Christmas Past

What follows was originally intended to be one chapter in a larger collection of essays that chronicles our family’s journey through cancer over the past three years. I began writing the collection just as the dust started to settle from Charolette’s cancer, and before the storm of Pop’s.  It has been through several edits since Pop’s illness and death, but the original version below is one of the happier essays and captures the joy and peace with which I have always viewed Christmas Eve.  In the spirit of the season I’d like to raise a glass to Christmases past, and to my family who made them magical.

I frequently tease Dominic that I’m going to start dragging him back to Midnight Mass during one of these Christmas seasons in our future. He staunchly refuses, stating in no uncertain terms that he is over any desire to stay up late enough to attend Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. (Even in college, it was well known that Dom would be the first one to call it a night and go to bed.) Once we had children, Midnight Mass was no longer a viable option for our schedules. But, oh, how I miss it.  Of all my memories, our family’s attendance at Midnight Mass and the wee-hours celebrations that followed are some of my most treasured.

They say you can’t go back, and I accept that; really I do. And I accept that those memories may have to remain only memories, being that so much has changed within our family since the days when we were young, just beginning our adult lives, full of hope, possibility and promise.  When I reflect on that time of my life it is as if I am seeing it transpire inside a snow globe.  I shake it and a memory forms, its edges slightly blurred. We are walking up the driveway of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church. The air is bitterly crisp and I clutch my winter-white wool dress-coat tightly around me. Dominic offers me his arm, and I loop my own through his and snuggle close against his suit jacket, resting my cheek against his shoulder as we walk. Bob and Charolette walk beside us, elegant in their Christmas attire, as we are joined by Victor and Melissa and then by John and Kasie. We enter the church and head up the center aisle to our familiar pew on the right-hand side six rows from the front. We genuflect and file in, filling the pew almost to capacity.  We greet and are greeted by familiar faces throughout the sanctuary, which is adorned in boughs of greenery. Deep red poinsettias and several Christmas trees decorated only in lights flank the altar while a large, solitary manger stands nearby. As Mass begins the smell of incense tickles my nose and makes my eyes water, but I love the tradition of it all. This is Christmas to me – holy and unrushed, simultaneously simple and resplendent.

I watch the memory for a while before shaking the globe again, and the memory fades out like a dream sequence as another forms in its place amid the falling snow. We have left the church and returned to Bob and Charolette’s home. We are loud and lively. We redress in blue jeans and sweatshirts, getting comfortable for the festivity ahead. A thousand tiny white lights shine on the Christmas tree, which is filled with so many jeweled and ribboned ornaments we can barely distinguish one branch from another. The ornaments were handmade by Charolette’s cousin, Boots, many years prior, and they are the only tree ornaments I will ever know inside this house. We have a full meal planned and ready. Wine glasses are filled and Pop reaches far back into a kitchen cabinet to retrieve a bottle he will use to top off the eggnog. We laugh and eat and laugh some more before settling in to exchange gifts in the living room, a process in which we take turns opening one gift at a time. Sometimes Father Dave is there, standing at the kitchen counter, popping the top on a beer and joking with us. He is as much a part of this family as we are, and his relaxed smile says that he feels it.

The memory morphs easily into one of my most favorite Christmases, when during our gift exchange John hands Kasie a wrapped box of running shoes. On the laces is tied an engagement ring. She opens the box and proclaims her excitement that he has bought her exactly the shoes she wanted. And then, removing one shoe from the box, she sees the ring just as John kneels on the floor in front of her. Her hand flies to her mouth and a second later she is in his arms, crying and saying yes. John had almost given her that gift in private; I had to beg him to please let us watch, though I’m sure it was Charolette’s asking that actually convinced him to propose publicly. I believe that is the widest I have ever seen him smile.

Sleepy and satiated, we depart for our homes around three in the morning, only to regroup in the same place the next afternoon for lunch with the extended family. It is at these lunches that I would enjoy spending time with Dominic’s cousins and getting to know Charolette’s aunt and uncles.  Oh, the stories these people can tell on each other!

The tradition changes slightly after those early years of our marriage when we begin filling the church pew with children. Now the snow globe reminds me that we have committed to an earlier Christmas Eve Mass, Victor wears the well-deserved title of Gumbo Chef for the night, and the unwrapping of gifts is no longer facilitated one person at a time.  Tiny fingers rip bows from presents and hold books and dolls high in the air for all to see. “Look, Mommy, look!!” is shouted so much that Kasie, Melissa and I can’t tell who’s opening what or who’s calling to whom. We begin to nod and smile at every child in turn, saying, “Oooh, that’s great, sweetie! Did you remember to say ‘thank you?’” Pop examines the instructions that came with his gifts, collects wrapping paper into a trash bag and plugs batteries into new toys. Mom sits beside the tree, handing out packages still to be opened while her sons gather at the kitchen table to admire a new toolset someone has received.

It is at the end of these evenings of frivolity that Dom announces, “Saddle up!” and we wrestle cookie-filled children into car seats and drive home.  Once they are tucked safely into bed and our Santa duties are fulfilled, Dom and I continue our tradition of exchanging one gift each before turning out all the lights except for those on the tree and in the garland. This is where I find my silent night. We plug It’s a Wonderful Life into the DVD player and snuggle on the sofa. We know it’s okay if we fall asleep before Clarence gets his wings; we will watch it again the next night.  And maybe the night after that.

 

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Life and What-Not

“The problem with adulthood,” I began my conversation with Victoria, “is that by the time you realize what you want to do, what you are good at, it’s often too late to go back for a do-over. Take this quantitative management class I’m in right now. I love it. It’s just straightforward mathematical statistics for the purpose of solving business problems, and it energizes me. I really like this stuff.” (Eye roll from the daughter.)

“I knew this, of course, back when I was in college, but I didn’t pursue the field. I met with one tiny obstacle and – meh – I moved on to an easier path. I was young and dumb and though I don’t have many regrets about my past – other than superficially wishing I could go back in time and give the young Lori a few Gibbs’ head-slaps – I regret not pushing through for the degree I wanted and a career that might have provided more material resources. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do now and I don’t believe material resources would serve me any better than the spiritual resources I have access to, but I often find myself wondering what it would be like if I had been ‘adult-enough’ to insist on more effort from myself at a younger age.

“And so that is what kicks me in the head as an adult – knowing that we cannot change the past, we can only direct the future. We can change what we do today for the benefit of tomorrow, and no more. But when you’re over the proverbial hill, and you see it all this clearly, and you know – absolutely know in your heart – that you could have done better, or more, or whatever with your energy and resources…all you really can do is let your children know the pitfalls. You want to make sure that your kids understand what mistakes not to make, what obstacles to push through.

“And that brings me to the fallacy of youth, in that when I was young and dumb – as so you shall be, too – I was not interested in older people’s advice of the pitfalls. I had my whole life ahead of me, and that’s all that I saw. My future was a blank page, and I was selecting the pen with which to write it. Don’t dare tell me what pen I should use; that’s my decision! And so, when we are young we make the easy choices, the fun choices, the choices that bring us pleasure, even if it is fleeting. It’s only when we are older that we think, what if??? What if I had chased that dream? What if I had studied harder? What if I had actually attended that Business Law class instead of deciding that Dominic might be hanging out in the student center and surely I HAD to be there too? But Business Law, while a really interesting class, at the time paled in comparison to the interest I held for my social life and your father’s whereabouts. (Cue head-slap). Surely I could have pursued your father after my work was done??? But, as I said, I can’t change the past. Our choices, our actions, make us who we are and I do love this life. What I can do now is hand you the information and hope that you choose to make good decisions. That’s the goal of every parent…to make sure our kids don’t have any regrets.”

Victoria seems to consider this for a moment, then says, “I watched this movie last night where this guy walked outside and got struck by lightning. For no reason at all! He just walked out, got struck by lightning, and died right there on the spot.”

Nobody listens to me.

My Latest DIY Gig

Tags

DIY canvas art, Emily Bronte quote, in memoriam, Job 12:10, love notes to Dom, mod podge projects, painting fonts, photos to canvas, soul scripture, wall art, Whatever our souls are made of

So, I’ve kinda been working on another project. It’s one that I’ve had in my head for several months. Originally, I wanted to somehow put a photo of me and Dom on a canvas and then script out the words to a love poem in a diagonal around the photo. I haven’t worked it all out yet, but it’s still something I plan on doing. Just… later. Because, really, this other thing morphed out of thin air and sort of took over the photo I was gonna use.

From the steps of the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, DC, November 2009.

Original problem: I need coordinating art to hang on either side of my dresser mirror, which stands pathetically bare at the moment. (And, please ignore the fact that the bed is not made. Thank you.)

Original idea: Why don’t I paint two canvases to hang on either side?

Secondary problem: What color to make the canvases? Match the room’s moulding? I have that paint. But I want it to look like art. “Hey, Aaron, do you know how to blend paint colors to make them look good on canvas, like watercolor blends or something?”

“Nope. I haven’t been to art camp in like, three years, Mom.”

“Crap. Thanks anyway, sweetie.”

When what to my wondering eyes should appear? My sister-in-law gave me this personally hand-painted wood-art for Christmas. When I asked my mom where in my home she thought I should hang it, she replied without missing a beat, “In your bedroom. You have all black-and-whites in there.”

She’s right. The bedroom would be the perfect place for it. And then it hit me. Black canvas. White paint. Suddenly, I had my outline. I just needed two perfect quotes. And two perfect pictures. Egad. Whatever “perfect” pictures might include me are so few that they have been excessively overused in everything that represents me. My favorite photo that includes me is from 2007. My second-favorite photo is from 2009…and it’s taken from behind me (see above). You get my drift, right?   Finding two pics of me that are self-proclaimed-“worthy” and not already over-used is going to be next to impossible.

And then my heart spoke up. I have been sorting photos of Mason lately because I want one of them on a mousepad for my office. I found some adorable pics. (The World’s Best Dog…14 years…we’re gonna have more than a handful of good pictures!) By the way, this is his “Did someone say, ‘treat'”? face. Lord, I miss this dog!

I was also saving a list of quotes that I pondered when we were planning Mason’s headstone. And so I went there. I cried. And cried. (And cried some more). But eventually I settled on one that worked with another quote I had been wanting to place in our home. As Billy Joel sang, it’s all about soul.

“For the soul of every living thing is in the hand of God.” Job 12:10

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

And there I had it. One canvas for Mason, one canvas for me and Dom. Two photos, printed in black-and-white to complement the others in the room. I had the photos printed through MPIX.com because I love how they print B&W photos. They just look awesome. (Get the True Black and White matte paper. It’s worth the extra pennies!) And I figured that under a slew of Mod-Podge, maybe MPIX’s photo paper could hold up like I wanted it to. My own printer paper? Maybe not.

So here is the finished product. What follows after this are directions for those fellow DIY-ers who just like the satisfaction of making something yourself.

Instructions:

Materials you will need: Canvas, word processor, internet access (if you don’t already have the fonts you want to use), acrylic paint, mixing palate or plate, brushes, photo, Mod Podge glue (matte finish), pencil, graphite paper, tape, paper towels and a jar/bowl of water. This project takes approximately three days to complete, in order allow proper drying time between steps.

First, determine what size canvas you need. I knew I wanted tall-skinny canvases, so I went with 12×24. I found a 2-pack at Michael’s for relatively little cost (with a coupon). This size works great for word processing design, too, because you can base it off of a standard 8½x11 piece of paper.

Second, decide what photo you want to use and what size. Cut a piece of paper to the size of your photo. An 8×10 worked perfectly with the 12×24 canvas, but so would a 5×7. You be the judge here. It’s your art.

Third, design your word art. I used Microsoft Word to space and position my lettering. Set your page properties at 0.5” margins all the way around, and then select “Landscape” orientation. This lets you size your letters to fit your canvas, based on text being 10” wide (size the text on each line specifically). You can set your page size to your actual canvas size and see what prints on letter-sized paper, then literally cut and paste once printed to make it all match up.

My favorite fonts are Cambria (standard font in MS Word) for the block print, and Allura for the script. Scriptina Pro is also a great font for a flurry-ish script. I use dafont.com for downloading all my script and special fonts (Search these font names on their site to download). Size ‘em up, making sure your sidelines are all even with each other, if that’s the look you want. Print on regular paper and then cut off the extra margins so that you can line up your text and tape in place.

Size up your text with your photo size – place it all on the canvas to be sure that you’re lining it up right.  Remember to use a blank piece of paper cut the size of your photo (or the actual photo if you have it already.)

Now that you’ve got your wording and photo size all worked out, go ahead and paint your canvas. (I had already painted mine.) If you’re looking to do a solid color like me this will be a breeze. If you want a mottled, blended-color look, you need to know what you’re doing on your own because I am absolutely no help here. 😉 I painted mine solid black, remember?

Once your canvas is dry, you will need to use graphite paper (either black or white, depending on your canvas color) to transfer the font image onto the canvas in the desired place. I taped my wording to the canvas and then slipped a piece of graphite paper (or, transfer paper) underneath it.

Use a pencil to trace around the letters, making sure to move your graphite paper as you go. (You will notice that in my example, the word “soul” is off-center. I had to go back and trace that word last so as to center it with the rest of the text. I could have done that earlier in the paper-taping process, but I didn’t.

When you are finished tracing, you will have this very erasable outline.  (Be careful where you lay your arm to paint, as you could wipe away the markings you’ve so carefully made. You also want to be sure not to apply too much pressure on top of the canvas so that you don’t inadvertently stretch it out.

Ok, here’s where we have to talk about brushes. First, I know NOTHING about brushes that I haven’t learned the hard way, and even that is pitifully little. What I do know is that you need the teeniest, tiniest brush to paint the words in your selected font. I didn’t know this on the first painting, and my letters lacked definition. See? Yuck.

That was done using a small angled brush, which I thought was appropriately small enough. But alas, I was wrong. In any brush, your paint is going to eventually glob up and if your brush is too big, then the glob just gets really messy. Like I said, I thought my brush was small enough. No, the next picture shows you the brush I used on the second painting. See, my mother-in-law is a retired certified ceramics teacher. The brush is hers. This is the brush she uses for eyelashes and pupils on the faces of her small creations. This is the brush she insisted I take with me when I raided her stash of supplies for my project. This is the brush that I thought would be too small for any grand thing I was going to do, but this is also the brush that made my words come to life on the canvas. It doesn’t look like much, but trust me, it is mighty.

So once you have traced your words onto the canvas, and you have your handy-dandy teeny-tiny brush poised in the air, you are ready to paint, my friend. Squeeze out just A LITTLE of the paint from your tube onto your palate or mixing tray (a paper plate works just fine). I squeezed out a quarter-sized dollop of white paint for the first canvas. I used only a twelfth of it and the rest went to waste. Go easy on the squeezing, is my point.

Now, be a good little student and color in the lines. You’ll be so pleased when you do!

The good thing about using a solid, dark background, is that if you need to touch up any goofs, it’s super-easy!  (See period after the word “God.” I messed up and brought the tail of the “d” up too far.  Once the ModPodge is applied, you won’t see any of the touch-up areas.

Now, where the Mod Podge is concerned, I purchased a small bottle of the Matte finish.  I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but my bottle of glossy Mod Podge looked every bit of its twelve-year age.  I thought the matte version might be a nice touch.  As it turned out, it is not a flat finish, but is not a super-shiny finish either.  I like the minor sheen that the matte option imparts.

Once the text has dried, you are ready to adhere your photo.  Take a generous size brush (mine is 2″ wide) and dip into a bowl full of the Mod Podge glue.  Brush onto the entire back of the photo before gently placing the photo in the desired place on the canvas. Get the glue as close to the edges as you possibly can.

Smooth the photo onto the canvas with your hand.  Once the photo was smoothed (remember not to press too hard) I flipped the canvas over onto a towel on my countertop and pressed harder with my hand to make sure the canvas was well-pressed to the photo.

Allow to dry (1-2 hours).  Clean your brush in the meantime and allow it to dry also.   Cover the glue so it doesn’t dry out.

Once the photo and your brush are dry, using the same 2″ brush, gently sweep Mod Podge back and forth in smooth, easy strokes running the width of your canvas.  Be sure not to stop in the middle.  Once the entire canvas is coated in Mod Podge and you are satisfied with the brush strokes, allow to dry (2-3 hours).

A few notes about this last step: Be sure to go all the way down the side edges with your glue so you get a uniform look all the way around the canvas.  I worried that the parts of the rounded edge where my glue seemed to pile would be a problem, but they turned out just fine.  I cannot see brush strokes on the canvas, but I can see them on the photos.  It’s not obtrusive at all, but I might investigate a smoother brush for future projects.  Also, the Mod Podge dries so clear that you won’t see any of the glue that might accumulate at the edges of your photo.  Just make sure it’s not a big glob and you’ll be fine.  The glue dries incredibly fast.  I believe within 20 minutes I could not see any glue on the canvas or photo.  It is at this point that you could put on a second coat, but I chose not to.  I hung mine on the wall 2 hours after finishing the last canvas.

And now, my friend, your work is done.  Hang your art on the wall with pride. (P.S.  You may want to affix a picture hanger of some type to your canvas prior to hanging.  I skipped that step also, but I may go back and add it later.)

Love Is…

Tags

18th Anniversary

1. Love is “You don’t look like you feel like cooking tonight. Let me take you out for sushi.”
2. Love is giving him the first omelet, because no matter what I do the second one always burns.
3. Love is doing the dishes together.
4. Love is leaving for church an hour early with me every week because I volunteered for extra duties.
5. Love is being his personal chauffeur for six months after a seizure.
6. Love is allowing that seizure to change him for the better.
7. Love is “You mow.  I’ll weed-eat.”
8. Love is bringing me coffee in the mornings.
9. Love is “Do you need the hairdryer before I put it up?”
10. Love is leaving a note on my steering wheel that says he loves being my husband.
11. Love is deciding together when it was time to let Mason go.
12. Love is allowing him to bury our sweet dog in solitude.
13. Love is grocery shopping with me at four different stores twice each month because I’m a product and ingredient freak.
14. Love is cooking together.
15. Love is curling into his side and relaxing in his arms.
16. Love is putting my wayward shoes in my closet for me, or hanging up my purse.
17. Love is hauling firewood to the back door for him before he gets home from work.
18. Love is a crackling fire and a glass of wine waiting for me when I get home.
19. Love is neatly laying out all the freshly-laundered clothes so they’re easier for me to fold.
20. Love is holding my hand on a long drive.
21. Love is quoting our favorite movies: “You’re drunk, Lovell,” and “I can’t deal with cleaning up.  Let’s sell the house.”
22. Love is spending all day watching The Godfather trilogy.
23. Love is “Lori Darlin'” and cutting the cards.
24. Love is typing the meeting minutes for committees on which he is recording secretary.
25. Love is grinning at each other around beams that would become the walls of our home.
26. Love is “Bless you,” and “Excuse me.”
27. Love is watching the pressure canner for me while I run an errand.
28. Love is singing along with the 80’s station at the top of our lungs while the kids groan in the back seat.
29. Love is wine and cheese for appetizers while the grill fires up.
30. Love is “Don’t forget the peppers and onions.”
31. Love is “Crap. I forgot the peppers and onions. Be right back.”
32. Love is ironing his shirts.
33. Love is cleaning out my car.
34. Love is “I’m sorry,” “I was wrong,” and “Please forgive me.”
35. Love is “I forgave you the minute you said it.”
36. Love is curling up on the couch together watching It’s a Wonderful Life and agreeing that yes, it really is.

For all the things our love is, and all the things it is yet to be, these 18 years have been the best of my life. I love you forever, Dominic. Happy Anniversary.

 

Creative or Crazy: Sometimes It’s a Coin Toss

Tags

beginner art, bible verses for homes, painting, word-art

Victoria sat beside me diligently watching as I put the finishing touches on a baby shower gift for my cousin.  “I wish I could paint like you, Mamma.  I can’t paint at all,” she complained.

“Technically, I’m not painting.  I’m writing.  This is no great skill, sweetie,” I assured her.   I had replicated the Suessian poem Baby, Oh Baby, The Places You’ll Go in the shape of a dinosaur.  I had to write the entire poem in said dino shape four times before I got my spacing and letter size just right.  And even then, some letters were wonky, the word “scrumpulous” folded in on itself inside the brontosaurus’ foot, and I realized too late that I had given him the wrong type of tail. The gift recipients seemed not to notice the flaws immediately, and I was grateful.

But I was also inspired.  Driven.  Hooked.

Victoria and I traipsed to our local craft stores the next night in search of a wreath for our front door, and I suggested we just go “look” at the canvases.  They were on sale.  Half-off.  I left Michael’s with a large grapevine wreath (which aren’t so much grapevine anymore as they are tangles of leaves and twigs.  What’s up with that?) and a 36×48 canvas, labeled “Artist Professional Level 1: Beginner”… mostly because it was cheaper, but also because, really, there’s no sense kidding myself.

That’s the basis of this project, but here’s the history.  I originally set out this summer to make two word-art prints for Dom’s birthday.  One would be lyrics of songs that make me think of him, and the other would be quotes from my favorite love-story books.  I gave each a different design so that they would be similar but not the same, and filled in the background with more corresponding text.  This is the result:

Since I couldn’t work on these prints in Dom’s presence and I was itching to keep drawing and word-arting (making up your own words is a fine art, too, you see), I decided to bring the bible verses forward from within our walls where I wrote them in 2012.  I wanted them all in one place where I could view them, and I wanted them to form a picture.  So I shaped words and verses into a tree design and got this:

But I drew this on poster board, which is totally not standard frame size (who knew?) and therefore all but useless unless I wish to thumb-tack it to my wall or hang it on the fridge.  So I figured with a little perseverance I could re-create the tree on a larger canvas.  And since this is for my enjoyment, I could take as long as I need to get it just right.  So began the process:

This photo was taken about an hour too late, actually.  I should have taken the picture before the darker color was applied to the canvas, the point at which it looked as if Mabel had stuck her nose in yellow paint and sniffed all over the canvas.  The same point at which I sat back on the floor, stared up at the easel and said to myself, “Holy crap…I’m worse at this than I thought I’d be!”

It is at this moment that I feel compelled to beg mercy from the judgments of true artists.  I realize I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to painting.  Refer once again to the post title, please.

Over the next few nights I dabbled in my art project, adding swirly verses and wondering if there was some way to use more color on the canvas and blend it so that it looked more like sunlight behind the tree.  I determined that for my skill level, there was not.

For the next several weeks (er, months) I worked on it a little at a time.  I took over the upstairs game room, setting up my paints and easel near the window for good light, and indulgently leaving a mess no one had to clean up or look at.  I totally felt like Ally in The Notebook, painting in the room Noah created just for her.  Except that I was fully dressed.

Now, here we are, already in another year, and with the Christmas decorations all put away there is a gaping blank space on my living room wall just waiting for the finished tree.  And tonight, that blank wall is filled with the verses that have carried me through the process of making this house our home.  Of course, it’s only now that I realize my efforts to make the canvas match the wall were too well-coordinated.  The canvas blends right into the wall, making the picture look not nearly as artful as I had hoped.  When I lamented the fade-away quality of my color choices, Dom asked what could be done to correct it.  Ahem… start over?

Maybe next year.

 

 

Poca Voglia

Tags

home names, little wishes

I’ve always wanted to name my house – ever since the days of my childhood when I would watch Dallas and marvel at the majesty of Southfork.  Of course, I knew I would not likely have anything as vast as a Southfork of my own, but the thought of a place with a name – a distinct identity – was intriguing.

Our old house was warm and friendly, but never quite name-worthy.  The name would come some day when I fulfilled the dream of building my own house.

That day is now.

Any appropriate name would need to be Italian (duh), and so I spent weeks in my “spare” time google-translating phrases that were personal, yet meaningful.  Stately, yet modest.

Weeks, I tell ya.  Weeks.

(By the way, this is exactly why I don’t have a tattoo.  Such a permanent item would need to be, in my estimation, an all-encompassing graphic rendition of my personality, beliefs and ideals.  Its meaning and message would need to stand the test of time.  I mean, really…how would I ever decide on one?)

I also had standards for not only what the name would mean, but for how it sounded when spoken.  It couldn’t be cumbersome.  It needed to sound lyrical.  It needed to roll. Google Translate and that little Italian voice inside my phone had their work cut out for them.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the names I tried and cast aside.  In the end, one name won out because of its meaning and its melody.  Poca Voglia (pronounced POKE-a VOHL-e-yah) means “little wish.”   This house began as a little wish twenty years ago when Dom and I sat in the student center at our university and he drew me an abstract picture on a napkin of the home we would someday build together.It’s probably hard to see on this scanned and faded napkin, but that’s the house in the foreground with a pond in the back.  And a dog.  No house is a home without a dog.  😉

I am full of little wishes.  But I am also full of gratitude and contentment.  Poca Voglia.  Welcome home.

Sixteen Years

In honor of our anniversary two years ago I quoted lines from songs that make me think of Dom. Those songs live in a playlist called Lori Loves Dom (sappy, I know!) and they have to be pretty worthy songs in order to make the list.

Every once in a while I will hear a song that I may have known for years and the first thought through my head will be, “Oooh! I need to add that to the playlist!” One such song* popped up just the other day and I thought it was perfect for how I feel about this man who carries my heart in his pocket.

“I can just see you with your hair turning grey.
What I can’t see is how I’m ever gonna love you more,
But I’ve said that before…
Now you’re my whole life. Now you’re my whole world.
And I just can’t believe the way I feel about you…
We’ll look back someday at this moment that we’re in
And I’ll look at you and say,
‘And I thought I loved you then…’”

It’s as true today as it was sixteen years ago, Dom. I love you more than life. Happy Anniversary!

(*Lyrics from Brad Paisley’s song Then on the album American Saturday Night. All copyright and gratitude due Mr. Paisley.)

Where There’s a Will There’s a Way

This week Dom and I initiated the task we have selfishly waited fifteen years to complete.  I remember sixteen years ago sitting in his room discussing our future together when I remarked that whatever we did or did not do in this life, I was going to insist that we plan all things for the benefit of each other and whomever else we might bring into the relationship. (You do know I mean kids, right??)

So, all these years later we finally took the plunge and did what was always important but never critical:  we met with an attorney to establish our Last Will and Testaments.

And Oh-My-Holy-Gosh, the things you have to think of when preparing those documents!!!

Living Wills, Powers of Attorney, calls to my parents… “Hey, Daddy, are you cool with taking care of all my health and financial decisions if I am  incapacitated and Dom is unavailable?”  No parent wants to think about such things.  I know this.  But we have to talk about it anyway.

You already know that I have planned my funeral  – right down to the headstone I want and the songs I want sung.  But there is so much more to proper  planning.  I now compare it to planning a wedding.  You can plan the party down to the smallest detail, but if you fail to plan for the life that follows, the party is pointless.

You can take that last thought two ways and 1) prepare for your own afterlife, or 2) prepare for the care of those lives that will be left behind in the wake of your departure.  I humbly suggest doing both.  Just sayin’.

There was an interesting point in the conversation that got glossed over because, well, it really only pertains to people with separate property, and probably A LOT of it. But my mind has been tossing it about today whenever I find myself with little else to focus on.  Our attorney mentioned the unusual circumstance of a couple dying together, and the (potential) resulting legal question of who died first.  In a state such as Louisiana this issue can tangle substantially complicated estates and wreak havoc for the heirs.  For us?  Not so much.  We is simple folk.  But for some people, in preparing for the unlikely possibility of this happening it is advised that couples note in their LW&T that should this phenomenon occur for them personally, it is to be presumed that (insert name here) died first.

Can you even imagine???

I realize that the people this would apply to have such substantial estates that if one of the spouses were in his or her second/third/etc marriage, the passing of one before the other could leave somebody’s heirs out in the cold.  Again, totally N/A for me and Dom.  But still, this intrigues me.  If we had reason to sort this out, how would it read?

I shared this with Mom, who nodded in complete understanding and answered, “We would all know Dom went first because wherever he goeth, thou will follow.”

She knows me better than I know myself, no?  I laughed out loud and agreed because I have frequently told him that if he ever leaves me I’m going with him.

So that’s how it would read if we ever had such a reason to spell it all out.  It can simply be presumed that he went to leave, and I chased after him…just like I  always have.  😉

Lessons, Lighters, and a Whole Lotta Love – A Look Back on 15 Years

Today Dom and I celebrate our fifteenth anniversary.  Last year for our anniversary I listed lyrics to my favorite “Dom Songs” that describe how and why I love him. Not that I couldn’t come up with a bah-jillion more songs to quote, but I decided this year’s post would share some of my favorite memories, so you can make fun of me later for all my silly sappiness.  I tried to keep them in chronological order, but I make no promises…except to him.  😉

1. During our college days I used to stay sober (-ish?) at parties so I could drive Dom home safely.  This was back when he would only speak to me after he was well into his THIRD Bourbon-and-Coke of the evening.  If he had driven himself, I’d drive past his house later – which was a whole forty-five minutes out of the way – before I went home on the other side of the river, just to make sure his car was safely in his dad’s driveway.
2. I memorized his license plate number in college.  I remember it to this day.  Every once in a while Stacey asks me to recite it and I fire it off like we’re still 21.  She giggles when I do that.
   (Yes, I stalked him.  But I mean, you already knew that, right???)
3. In 1992 Dom sprained his ankle really badly in an intramural softball game – his leg bruised black all the way up to his knee.  As he hobbled around on crutches for the next week, he asked me to carry his backpack to class for him. [Swoon]  We got to the elevator just as the doors were about to shut, and I foolishly grabbed the metal of the door rather than the rubber pushy-thing that lets the door know not to close.  It was just me against the machine, using all my brute strength to try to keep that damn door from closing and making me look like a complete fool (‘cause obviously I needed help looking stupid, right?)  I just knew that door was going to close on my hand and I was going to be dead of mortal embarrassment before 9-1-1 ever arrived, but somehow, sheer dumb willpower forced it back open.  I know I broke a sweat trying to look calm and cool while struggling with that elevator door.  Dom just stood there, propped on his crutches, and smiled.
4. That same year I graciously (ahem!!!) suffered a “D” on a writing assignment in a Business Communications class we shared, all because I had helped Dom write his paper and the professor gave him a “B” while citing on my paper that it “Looks too much like Dominic’s.”  Instead of protesting and risking Dom’s grade, I just decided that I didn’t like that professor very much.
5. In 1993 we were “officially” dating and had enrolled in an English course together.  Turns out, this particular professor seemed to grade females easier.  Back atcha, babe!!
6. As a teen and young adult I genuinely despised eating in front of other people.  I think it stemmed from having braces on my teeth when I went on my first date and being afraid of ignorantly smiling lettuce at the guy for the rest of the night.  At any rate, Dom knew I didn’t like eating in front of him when we began dating.  I remember one night we were eating pizza, and the cheese on mine wouldn’t tear, so as I pulled the crust away a big slice of pepperoni swung down and stuck to my chin RIGHT AS DOM LOOKED AT ME.  I probably turned three shades of red because he smiled and said, “Caught ya at a bad time, didn’t I?”
7. When we were registering for wedding china and stemware I chose a simple and understated Noritake stemware called Turning Point.  I said it was because we had a turning point in our dating life.  Later, we had a turning point in our married life, and I love him all the more for it.  I now use that stemware almost daily (um, should I really admit that??) and it makes me smile to myself at its deeper meaning.
8. We spent the first three years of marriage cooped up in a little apartment, stepping over laundry and each other.  And in that apartment we went to bed every night watching Apollo 13.  Even now when our home is a wavering wreck of what-the-hell-happened-here? we will look at each other and one of us will recite, “I can’t deal with cleaning up.  Let’s sell the house.”
9. Dom never expected me to be a good cook.  But he used to frequently remind me of my pre-marriage promise to “cook meals ahead of time so he would have homemade lunches every day of the week.”  Yeah.  Like that happened!  But he loved me anyway.
10. He never really wanted a dog, but he fell hard in love with Mason and, like me, suddenly couldn’t imagine life without that yellow furball.
11. When the kids came along, Dom was right there in the diaper bin with me, and he could warm a bottle like nobody’s business.
12. I gave him the “Amore Lighter” in college: a Zippo with an engraving that said – in Italian – “You have all my love forever.”  Years later I got pissed because he wouldn’t stop smoking and I broke the Amore Lighter.  (Welcome to my dark side, eh?  It is not without its regrets…)  This past Christmas Dom gave me an iPad:  he duplicated the phrase – again in Italian – on the back of the device.  And yes, I cried when I read it.
13. Dom knows how much I love dogs, especially those with floppy ears and super-sized paws, and he knows those features cheer me up rather quickly.  On more than one occasion when I have been emotionally out-of-sorts, he has brought Mason to me – carrying the dog and placing ALL 80 POUNDS of him in my lap!
14. As Eucharistic Ministers at our church, we now wear robes during the Masses at which we are scheduled to serve.  Our first “dressing out” was the night of the Easter Vigil this year.  We had argued for almost that entire day – over little, stupid things – and I was tempted to not speak to him for the rest of the evening.  As we stood in the church dressing room donning our robes, he glanced at himself in the mirror, looked over at me and said, “You actually look good in yours.”
    “Is that your way of apologizing for all the crap today???” I asked.
    “Yes.  Does it count?”
    It does. 🙂
15. Just last week at Aaron’s 5^th Grade Graduation and Awards Ceremony a slideshow  of photos from our son’s entire elementary experience was displayed with the opening line, “The Class of 2018.”  That factoid caught me unprepared emotionally, and I began to cry!  Dom turned to look at me, and I braced for The Look  – you know, the one that says, “Omigosh-are-you-REALLY-going-to-cry-over-this?!”  Without making eye contact I swiped at my eyes and said, “Shuddup!”  But he wasn’t teasing at all, nor did he speak.  He just leaned over and kissed me.

So I guess after fifteen years, he’s accustomed to my quirks by now.  Here’s to Happily Ever After, sweetie.  I love you more than life.

Happy Birthday, Dominic!!!



Today Dom finally catches up with me. Those 8 months between my birthday in February and his in October seem to last an eternity, what with him and the kids reminding me that I am, in fact, “older.” For the next four months I will revel in the fact that we are once again “the same age,” if only temporarily. In celebration of the most wonderful man I know, here are the top 38 reasons he makes my world smiley:

(Drum roll, please…)

38. When I switched all household, personal care and food products to natural and organic, he didn’t complain one bit. He willingly accepted the natural shave gel, shampoo and toothpaste I imposed on him.

37. He kindly offers to go to the grocery store for me. However, he also understands my controlling and cost-comparing nature, bids me bon voyage, and is always there to help unload when I finally come home from four stores.

36. He is an awesome dad!

35. He is the kid-approved Accelerated Math double-checker.

34. He voluntarily does dishes and floors.

33. He tolerates my home-improvement projects, participates, and acknowledges the success when the project is over.

32. He willingly crawled through attic insulation in the dead heat of summer, scraping skin and smashing his head on wooden beams, all so that I could have separate fan and light switches for a new ceiling fan.

31. He is willing to let me dig up 60 square feet of our back yard for a vegetable garden.

30. When I told him I wanted beneficial nematodes (parasitic bugs) to kill some termites in our flowerbed, he laughed out loud, but let me order them anyway.

29. He has started to take a liking to the bunny rabbits. And even though the bunnies were never his idea or preference, he gently guides the kids in taking care of the rabbits.

28. Despite the fact that he always said, “No dogs on the furniture!” he was the one who first invited Mason up into the bed.

27. He always looks great in a pair of Ray-Bans.

26. He agreed to be the King of Hearts in a joint Halloween costume when we were in college. Who wouldn’t love a man for that?!

25. He lets Mabel lay across his feet at night, even though it is incredibly uncomfortable, because he knows that’s where she’s happiest.

24. He gets tickets for us to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra every year.

23. When I am stressed, worried, or otherwise out of sorts, he sends me to my Mom. He does all he can for me first, and then recognizes when there are things only a mother can fix.

22. He stepped out of his comfort zone so that we could become Eucharistic Ministers together at our church.

21. He calls me at work during the day just to say hi.

20. Even the butterflies love him.

19. He will watch all 6 hours of Lonesome Dove with me anytime I ask. He’s my Gus, and I’m his Lori-Darlin’.

18. He knows the lines from my favorite chic flicks. When I was in my own little world one day in the kitchen talking about a new cookbook I had and making reference to cooking something that “freezes beautifully” I trailed off into quoting the script of Steel Magnolias, finally ending with “Sammy Dewayne Desoto, WHAT is this in my Frigidaire?” From the den, I heard Dom in a southern drawl correctly reply, “Beer.”

17. It was Dom’s idea to go back to school for Accounting credits, and I am grateful that he convinced me to go back with him.

16. He respects nature and enjoys simple beauty.

15. He gladly does all the fun-parent things that I am too scared to do, like riding water-soaked roller coasters.

14. He’s always up for family pictures, even when I’m not.

13. He saves all cards that the kids and I give him.

12. He told me just this week that he buys Coors Light in bottles because he knows that’s the only beer I’ll drink.

11. When we travel, he likes to take extra time to do the fun and unique stuff. He’s willing to rent a car and drive umpteen miles to a winery so we can wander around cluelessly and buy wine that we can’t fly home with. He also will help me drink all the wine before we go home, so the money is not wasted.

10. He has never complained about a single thing I have cooked. If he doesn’t like something, he gently says, “This was okay, but you don’t have to make it again anytime soon.” And if he does like something, he grins and says, “That doesn’t suck!”

9. In a moment of mortal clarity in talking about our wills, I shared with him that I don’t believe I would survive if some cruel twist of fate were to take him from me, and that they would just have to dig his grave big enough for both of us. I’ll never forget the moment…he was reaching into the cabinet for his keys, and he said, “No. If I go first, then you still have work to do. Just know that I’ll be waiting for you.” At any rate, he doesn’t think I’m creepy for planning our funerals.

8. He bought a riding lawn mower. Even though I made fun of it in the beginning, it has proven to be one of the best investments EVER.

7. As Phoebe explained in an episode of Friends, he’s my lobster.

6. He wants me to hunt with him. He has prepared a deer stand this season so that we can sit comfortably together.

5. Moments like this…

4. He plays Chess with the kids, and he kicks my butt in Monopoly.

3. He dances with me in the bar of Ernest’s.

2. He likes my ideas (generally), listens to me talk, and when I wake him up to argue a point, he doesn’t run me out on a rail. He reads my blogs, listens to my music, and supports every wish I’ve ever had for myself. When he disagrees with me, he does so respectfully. He has never said anything to intentionally hurt my feelings, and his gentleness has taught me much about how to treat other people.

1. Even though I know better, he still says he’s the Lucky One.

It is as true today as the first time I said it, Dom: I love you more than life. Happy Birthday!!