Tom was sick. I'm sure the pain is the same whether your spouse has brain cancer, or heart disease or any terminal illness (Tom considered his cancer "terminal" with the quotes, having read much about long-term survivors. Few though they were, they were not non-existent.), but brain cancer had already robbed me of my hard-working, cuttingly-sarcastic, animal-loving, handyman-project-doing, car-guy husband, and my sense of loneliness was all the more acute because Tom was alive, but no longer, well, Tom. A dog would love me, and keep me warm, and fill the hole in my heart that I shouldn't have had because I should have just been grateful my husband was there, sleeping right next to me in the bed every night, drinking his coffee and reading his paper every morning. But that emptiness in my heart continued to grow, and my desolation darkened. And that dog? I really just wanted a dog to love me. I wanted somebody to love me. And for God's sake, at least the damned dog wouldn't die of brain cancer.
Then, Tom died. I don't know how else to explain it. Tom died, and the loneliness that I felt finally at least felt normal. My husband was dead, my sons' father was gone, and that the loneliness was expected made it somehow more tolerable. 
Getting from today to tomorrow became easier after Tom died, as I found myself already partway through the process of grieving his loss. The desperate yearning for a dog slowly subsided, replaced by the quiet belief that there's a place in our family for a dog.
Getting from today to tomorrow became easier after Tom died, as I found myself already partway through the process of grieving his loss. The desperate yearning for a dog slowly subsided, replaced by the quiet belief that there's a place in our family for a dog.So there we were today, at the Northeast Animal Shelter: the place Tom took me on our second date; one of his memorial charities; and the place where the sweetest little Belgian Schipperke x picked us for her forever family. She came with the utterly unacceptable name Skippette, so we're down to business picking out a name. I think her name is supposed to be Zoetje, dutch for "little sweet one". Any dutch speaking readers out there? Please advise.
And say hello to the newest Gentile, Zoetje.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Next Stop: Memory Lane
So I'm searching through my files for some piece of paper that I'm sure is in there, but I sure as heck can't find. I'm desperate, and truly hoping that this particular item wasn't part of that 2 1/2 big black construction bags of paperwork I shredded after Tom died. All those bank statements and credit card statements from 1978; the electric bills from the 1980's; all that paper. I could have heated the house all winter with the paper I culled from our files. It's the only "winnowing" I've done since Tom died, and it was months ago. So now I'm hyperventilating, and pulling out one file at a time,searching through each, sheet by sheet. I eventually found whatever piece of paper I was looking for, filed right where it belonged under "W" for "where should I put this so I'll be sure to find it six years from now when I finally need it", but not before finding some very special treats. I didn't even know Tom had these, and I love them all.
Except for the laminated birth announcement photo that was in the paper when he was a couple of months old, this undated photo is the earliest picture of Tom I have. I see that the unease that Gentile menfolk feel with Santa is a genetic thing. 'Splains a lot.
I'm guessing, since his birthday is in January, that this is just before he turned 2. Seems too old for turning 1, and too young for almost 3. I love the shoes, which seem to be one of the few things Tom didn't save-in-case-he-might-need-them-later.
As Madeline efficiently noted on the back of this photo, it's "Tommy 28 months, Gerald 2 months May 1955" Tom and I may have been destined to meet, but I'm glad he had a brother to keep him occupied at this time, as I hadn't even been conceived yet. This may have been the last time my husband did not object to being called Tommy.
Tom and Gerry at Aunt Lee's house in Jamaica, Queens. 1961 Calling them "Tom and Gerry" always makes me giggle.
I don't have any childhood photos (that I'm aware of, and I only just this week even became aware of these, so who knows what else lurks in the bowels of this house?) of Tom with his brother Jim (hint, hint, Kathy!)
School photo, 3rd grade, 8 years old. But I don't know the name of the elementary school Tom attended. I'm only aware of Molloy, which was junior high and high school. I don't know what SMS on the tie stands for. (St. Mary's School; thanks A!)
And speaking of Archbishop Molloy, here's Tom's high school graduation inside what I can only guess is the house in Woodside, for which I probably still have a key. We can see the nascent long hair. I think he really liked that Agent 96 has long hair, but I wonder how Joe felt about it on his son. My brother Jack used to get "Jacqueline" alot, although no one would dare that move now. May 1970
I've left his First Holy Communion pictures for last, so I can sneak in a few of my own, too. May 21, 1960.
Agent 96's picture on the occasion of his First Communion, normal enough. And above, with his cousin C, who celebrated her confirmation at the same time; and his co-First-Eucharister cousin J.
Agent 98's First Holy Communion picture. Nothing that would set off alarms ... but this is 98, remember. Behind that cute face lies the soul of a person who would ask for ...
... a word search cake for his First Holy Communion celebration. Can it really be okay to eat chocolate cupcakes that say "Body of Christ"? (So far, so good.)
Solution below, but c'mon, it's not that hard!
Except for the laminated birth announcement photo that was in the paper when he was a couple of months old, this undated photo is the earliest picture of Tom I have. I see that the unease that Gentile menfolk feel with Santa is a genetic thing. 'Splains a lot.
I'm guessing, since his birthday is in January, that this is just before he turned 2. Seems too old for turning 1, and too young for almost 3. I love the shoes, which seem to be one of the few things Tom didn't save-in-case-he-might-need-them-later.
As Madeline efficiently noted on the back of this photo, it's "Tommy 28 months, Gerald 2 months May 1955" Tom and I may have been destined to meet, but I'm glad he had a brother to keep him occupied at this time, as I hadn't even been conceived yet. This may have been the last time my husband did not object to being called Tommy.
Tom and Gerry at Aunt Lee's house in Jamaica, Queens. 1961 Calling them "Tom and Gerry" always makes me giggle.
I don't have any childhood photos (that I'm aware of, and I only just this week even became aware of these, so who knows what else lurks in the bowels of this house?) of Tom with his brother Jim (hint, hint, Kathy!)
School photo, 3rd grade, 8 years old. But I don't know the name of the elementary school Tom attended. I'm only aware of Molloy, which was junior high and high school. I don't know what SMS on the tie stands for. (St. Mary's School; thanks A!)
And speaking of Archbishop Molloy, here's Tom's high school graduation inside what I can only guess is the house in Woodside, for which I probably still have a key. We can see the nascent long hair. I think he really liked that Agent 96 has long hair, but I wonder how Joe felt about it on his son. My brother Jack used to get "Jacqueline" alot, although no one would dare that move now. May 1970
I've left his First Holy Communion pictures for last, so I can sneak in a few of my own, too. May 21, 1960.
Agent 96's picture on the occasion of his First Communion, normal enough. And above, with his cousin C, who celebrated her confirmation at the same time; and his co-First-Eucharister cousin J.
Agent 98's First Holy Communion picture. Nothing that would set off alarms ... but this is 98, remember. Behind that cute face lies the soul of a person who would ask for ...
... a word search cake for his First Holy Communion celebration. Can it really be okay to eat chocolate cupcakes that say "Body of Christ"? (So far, so good.)
Solution below, but c'mon, it's not that hard!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Six Months
Six months. Six months, and I have not yet cleaned out a drawer or a closet or thrown out a single sock. Among the stuff I have not thrown away is a Lincoln phone list dated June 5, 2005. And MacInTax disks for a mac that's been gone since before Kwaj. And in this pile of keys is a key to the Daytona (the chick magnet, which he sold for $400 in 1998), and probably a key to the house in Rochester, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a key to the house in Woodside.
I wear his t-shirts as nightgowns, and I wear his underwear every day. I wore them in Niagara Falls, and I wore them in Hawaii, and Pennsylvania; and yes, I have them on right now. It makes me feel like Tom is still taking care of me.
This is not a new thing, this obsession I have with his underwear (briefs, not boxers). I had an ER visit once for an asthma attack, at least ten years but probably much longer ago than that, and poor Tom was mortified to discover I was wearing his underwear. "Ew, gross! What if the doctor finds out?! Won't you be embarrassed?", I remember him asking at the time. (He did, and I wasn't.) And I know it traumatized Tom, because his first question before any subsequent ER visit, I kid you not, was always: "You're not wearing my underwear, are you?" Ever the Good Wife, I always changed into my own underwear for an ER visit.
Since we've been married, I've always worn his underwear and had my morning tea in his mug when he travelled. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I suppose I thought at the time. Nowadays, I guess I do it because I just like having his cooties.
Six months, and counting.
 |
| I see the key to one of Tom's ex's here |
 |
| Yup, probably ... |
Since we've been married, I've always worn his underwear and had my morning tea in his mug when he travelled. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I suppose I thought at the time. Nowadays, I guess I do it because I just like having his cooties.
Six months, and counting.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Luck - or Skill --With some Patience Thrown in, Too
A friend of mine, who had never actually met Tom, made an off-the-cuff remark on Facebook today that sent me flying down Memory Lane. She simply commented that today is the anniversary of the day she met her husband. I love marking occasions like that. There were years when I'd remember to celebrate our day-we-met-iversary, but we'd realize weeks too late that we both forgot our wedding anniversary. I have one of those year-to-year calendars that you use to mark birthdays, anniversaries, etc. and never goes out of date which has some pretty wild dates marked. (First day Agent 96 sat up unsupported in a grocery cart? It's there.)
The calendar will tell you that Tom and I met on May 10, 1994 (also my dear friend Maurice's birthday, as it tells me every year). We had pizza at Bertucci's in Central Square, then ice cream at Toscanini's (he had Guinness sorbet; I had cardamom ice cream); then he went out of town for a couple of weeks. After he returned we went out a few more times. On my birthday, JUNE fif-FORGODSAKEGETITOVERWITHALREADYWILLYA-teenth, he gave me a peck on the cheek. Just a dry, quick peck on the cheek. Because it was my birthday.
We went out a few more times, but I was growing increasing desperate. Tom's a great guy, he's already told me about his life plan: family, Kwajalein, garden, house, etc., and I'm showing interest; but I can't get even a little spit action? What's up with that?
Desperate for a advice, my friends Tom and Jack from work took me out to the House of Blues in Harvard Square (now long gone) where all three of us got blasted well past wise, or legal, or able-to-remain-upright by the time we were dunn (yes, dunn). But one of them gave me this advice, "Linda, walk up to him, grab him by the scruff of the neck, and plant one on him." The next time I saw him (and after the hangover had abated) we were making dinner at his house. I was cutting beans, put my knife down, and walked across the room to where he was working on the steaks. Boom. My calendar tells me that that was July 16, and we called the dress I wore that day my "lucky dress" for years thereafter. Believe me when I tell you that dress saw a lot of action.
I'm not really strong at remembering momentous occasions. I much prefer to remember the moments.
The calendar will tell you that Tom and I met on May 10, 1994 (also my dear friend Maurice's birthday, as it tells me every year). We had pizza at Bertucci's in Central Square, then ice cream at Toscanini's (he had Guinness sorbet; I had cardamom ice cream); then he went out of town for a couple of weeks. After he returned we went out a few more times. On my birthday, JUNE fif-FORGODSAKEGETITOVERWITHALREADYWILLYA-teenth, he gave me a peck on the cheek. Just a dry, quick peck on the cheek. Because it was my birthday.
We went out a few more times, but I was growing increasing desperate. Tom's a great guy, he's already told me about his life plan: family, Kwajalein, garden, house, etc., and I'm showing interest; but I can't get even a little spit action? What's up with that?
Desperate for a advice, my friends Tom and Jack from work took me out to the House of Blues in Harvard Square (now long gone) where all three of us got blasted well past wise, or legal, or able-to-remain-upright by the time we were dunn (yes, dunn). But one of them gave me this advice, "Linda, walk up to him, grab him by the scruff of the neck, and plant one on him." The next time I saw him (and after the hangover had abated) we were making dinner at his house. I was cutting beans, put my knife down, and walked across the room to where he was working on the steaks. Boom. My calendar tells me that that was July 16, and we called the dress I wore that day my "lucky dress" for years thereafter. Believe me when I tell you that dress saw a lot of action.
I'm not really strong at remembering momentous occasions. I much prefer to remember the moments.
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