A New Gift

Each new year, it’s fun to start off with something new. A new dress, a new pair of shoes. This year, I start with the gift of a new baby. My beautiful granddaughter arrived December 9th and we were thrilled to finally meet her on Friday the 23rd-just two days before Christmas. What a gift!

No, I don’t think I’ll be exchanging this gift. She’s perfect. Ten beautiful fingers, ten beautiful toes, two amazing eyes, and a perfect little nose. She looks just the way that I hoped she would. Gorgeous! And she’s the right size, too! Small enough to squeeze into my carry-on luggage when I try to smuggle her away from her parents! While I’ll admit that I was terribly tempted to try the whole smuggling thing, I passed on the opportunity!

But I did spend some time with my new gift before, during, and after Christmas. I must admit that this particular gift was one that I couldn’t take my eyes off of, and one that I just wanted to hold and look at. Barbra Streisand sings a holiday song called “The Best Gift.” It’s about the best gift being a new born child, and she’s absolutely right!

Now with every gift at the New Year come resolutions about its proper use. I plan to “use” my gift as often as I possibly can. I’ll use her to play games with, to read to, and to talk to. I’ll certainly take lots of pictures of my new gift. In fact, I’ve taken quite a few already. Then there will be quiet times with my new gift when I will just hold her and cuddle her. I have so much to look forward to!

This gift will also be used in another way as I watch my granddaughter’s mother. I think that those moments might be an even more precious gift; watching the little girl whom I raised to raise her own.

When my daughter laughs out loud because her daughter smiles or does something silly -that will be a gift for me. I’ll remember the times when she and I did the same things. I’ll recall how her hair smelled when I drew her into my arms for a big hug. Reliving those special moments through my own daughter’s eyes will be a real gift.

When I watch my daughter tuck her precious one into bed, I’ll celebrate my gift. I’ll know that my baby is experiencing the joy of motherhood. In those brief moments, I’ll recall my own wonder as I watched my babies sleep; the peaceful breathing, and the look of contentment.

So my gift will be quite special in the coming year. I know that she will bring me the same joy all year long that she did that morning I first laid eyes on her. The bonus of my gift will be sharing the joy of motherhood with my own daughter. The miracle of birth, the miracle of a mother’s love, the best gift of the year to me!

The Great Anticipation

Even though she wasn’t due to arrive until December 15th, our little princess decided to make her debut a bit early and appeared on the 9th. Our plans had been made to meet her on the 22nd, and due to some prior commitments, we decided not to change our original plans.

The morning of the 22nd, I was filled with great anticipation! I could not wait to see her face, to touch her hand, to hear her voice. But the fates would not allow us to easily reach our goal.

Due to board a 12:55 flight to Detroit, we were arrived at the gate only to find out that the flight had been delayed. Finally, taking the two last seats on the plane, we stowed our bags and took our seats. I anxiously looked at my watch several times. What could be delaying us?

It was then that the captain came on the PA system and announced that we were “overweight.” Too much fuel had been loaded on the aircraft. The solution was to burn off some fuel on the tarmac. So we sat and sat while the engines revved and revved. Finally, after almost two hours, we took off. We arrived too late for our connecting flight to Amsterdam and had to take a later flight. The time just crawled by!

Finally, we boarded the plane, only to find out that our departure would be delayed by thirty minutes because of an airport curfew. I kept thinking that my baby girl would be finishing her first year of college before I ever saw her!

I slept a few hours on the flight, too anxious and too excited to really rest. As soon as I could, I called my daughter after we landed. She said that the baby had had a rough night and that they were in the midst of a feeding, would it be possible for us to take the train to Amersfoort! Another delay!

We bought our train tickets and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the train to arrive. The forty minute train ride felt like it took forty days. My son-in-law met us at the end of the train platform and led us to their parked car. No baby, and no daughter. They were back at the house. Bram told me it was less than a ten minute car ride to the house, but it seemed like ten hours.

As he pulled up to the curb in front of the house, I don’t even think he had the keys out of the ignition, I was out of the car and on my way to the front door!

I rang the bell, and then impatiently went to look in the front window. There she was nestled on a baby cushion sleeping soundly--the most beautiful sight in the world.

My daughter opened the door, and I pushed her aside as I very sweetly said, “Oh, hello.” I was on a beeline to the living room and that beautiful child. As soon as I touched her the floodgates broke loose. I swept her up in my arms and kissed her beautiful little cheeks at least a hundred times. The anticipation of the holiday, the anticipation of the great joy it brings…yeah, I felt that!

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.