My Husband, My Soulmate

2014

My husband grew up on a dairy farm in rural central Pennsylvania.  I grew up in a suburban setting, close to an (now international) airport and about 10 miles from a city.  The crossing of our paths was truly an act of God.

We met at work some 20 years ago.  And, yes, he was my 'boss.' But ours was not the typical scandalous relationship (although there were those who tried to make it so).  It was a friendship, unlike any other I had experienced until then and  I believe the same was true for him.  This friendship grew into marriage.  And now, 18 years later, it's hard to believe our meeting happened so long ago.  Today, as he nears his official retirement date (I have already met mine) we are looking forward to a wonderful new adventure.  We are building a home closer to his roots and I am happy to go there.  He is my rock, my soulmate.  I am anticipating great days ahead.

My husband is a very patient man.  He also possesses a tremendous sense of humor.  I think the two qualities go hand in hand.  He never gets flustered or ruffled in sticky situations.  He is thoughtful when he solves problems, and doesn't make any rash decisions.  He is liberal minded in most things and generally tends to think about the glass half full.  We are a good pair.  He calibrates me and I do the same for him - whenever it is necessary.  We fit together like peas and carrots - to quote Forrest Gump (a favorite character of Joe's).

When we first met, Joe still belonged to a gospel singing group that had performed all over the state over several years.  Their music was so uplifting and spiritual, one could not avoid smiling while watching them perform.  During his twenties, performing gospel music was a mission of his.  And for nearly 20 years before I knew him, he traveled every weekend into small towns, churches, and communities, to fairs and events, to bring the word of God to others through music.  He loved this experience and I know he misses it.  I secretly wish he would form a quartet and do this again.  I think it would bring him great joy.

Pastor Chuck, the preacher who performed our marriage ceremony, describes Joe's love of God as childlike.  I interpret that to mean his love is pure and honest.  I would agree.  His devotion to God is second to none and his knowledge of The Word is impressive.  He can quote any scripture at any time in any situation.  I keenly admire that about him.  Don't misunderstand.  He doesn't proselytize.  He just lives his life as though directed by the Word.  In my mind actions speak volumes over words.

The best example I can give of this is his devotion and pure love of me and of my daughter.  Laura is not his child biologically, but, he has helped me to raise her into a young woman.  His devotion to us, fueled by his faith, made us more than we ever could have been on our own.  We were truly blessed to have him enter our lives at the time he did. His love, care, and understanding cannot be understated.  He is a rare man.   This is the most pure example of unselfish love I could imagine.  I am not sure I could ever return in kind all that he has done for us.  We love him.  His generosity has made us a real family.

Joe's family farmed for a living.  They live on land that had been previously owned by his grandfather and the 150 acre dairy farm was his family's livelihood for two generations.  Joe grew up in this tradition. He speaks often of the economy of this work - that children could understand our country's economy simply by understanding the workings of a farm because the economy begins in the fields.  So true.  Everything we have or own can be traced in its origin to the work of a farmer.  He also speaks often of the demand and difficulty of this work.  Running a dairy farm is a 24 hour job.  Feeding and milking cows requires enormous energy.  For a dairy farmer, there is no rest.

As we trek across the state, I observe a distinct change in him as our car leaves the city zone and meets the countryside.  He is going home.  And the closer he is to his birthplace, the more relaxed and at ease he is in general.  During the warm months and the growing season, the smells of organic fertilizer (manure!) and the hues of green and gold are observable for hundreds of miles through the rolling hills of our travel.  For me, well, I could do without the manure, but for Joe, it triggers a memory of childhood, of the work of the farm, of lots of things of the past.  But the view is simply beautiful.  His face glows with anticipation of returning home to his roots.  I love watching that transformation in him when we go there.

The first time he took me 'home' to meet his parents, as we crossed into farm country, he pointed out into the distance at this object and asked me if I knew what it was.  At first, I thought he was joking, but soon realized the silo in the distance was his reference point.  I smiled and identified the object and said, "Well, that's a silo."  He laughed.  You see, I was considered to be a 'city girl' because I was from a more suburban setting - and the perception was that I would not know about things on a farm.  Some of that was true, some not, but that moniker continues to stick even after all these years.  Admittedly, though, my first real experience on a farm was with him.  He taught me to drive a tractor, make apple butter, and enjoy picnics  outside in family owned pavilions.  Because out in the country, there is a lot of space.  People's 'yards' are not small parcels of land.  And a lot of laughter, getting together, and fellowship experiences are regular occurrences.  The pace of life is different.  For a 'city girl' like me, this lifestyle was a welcome relief from my usual practice.  As for the silo, though, I did know what that was...and that helped to bridge my transformation into a country girl!

My husband's devotion to all things Penn State courses through his body.  I marvel at his passion for the university and especially for the football program as well as his reverence for the late Joe Paterno.  But I understand it perfectly.  I understand how the high quality of the institution touches Joe's expectation for excellence in education, and how the football program, under Paterno's "Great Experiment" leadership continues to build and grow boys into men.  I understand it because I lived it - and so did Laura.  We live it every day with Joe - and because he has encouraged us over the years, we caught the PSU fever too.  All of us have earned degrees from there and while our passion could never equal his, we totally get it.  And because of his encouragement both Laura and I have achieved more than we thought possible.

Joe is an educational leader.  He understands both the politics of leadership, and the process of leading.  During his tenure as an educational leader, he has touched the lives of thousands of children who have benefited from his decisions in various leadership roles.  He is first a teacher.  He has been a coach, a school principal, an assistant superintendent, and finally a superintendent of schools.  He has always taken these roles seriously, and has always made decisions that would first benefit children every time.  Of course he has faced many tribulations, but his mission was always clear - to take care of the children.  And he did.

2021

Fast forward...

So here we are some seven years beyond the original writing above this line.  In rereading the original post, I cannot see any reason to change a word.  But much in our lives has changed.  Laura now has a doctorate in music performance from Florida State.  There was supposed to be wedding summer of 2020 but we had to change the date due to COVID.  Not to worry, she and John-Rine got married anyway at the justice of the peace in Joliet, Illinois.  She also just landed a post with the Old Guard Fife and Drum Corp of the U.S. Army.  She made it through basic training, had her own COVID symptoms and survived,  and is now assigned permanently to her post in Washington DC.  A blessing, they will be so much closer to us!  Joe's continued support of our daughter has helped to bring her to this place in our lives.  We owe him so much gratitude.  He has been, and continues to be, a wonderful father.  There is much to be thankful for...

On a sad note, we lost Joe's Dad in August, 2020 and this loss has shaken us, especially Joe, to the core. Dad was the soul of this family.  He was not only the patriarch, but the personality of the Clappers.  His was the last generation farming that land, the last son of a family of eleven children, survived now by his wife, four grown adults, daughters in law, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and one remaining sister.  He left much behind when he went home to be with Jesus.  This has been a very sad time in the past weeks.  But his soul lives on in his family.  I have seen the tenderness of my husband who, with great patience, has taken the lead in walking his mother and his siblings through the difficult post funeral work - the work that must be done to secure his mom's future and to make good plans based on her needs and what she wants.  It has been no small task, and an especially emotional one during this time of COVID-19 and all the restrictions of our existence.  He is a good son, a very good son.

And so, after 25 years of marriage, the raising of a daughter, his devotion to family, the caring for others' children in his professional life, his leadership, his patience, his tender heart, and his faith, I love my husband even more than I ever imagined.   His being in my life has been a gift, one that I could never repay.  I treasure all these lessons and I hold them close to my heart.  I thank God for this gift and as we pay our lives forward, I want Joe to know, that every second was worth it.  That we have had a beautiful life, is an understatement of the blessings we hold.  Happy Silver Anniversary, my love.

Birthdays aren't quite what they used to be...

Today I celebrated my birthday.

It felt different.  It was different for a whole lot of reasons...it's the first birthday I did not share with at least  one of my two parents - both of whom are now in a much better place.  It felt kind of weird to celebrate a birthday when the two people who brought me into the world were not here to celebrate it with me.  It was just a strange feeling...

My husband, who is four months my junior (no that does not amount to a whole year as he would like others to believe) actually referred to himself as the age I am now - EARLIER than he should.  I have decided I am going to hold him to the error.  I even offered to trade my day for his  - just this once.  I could take his February day and he could have this one.
He wouldn't do it.

We traveled today to the center of the state for a conference my husband is attending.  I am here simply for the entertainment.  We went to lunch at Hoss' - a restaurant we used to frequent when Laura was young - and went on everyone's birthday because we loved that they sang Happy Birthday to the person celebrating the special day AND they gifted a little cake to the individual too.  It always was enough to share and seemed to satisfy the need for cake!  Of course, I also did not have to bake a big cake, half of which would sit around for days after the celebration and get stale because everyone felt too guilty eating it.  But today, Hoss's was celebrating their OWN birthday - yup, 30 years of "HOSSpitality!"

We did not tell them it was my birthday today too.

But as I was driving around later in the day, Laura called to wish me a happy day.  When I told her about the lunch at Hoss's, she promptly broke into a rendition of the, 'Have a Hoss' Happy Birthday' song.  It was great.

Then I went to my in-laws for dinner.  They are so sweet.  We had a great home-cooked meal of roast beef, killer mashed potatoes, their homegrown corn, homemade applesauce, and of course - a great chocolate cake and ice cream.  It was fun.  But that was a little strange too...Joe couldn't come, so I was there just by myself.  I missed having him next to me.

Everyone was just super today...got tons of notes and good wishes on Facebook (as cheesy as that is, it's really nice) and the sun was out too.  I heard from my brother and sister, got a beautiful card from my husband, and generally it was a very good day.

But I really miss my Mom and Dad.  I hope they know how much.

Celebration

My daughter got the best news of her life today.  She was accepted into the music program of her choice for doctoral studies and was offered an assistantship to attend.  Wow.  What a kid.  What a talent.  What a blessing...

After months of waiting; spending oodles of money, time, energy, and sweat, she achieved an incredible deed.  She not only was accepted, she gets to go for free.

Now, mind you, being paid as a doctoral student is frankly nothing short of indentured servitude...but she loves it.  Teaching music at the collegiate level is what she is doing now in her masters program and it's what she wants to do for her life's work.  She wants to make music with others and bring music alive for college level students; to make it meaningful and to have it provide joy to them and others.  This is her chosen path.  This is what she wants to do with her God given talents.

Good for her.

I admire her tenacity; her persistence when it looked like she may not get there; and above all, her commitment to herself - to her personal truth and her personal mission.

I think she's a rock star.

Go LAURA!
Woot!

Moving

We are moving from our first home together, from our daughter’s ‘growing up house’ and sizing down has been an interesting and emotional experience; so many changes all at once; so many realizations about life, and about the experience of growing older.  It seems that every experience is so keen to me these days, so extreme in reflection and thought, and so much looking back.

I just sold my Grandmother’s Singer sewing machine. I dated its manufacture between 1935 and 1938.  It no longer worked.  Suffice it to say, it was old.  While I had possession of it, I didn’t feel any particular connection to it – except that I like to sew – to quilt actually – but I never actually saw my grandmother sew anything.  She died when I was five – as I was barely getting to know her.  Most of what I remember about her is legend but her legend was mostly about her baking and her cooking – and that I do remember…  But I feel this kind of interesting, weird emptiness seeing the vacant spot where it used to be…almost guilty for not appreciating its value or what it represented like in some way I have disrespected her memory.  But I know it was just an item on a long list of ‘stuff.’  Stuff somehow gets associated with people and we make deep personal connections to it.  These connections keep us aligned with one another and bridge us from past to present to future.  They run deep.

This process of moving has been kind of surreal for me.  I have known we are doing this for two years now as we have planned a construction of a home in a location 150 miles from here in a place we both enjoy – and closer to my husband’s aging parents.  I believe in my heart this change is a good thing for both of us – but it is still hard.  I am leaving a geographic location I have known for all of my life.  During this time I have cleaned out every cupboard, closet, nook, and cranny.  I have touched just about everything we own and mentally decided whether or not we would ever use or need the item again.  Then I have either packed or set aside each item for sale or donation.  It’s been, at times, a heart wrenching experience.  I have watched old videos, listened to old music, picked through old photographs, examined old wedding dresses, and decided what to do with furniture we will not need – including, but not limited to, the vintage Singer sewing machine.

It’s really been hard – and it’s been a task of the heart.

I keep telling myself – this is really a good thing.  I am doing this for my family, my husband, for my daughter – who, an only child, will be left with, I hope, a very simple task in the end, with only the very sentimental or valuable items she wants for herself when we are gone. 

I remember my Mom doing this – while she was quite ill – and all the while, I knew in my heart she was doing it to make the task easier – because she knew how limited her time was.  In the end – it was still hard, emptying a very large house for my Dad when he suddenly decided to move into assisted care and never went back home.  It was daunting and it took me and my sister and our husbands a whole week to rid the house of everything – even after my Mom did the yeoman’s work first.

And now here we are again.  It’s a cycle.

We are not dying.  And we are not moving into assisted care or anything like that, at least I would like to hope NEVER or at least not for a VERY LONG TIME.  In fact, we are excitedly looking forward to a long retirement – yes – I have been a retired person for nearly two years, and my husband is now making that choice for himself and for us.  Our move – into an active-lifestyle-55+ community is a very good thing.  We are indeed looking forward to a great retirement.  It’s just that I tend to be a realist when it comes to these situations.  Having lived some very sad moments with my parents and their very long slides and illnesses toward their returns ‘home’ I hold no illusions about the future.  Interestingly, my husband’s family appears to be less tender on that front.  Oh, they’ve had their health issues to be sure, but they remain active and participating members of their community as octogenarians.  My parents never had that chance.  So I believe my caution is understandable.  It remains, however, my solemn commitment to remain in my home as long as possible – if not for the rest of my life.

And so, as I watched the buyer carry that machine out the door, I know the real process of change has begun.  Tomorrow someone else comes to buy other pieces of furniture we are selling because we will not need them or have room for them in our new home.  It will be hard, at least in the short run, and we will fill in the gaps in the landscape with other things…new memories, new pieces of furniture, new friends, new experiences.  But in the end, it’s all just ‘stuff.’  The most important things we can hang onto in our lives are each other – and we should.  We should keep perspective and recognize the blessings bestowed upon us, but mostly, the time we have been gifted to spend with those we love the most. 

The man who bought the sewing machine is going to have it repaired and then he is going to sell it again.  It will be returned to service.  I thought that was a very cool thing.  My grandmother’s machine will be brought back to life and someone else will use it to create beautiful things.  Knowing this somehow has given me great consolation and it also has confirmed the continuation of the 'cycle.'  That's life, and as I move forward on the major changes ahead, I will commit to relishing the memories and embracing new opportunities.  

Mom's Ironing Board

Tonight while wandering around my local five and dime, I decided to pick up a new ironing board cover.  Yes, sounds a little odd, but I had been meaning to get a new one for a long time.  The ironing board I have was my mother's.   It is old, creaky, heavy, and cumbersome to move.  But, compared to today's models, it is the best there is.  And for all of my life, I have never known another cover than the one that has been on this monstrous apparatus.

The cover was finally giving way to years of use.  The seams were ripping, holes were appearing everywhere.  It was just plain wearing out.  I knew I was going to have to replace it.  It made me sad to think about all the pillowcases, shirts, handkerchieves, slacks, blouses, tablecloths, and anything that could be ironed, that had graced this table.  But I knew I had to do it.  Everything wears out.  Everything gets old.

So, when I arrived home, I began the process of stripping the old cover from the top - only to discover that it was literally crumbling under my fingers.  The back of the cover had once been some kind of foam substance.  After all these years of use, it had become dry, brittle, and now, powder...ugly, yellow powder.  As soon as I recognized what I was up against, I slowed my process and carefully peeled back the cover while unleashing the springs and hooks underneath that had kept that cover in its place.

Then I carefully placed the cover in the trash.  Funny.  In all these years, I had never seen underneath that ironing board cover. There were actually three more pads underneath.  I also carefully removed those, took them outside and shook them vigorously to remove years of dust, more 'yellow' powder, and to freshen them.  They were well-used, dark in the center from the hotness of the iron, but still in decent shape.  I suppose if I had been covered up for 60 years, I might be in decent shape too!  It was a funny feeling to actually see the top of the ironing board without all the covers.  I never knew what it actually looked like, or that it was blue, or that it still had the tag, now deteriorated, on its top.

The bottom pad had an asbestos tag.  By today's standards, we would run for cover.  But an asbestos pad would have been helpful in preventing burns and fires.  Think about all the heat an iron could elicit - and the potential. After wiping down the board,  I elected to replace the asbestos pad it in its original position.  It was on the bottom anyway and the other pads fitted on top of it.

I opened the new cover and thought to myself, my mom would be thinking, "It's about time you replaced that." She would have had no sentiment for an old worn out cover.  Removing the new cover from the bag, I fleetingly thought, this is not going to fit on this old slightly larger board.  But with a few pulls and huffs, I was able to successfully fit the new cover onto the board.  It's not quite as nice as the original must have been 60 years ago, but it certainly is in much better condition than the one I removed.

For a few moments I felt especially close to my mom.  It's been so long since I have talked to her.  She's been gone from our lives for over 17 years now.  It seems like a lifetime ago.  But using her ironing board, unromantic as that is, brings me close to her.  The sound of it, the feel of it, the touch of it, all take me back to the days of my childhood and her care of us - the hours she spent ironing our clothes week after week - every Tuesday - for countless years.  I hope she knows that it all mattered, that everything she did made a difference - every meal, every clean bed, the clean house, and the freshly pressed clothes.  It all made a difference because we felt her love every day.

And so now the ironing board has a new facade.  This means it can continue to remain in service - for at least the next 60 years.  Someday my daughter will change the top cover too.

Closer to the Front

When my daughter was very small she used to ask from the back seat of the car if we were, "closer to the front or the back" when making long trips.  This, of course, meant, were we closer to our destination or closer to from whence we came?  We always enjoyed the way she toyed with language  and in how we just kind of knew what she meant when she said those things.  We thought she was so clever.  We continue to use some of her phrases today - in our own conversations - and the memory of her somewhat comical word choice always brings a smile to our faces when we include them in our own jargon.  I miss those days - they are gone forever while the memory lingers - and I can't return to them.  'Closer to the front' has taken on a whole new meaning these days for me,  many years now separated from my daughter's childhood.

It has occurred to me that what we are really talking about here is time.  Time is an interesting construct.  It's not human.  It's not even tangible, yet we feel it every day.  Everything about our lives is measured relative to it.  We use it to measure our days, our weeks, our months, years, decades, lifetimes.  We refer to it as a way of organizing our whole life.  We 'assign' tasks, appointments, dates, events, and all manner of life moments to this fleeting, intangible construct.  We have timepieces, clocks, watches, alarms, snooze buttons, stopwatches, and all kinds of machines that measure it. We think of events in terms of past, present, and future.  We have language constructs that give us tenses of verbs.  We relish in the genius of understanding yesterday and the excitement or fear about tomorrow - until it becomes yesterday.  Then it's history - and it cannot ever be again.  The very second that just passed will be no more...  Time organizes, and I dare say, controls us as a race.  I do not mean this is a bad thing - I suppose another organizational construct could organize us - day and night, or the tides, or the seasons - but even those too are constructs of time.

Recently I saw a video about the Hubble telescope that had been trained on the heavens in places where scientists believed there to be nothing in space - only to discover - over time - and the use of an extraordinary camera that there are millions of galaxies beyond the darkness - stars and planets, universes beyond our wildest imaginings and probably life forms, perhaps even like us in places, perhaps even like earth, in time, maybe even like ours...or not.  It just caused me to think about how small, how really insignificant we are in the grander scheme.

Nothing causes you to question your significance more keenly than death.  It's been said that the years you were born and died are less important than the dash in between.  It's what you do with the dash that matters.  True.  But, when you look back on the history of a person's life - some 60, 70, 80, 90 years, and you follow the timeline of events, the life markers of things that happened in that life, you feel compelled to apply significance to the existence of that life, that person, that individual - no matter the person.  Your mother.  Your father.  Grandparents.  Aunts.  Uncles.  Cousins.  Siblings.  Children.

These individuals held a place in time.  Their existence meant something significant and extraordinary to their contemporaries.  They walked, ran, played, talked, laughed, loved, cried, sorrowed, hated, fought, sang, hugged, competed, and a host of other verbs - in the past tense.  They were loved by someone.  They felt passion...

And then they were gone.
Time over.
Closer to the front.
Arrived.

We have choices about how we think about time. We can worry about it, use it 'wisely,' do good for others, pray, take care of ourselves - to the degree that we can slow the effects of time.  We can fear death.  But we cannot stop it.   In reality, time never stops - except it does, for each of us, and at some unknown moment our clocks stop.  We will get closer to the front.  We will arrive at our destinations, each one of us.

I continue to struggle with the 'letting go' of those who have gone before me - and most recently, my Dad.  I can't explain this except to say that when you are very young death is foreign.  It's something that happens to someone else.  It's outside of you.  You are distant from it.  There is still a lot of time, regardless of who the deceased is.  I think youthfulness is very protective. It is full of hope.   If you are healthy, vibrant, and relatively care free, being 'closer to the front' couldn't be farther from your mind.  But I am not what I would call, 'youthful.'  I am middle aged - in fact, I am probably closer to the front than I might like to know.  I hope I am not that close and that I still have a long trip to go - but I am most certainly closer to the front than the back.  And I think that the the crux of what this whole struggle has been about has been working through the recognition of my own mortality.

While watching a movie the other night sporting a stellar cast, who, in reality is close to the front in their own lives, one of the characters refers to getting older as "nothing but pain."  I reflected on that statement especially in light of the last year of observing my father's failing health and the pain he experienced daily and thought to myself, there is no truer statement.

That leaves me with the question of what to do with this reality.  It seems to me that there is only one way to think about this...that the God (or higher power) who created all those heavens - including those recently revealed through the Hubble - and yes, the Superior being who created  me and even created time intends for me to use my dash for the betterment of mankind in my space in time.  He intends for me to leave this world even a tad better than how I found it before I get 'closer to the front' and arrive at His door.  And, if along that route, I experience pain or rapture, I have to believe that He is on this journey with me, right next to me, holding my hand.  That thought is what gets us to the end of the trip; the promise of something better, bigger, more beautiful than anything we have ever experienced or could imagine.

The day will arrive when I will finish the journey.  I will reach the front.  Mom, Dad, and so many others have already succeeded in crossing over - getting all the way to the front - finishing the journey - completing their lives.  And so too will I.  With every passing second, I move closer to the front.  We all do. There is no escape so we must make the most and best of the journey to successfully move on. And when that time arrives, I hope to be ready and wildly anticipating the journey ahead.  I am looking forward to it.

Not Ready for a Trade...Yet

I have to have knee surgery.  I am nearly 58.  Well, I guess that's pretty good - getting this far without having to have some joint repair, discounting of course, the shot in the shoulder and weeks of physical therapy for that pain.  Unfortunately, it reminds me every day that it is not fixed.  I guess that's what happens as we age - the joints and other parts get 'rusty' and go bad.  They just don't work like they used to.

This knee thing though really has me sidelined - and I am not looking forward, in the least, to either the repair or the after-pain, mostly because I already know how bad it hurts now.  I can't imagine how bad it's going to hurt next weekend after the doc pokes holes in my joint, fills it full of fluid and shaves off the ripped meniscus that keeps me in pain now.  I don't know what bothers me most, the current pain, the idea of the actual procedure, or the fact that part of my body (again) is going to be removed and will not be replaced.  What this will leave in its place, hopefully, will be a recovery of joint use without pain, but the very likely occurrence of later arthritic joint pain simply because this part is now gone.

Seems like a lose-lose proposition to me.

Let me get this right.  You are going to put me in further pain to get rid of pain, and having done this will likely cause me further pain down the road.

I am scratching my head.

So this is what aging is all about.

The other day after I got the news about what was going to happen during this procedure, I made the girls in the doc's office laugh a bit when I likened myself to a used car.  I told them for years that it was simply a lube, oil, and filter - and that was all I needed to be good to go for another 3-5 thousand miles. Now it seems, I am stopping every five hundred for the lube job.  More bothersome though, is that I now have to repair, replace, or remove the parts.  First it was the hysterectomy (okay, we can live without the radio).  Then it was the gall bladder (alright, so now we have to use the keys to lock the car and not the auto lock).  So, I guess repairing the knee is like repairing the clutch.  You need the clutch to drive - otherwise the car won't move.  Duh.

I really don't want to think about what could be next...as long as it's not the drive train.

I guess it's still cheaper than trading it in on a new model!

So, until the whole machine quits, I guess I'll keep repairing or replacing the parts, lubing the joints, and filling the tank.  Maybe I will even use high test now and again to get a kick out of the day. And I may not drive as fast, but I will keep driving because this model still has lots of miles left.