Choices

I was going to write something profound, something memorable for today's post. But soon after waking, I found I had to make a choice: food for thought or food for Jim?

Food for Jim won out.

Why?

Because this is the sad state of my refrigerator today, and I leave tomorrow—without Jim—for the desert to visit Bubby and Mac (and Megan and Preston):

I didn't grocery shop before BlogHer, and Jim survived on what was in a similarly empty fridge. Although I'm pretty sure that's mostly because he ordered take-out every single night I was in San Diego.

But I can't do that to him again.

So unless he's to survive on sun tea, three tomatoes, three lemons, Snak-Pak pudding, condiments, and carrots—well, not really the carrots, as those are the dogs' treats—while I'm away, I need to go go grocery shopping. Today.

Sometimes we gotta make the tough choices in life. This is the one I must make today. And believe me, it's tough because I loathe, loathe, loathe grocery shopping. More than anything. Ever.

And let me make it known here and now that after making this tough choice and visiting the oh-so-loathesome grocery store to buy food to fill the fridge for Jim instead of posting profound punditry for my friends, I will kill Jim if he chooses to order out for every meal again while I'm away. Really. No joke. No codswallop.

Cross your fingers Jim makes the right choice.

Although...if he doesn't...the wrath he faces will surely make for a profound and memorable post for you all to read upon my return.

So go ahead. You make a choice: Which scenario will you be crossing your fingers for?

I'll keep you posted on the resultant state of the refrigerator. And Jim.

Today's question:

What is the state of your refrigerator today?

The Saturday Post: Zeppelin wedding song edition

As of tomorrow, Jim and I will have been married 29 years. When planning our wedding all those kajillion years ago, we knew right away that we wanted "Thank You" by Led Zeppelin as our wedding song. Our pastor, on the other hand, said, "I will puke if you play that song." Seriously.

So we relented and simply had my sister read the lyrics to "Thank You" as a poem during the ceremony. Our official song ended up being the generic but still lovely and fitting "The Wedding Song" by Paul Stookey...played on guitar and sung by our non-puking pastor.

In honor of our anniversary, here is the song Jim and I consider our real wedding song, albeit a more recent, more mellow version than the original. Just so no one will puke.

Happy 29th anniversary, Jim!

Today's question:

What was your wedding song?

Mismatch mishmash

1983 — Seems a lifetime agoI recently considered joining one of those online dating sites. Jim and I have been together a long time — 30-plus years — and I was just curious. He and I talked about it, and he was curious, too. So we'd both join. Just to see.

What we both were curious about wasn't other fish that might be swimming in the online sea of possibility, but of the possibility that, after all these years together, he and I might be matched with one another. If it's possible that others, including computerized compatibility metrics, would consider us a perfect match.

So I asked Brianna, who had dabbled in the sites a while back, how such sites work, if it would be possible for her parents to sign up under assumed names that only he and I would know and see if we were matched. She laughed and said we could give it a shot, but it's not likely we'd be matched considering how different we are in so many ways, on so many things.

And she's right about the differences. We disagree on many things, sometimes vocally, sometimes stupidly. Yes, we have our differences. For example:

Politics — he votes (for the most part) along party lines; I vote with whomever shows the most common sense, regardless of party. Plus, he likes to talk politics; I don't ... mostly because we can't agree, can't even agree to disagree.

Food — he goes for sweets; I go for salty. he likes Miracle Whip; I like real mayo.

Time — his philosophy: we'll get there when we get there; my philosophy: punctuality is a virtue.

Chit-chat — he likes to exchange small talk with cashiers, doctors, servers; I figure they don't genuinely give a hoot so just shut up finish business as quickly as possible.

Sleep — he likes to sleep late; I like to get up and get going.

Animals — he prefers dogs; I prefer cats.

Closet space — he lines up his shoes and hangs all his clothing facing right; I throw my shoes in a pile and all my clothing faces left.

Drawer space — he folds his socks and undies; I say, "you gotta be kidding" (but he's not).

Driving — he likes to pay no attention to what he should take in everything around him while driving; I like to focus on the road. <ahem>

Chores — he likes to relax first, do chores later; I like to get my chores done then relax.

Quiet — he prefers background (or foreground!) music 24/7; I prefer quiet now and then.

Vacation time — he takes it only if forced (by me); I'll take it any time I can get it.

Vacations — he likes to relax, always; I like to see and do all we can in locations we'll likely never visit again.

Money — let's just say we each handle it our own way and leave it at that.

That's just a small sampling of the differences that loom large in our relationship. So large that Brianna was quite concerned about our proposed online dating experiment.

"If you don't get matched up, are you going to get a divorce?" she asked. In all seriousness. Surprisingly serious considering it came from a nearly 30-year-old adult, not a youngster needlessly worrying Mommy and Daddy might not live together anymore.

"Of course not," I assured her, explaining that on the big things, we agree.

"Like what?" she asked, with disbelief I could offer any.

So I listed them. A list far shorter than the ones on which we disagree. But here it is: We agree wholeheartedly on issues related to faith, home, and family. A tiny list, but a list of the things that matter. The only things that matter, ultimately.

In explaining that to Brianna and later considering our conversation, I realized there was no need to experiment with online dating sites to see if Jim and I might be matched. It doesn't matter. Whether others — or computers — consider us a good match is irrelevant. Because we know we are. And that we will continue to be. Always. Forever. Because although we don't agree on much, there's no question that we agree on what matters: faith, home, and family.

Oh, and we agree on one more ever-so-important matter: movies. And a shared distaste for those featuring Jim Carrey. Or the word "Saw" in the title.

So there we have it. Match made. Curiosity quelled.

Bottom line: There's no need to consult dating sites, no need to look elsewhere. Regardless of stats and compatibility, Jim and I will continue to look only at the road we've chosen. Together. Forever.

Case closed.

(Although I just gotta add that I will be doing most of the driving down that particular road, of course, because his eyes tend to wander when at the wheel. Just saying. Okay, okay ... we won't go there ... at least not this time ... not this post.)

Today's question:

How are (or were) you most alike and most different from your partner?

For this I may be killed

Jim may very well kill me for this. If there are no more posts going forward, you'll know what happened. If you know where I live, you'll know where to find my killer.

Despite the risk, I'm doing this anyway. I'm sending out birthday wishes to Jim right here, right now, wishing him a lovely FIFTIETH birthday!

I believe reaching the half-century mark warrants notice. Jim disagrees, has been hoping to keep it quiet.

Not happening, honey. At least not here on my blog. Because here I get to do what I want, and what I want to do is say Happy 50th Birthday to my handsome husband.

So here goes:

Happy 50th Birthday, Jim. I love you!

There ... that wasn't so painful. Right?

In other news, I've grilled up another grandma!

Marlene is a mucho magnifique grandma, so please read Grilled Grandma: Marlene and leave her a little love in the form of comments. You all are always so thoughtful and kind in the words you lay down for the Grilled Grandmas, and I so appreciate that. I'm sure the featured grandmas do, too.

Happy Wednesday to one and all!

Today's question:

What age has been your most memorable, for better or for worse?

Ring of ire

Jim and I were married very young. In fact, I was so young, my dad had to sign my life away for me in order for us to obtain a marriage license.

Being married so young means I missed out on learning many of the things young single women learn early on in adulthood. One of those things, a skill I've noticed of late I'm seriously lacking, is the ability to reflexively scan the left hand of those of the opposite sex immediately upon meeting them to see if there's a wedding ring.

I didn't learn to do that. I've never had reason to do it, never did it enough -- ever, actually -- for it to become a conscious or unconscious part of my getting-to-know-you ritual upon meeting someone new. Yes, it's lately become all too clear to me that if I were a dog, I'd surely be a lonely one as the whole sniffing out of potential mates simply and surely is not a part of my makeup.

And why should it be? I have Jim ... have for pert near 30 years ... so there's no reason for me to scan the hands of men.

But I've found in the last few weeks that my lack of ring-searching ability is a detriment -- especially when it comes to sniffing out potential mates for my single daughters. (Shh...don't tell them; they don't know I do that.)

Just last week a charming young man, part of the team that cleaned my chimney, spent enough time in my home and enough time making interesting small talk with me that afterwards I thought, "Hmmm...that's the kind of kid I would sure be happy to have as a son-in-law."

When I told Jim about him, he asked me if the young man was married.

"How the heck am I supposed to know?" I replied indignantly. "I'm not so desperate for a decent mate for my daughters stupid as to come out and ask such a thing."

"Well, was he wearing a ring?" Jim asked, as if he's so cussing smart.

Oh ... a ring. I never looked. Honestly, it never even crossed my mind to look.

It never crosses my mind to look at the left hands of women, either. Which wouldn't normally be an issue because, like I said, I am married ... and straight. But Jim and I have been trying to figure out if one particular couple at church -- a couple we've been loosely acquainted with for years, a couple about our same age, who have been married about as long we have and have kids near the same age as ours -- are, sadly, separated, possibly getting a divorce. They're never seen together anymore, and Jim insists there's a problem; I insist the husband likely just works on Sundays and can't make it to church.

"Is she still wearing her wedding ring?" he asked yesterday, again playing the smart guy.

We both spied out of the corner of our eyes while singing. Yes, she's still wearing her ring.

After getting no clear answer on the divorce question, Jim and I returned whole hog to the singing and praising and all those other things you do at church. Until he leaned over and nudged me.

"Hey, she's got a ring on her finger," he whispered, nodding toward the young woman in front of us, a gal we've known for some time, who was sitting mighty close to her new beau.

"That doesn't mean anything. People wear rings on that finger all the time," I whispered back.

He shrugged like a smartcuss who has a secret.

I leaned over and whispered quite forcefully, "That's why it's called <ahem> a ring finger."

Ha! Now who's the smarty pants?

I'm just crossing my fingers now, hoping that next time we see her dad he doesn't announce that his little girl is engaged. If he does, I'm pretty sure Jim's sure-to-follow smirk will make me want to smack him.

Or take the ring off my ring finger and throw it at him.

On second thought, maybe I won't throw my ring at him. For with an empty ring finger, I may be immediately dubbed a single woman by those quick-on-the-draw folks who check for such things.

And Lord knows I would completely cuss at being a single woman ... because I'm so darn handicapped at sniffing out potential mates.

Photo: follmann/stock.xchng

Today's question:

How many rings do you typically wear on an average day?

Top smiles of 2010

The end of a year begs for lists, so despite sharing a list with you yesterday, I'm here with another today. This time it's ... 

My top 9 smile-inducers of 2010

Bubby. Always. In all ways!

Jim's support, with comments such as, "You really shouldn't try to get a job. Keep writing. I have a feeling things are going to take off for you this year."

Brianna moving into her own first home ... which was the first home Jim and I owned ... which was a weensy bit weird ... yet wonderful.

Signing with an agent. A real NYC agent. (Stay tuned for the miles o' smiles when she gets my work accepted for publication!)

My splendiferous end-of-summer adventure with Bubby.

Andrea getting an awesome new position that makes the most of her people skills and winning ways.

 Megan and Preston announcing that baby No. 2 -- grandson No. 2! -- is on his way. Hip-hip-hooray!

Celebrating Thanksgiving with my entire immediate family for the first time in several years.

Grandma's Briefs readers. Grandma's Briefs Facebook friends. Grandma's Briefs Twitter followers. That's you ... and you ... and YOU!

I can't wait to see what calls forth all the sure-to-come smiles in 2011. Whatever they may be, I look forward to sharing them with you.

Happy New Year! Best wishes for peace, prosperity, love -- and lots of smiles -- for all in 2011!

Today's question:

What brought you smiles in 2010?

For the birds

We have a small waterfall in our back yard. All summer long it gurgles and burbles and lends a small portion of peace to our place smack dab in the flight path of the airport and mere blocks from one of the busiest traffic corridors in the city.

I love the waterfall. At summer's end, I lament the loss of the trickles of tranquility as the water is shut off, the pump put away for the winter. And winter has indeed come to my part of the mountains, despite the calendar saying it's still fall.

Yes, it's time to put the waterfall to bed for the season.

But Jim is rebelling this year, refusing to shut 'er down. He loves the waterfall more than I, spends more time fiddling with the rocks, the water flow, the chemicals to keep it clean, the daily clearing out the leaves and needles. And more time admiring 'the heads' he mounted at the top of the waterfall.

(If you read this post, you understand the significance of the 'the heads' in our lives. Despite the significance, I still groan regularly about Jim placing a miniature version of the national memorial -- courtesy of the darn Sky Mall catalog -- in our yard.)

So with temperatures falling well below freezing every night -- and during some days, too -- the little waterfall that could does ... keep flowing. Which I think is really stupid.

"What a waste of electricity," I say to my (usually) utility bill-obsessed husband, thinking that'll do the trick, show him how irresponsible and expensive it is to run the waterfall all winter. He just ignores me.

"You're going to burn out the motor," I keep telling him. It won't fully freeze up because the water's moving, he responds, adding, "And it'll look so cool when it freezes around the edges. Remember the one time it did that?"

Yeah, I remember. But it was a freak freeze, and we shut down the waterfall right after that.

Jim continues ignoring me, the water continues flowing and I continue thinking my husband's a nutjob.

Tuesday morning I let the dogs out and glanced over at the waterfall. It had frozen all around the edges, leaving only a small stream flowing down the rocks and a little tiny pool at the bottom. And in the stream and the pool were several birds, merrily splashing away, thrilled by their luck at finding fresh flowing water when all the birdbaths in the city surely were frozen.

It was a delightful sight. And once the birds flew off -- frightened away by Lyla and Mickey dashing out for their morning potty break -- the nearly frozen fall remained chillingly magical.

 

Much to my chagrin, I had to admit Jim was right. Just like the last time the waterfall froze, the icy sculpture definitely did look so cool.

Consider my tongue bitten. I'll back off cussing about the waterfall. I'll stop trying to convince Jim that not shutting it down for the winter is a really dumb idea. The water can flow, I guess, and I'll keep my mouth shut.

But I'm only agreeing to let it flow for the sake of the birds.

And in hopes that next time I'll be able to snap a few shots of the birds enjoying the unexpected deep-winter delight before the dogs frighten them away.

Holiday question of the day:

If you were to create and market an ice cream available only during the Christmas season, what flavor(s) would your concoction be?

The Saturday Post

A truly lovely story.

True.

Love.

And only 5 minutes long.

Have a lovely Saturday!

Stats, schmatz

The Daily Beast recently featured an article called 15 Signs You'll Get Divorced. It's filled with stats on off-the-wall traits that supposedly predict the likelihood of marital demise.

Either I'm extra special or the stats are a bunch of hooey. First note that Jim and I have been married 28 years, then consider these figures from the article:

If you didn't smile for photographs early in life, your marriage is five times more likely to end in divorce than if you smiled intensely in early photographs. I didn't smile much in pictures. I was shy. I hated my teeth. Braces would have made a difference. Does that mean those who had braces as a child are more likely to have a successful marriage?

If you have two sons, you face a 36.9 percent likelihood of divorce, but if you have two daughters, the likelihood rises to 43.1 percent. Ummm, we have three daughters. What does that mean for our marital bliss ... or discord?

If you're a woman who got married before the age of eighteen, your marriage faces a 48 percent likelihood of divorce within ten years. I got married at 17. It was the week before my 18th birthday, though, so maybe being within mere days of the magical age made all the difference. But then again, maybe not: The article says those marrying at age 18 or 19 face a 40 percent likelihood of divorce within ten years.

If you're a woman who has recently been diagnosed with cancer or multiple sclerosis, your marriage is six times more likely to end in divorce than if your husband had been diagnosed with those diseases instead. "A study of 'partner abandonment' revealed that husbands are six times more likely to leave sick wives than wives are to leave sick husbands," the article explains. Well, I have multiple sclerosis ... have for 17 years ... and Jim's not abandoned me yet. Although that could be chalked up to the fact that he has a grab-bag of health issues himself, and I think I do more caretaking of him than he does of me. (He might refute that, but don't believe him. You know how men are when they're sick!)

In actuality, I'd have to say that having MS saved me from divorce, at least considering this stat: If you're a dancer or choreographer, you face a 43.05 percent likelihood of divorce.  Shew! Because of the MS, there was no way in cuss I would have ever made it as a star on any dance floor. Thank you, MS!

All in all, I have to say stats, schmatz!

Although ... one can never be too sure. So I plan to keep a close eye on Jim's testosterone levels going forward. Get a load of this: If you're a man with high basal testosterone, you're 43 percent more likely to get divorced than men with low testosterone levels.

I'm off to see if Walgreen's offers a do-it-yourself, testosterone-level-checking kit. I certainly wouldn't want Jim getting too manly on me. I'll keep ya posted!

Today's question:

What's one deal-breaker for you, one sure reason for divorce?

My answer: Being abusive to my kids. (Why wasn't there a stat for that in the article?)

The secret to a successful marriage

Today I'm in the desert visiting Bubby. Yesterday -- the day I wrote this post -- I was preparing to leave for my visit with Bubby and was short on time.

In light of that, and in light of the wedding anniversary Jim and I recently celebrated, I thought I'd share with you one of my more popular articles from the past several years.

I wrote this more than 10 years ago, but it still gets published as a reprint here and there. In fact, you currently can find it HERE and THERE (where it was originally published).

No need to click to other sites, though, as I've posted the whole thing right here on Grandma's Briefs.

Dear friends, I give you:

The secret to a successful marriage: Don’t share (at least not everything)

In order to make our marriage work, my husband and I decided to split up. The bickering and blaming had gotten out of hand and something needed to change. Luckily, our solution didn’t require breaking up the family or maintaining separate domiciles.

No, what saved our marriage was opening separate bank accounts.

Individual Accounts, Individual Bills

My husband and I have very different approaches to managing money. He balances the checkbook – to the penny – on a weekly basis. I prefer rounding figures in my head and am perfectly satisfied if the account is balanced quarterly.

Budgeting and balancing sessions are now virtually non-existent. He maintains his account and I maintain mine. We do have joint access to both accounts in case of an emergency.

Moving away from shared finances required each of us to commit to ownership of specific household expenses. Because my husband makes more money than I do, he pays a larger share of the bills. Paying those specific bills are his responsibility and my bills are my concern.

We decided in advance who would pay for irregular expenses such as Friday night pizza, extracurricular activities for our children and doctor’s office co-payments. Holiday shopping is fairly divided, and emergency situations are handled as they arise.

Extended Separation

Once we realized the positive results of our financial separation, we applied it further. We now hold separate gas and credit cards, too. Again, the accounts are actually joint for practical reasons but we use different cards exclusively.

We never see one another’s statements, so questions regarding particular charges or overspending don’t exist. Honesty about the status of accounts is a given and we’re both conscientious about maintaining an excellent credit rating. Such an arrangement would not work if partners took out any hostilities toward one another through financial means.

Private Places and Spaces

Reflecting on the success of our marriage, I realize that separate finances aren’t the only reason we’re still happily together after so many years. Another reason is that we’ve never shared a bathroom.

We both come from large families with communal bathrooms and agree that flossing and flushing is something that should be done in private. What goes on behind a closed bathroom door should remain a mystery, in our opinions.

Another area in which we prefer separateness is in our e-mail accounts. It may sound trivial but addresses like JillJackHill@connectedhips.com make me crazy. We have separate interests and separate online friends so we have separate e-mail addresses. We don’t worry about what e-mail the other is sending or receiving. It’s not a matter of naiveté; it’s a matter of trust – and our computer being centrally located and accessible to all eyes at any time. Secret e-mails from online lovers are not likely in a household of nosy occupants.

Not for Everyone

Separation in a relationship is not for everyone. Luckily it works for my husband and me. As we move toward our third decade as partners, we realize that our efforts at being separate have made us happier to be together. And on that point we stand firmly, together.

Today's question:

What do you have the most difficult time sharing with others?

My answer: I don't like sharing the driving. I very much prefer driving anywhere we need to go, even on long trips. I'm a control freak and want to control the driving and the driver so it's much better for everyone involved if I'm the one behind the wheel instead of in the passenger seat.