Archive for the ‘Husbands’ Category

Had the oddest dream the other night.

I was in a store but it was sort of like a warehouse. Not exactly Costco but more like the back garden section of Wal-Mart when they have empty shelves. In between seasons.

For some reason, Thumper (my Jack Russell) was with me.

There was a guy there. Tall and lanky. Think of a younger Sam Elliott with dark hair. But a bit scruffier. If that’s possible.

Anyway, he’s leaning against one of the shelves. Above him, on the top shelf, I spy an animal looking down at us. It looks like a small ferret but it’s black like a weasel.

I ask, “Is it yours?”

He replies, “Yes.”

I continue, “What is it???? Is it a ferret???”

His shrug is noncommittal.

I’m like, “It’s yours? And you don’t know??? Is it a mix of ferret and something else? What is it???”

I don’t get an answer.

The ferret or whatever it was suddenly jumps down to the floor. Opens his mouth and begins to swallow Thumper. Brought to mind one of those nature programs where the snake swallows something so much larger than itself-like a deer or a refrigerator.

I’m horrified. He’s got half of Thump in his mouth!

The guy says, “He’ll never be able to swallow all of him.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when the ferret gulped down my Thumper.

Swallowed him whole. All of him!

I’m sickened and rooted to the spot.

Then, all of a sudden, the ferret opens its mouth and spews out Thumper. Like a cannon ball shot into the air!  Couldn’t hold him in apparently.


Next morning I’m telling my husband.

Asking, “What do you think that dream was all about? What on earth??? Is it the world being swallowed up? Is it me? Is it you? Nothing can hold Thumper down? What????”

He laughed and said, “I just don’t know, Mary.”

Do dreams have to mean anything?

I can only vividly remember two other dreams in my fifty two years of living.

One was when I was a little kid and the dream was about a strange man giving me a heart shaped box of candy. But I didn’t know he was a stranger because he was wearing a mask. Of my grandfather’s face! I think we can all safely assume a “Stranger Danger or Don’t Take Candy from Strangers” campaign might have planted that seed. It was absolutely horrifying. I thought I was totally safe because I was following the rules and not taking candy from a stranger. Shivers.

The other one was when I was teenager. I was driving a car on one of those highway bridges and suddenly the road just ended. Nothing. Just a cliff like scenario. I plummeted. The good news is that I never actually hit the ground because I woke up just before I did. With the bed sheet over my face. But the trip down was downright terrifying. Not sure what the genesis of that dream was but I suppose teen angst could have played a role.

Anyway, nary a clue as to the back story behind Thumper being gobbled up by a ferret. Just glad it was only a dream.

Do you remember your dreams or nightmares? Crazy as mine?





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Yesterday’s blog posting was about how I needed my mother’s comfort and she so readily provided it.

And I also said I don’t know why I cried. That’s not entirely true.

Most likely a couple of things.

Yes, hormones might have had something to do with it.

It’s not that I am unemotional. I just wasn’t a big crier back then or held hostage by hormones. At least, not before childbirth.

Hormones might have had some play in it but might not have been the only reason.

We were leaving the hospital with our brand new baby girl.

My husband, happy as a lark, was saying goodbye to all the nurses and thanking them.

He was holding sweet little Norah in his arms. I was beside him walking at a gingerly pace.

I was also thanking the nurses and saying goodbye.

An older nurse came up to us just as we were about to get on the elevator and said, “Why isn’t she holding the baby?”

My husband, taken aback, looked at her with surprise and replied, “She just had a C-Section.”

The nurse said, “So what? I had five of them.”

He said, “So what? That’s you.”

We stepped on the elevator.

I felt awful. Like I committed an unspeakable crime. Like I was a terrible mother already. And my eyes filled up with tears.

My husband was like, “Oh, Mary, please don’t let her bother you at all.”

Another reason I knew he was a keeper. 🙂 Not only was he protective of me but this would also extend to any children we would have together.

But back to Mom.

I suppose I knew that day when I saw my mother waiting for us that there was one woman in the world who could always make it better.

That’s why I cried.









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I met an interesting lady a couple of weeks ago. She is a widow, author and travel writer.

During lunch she told me that she lost her husband some years ago. I said that I was sorry to hear that. I also asked if it was a sudden thing.

No, they were given three months.

She laughed and said, “So, he proceeded to teach me the maths.”

I was like,”What???”

While also thinking, “Geez, I’d have killed him right there. Not my idea of spending quality time! Maths!!!”

Obviously I’m not a math person. And either was Judyth.

When the postman came with one of their statements he’d have her collect it. She’d open it up and review their accounts. He’d ask her what she would do with this or that. Should they sell this or keep it? And on and on.

What he was doing was preparing Judyth to live on her own. A very important thing.

He had the gift of time although it was a short time. And he was going to use it wisely and practically.

To me it seemed to be the ultimate loving gesture. Using his limited time on earth to ensure that his partner would know how to to go on without him. Thinking about someone else while facing his own death. It’s a pretty big deal.

That’s quality time.

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I had a recent conversation with my husband. About bikes that we owned when we were first married. Nearly thirty years ago.

We discussed the make and where we bought them.

I then asked, “Sure, but did we use them?” LOL

He said, “Yes, we did!!!! We even rode them down the boulevard to your Nana’s house. You don’t remember???”

I said, “No, I don’t remember.” And I didn’t.

He replied, “Really? She was soooo happy to see us.”

I was thrilled that he had that memory. But it really bothers me that I don’t. It was my grandmother! I know it happened. My Nana was always on our radar. But I just don’t remember this occasion.

It saddens me.

But I guess it’s really good to have a partner. In time.

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I know! I haven’t posted in a while!

Just crazy busy with so many things.  And I just haven’t had time to sit down and have at it.

But I did want to share this.

My husband was ill last week. I was spoon-feeding him cough medicine with the warning, “I am metrically challenged. Hope I did conversion correctly. If not, know that I loved you so very, very much. And thank you for the kids.”

After he swallowed two spoonfuls I asked him, “How did it taste?”

He responded, “Not bad.”

And then he said, “Whenever my father gave me any medicine he always tasted it first before giving it to me.”

I was like, “Awwwwww…..”

A wonderful reminder. We need to remember that everything we do (good or bad) will be remembered for a lifetime in our children. And others.

Makes you really think.







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There was a young Syrian refugee woman living here in Malaysia. She and her husband were living with his brother and sister-in-law and their two kids. They decided to leave the country for a better life. Because they soon discovered that Malaysia was not going to be the land of opportunity for them. And they were expecting a baby. Had plans to eventually get to Germany via Georgia.

I was happy for them. Although a bit skeptical since they were doing this on their own. But waiting for a relocation through the UNHCR would take years and they did not want to wait. And I don’t blame them one bit.

I wished them well. Then immediately thought that the furniture we (group of volunteers) had found for them a few months prior could go to another refugee family in the area. A beautiful changing table, crib, etc. There is always a new baby being born to the many refugee families here. And I knew that if they were fleeing the country they would not be taking any furniture with them.

I told her sister-in-law that we would gladly take what was left behind and give to another expectant mother in the refugee community. I am all about the reuse, recycle and renew!

She told me that there wasn’t much left in the house. They had sold everything to raise money for their tickets.

At first, I was like, “Wow.” And to be quite honest I felt a little disappointed.

I told my husband.

He said, “Mary, when you give you give. With no strings attached and no expectations.”

I thought that I already was that person. But for some reason I thought this situation was different. Wouldn’t everyone want to pass along the things they couldn’t use to someone else in need?

I thought like this because I was thinking about my next step. And not theirs. Or thinking about their new needs.

They needed the money to survive their next journey to a better place for the family. Because that’s what survivors do.

My husband is absolutely right. No matter what the gift, if it is truly a gift, there should be no expectations.

I’m almost fifty years old and I am still learning and growing. Every day.


Note: The family is still in the country of Georgia. They had a beautiful and healthy baby girl. Unfortunately, it has been many months and they have not reached their intended destination. They do not like the country and I am not sure if they will make a go of it there. But they are surviving.









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A couple of weeks ago I decided to accompany husband to his gym on a Saturday morning.

That sounds like it was initially my idea. Nope. He asked me. Then I felt guilty for immediately saying no.

He had a meeting with his trainer for a workout session. He can’t avoid training if it’s in his building and under his nose.

I don’t usually go with him (never) and it’s not really my idea of the ideal setting to cavort and the like. But I have been wanting to get out and do more with him. Spend that quality time. And, no, it’s not just because I have a high schooler, mother-in-law, her aide and a hyperactive pup in the house. Honestly, I’m not escaping.

Kidding aside, I want to spend time with him because he’s always working and/or traveling. I’m quite busy. So we need to grab the moments when we can.

So, against all better judgement, I said, “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll just wait in the car for you and start deleting some of my 7000 old emails or something. I won’t be bored. Promise.”

Rolling of eyes.

So, I go. And I find me a treadmill and I get going. So much better than the stress test at the hospital where I was looking like a sweaty little lab animal or a monkey heading to space with all those leads sprouting from my body.

I watch television. I don’t usually view it at home so it was something different. I enjoyed it for about half an hour.

Then HE comes back. I say, “Hey.”

He says, “Come on over here.”

I reply, “I’m good.”

He cajoles, “C’mon, Mare, come here for a few minutes.”

Deep sigh from me. I don’t want to!

Leads me to Edie. Pronounced Eddie. I am glaring at poor Edie. Husband is like, “Whoa, settle down there. He didn’t do anything.”

So, I turn my head and glare at him.

Long story short. I go through the motions. Literally. Squats, sit ups, lifting barbells, etc. I knew it all. I used to attend a “boot camp” in Dallas with one of my girlfriends. I think it was called,”Paying to Get Beat Up” or something similarly masochistic.

So, I also knew what the first session would feel like. Afterwards. For about a week.

I mean, I avoid these (see photo below) like the plague for many reasons. One being that I am afraid I will actually get the plague. Secondly, is because of all that moisture on the floor. I just do not like wet and damp. Thirdly, because I will do almost anything to avoid squatting. Like I am in the middle of some God forsaken field.


Couldn’t walk for about a week. It was reminiscent of Mondays at work following beautiful New England weekends in Autumn. I remember shuffling into the office after raking and bagging tons and tons of leaves. And I saw Charlie hobbling along.

“Hey, Mr. Wiseman, how did that raking go?” I asked as I gingerly walked past him. Ben-Gay ointment wafting behind us. Then seeing three other people who could barely make it to their desks.

I am programmed to remember this stuff.

My daughter thought I was being dramatic. I wasn’t. It hurt. Almost shouted, with glee, when I reached the escalator at the mall.

And this is the reason for my post. I really hurt. No one could be expected to move muscles, that aren’t being used, close to one hundred times and not hurt. We all know the process in muscle-building.

Back to my point. When I hurt I am not myself. Not a baby. Just realistic. I cannot do the things I normally do. Therefore, I am wasting time. Days, in fact.

Plenty of time slips though our hands in which we have no control. Childbirth and hospital stays. Illnesses. Jet lag. The list goes on and while we might have some control (don’t get pregnant, don’t travel) we all know time flies in this very short life.

From now on, I will be mindful of pushing myself too hard. And if I am not, I just need to remember (see photo below) that I was hurting so badly that I actually thought this looked quite attractive. Not from the squatting standpoint. Oh, no. I was actually contemplating standing up like a man and seeing how successful that would be. That’s how much it hurt.


Note to self. I know me. Better than anyone in the world. I just need to listen to myself.  A little more often.


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