We were out to dinner with friends the other night when the topic of wedding anniversaries came up. Actually, in between appetizers and the main course, I brought it up. I knew Paul and Sue’s 40th was next month and wondered how these two would mark the milestone occasion. They traded knowing glances.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Paul volunteered.
Always the helpful soul, I piped up with my trademark suggestion: “You know that’s a diamond anniversary!” My husband Nick rolled his eyes, frowned and then added: “She says that about every anniversary.”
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Claire Yezbak Fadden is an award-winning journalist, columnist and editor. With more than 20 years of published writing experience, her feature articles, columns and essays have appeared in 100 publications across the United States, Canada and Australia.
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Newest Woman@Heart Columns
Stuck
on Sticky
Notes
People often ask: Where do you get ideas for your columns? Well, this one came to me during the cool down after my step class. In between calling out commands to stretch our calf muscles, our young instructor, Sabra, lamented that she’s starting to forget things. “I’m now dependent on sticky notes to keep my life in order,” she groaned as we relaxed the biceps in our upper arms. She feared her gray matter was having too many gray moments.
Friendships Across the Ages
A plaque hanging above my desk reads:
A good friend forgives your faults.
A loving friend doesn’t see any.
Carole, my best friend since ninth grade, gave it to me after we graduated from college. Even though we were both high school freshmen, Carole was a year and seven months older. (Mom snuck this mid-December birthday baby into kindergarten a tad early.) We shared a first-floor locker, worried about who’d ask us to the prom and found our first job at the same self-serve shoe store. Years later, we were in each other’s weddings.
My college-age son, Jake, home for spring break, took his truck in for routine maintenance, leaving him without wheels for the afternoon. So I offered him the use of my car for the day. I was surprised when he opted to walk to his destination instead of grabbing the keys and hopping into my 1997 Mercury Villager.
Sure, it’s not a chick magnet, but it would get him safely from point A to point B. I’ll admit to its tattered history as a part-time meal wagon. The smudges, spots and grease stains imbedded in the fabric seats and carpet are remnants of Taco Tuesdays, sugar donuts and bags of burgers and fries. It doesn’t rack up the style points. There’s no sunroof. The dashboard houses a cassette, not a CD player, the rear air conditioning doesn’t work and sometimes the auto door lock gets confused and unlocks itself. This minivan isn’t sleek, shiny or fast, but for the past 14 years, it’s been reliable, faithful and functional -- just like me.
High School Pals
Claire & Carole
Birthdays On the Bubble.
It wasn't until I saw my husband Nick, standing ankle deep in a wading pool of homemade bubbles that I realized I’d made a mistake. My son Jake, the birthday boy, and several of his 8-year-old pals wouldn’t have agreed. They were running amuck – bubble wands, hoops and blower guns in hand -- puffing, popping and shooting bubble ammo at each other. They stopped occasionally at this plastic oasis to refuel their bubble-making implements.
That’s A Twist
Standing on my yoga mat, I step my legs about three feet apart and point
my right foot forward. My arms form a T and I rotate from my waist sending
my left hand in the air and my right hand sliding down my left leg toward my foot. Patricia, our yoga teacher, encourages us to “Breathe deeply.”
Some 20 minutes earlier, I’d unrolled my mat in line next to Virginia, Marisol and Beatriz, my yoga pals. There’s a bunch of us who weave this bit of “me-time” into our routine. About 30 men and women relying on these bends, twists and stretches to help unite mind, body and spirit.
I stood in our backyard holding the chewed wires of what had been our automatic sprinkler system. Looking up at me was Bandit, our excited, 12-pound rat terrier. Her docked tail wagging to beat the band, she was ready to chase a tennis ball or anything else I cared to throw her way.
Her soulful eyes seemed to say: “What? What’s the problem?”
She didn’t know how much trouble she (and I) were about to be in with my husband, Nick.
Seth, the youngest of my trio of sons, graduates from high school this month. Mixed in with the pride of his accomplishments comes the reality that I’m being demoted. The title that I’ve coveted for so many years – through measles and bowl haircuts, Little League and Halloween carnivals -- will change.
Friendless on Facebook
With the jubilance of Queen’s We Are the Champions playing in my mind, I
dipped my hosted onion ring into a tasty pool of ranch dressing. This was a
moment to savor – collecting on a lunch bet from my long-time friend Tony.
During our nine-year history of pitting our baseball or football teams against
one another, this was one of my few victories. My triumphant mood, though,
was quickly erased like yesterday’s box scores. Replacing it was the
awkward feelings of a skinny fifth grade girl standing on the volleyball court
anxiously waiting to be picked.
The waitress had just refilled our ice teas when Tony said, “I looked you up on Facebook.” In between bites of his cheeseburger he added, “You have one friend.”
High Tech, No Tech
A loud voice shouts from upstairs and shatters my peaceful morning. “Mom, the Internet is down!” A mixture of panic, hysteria and rage powers my teenager’s announcement. To Seth, this is really bad news. His communications center is shut down. To me it’s a minor inconvenience like getting a flat tire, having a power outage or, goodness forbid, a bad hair day.
My mother never had to deal with high-tech emergencies. The closest she came was confronting a telephone party line hog or making sure there was enough coal for our furnace. She did have a solar clothes dryer, though. It was in our backyard and didn’t work on rainy days.
Always the helpful soul, I piped up with my trademark suggestion: “You know that’s a diamond anniversary!” My husband Nick rolled his eyes, frowned and then added: “She says that about every anniversary.”
