The Big Day

My husband and I celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary on December 5th. Thirty years ago, I was taking final exams to finish up my undergraduate requirements at Goucher College. Finals and wedding plans made for a rather hectic time. I was stressed, but I had everything well-planned, as any great ruler would.

Tim was in flight school at Whiting Field in Florida and had just a few days of leave for the wedding, the rehearsal, and the honeymoon. He was due in to Baltimore Friday afternoon, just a few hours before the rehearsal. He knew he faced my wrath if he was late. The night before some of his flight school buddies had taken him out on the town for a bachelor party!

The rehearsal went well, but I don’t think the Naval Academy chaplain was happy with me. I had made several changes to the format of the standard chapel wedding. We had our rehearsal dinner at the Officer’s Club, and then I sent my husband-to-be, his friends, brother, and all the males in the wedding party to my grandfather’s house for a proper male shower. Tim had no idea that I had already arranged a well-supervised bachelor party for him!

We were up at 4am at my parents house. The photographer was coming to the house to get family pictures before we went to Annapolis. The wedding was scheduled for 1pm, and my bridal party was gathered at a B&B in Annapolis where they had stayed the night before, just to make sure there were no late arrivals. So the plan was to have pictures at the house first, drive to Annapolis, and have pictures with the bridal party at 11am.

It all went like clockwork. I had planned everything down to the most minute detail. What I hadn’t planned on was my husband’s late arrival to the alter. It’s a long aisle at the academy chapel, and when I told my father that I didn’t see Tim at the altar, he assured me that my eyes were bad!

But when we arrived at the end of the aisle, there was no groom, no best man, and no ministers. One of the groomsmen went to check, but came up empty-handed. The organist started playing again, and after what seemed like an eternity, the missing parties appeared! Tim later told me that the two ministers performing the ceremony were talking and missed the knock on the door to head to the sanctuary. Apparently a frantic woman came in moments later telling them that the bride was at the altar. They had to run through John Paul Jones’s crypt, and my husband said that he wasn’t sure what the tourists were thinking!

After the ceremony, we were picked up by a classic Rolls Royce. We drove through downtown Annapolis and watched as shopkeepers were putting up Christmas decorations. People waved to us and smiled. I felt like a princess, a princess who had found her handsome prince.

Little did this poor guy know that I was now queen, ruler supreme! It’s been a wonderful thirty years of reign.

My White Knight--The USNA Midshipman

On December 5th, my husband and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. We’ve actually be together for more than thirty-one years, but it took me over nine months to convince him that he should marry me!

One July evening in 1980, my friend, Rose, and I decided to go check out the midshipman at the Naval Academy. We actually had a high school friend who was attending the academy, so we planned to visit him. When we checked in at the Bancroft Hall office (,Bancroft Hall is the large “dormitory” where the entire brigade of midshipmen is housed), we found out that our friend had been sent off somewhere on a training program.

Rose and I decided to observe the male scenery since we had already driven all the way from Westminster to Annapolis. As we strolled through Dalgren Hall, a young, attractive man passed us and said, “Good evening, ladies.” We smiled and greeted him in return. I assumed that because of his attire he must be part of the janitorial staff at the academy. I mean after all, how many young available midshipmen would be walking the academy grounds wearing green corduroy bell bottoms, brown suede desert boots, and a Farrah Fawcitt tee shirt! Not exactly high fashion, but he did have a nice smile.

Rose and I continued to the building’s exit and were surprised when the young janitor was waiting at the door for us, holding it open like a true gentleman. The janitor walked with us, through the academy gates and into town. As we walked, he confided that he was a first class midshipman! A senior! We also learned that his name was Tim.

After he dropped a letter into the mailbox we passed, he asked us if we would join him for a drink. I nodded, and he motioned to a bar across the street. “How about at my place,” he said and pointed to the sign, “Timmy’s Bar and Grill.”

By that point, he had pretty much swept me off my feet. What sealed the deal was his rescuing the fifty-cents that I lost in the jukebox. Over our drinks, I suggested that we head into Baltimore to see what was going on downtown. I also mentioned that it sure would be nice if we had another midshipman to go with us, because we were obviously an uneven number.

Back at the academy, we managed to round up another mid. Tim offered to take his car. As we hopped into the car, I made absolutely sure to snag the seat next to the driver!

We had a wonderful evening sitting up on top of Federal Hill at the Inner Harbor. I don’t think that I had ever laughed so much in my life! When we all realized that it was after two in the morning, and that the mids had missed curfew, they devised a plan to sneak back into Bancroft Hall.

Just before he climbed through a Bancroft Hall window, that handsome firstie promised me that he would call me later on that week. I know that I floated back to my car with Rose. It had been an amazing night.

It was after four in the morning when I finally got back home. I was beaming and I knew that I would not be able to fall asleep. I tiptoed into my parents room and woke my mother. “Mom,” I said, “tonight I met the man that I’m going to marry.” “That’s nice,” she said. “Now go to bed.”

We still laugh about the corduroy bell bottoms to this day! I made him change his clothes before we left Annapolis for Baltimore, and that letter he was mailing. It was to the girl he was dating back home in North Carolina!

Anchors Aweigh

Fall seems to be a time for reunions, and as we make preparations to attend my husband’s 30th class reunion at the Naval Academy, I’ve been thinking about reunions, school reunions and family reunions.

My husband graduated from the United States Naval Academy in May of 1981. He was one of approximately 1,000 midshipmen to graduate that spring. Since then, we’ve returned to Annapolis almost every five years to see how well everyone has aged!

The first reunion we attended was the ten-year reunion in 1991. By that time, Tim had gotten out of the Navy and was flying for Delta Airlines. Many of his buddies were still active duty, so they shared stories of their military service. A few years later at the fifteen year reunion, people started bringing their children.

Over the years, we’ve watched those children grow up and move on. The twentieth reunion was a life-changing event for my son. We had taken him to some of the activities and he enjoyed mingling with the current crop of midshipmen. We had lunch in the wardroom, and Timmy spoke with mids who were planning to enroll in Navy flight school. They told him about their summer experiences and the ships they had sailed on.

My son was so impressed with the service academy opportunities that three years later he began his first year at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. Had it not been for that reunion experience, he might have spent his college years somewhere else.

At the last reunion many of my husband’s classmates were sharing stories of sending kids off to college. We reminisced about packing them up and sending them off only to mourn the empty bedroom and the quiet house. Everyone agreed that it was something that was quickly gotten over! We laughed about watching our children grow up and become adults themselves.

This season, at the Navy football game tailgaters, grandchildren have begun to appear. The class of 1981 is moving on to its next phase. Grandparent-hood and even retirement. One of my husband’s classmates retired as a Navy Captain last year.

I remember attending football games with my husband when he was a student. We’d stroll around the parking lot looking at all of the class flags, 1940, 1945, 1955…We couldn’t imagine being that old and returning for a 30th or 40th year reunion. How old those people must be!

As we tailgate next week, I wonder how many young midshipmen and their dates will be saying the same thing! It’s hard to believe that time has flown by so quickly! But is sure is a wonderful feeling to hear all those old guys at the end of the game shouting “Go Navy! Beat Army!” Some things never change.

This blogpost ran as my column, The Empty Nest, in the Frederick News Post on Sunday November 6, 2011.

When in Scotland, Do as the Scots

Fall is a special eating time in our area, fall festivals, Oktoberfests, pumpkin pies, apple pies…all this food made me think of some international experiences my family and I have had with food.

When my daughter was a junior in college, she spent a semester studying abroad in London. As she was making plans and packing for her adventure, I was organizing a family spring break vacation in England and Scotland. We shipped her off in early January, and I began making reservations and writing itineraries.

Husband, son, and I flew into London on a Thursday in April and drove our rental car to the British American Drama Academy where my daughter was studying. It had been three months since I saw my baby girls and there were lots of tears of happiness when she walked out of the classroom to greet us. Then we were off!

Our next stop was a trip to her apartment to pick up her bags for our Easter weekend British escape. There were no classes at the academy on Friday, so we had decided to take an Easter holiday in the northern part of Great Britain. After a few hours of driving, we stopped to spend the night just outside of Liverpool. Our British culture-experienced daughter helped us make our dinner selections and then it was time to go to bed for a good night’s sleep.

The next day we rose early for a day full of site seeing. We stopped at Hadrian’s Wall on our way into Scotland. I wanted to see where the Romans had decided to end the empire. We also toured a Roman camp located near the wall. I was feeling quite like a relic.

After lunch, and some shopping, we opted for a scenic route into Edinburgh. We meandered through the hills of Scotland and I made my husband stop several times so that we could visit with the sheep and lambs grazing on those hills. Little did I know that we would be eating their ancestors the following day!

We had an afternoon visit at the Edinburgh castle and then were off to our hotel. The next morning, we went to the hotel restaurant for our Scottish breakfast. My husband had told us all about haggis. A traditional Scottish dish, haggis is the theme of Robert Burns’ poem Address to a Haggis. Haggis is a sausage made of sheep organs. Knowing all of this, my children and I feasted on haggis that morning. My husband, who has traveled all over the world and experienced all sorts of cultures, decided to pass. The kids and I had decided that while in Scotland we would do as the Scots!

Gastronomical experiences of a Teen

Fall is a special eating time in our area, fall festivals, Oktoberfests, pumpkin pies, apple pies…all this food made me think of some international experiences my family and I have had with food.

In the spring of 2000, we took our two children to Europe for the first time. We had planned a week’s vacation visiting friends who lived in Normandy, France. The plan was to spend some time in Paris and then a few days in Normandy. We wanted the children to see the beaches of the World War II invasion, and one of our friends was an expert on the history of the war. It would be quite an educational experience for all of us.

What I didn’t realize was that it would be a lesson in culinary etiquette for my teenage son. He wasn’t a great one for trying new things. The first night at dinner at our friend’s home, he gave me a funny look as the meal was being served and barely ate a thing. My dear friend, Martine, noticed and later that evening she asked me what foods Timmy really liked. I told her that he loved pizza, and so she offered to make pizza the following evening.

My son was expecting Pizza Hut pizza, not what Martine served. When she explained as we all sat at the dinner table that she had tuna pizza and ham pizza and anchovies pizza, I looked at my son whose eyes were at least twice their normal size. “You will eat this pizza if you want to live until tomorrow,” I gently whispered in his ear. “Try the ham pizza, you like ham.” Bless my poor son. He gleefully downed his ham pizza and smiled while he was doing it. Later that evening I told him how proud I was of him for trying something new.

A few nights later, we set out with our friends to visit a region of France further west. We stopped at a hotel in a very small town to spend the night. The following morning at breakfast, my son was in for another culinary experience.

The waitress came to our table and asked for our breakfast beverage orders. She offered coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. My son leaned over to me and whispered, “Mom, I don’t like any of those. Do they have milk?” I asked the waitress about milk and she agreed to bring some to the table with the rest of the beverages.

My son was quite pleased to have something at a meal that he wanted. I think that it was also a comfort to him to know that he would be fussed at for refusing to consume what was put in front of him.

The waitress placed the pitcher of milk in front of my son and he quickly poured some of the white beverage into his glass. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a large gulp. His eyes widened just before the white liquid came spewing out of his mouth! The milk was warm, and my poor son was taken quite off guard.

I am proud to say that over the years, my son has improved in his international gastronomical experiences. He’s eaten shark and squid and even haggis in Ireland. It is comforting to know that our children do indeed grow up.

This post ran in my column The Empty Nestin the Frederick News Post on Sunday October 2, 2011.

The First Day

When you have kids, you typically go to great lengths to plan for their arrival. You recognize that certain activities in your life will give way to family events—preschool performances, dance recitals, sporting events, scouting programs, birthday parties…the list goes on. Family time becomes the focus of your daily scheduling. What you don’t plan for, and what takes you by surprise, is their departure.

The night before, we packed up all of the things that she would need. We carefully placed each item in her bag. There was the first check, the second check, and ultimately the last check. Did she have everything? I was sure she did. When I walked into her room to kiss her goodnight, all the goodnight kisses of the past came flooding into my brain. Where had the time gone? My little girl was all grown up.

The next morning the entire family piled into the car. I think parents and daughter alike were both excited…and nervous. I bit my bottom lip to make sure that the flow of tears didn’t begin before we dropped her off. The drive seemed to take forever. It was a very long five miles. I worried if she would be all right, if they would treat her kindly. Would she be able to open her lunch box all by herself? The knot inside my stomach continued to grow.

As we pulled into the parking lot, parents and children were holding hands, hugging, and smiling. There were backpacks and lunch boxes. I helped my baby girl out of the car as my husband gathered her bags. We all held hands as we crossed the parking lot to the door. I felt like I was in a time warp. It didn’t seem real.

When we finally reached the door to the school, I stroked her hair and held her face as I willed myself not to cry. As she watched all the other children, I noticed the excitement in my daughter’s eyes. She was ready to go. It was time. I hugged her and kissed her cheek, and then she was gone. She rushed to join the flow of children entering the school building.

What would I do now? My baby was gone. She was all grown up! Tears welled in the corner of my eyes. I looked back at the door to the school and wondered about what she might be doing and how she was getting along. Somehow I forced myself to begin the long walk back to the car.

Then I looked down at my son and quickly realized that there was still work to do! Number two had quite some time before this day would come for him. My job as Mommy was not as far done as I was beginning to think. There were still so many adventures to come. Kindergarten was just the beginning!

The Peace of Labor Day

When you have kids, you typically go to great lengths to plan their arrival. You recognize that certain activities in your life will give way to family events—preschool performances, dance recitals, sporting events, birthday parties…the list goes on. Family time becomes the focus of your daily scheduling. What you don’t plan for, and what takes you by surprise, is their departure. I’ve been talking recently with friends as they are making plans to take their “babies” off to college. It made me recall my experiences.

Labor Day 2004. A long three-day weekend. Both of the kids were home. My son had just completed his summer program at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy, and my daughter was home for the long weekend before she became engrossed with her senior year of college. Just the family.

I usually don’t enjoy cooking, but when the whole family is at home, cooking is something that I rarely mind doing. Setting the table for all four of us somehow makes me feel quite happy. Saturday and Sunday I cooked a big breakfast. After we ate, we sat and the table and talked and laughed for quite some time.

We spent time out by the pool—lots of quality family time. The end of summer was fast approaching, but we enjoyed summer’s pleasures that weekend. Crabs, baseball, sunshine, and swimming.

It went by all too fast. Monday morning we loaded up the car with all of my son’s gear and would soon be on our way to the train station at BWI airport. He was off to begin his freshman year of college. It was an exciting time. But as I stood at his bedroom door and gazed at the things that were so much a part of his growing up, it was a sad time. “Come on, Mom,” I heard my son bellow, “we’ll be late!”

I stood on the platform and watched that train until it was no longer visible. Then my husband and I got back in the car for the return trip home. Our daughter was still there, packing up for her ride back to college. We helped her pack up the car, hugged and kissed her, and then watched her back out of the driveway and head down the road.

That’s when it hit me. I turned to my husband and realized that it was just the two of us. We held hands and walked back into our empty nest. I know that there were tears in my eyes, but by the time we had settled into our chairs in the family room to finally read the newspapers from the weekend, I felt strangely at peace. This was the way it was supposed to be. We had prepared our kids to go off and do wonderful things, to learn, and to live. It was time for us to do the same thing.

I think it was then that I realized I had about three chapters to read for my master’s class. My homework was calling me. It was once again time to start down a new road to adventure!

This blog post appeared as my column, The Empty Nest, in the Sunday September 5, 2011, edition of the Frederick News Post.

Student Ambassadors

Every two summers I travel with a group of my students to Europe. I find that the experience makes them better students and that they grow and mature in immeasurable ways during the trip.

This summer was my travel summer. I was off with a group of seventeen for a two week tour in France and Italy. Prior to our departure, I always emphasize to my students that while they will be traveling and seeing many things, they also serve as ambassadors from the United States in every little thing that they do and say while abroad. For many of the Europeans that they encounter, my students are the very first “real” Americans that they meet. The students are not the stereotypical television characters that Europeans see on the U.S. sitcoms that are broadcast there. They’re real.

I took another group of "real" American teenagers this year, and I was quite proud of how they represented our country. After a few days in Paris, even my Latin students were greeting the Parisians with a smile and a “Bonjour.” All of my dear students attempted to order their food in French, and they smiled big smiles and replied with a heartfelt “merci” when they were understood.

My students met folks in southern France and in Italy with smiles and laughter. They waved and greeted cheerfully people that we passed in train stations and in public parks. They were prompt and polite.

Sometimes American travelers are viewed by natives in other countries as loud and rude. Many Americans travel to other lands expecting English to be spoken to them. They expect things abroad to be like they are at home. We Americans have also been fed the message for so long that “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” and that tends to be the vacation motto for many of us. But what happens in other countries helps to form an image of what Americans are really like, and that’s why I stress to my students the importance of their behavior while we travel.

One of my students even came to me during the trip to tell me that she had experienced rude American teenagers herself and that she completely understood my message of student ambassadorship. All of the students became increasingly aware of their noise levels in hotels and public places. They even monitored each other’s respectful behavior.

The U.S. was very well represented by this group of students from Catoctin High School. They let those that they encountered in Europe know that America’s youth is pleasant, fun-loving, kind, and respectful. It made the trip even more worthwhile.

Simple Lessons Learned Overseas

Every two summers I travel with a group of my students to Europe. I find that the experience makes them better students and that they grow and mature in immeasurable ways during the trip. I often tell people that I come back with a completely different group of students—same bodies, of course, just very changed young people!

This summer was my travel summer. I was off with a group of seventeen for a two week tour in France and Italy. As we landed in Paris, I thought of all the new experiences that awaited my students.

The first adventure was the trip to the ATM. For many of my students, the trip to Europe is their first experience handling their own finances. For some, they blow several hundred dollars the first day, not realizing that their money needs to last for ten to twelve days more. They also learn that the euro and the dollar do not have the same monetary value. When they check bank balances online, this is a quick realization.

Many of my students are very eager to try out their language skills. It’s usually about that time that they realize how very fast people talk. I love the stories about how they used their language skills to find their way back to the meeting place or negotiate a price at an open-air market. Their confidence levels increase dramatically, and their grins let me know that they are quite proud of their accomplishments.

My students also experience new foods. I always tell them that they cannot say that they don’t like something unless they try it. They know that I’ll accept and “I don’t like this” if they’ve experienced it. This trip, I had several brave ones try the escargots in France. They eagerly ordered, but once the plate of shelled creatures arrived at the table, some were a bit hesitant. A few of the boys were the first to try. Their reports of “it’s good” were the springboard for others to try. Not everyone liked, but those who were adventurous did try.

We saw many beautiful sites on the trip, and I think my students began to realize what a wonderful place this world on which we live truly is. They saw natural beauty and the beauty of structures that were thousands of years old. I heard more than once that we didn’t have anything like what they were seeing in the U.S.

The kids traveled by bus, train, plane, and boat. They toted luggage from place to place, and drank and ate many new things. Some things they liked, and some they didn’t, but they experienced them. My students encountered people of different colors who spoke very different languages and wore very different types of clothes, and they began to realize that while people are all very different, we are still the same in so many ways.

And with all of these learning experiences, I also think that they soon realized “there’s no place like home.”

This blog post ran as my column, "The Empty Nest," in the Sunday, August 7th edition of the Frederick News Post.

Take-off

Every two summers I travel with a group of my students to Europe. I find that the experience makes them better students and that they grow and mature in immeasurable ways during the trip.

This summer was my travel summer. I was off with a group of seventeen for a two week tour in France and Italy. We flew out of Dulles International Airport, which for me was not a new experience, but we were excited to be flying on an Airbus 380. The A380 is the world’s largest commercial aircraft and has a seating capacity of 525. Even my airline pilot husband was thrilled about the plane that would be taking us to Europe.

What I hadn’t planned on was my reaction to my students’ experience on the flight. Many of them had never been on an airplane before. Some were scared. Some were excited. When we were called for boarding, we all took our seats on the upper level of the aircraft. I checked to see that all of the kids were in their seats and secured. Then I buckled my own seatbelt as I had so many times before.

The huge aircraft backed out of the gate and began its taxi to the runway. I could hear my students giggle and chatter at the prospect of taking off. I leaned back and smiled. It was so good to hear and feel their excitement.

As the plane picked up speed for takeoff, I turned around to watch my students. I was totally taken off guard by what happened next. My student, Maranda, was seated diagonally from me next to her sister. Maranda had never flown before. As that A380 moved faster and faster, Maranda’s grin grew bigger and bigger. When we lifted off the ground, she squealed out an announcement that we were in the air. The shear delight in her eyes was priceless.

That’s when I started to cry. Takeoffs and landings had become old hat for me. I had forgotten the shear wonder of flight. Maranda let me experience it all over again. I felt the plane shift and turn and was once again amazed by something that had become so common place in my life.

Yes, I travel with my students so that they can have rich experiences and learn about other cultures and ways of life, but what they fail to understand is how enriching these trips are for me. I learn and experience things anew by seeing them through my students’ eyes.

Maranda taught me on this trip how special all of the little things in life are and how if we pause and think about all the tiny, wonderful things that happen to us on a daily basis life is indeed a miracle. I learned that I need to pause and take time to smell the roses. There are so many of them around me.

Breaking the News

I knew something was strange the day after Mother’s Day. Early that morning, I had fixed my coffee and sat down in my office to check my email. The first message that I opened was from my daughter. There was no subject in the subject line. That should have been the first indicator that something was up.

I clicked open the email and read what my daughter had written. She said that she and my son-in-law, Bram, were going to have to change their vacation plans and it was important that “we discuss it with you and Daddy.” “Our phone isn’t working,” she continued, “so we were hoping you guys could Skype with us around 10:30.” I immediately replied that that would be fine, I would make sure we were both on Skype at that time.

I hit send, and that’s when I began to realize that something was up. “Why would they have to talk to both of us about their vacation plans?” I thought to myself. It didn’t really matter what they wanted to do for their vacation, they certainly didn’t need to consult us. And since when would my daughter want input from me on something like her plans. So, I picked up the phone and dialed her number in The Netherlands. It must have rung fifteen times. “That’s odd,” I thought, “We just spoke yesterday and the phone was working fine.”

About an hour later, I tried calling again. Just like before, the phone rang repeatedly with no answer. I thought about sending her another email, but I reasoned that we would discuss the matter in just a few hours, so I could wait.

But in truth, I couldn’t wait. Something was going on, and in my gut, I knew it. What vacation plans did they have that might possibly affect me and my husband? They were due to come home in September, but there weren’t any plans that we had that couldn’t easily be changed. She could have simply said what she needed to in an email or when we spoke on Mother’s Day.

My husband and I were in the truck heading back to the house after some errands when it hit me. “She’s pregnant,” I said. “That has to be it.” Tim thought that I had completely lost my mind. “How do you get that she’s pregnant from vacation plans?” he asked. But deep in my heart, I knew that I was right.

By the time we got into the house and turned on the computer, I had several emails and Facebook messages from my daughter. We were late. It was 10:40pm her time. We signed on to Skype and were greeted with various pleasantries. “OK,” I finally said. “Tell me about these vacation plans.”

“We can’t come home for Christmas this year,” my beautiful daughter was saying. “The baby is due on the 20th.” And with that my dream for the past three years was fulfilled. I’ve been practicing and preparing to be a grandmother. Now it was really going to happen. What a gift!

Daddy's Little Girl

Since my daughter and son-in-law told us that we were going to be grandparents, I have enjoyed watching the various phases that my husband is going through.

Not long after we got the call from our daughter, my husband sat in his recliner and out of the blue said, “Our baby is going to have a baby.” I’m not really sure that he believed it was possible. It wasn’t so much that our baby was pregnant, but I think he was stunned that we were old enough to actually be grandparents.

It seems like it wasn’t very long after that he mentioned his back ache. Sometimes it takes him a bit longer to get going in the morning. And he keeps asking about the “old guy” in the pictures with me. His impending grandparenthood is quickly aging him!

But yet sometimes he acts like he’s getting younger. He babbles about games that we can play with our grandbaby, and he reminisces about some of the best movies we watched with our children. I can see him planning the schedule of play time with the grandchild.

He gets excited, and then his realistic self steps in. “The baby’s not here yet,” he’ll tell me. He reminds me that I shouldn’t keep making all of these plans. She’s just finishing her first trimester…things can happen.

Then there are those quiet pensive times when I’m certain that he’s asking himself the same thing that I keep asking myself. Where did all that time go? It seems like twenty-eight years have just flown by.

I watch him gaze at our baby girl. I know that he just wants to hold her a bit longer. Just like I do. Our baby. And yet, I know that he is as excited as I am. We get to share that special joy of parenting with her, and with our son-in-law.

Now, we just have to come up with names! What do we want this new baby to call us? On to the first challenge of grandparenting!

My Baby's Baby

I was thrilled when my daughter told us that she wouldn’t be home for Christmas this year. Thrilled because the reason she can’t travel is the arrival of our first grandchild! Yes, my baby is having a baby. When I heard my daughter tell us that our special gift was due to arrive on December 20th, I was elated. We talked, we planned, and we giggled. After we hung up the phone, it hit me.

Where has all that time gone? Has it really been more than twenty-eight years since I felt those flitters and movements that told me I soon would be joining the motherhood club? It doesn’t seem quite possible.

I get lost thinking about the little blonde girl who would squeeze my hand as she toddled her first steps, and her huge grin when she was finally able to let go. All of those nights that we cuddled up to read a good book keep flooding my mind. I remember the teething and the sleepless nights, the toothless grins and the squeals of laughter.

It was over twenty-eight years ago when the doctor announced that we had a little girl. My husband and I held each other, and then came that moment that forever changed my life. The nurses handed me that little bundle, and I looked down at my daughter for the very first time. More than twenty-eight years. It seems impossible.

Her first ride on a bicycle, the first day of school. I see all of those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I packed in lunches. The school field trips, the loose teeth, and yes, the broken bones. Memories of school plays and concerts, birthday parties and sleepovers.

Then there was high school. The first date. Those first times that she drove solo in the car were filled with anxiety and fear. Graduation with all of its excitement, and then that drive to drop her off at college. It all went so fast. It seems like just a blink.

Then I think of what joy being a parent has brought to my life. It’s something that I’ve wanted for her since that day her father walked her down the aisle. My baby’s going to have a baby, and the joy of parenthood is soon to fill her life. How lucky for me that my life will also be filled with the joy of watching my beautiful daughter grow into her new role as Mommy. It truly is the circle of life.

A Teacher and A Friend

Teachers and other faculty members roam our schools every day. As students, we might not encounter each of them in the classroom, and yet they can still have a tremendous influence on us.

One such teacher at Westminster High School in the late 70’s was Marilou Grout, or ML as she was often called. Mrs. Grout was never my classroom teacher. She came to the school my junior or senior year, but she did manage to become a very respected friend. Mrs. Grout was the advisor for the Speech and Debate club. Since I was hoping to go to law school, I thought some practice with this club might be beneficial for me, so I signed up to join.

ML was a great coach! She took us on adventures to competitions. She coached us, she taught us, and she loved us. ML was also a great cheerleader. And we wanted to win…for her. I spent my senior year of high school as a very proud member of the Speech and Debate club.

Well, ML was also an actress and a director. She invited me to audition for a show that she was directing called Dark of the Moon. She convinced me that it would be fun and that it was a really good show. So, I agreed. And she cast me in the female lead!

It was great fun working with her and the other cast members that summer. I learned things about myself that I never imagined. ML was a great director. She was energetic, enthusiastic and extremely patient. The show went extremely well, and not long after the production closed, I was on my way to my freshman year of college.

ML and I kept in close contact during my college years. In fact, she submitted my name to be a judge at a Speech and Debate competition in Wisconsin. At that time, my younger sister was on the team, so we all set out for a trip to Milwaukee for the tournament. I was so proud that ML had enough confidence in me to judge. It was a great trip, and we became even better friends.

Now, ML was married to a particular Groutie, Phil Grout, a photographer. Phil was an amazing photographer, and so in my last year of college, I asked Phil a very special favor-to be the photographer at my wedding. I felt so close to the two of them, and it meant so much to me that he was there.

After the wedding, we left Maryland because of my husband’s service in the Navy. I lost contact with the Grouts. There was an occasional word from my parents or friends that they had seen them at the mall or at the Fair. ML called once after she left teaching, but there wasn’t any real contact until Facebook. I found ML and Groutie on Facebook! We’re back in touch and planning to meet up for lunch or dinner.

I had never had a teacher become a close friend. And when I did, I realized that teachers are human! And they’re really nice humans! Nice humans who dedicate their lives to the education of young people. I am truly grateful to my teachers for their time, their dedication…and yes, their friendship!

Miss Wentz

I teach French at a high school and at a university. I love teaching French. I love the language and the culture, but French didn’t have a real significance for me until I met a certain lady in the fall of 1974.

My parents had moved the family from the metropolitan area of Baltimore County to the rural farmlands of Carroll County. I was not at all pleased. We were living in the sticks! I could no longer walk to my friends’ houses. I had no freedom to come and go as I pleased. The house my parents purchased was miles from any civilization.

That fall, I began school as a freshman at Westminster High. Since I had taken French I in the eighth grade, I was placed in a French II class. I was the only freshman in the class because in Carroll County foreign language classes were not offered until high school. So, the first day of class, I hesitantly entered the classroom of Miss Rachel Wentz. Little did I know that day that this woman would have a tremendous impact on my life.

Rachel Wentz loved French, the language, the culture, the people. She loved everything about France, and it was evident the moment she opened her mouth. Her classroom was one of the best places in the world! We sang in French, we spoke in French, we read in French. Sometimes we would even discuss politics…in French! It was an amazing place to be.

I continued studying French through my senior year. I was one of three students in French V my last year of high school. That fall, Miss Wentz announced that she was organizing a trip to France for her students. She passed out papers about the trip, and for the rest of the day going to France was the only thing I could think about.

That afternoon, I rushed home to deliver the trip paper to my parents. I begged and pleaded to be able to go to France. My father took the paper and said that he would have to think about it. I prayed and prayed and was about to offer burnt offerings when one evening my parents came into my room and told me that they had decided that the trip to France would be my graduation present! I was going to France! And not only was I going to France, but my chaperone would be none other than my amazing French teacher!

That spring at graduation, I was given the foreign language department award for outstanding achievement in French. The award was presented to me by the department chairperson, Mrs. Reifsnider, who said to me “I never had you as a student, but Miss Wentz said you were wonderful!” And I thought Miss Wentz was pretty wonderful, too!

That summer, I spent ten days in Europe with Miss Wentz. She spoke French with every person she encountered on the street. She encouraged us to use our French, and when the group that I was spending my free afternoon with in Paris got lost, I did use my French! It was an amazing trip, one I knew that I would remember for the rest of my life.

I went on to college and majored in French because I got good grades. My original intent was to go to law school. But things happen and life changes. I think of Miss Wentz almost every day when I’m teaching. I sometimes ask myself what she might have done in certain situations.

Great teachers affect us tremendously. I am grateful for those whose classrooms I was able to share.

This post appeared in my column "The Empty Nest" on June 5, 2011 in the Frederick News Post.

Mrs. Hook

I thought this month that I would reflect on teachers who influenced me during my formative years. Today I would like to introduce you to my second grade teacher, Mrs. Hook.

It was a terribly difficult time for me. I was away from the home I loved and I was struggling with relationships. Yes, the second grade at Berkshire Elementary School was a difficult period in my life.

I remember sitting in the classroom and wishing that I could be at home, playing with my Mommy and my little sister and brother. They were able to do fun things while I was stuck suffering at school. A sick tummy often greeted me in the morning as I was anxious about having to go to that horrid place.

I was having a rough time with a certain Robin Horn. She simply would not say that I was her best friend. It was so important for me to have a best friend, and I thought Robin was the perfect one. She had the nerve, however, to tell me that she had other friends that she was considering for the title of Best. When I cried at recess about this, Mrs. Hook, my second grade teacher, hugged me and told me that it was possible for someone to have several very good friends, and that she knew that Robin and I were very good friends. She made me smile.

And Mrs Hook loved to read! Each afternoon after lunch time and recess, we would all gather on the rug near her rocking chair and she would read to us. I have to admit that this did make all of the stress and anxiety about going to school worth it. Mrs. Hook read us some of the most wonderful books. Mr. Popper’s Penguins, The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking and my absolute favorite, Charlotte’s Web.

I would sit on the carpet with all of the other children in my class, and we would listen to her read about Wilbur and Charlotte and their friendship. Mrs. Hook would change her voice for all of the characters. It was such fun to hear her read the part of Templeton the Rat. We would giggle and laugh when she read his lines.

Mrs. Hook brought all of those characters to life in that classroom. She mesmerized us with those books. I began to admire her for all of her energy and enthusiasm when it came to reading and literature. Her love of books inspired her to lead her students on wonderful journeys.

My teacher must have seen the light in my eyes as she read aloud to us. She must have felt my longing to play those characters. That fall, I learned that I had been chosen to play the lead in the school’s annual Christmas play, Mother Goose’s Christmas. Yes, I was to be Mother Goose! A second-grader in the lead! I was to find out later that it was Mrs. Hook who recommended me for the role. She saw that sparkle in my eye and heard it in my voice when I read out loud in class. She told the play’s director that I was a natural!

There was a fifth grader who was cast in the role of Santa Claus. He was somewhat threatening as he had been in the school Christmas play his entire elementary school career. He was loaded with experience and enjoyed sharing with me how terrifying it would be to be on the stage in front of all our schoolmates!

After the school performance, Mrs. Hook found me backstage. She gave me a big hug and told me how proud she was of me. My classmates were thrilled to have a “star” in their midst.

I managed to somehow make it through the second grade and go on to bigger and better things, but it was teachers like Mrs. Hook who made school worth all the hassles. She truly loved her job and the students she taught. I love books and reading, and occasionally being in a show, to this day.

Teachers have a tremendous impact on our lives, whether we realize in the classroom or if it takes forty-some years. The delayed realization makes it difficult to say thank you. But Mrs. Hook, if you’re out there somewhere, please know that your efforts were much appreciated, and I learned so much about life in the second grade!

Sunday Mornings and Church

Early on in our marriage, my husband and I started going to church every Sunday. It was a tradition that we continued once our children were born. Recently as I was preparing a column about rules and raising children, I asked my son if there were particular rules that he remembered growing up. “Church on Sunday mornings,” he said almost immediately.

Now early on in their lives, church on Sunday mornings was not a difficult thing for my children. In fact, I think they even looked forward to it. Sunday School was obviously the best part of going to church. They were able to play and color and spend time with friends. The church service, on the other hand, was a bit tough.

I remember packing cookies and crayons with paper and even small toys into my purse each Sunday morning. Anything to keep them occupied, especially my son, during the sermon. When my husband was away on a trip, and the three of us headed off to church without him, I had a particular concern. I would often sing with the choir, and having the kids sit by themselves until the anthem was over was a continual worry for me. Tiffany would sit and play or color, but Timmy would often take self-guided tours of the sanctuary—and he typically waited to begin his tour until the choir had begun to sing.

One particular Sunday morning, Timmy decided to explore the altar during the anthem. He even ventured behind the curtains just beyond the altar. I could hear the snickers of the members of the congregation above the morning music, and I grew sick. I prayed that the choir director would up the tempo of the music just a bit so that we would finish more quickly. Finally, when the music had ended, I tried to sneak out of the choir loft without being noticed. I hunched over and practically crawled behind the altar to retrieve my child. I was probably at least a dozen different shades of red as I carried him back to the pew where Tiffany was quietly seated.

But we stuck with our rule. Church every Sunday morning. That is until the kids reached high school. Then we sort of lost our stamina. Waking up two teenagers on a Sunday morning (usually the only morning of the week that they could sleep in) became increasingly difficult. We bargained and agreed on an every other week schedule. They loved youth group and activities like that, anything at the church that didn’t involve an early wake-up call was acceptable, but Sunday morning services were another thing!

I remember listening at one point to an expert on child rearing, and he said to be careful in choosing your battles with rules. Sometimes it was acceptable to bend and at other times it wasn’t. As I got older, and my kids did, too, I realized that this was one of the battles on rules that would be flexible. The flexibility made the entire family much happier and Sunday mornings much more peaceful!

Money in the Jar

Recently I was talking with a friend about raising children and we inevitably discussed the Tiger Mom book and how some Chinese mothers parent. The discussion prompted me to think about some of the rules that my husband and I had implemented in the house when our children were growing up.

My dear son had an issue with using foul language. I think it began when we saw one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies. Within the first five minutes of the film, one of the turtles said, “damn!” My son thought that was pretty awesome and he started saying the word at any opportunity. If I couldn’t find something at the grocery store, or if I dropped something, my son would mimic his turtle hero.

Over the years he picked up other choice words from various sources, and controlling his language became a concern for my husband and me. I had read about reinforcing behavior by removing privileges. So we tried that. We took away video games, outings with friends and other things that we thought our son treasured. Nothing seemed to work.

At about the age of five, my son began to realize the importance of money, and he soon grew to love money! Especially if it was his. Since we had already tried removing other things from his daily routine and they didn’t work, we decided to hit him in the pocket when his language was inappropriate.

Fees were set for various words. A particularly bad word would cost twenty-five cents. Something less offensive might cost a dime. We found an old jar and made the jar the bank for all fines collected. At collection time, my son would hold tightly to his precious coins before he finally released them into the jar. It was painful for him to bid farewell to those friends.

Even my daughter was in on the sentencing. They would be in the playroom playing and I would hear her say, “Timmy, that’s ten cents to the jar!” She would then come to inform me of the fine so as to insure its collection.

Now the real kicker was that he would never reunite with those precious coins that he released so reluctantly into the jar. At the end of each year, we would tally the amount of fines paid. It was then my son’s decision as to which charity the money would be donated. Since the tally date was usually around Christmas, he often opted for Christmas Cash for Kids or the Food Bank. His fines always went to a worthy cause.

The jar stayed in the house, prominently displayed, until my son reached high school. The total amount collected each year began to dwindle. One year, we didn’t even total the fines, we just let them run into the next year. Eventually my son learned his lesson, that is until he went off to a military school where he picked up a sailor’s mouth!

Emergency Service Volunteers

In honor of National Volunteer Week, April 10-16, I thought I would share some of my wonderful experiences with volunteerism.

Last February, I had the opportunity to meet some folks who volunteer with the Brunswick Volunteer Ambulance Association. It wasn’t an opportunity that I had planned. It happened quite by chance.

Since my husband was away on a trip, my dog and I decided to have a pizza party! We do this frequently. We called the local pizza joint and ordered a medium pepperoni pizza. The feast of pizza occurred while I was watching the television news reports. Belle ate her pizza out of her bowl on the floor, and I had mine as I sat on the sofa. It was a grand time.

About forty-five minutes after we had had our dinner, I began to feel a tightness in my chest. It was something that I had never experienced before. I also noticed that might heart rate seemed to be a bit more rapid than normal. Because I was concerned, I decided to open the back door and get some fresh air. I walked around the house for about ten minutes trying to calm myself down and get things back to normal.

When my discomfort continued for more than fifteen minutes, I decided I would call 911 just to chat. I thought the operator would tell me that I was just imagining things and that I would be fine in a few moments. I was quite surprised when she asked me to go to the front door and unlock the storm door. “The ambulance is on its way,” she said. I assured her that it would just be a matter of time before I felt better, but she stayed on the line with me until I could see the ambulance at the corner of the street.

The EMT’s came very calmly into the house and greeted me and Miss Belle. She was quite happy to have company. They took my blood pressure and pulse and watched my breathing. We discussed heart attack symptoms and the tightness in my chest, which had not eased up. All my vital signs appeared to be normal. One of the EMT’s asked if it might be indigestion. I had never had indigestion before. She asked if there might be Mylanta or Tums in the house. I told her that since indigestion had never been a problem that I didn’t keep those things around.

“Baking soda,” she said. “Do you have baking soda?” I showed her to the kitchen and she mixed some baking soda with some water and told me to drink it all. We returned to the living room where the other volunteer ambulance members were. I sat on the sofa and then let out an enormous belch. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. “How does the tightness feel now?” she asked. I belched one more time and was delighted to tell her that it was gone.

That’s when the real feelings of foolishness kicked in. I had these wonderful, caring people in my living room because I had indigestion and didn’t know it! They all assured me that it had been wise to call and that situations like that are precisely why they are on duty. “We prefer these types of calls,” one of the EMTs said.

I know that that night I was very grateful that Brunswick was blessed with such a dedicated group of volunteers. People who are willing to give their time and efforts to provide a service for the community. Be sure to thank the volunteers near your home this month. They truly are lifesavers!

Goodbye my dear friend

Today my Cody went off to that big range in the sky. I will miss him terribly. He was a good friend.

Cody was a carrot fiend. He loved carrots! Of course, he never turned down apples, though. They were just as good to my big guy as those carrots. Cody would sniff your pockets when you went down to the barn, expecting a treat. He could spy the treat bag from a distance and was waiting at the gate to greet you if you were carrying that bag.

Cody was also a big lug. When we went riding in the back field, he'd try to head off to the barn when he got tired and thought the ride was over. Not much for work, he liked to just graze in his field.

Cody was a champion, too! We got at least one white ribbon (4th place, and a few pinks (5th) in our career of competition. I always felt badly if we placed though. It meant taking a ribbon from a nine or ten year old little girl and her horse!

Cody was in the newspaper once, picture and all. We used him as the horse for Don Quixote when the Fredericktowne Players did "Man of La Mancha."

Cody's best buddy was Sebastian. They lived together for several years before they even came to our place. And they were here together grazing in the field for some twelve or thirteen years. Sebby died in August of 2007. Cody took his death rather hard, and so in the spring of 2008, we brought Cocoa to the house to be Cody's new buddy.

In the spring of 2010, Cody was diagnosed with Cushings disease. He lost a tremendous amount of weight during the winter of 2009-2010. So he went on a daily treatment of pergolide. I was never able to put the weight back on him. He hated the weight grower the vet put him on. I would mix it in with his sweet feed, and he somehow manged to get all the sweet feed out and leave the stuff that he didn't like!

I spent sixteen years with that horse, and he leaves me with a hole in my heart. A good friend he was. Rest in peace my buddy.

Hospital Volunteers

In honor of National Volunteer Week, April 10-16, I thought I would share some of my wonderful experiences with volunteerism.

I have been a volunteer with the Frederick Memorial Hospital Auxiliary for almost fifteen years. Each time that I work my volunteer shift, I am continually amazed by the dedication and service of the hundreds of green vest wearers that assist our community. Volunteers greet patients and guests, assist families, sell cards and flowers in the gift shop, raise needed funds for hospital purchases, and are just generally very busy people.

One of those volunteers, whose energy supply I believe is limitless, is Wendy Brundage. I first met Wendy back in 2003 when I agreed to serve as co-chairperson for the Auxiliary’s annual Snow Ball. Wendy was full of new and creative ideas. She ventured to use new vendors and found different and interesting ways to increase the revenue from the event. The following year, when it was my turn to chair the ball, I tried to fill the shoes she left behind, but I had neither the creativity nor the energy to adequately fit the bill.

Wendy went on to serve as President for the Auxiliary. She carried that same energy and innovation with her to the organization’s leadership position. One of the things that never failed to impress me with Wendy’s work was how her family took up the charge and served right along side her. Daughter Katie chaired one of the Snow Ball committees and was mom’s right hand assistance. Even Wendy’s mother was on hand to offer assistance in any capacity that she could. John, Wendy’s husband, was even part of the act. Wendy recruited everyone in her household as well as those in the neighborhood.

An element of volunteerism that often goes unnoticed is the families of volunteers. Whether they are active volunteers themselves or not, they become helpers in the cause. Many people give countless hours of service to our community but are only enabled to do so because of the support that they get at home. I know that even my poor husband has been recruited to help with mailings and running errands. His assistance is something for which I am eternally grateful.

Our community is filled with people who are more than willing to give of their time and of themselves to make the area where we live a better place. The next time you enter Frederick Memorial Hospital, look for a green vest. They’re everywhere. And with that green vest, I am sure that you will find a smiling face that accompanies it. If you are not already a volunteer in our area, consider joining the forces. It is not only rewarding, but you get to meet some amazing folks!

I do like spring. It’s right up there with fall in terms of my favorite seasons. I love the flowers that spring brings. The problem with spring has always been determining her exact arrival date. There have been years when she hasn’t shown up until well into April. I always cross my fingers and hope that she will appear in early March, but that is often wishful thinking.

My college students were duped by Miss Spring very recently. We had a few days of balmy temperatures, and my dear educated students showed up wearing shorts and flip-flops to class. “You silly children,” I told them, “Miss Spring doesn’t show up in February!” They were insistent that the groundhog had determined that she would appear early this year. But I knew better, I have much more experience with the fickle girl!

For many years, my son and I have ventured to Florida for a few days to catch some baseball spring training. Spring has definitely shown her face to Floridians by March. I feel a bit of guilt as I pack my shorts and short-sleeve shirts for our trip. I know that my friends and colleagues will be sporting heavy sweaters, coats and hats while I venture south. I sit in the sun during those games and practices. I bask in the glory of sunny skies and warm temperatures.

But I know deep down that it’s only temporary. When I board the plane to head back north, I am uncertain about what kind of weather will face me when I exit the airport. It’s usually in the airport that I change from shorts to more appropriate clothes. Sometimes I even have to scrape ice or snow from my car when I finally get there.

One year, we got stuck in Atlanta on March 18th. The reason for the sudden stop in our travels: massive snow storm in the northeast. In March! Surely Miss Spring was enjoying her time in Florida too much to head north. Desperate to get home, my son and I flew into Raleigh, North Carolina, rented a car and drove the rest of the way home. We left any hint of spring once we crossed the state line into Virginia.

I realize that our dear friend in Punxsutawney indicated that we would see spring early this year, but as the first of March is rapidly approaching, I am fearful that once again she will take her time getting here. However, the optimistic me did order twenty-five bags of mulch to be delivered the second weekend in March. You never know, she might indeed decide to surprise us!

One of my students

I was discussing with my reading class today how we as teachers can have a huge impact on our students. I shared the story of one of my experiences with a particular student. I had written a journal entry about Jered a year ago, but never posted it here on my blog. Jered and I are now friends on Facebook and he is a teacher himself. I thought it time that I posted that story. So, here it is...

When I first began my teaching career, I had little idea of the impact I might have on my students. During that first year of teaching, I was asked to help out with a particularly difficult 8th grade music class. Because I loved music, I eagerly accepted an assignment co-teaching with the band/chorus teacher. There were about twenty students in the class, so I thought to myself, "How difficult could this be?". I was eager to begin working with them and hoped to instill in them a love of music.

I was in for a rude awakening that first day of class. Most of the ninety-minute class period was spent on behavior management. We were simply trying to get students to perform the activities that met the objectives of the class lesson. The real difficulty was that there were several students who were very interested in learning about music and there were those who quite obviously were not remotely interested in learning anything. To say that class was a disaster would be kind. It made me doubt whether or not I wanted to return. So the other teacher and I began creating our master plan to engage the students and make them want to learn. We drafted a behavior management plan and with the blessings of our administrator, we were off.

For a few weeks, the plan worked. The students were singing, discussing dynamics and harmonies, and it seemed-ever so briefly-that they were learning. After each class, my colleague and I would discuss activities that were working and those that were not. We would adjust things and re-adjust. I felt like progress was being made. We even began to plan for the students’ participation in the county wide choral adjudication. And that’s when the explosion occurred.

It wasn’t really an explosion. It was more like a very dramatic mutiny. Behavior that week went ballistic. My colleague was labeled the good guy-he was responsible for their grading-and I was the wicked witch. Now mind you, I am a theater person and the Wicked Witch has always been one of my favorite roles, just not in this setting. The climate in the classroom by the end of the week was so bad that I walked out. I went directly to the principal’s office and told her I was resigning from the chorus position. She empathized with me and reiterated the difficult demands of the education profession. “Sometimes,” she told me, “we see the results of labors immediately. Sometimes it’s years down the road. And sometimes we never see them. But when we do see them, it makes all the difference.”

That next week, I received a bundle of letters from the students in that chorus class. They apologized for their behavior and asked for another chance. They said they were eager to give their best performance at the adjudication. So, I returned. They pulled off the adjudication and a spring concert with much success. They were very proud of their efforts, and so was I. I saw some of the students on occasion after that year, but those encounters faded off.

Some five or six years later, I was attending a Frederick Keys game and decided to leave early because it was getting cold and I hadn’t prepared for the weather. As I was leaving the stadium and heading to the parking lot, I heard someone call out, “Mrs. Jarman.” I turned around to find Jered, one of the students from that chorus class. “You don’t remember me,” he said. I told him of course I did-how could I forget his class! And then he thanked me. He thanked me for sticking with them, to help them do their best. He said it made a difference for him. In the fall, he would be entering his second year of college on a basketball scholarship. I gave him a big hug. As I walked towards my car, the words of my former administrator rang through my head, “sometimes it’s years down the road.” Yes, I had seen the results of my labors and they made me so happy that I cried the entire drive home.

Mardi Gras

Well, it’s just about time to pull out the Mardi Gras decorations. I’m wondering how many of you decorate for this festive occasion. My son swears that we’re the only people in our community who even recognize the day. But Mardi Gras is a holiday, and this old lady loves a good holiday.

I decorate for any holiday. Of course, there’s Mardi Gras, but there’s also Valentine’s Day, Easter, St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Flag Day, July 4th, Bastille Day-July 14th (the French National Holiday—but I teach French!), Labor Day (celebrated in May in France), Halloween, Veteran’s Day (Armistice Day), Thanksgiving and Christmas.

In December, we hosted a dinner party at our house and I had my menorah displayed on the hutch near my wall hanging that says, shalom. One of my guests pulled me aside and said, “I didn’t realize that you were Jewish.” I explained to her that we weren’t, but it was a holiday and I love decorations!

Now, I don’t just frivolously decorate. It is important to understand why we celebrate holidays. So my students get lessons on the history of Saint Valentine, Saint Patrick, the treaty of Versailles, labor unions, All Saints, Plymouth and other historical and cultural events. So on March 8th, my students will experience a lesson on Mardi Gras that I have created based on all of my research on this holiday.

Mardi Gras is the official end of the carnival season. Carnival begins on Three Kings Day or Epiphany-January 6th. It is the festival of feasting and celebration before the season of Lent. In my classes, we’ll feast on king cake, and I will explain the Mardi Gras colors: purple, green and yellow. Purple representing justice, green is faith, and gold is power. Mardi Gras in French means Fat Tuesday, so it is a time for eating and celebrating. In France, the day is followed by Mercredi Maigre or skinny Wednesday. We call it Ash Wednesday.

Mardi Gras is celebrated in Frederick by the Women’s Civic Club with their Mardi Gras ball. In 2001, my daughter Tiffany had the wonderful experience of being a Mardi Gras princess. Our family spent the evening dancing and smiling. There were masks and Mardi Gras colors, and a wonderful time was had by all.

But even more importantly, Mardi Gras signifies to me the ending of winter and the beginning of spring. We end the days of hibernating in winter to look forward to the glorious days of spring. Happy Mardi Gras!

Home

I've been thinking about family a lot recently. Family is very important to me. I remember years ago at a concert that we performed in Austria both of my beautiful children sang a duet from "The Scarlet Pimpernel." That song means so much to me, and I hope, to them. I just wanted to share that song. I hope that you have your home. I know that I have mine, and for that, I am truly thankful.

From "The Scarlet Pimpernel"

There is a child inside my heart tonight
No one can see that child but you
If I hold on to you too tight, you understand
You hold me too
You are the one who reaches through the dark
When I'm afraid, you warm the air
And, when I close my eyes to sleep
You are my peace, you are my prayer
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I won't let go
Others may leave, but you will still be there
Touching the tears that fill my eyes
When I am lost, you are my light
You are the love that never dies
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I need you so
I will not walk away from you!
I will not let you go!
You're the only home I'll ever know
You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I need you so
I won't let go
You are my home

Valentines and Love: My soulmate

When my husband and I got married almost thirty years ago, we came to an agreement that gifts on anniversaries or Valentine’s Day were not necessary. We decided to simply share some time together and exchange cards that expressed our feelings for each other.

For some reason, I have never felt that my husband needed to give me something to show how much he loved me. I always knew that by the way he lived each day, the way he kissed me every morning, held my hand or my belt loop just so he could touch me. I knew he loved me when he’d get up in the middle of the night to check on a crying child so that I could get my rest. Everything little thing he did told me quite loudly and clearly that he loved me.

So, I never expected gifts. We’d spend a nice quiet evening together on those special days, holding hands and just looking at each other. Then we’d share our cards. I’ve kept every single one of those cards! When we were younger, I’d put dates on them and sometimes include where we had dinner or a little note about what we did.

What always bothered me was the reaction I received when I was asked what Tim got me for Valentine’s Day. My response was always “a card.” Some of my friends were appalled with my answer. “You mean you got absolutely nothing! Not even flowers?”

Now, there’s a story about flowers. I love them, but my dear husband fails to see the purpose of giving a gift that will die. He explained his logic, and I understood. That doesn’t mean I still don’t love flowers! I just don’t expect them as a gift from him. So you can imagine my shock when he came home from a trip once with a bundle of flowers for me.

“What did you do?” I asked him. “Why are you feeling guilty?” I gave him the inquisition. “All the other guys were buying flowers for their wives, so I thought what the heck.” My poor husband didn’t realize that his simple action would bring my wrath upon him. I told him that he never felt flowers were necessary before and that he was obviously trying to hide something from me. Why else would he have so dramatically changed his behavior?

Needless to say, I don’t get flowers any more. That’s another agreement we’ve come to in our marriage! I was content never having received them , and the drama that they caused when I did made the agreement essentially a no-brainer!

This year Tim and I will have a special Valentine’s dinner. We’ll exchange our cards, and when I am asked by those friends what gift I received, I will tell them that I didn’t get flowers or chocolates or jewelry, but I have the gift of love from my husband. A gift that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

Valentines and Love: My Children

Love comes to us in many shapes and I think that love is an appropriate topic for the month of February. Recently, I’ve been thinking about all of the different loves in my life, and I can’t help but think of the love I feel for my children. Love between a parent and child can be a very deep love.

I remember when my children brought me special gifts to share their love for me. There were the hand-made paper cards, the bouquets of dandelions, the hand-painted crafts from Sunday School or summer camp. But one of my absolute favorite gifts came from my daughter in the form of an English project when she was in the seventh grade.

Her assignment was to write about her role model. The students could choose any person, and my daughter chose me. Below is one of the most precious gifts I have ever received.

My Role Model
Tiffany Jarman May 1996

My role model is my mother
For me there is no other.
She has always been there for me
To love me and to care for me.
Many a new thing has she taught me.
She makes friends so easily.
She has so many friends
That the list doesn’t come to an end.
Someone of a different religion or race
Never to them has she shown a mean face.
Some of them have handicaps.
Never has she even thought to give them a laugh.
Some are attracted to others of the same sex.
But she just shrugs and says, “What the heck!
That doesn’t make any difference to me!
All are equal anyway.”
They are just as nice and just as smart,
In her life they play a very important part.
After all, everyone is only human.
She is trying to teach me to make friends as easily as she can
She has taught me many important things
Because of her, I feel as though I have wings.
She has shown me how everything I do fits into real life
She has taught me how to deal with stress and strife.
She has encouraged me to do better and more
With her help, I’ve done better than I’ve ever done before.
She always tries new things and always does her best.
She is so much better than all the rest.
My role model is no other
Than my wonderful, loving mother.

That poem hangs in my kitchen to this day. It is a constant reminder to me of the powerful role we play as parents, and how very blessed I have been to have the love of my two beautiful children. I continue to send them Valentine cards every year to celebrate the love I have for them.

Valentines and Love

Love comes in many different ways. Romantic love, unconditional love, and of course the love of true friendship. I have been blessed in my life with some wonderful friends, but I typically don’t associate my friendships with Valentine’s Day.

Last year, my friend Pam sent me a package at Valentine’s Day. When it arrived, I held it in my hand and looked at it for a few minutes before I opened it. “What on earth has she done this time?” I thought to myself. I’ll admit I was a bit surprised when I opened it and found a CD.

My dear friend had made a CD for me full of songs about friendship. There was Bette Midler’s “You’ve Got to Have Friends” and “We Are Family.” The CD was full of songs we had sung together over the years and songs that spoke of the special love of friends.

During our long friendship, my two best girls have become part of my family. My kids refer to them as Auntie Pammie and Auntie Carol. My girls come to family gatherings, birthday parties, weddings, showers and funerals. We share a special bond.

We’ve traveled together often. One of those special trips was supposed to be to Atlanta in the fall of 2001. Airport security had become extremely tight after 9/11, and our flight to Hotlanta didn’t look like such a good idea when an overzealous sports fan jumped the security line and shut down the airport. “Go to the gate agent and ask her to switch our flight to New York,” I told a panicked Pam over the phone on my way to Regan National. Having a spouse who is an airline employee has its advantages when quick changes in flight itineraries are needed.

Within a few short minutes, our weekend trip to the south became a weekend trip to the north. We still laugh about that adventure to this day. Laughter, it’s the spice of life! We had packed for a weekend of hiking and casual outings, only to find ourselves in midtown Manhattan purchasing tickets for a Broadway show. A costume change was seriously needed, but it was nothing that a shopping trip to Macy’s couldn’t change!

We had a blast that weekend. Three best girlfriends having fun wherever they were, making the best of any situation. We’re always there for each other, even if it’s been weeks or months since we’ve spoken. I can depend on my girls, and yes, I love them dearly. We are family!

This blog entry appeared in my column : "The Empty Nest" in the Frederick News Post, Sunday February 6, 2011.

A special friend

In May of 2010, our son brought a very special friend into our lives. Tim adopted a dog through petfinder.com. On a Friday evening in May, we traveled to Martinsburg, WV, to bring Titus home.

Titus was a beautiful brindle-mix who was full of energy and loved life. Titus took advantage of any and every opportunity to play and to chew! He chewed whatever came into his path--shoes, pillows, sofas, chairs. You name it, and Titus chewed it! He loved to play ball and enjoyed the company of other dogs, especially his buddy, Belle.

Titus loved to chase things, too. He'd chase our beagle, Miss Belle, all around the house and the backyard. He'd chase leaves and balls. On the 4th of July, we learned that he loved to chase water coming out of water fountains. Winter brought snow into Titus's life. And he loved snow, rolling in it and tossing it.

Titus loved to eat. He loved ice cream and hamburgers. He loved treats and dog bones. A rustle in the kitchen would send him bounding to see what you were doing.

But Titus really loved my son. They were best buddies. Titus's entire body would wag when he saw Tim. He'd jump and cry. Watching the two of them play in the backyard was always lots of fun. They'd roll on the ground and run.

Titus's life ended all too soon with a tragic accident on January 11, 2011. He will forever be in our hearts. Our friend and my son's special buddy. Rest in peace, Titus. You were truly loved.

Our Girl Guide

If you’re looking to do something fun and exciting this year, you might consider opening your home to guests. We’ve done it frequently in the past and the results have usually been wonderful. One instance when we opened our home was when we offered to provide housing for a Girl Guide from Great Britain during the summer of 1997.

There was no language barrier with Rosemary. She was after all British. But things were very quiet. Every invitation we extended to her for activities or outings, she eagerly accepted. Rosemary participated in so many activities during her stay, but I wasn’t sure how happy she was with us. She never seemed to say anything except “all rightie.” And she would smile. I asked Tiffany if Rosemary had mentioned anything about how she was feeling about the stay with us. Tiff said that Rosemary hadn’t said anything negative, but she hadn’t said anything positive either. She just seemed very agreeable and we had a very pleasant time with her during her stay.

About two weeks after Rosemary left, we received a very lengthy letter from her telling us about the wonderful time she had spent with us and all of the memories she had. She thanked us several times for allowing her to stay. We continued to hear from Rosemary quite frequently after that. In fact, we heard much more from her after her visit than we ever did during her visit!

On a trip to England in 2001, we had lunch in London with Rosemary and met her boyfriend, Nick. We spent a lovely afternoon with the two of them. Letters and gifts from Rosemary continued to arrive. When Tiffany spent a semester in London during her junior year of college, she contacted Rosemary. They spent a lot of time together. In fact, Tiffany attended a family wedding and several other events with Rosemary.

We were thrilled when Rosemary and Nick announced their engagement. Unfortunately, we were not able to attend the wedding, but felt like it was a joyous occasion for a member of our “extended” family. We were able to again rejoice with Rosemary when she finished her doctorate and I heard all about her research on mosquitoes when I visited London in 2009. Rosemary, Nick and I met for a light dinner in Picadilly Circus. Our shy little Girl Guide had grown into a beautiful young woman.

Rosemary and Tiffany now correspond more often. They’re both young wives and have much to share. Rosemary and Nick are now in Kuala Lumpur where Rosemary is doing research, and Tiffany and Bram are living in the Netherlands. They’re both far from home, but can still share their experiences through email and Facebook. My guess is that it will be a lifelong friendship between the two of them. A friendship that came from opening our home to a guest.