Modern Marriage

I remember when we used to all assume that marriage meant the same things to everyone, and everyone struggled to play the roles assigned to them in the play. Then, Women’s Lib came along and we admitted that not all men can overhaul a carburetor, and not all women are natural nurturers. We now have women going off to war, and men who are quite comfortable with being “Mr. Mom.”

We discovered something remarkable along the way. Men and women can actually stand toe-to-toe as friends. There are lots of jobs to be done in maintaining a family, and someone has to do each job. It may not work in society at large, but in families, the Marxist doctrine of “from each according to their abilities; to each according to their needs” may be better than pretending that the magic of love solves all problems -- and cleans the bathrooms, to boot.

Life is an adventure, and family life is even more so. We need to hold tight to a buddy’s hand as we go into each dark cave of the unknown. Briton and Jeanne have worked as a couple for years now. They know each others abilities and disabilities. They’ve held each others hands and laughed and cried as they fell down, got back up, dusted each other off, and tried again.

I wish we could help them write a contract addressing everything they will face as a couple, but none of us ever know what life will throw our way. What I do know is that we need to continue being there for them as they progress through life as a family. We need to let them know that we still “have their backs.” And they need to continue to be the best of friends.

I know a lot of people think that the golden rule is a great way to run a relationship. I disagree, especially since some of my friends are as thick as bricks about what I want and need. If we do unto others as we would have them do unto us, I may be getting tickets to the Saints game when I’d really rather a day strolling along the lake.

I don’t expect my server in restaurant to guess what I’m in the mood to eat; why would I expect my friends to do so? Richard is fond of saying, “I’ll give you whatever you want; just tell me what you want.” This goes both ways. In everything we undertake as a team, we assign officer and enlisted status, based on whose project we’re doing. Then the officer has to define very clearly how to achieve the desired goal. Makes me think twice before beginning a project…

The standard marriage vows admonishing women to obey their husbands may need a complete overhaul. How about replacing them with the Albert Camus quote, “Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me, and be my friend.”

Gift Giving

The bride and groom arrived and Richard and I took the opportunity to present them with their present in private. Briton was going to marry his long-time girlfriend Jeanne, and I wanted to give them a special gift – something with deep meaning. We gathered on the balcony of Briton’s room for the giving of the gifts. Jeanne did seem a bit puzzled went she unwrapped a roll of duct tape, followed by a fifteen-foot length of rope. After the following explanation, she seemed happy to find that there was also wedding money in the bottom of the bag.

Before Elaine married Bubby, I spent a fair amount of time at her house with her four children. One day, while visiting their home, I observed Briton tormenting his toddler brother Gary by putting a strip of duct tape in the baby’s hair. Gary is my godchild, so I’m rather protective of him. I let Briton know that whatever he did to Gary, I’d do to him.

Shortly after this, I agreed to a week-end trip to the beach with Elaine and her kids. First, I was facing an hour in the car with someone else’s kids. Second, I was staying for two days in a cottage with the same four children. The closer the time of departure got, the more jangled my nerves got. The date arrived, and I had found a cure for my case of nerves.

I picked Elaine’s family up in my van, informing the kids that it was my van, so it was my rules. I expected them to behave. I also let them know that I was armed – with rope and duct tape. We proceeded to the beach without incident.

The following morning began with Gary’s blood-curdling scream coming from the children’s room. Peeking into the room, I found Briton on top of his brother. Without any warning, I flew across the room, tied Briton up with my handy rope, and put him in the cottage closet. Elaine and I took the other kids out of the room, leaving Briton alone in the closet. Upon our return, Briton was out of the closet, beaming. “Aunt Yvette,” he said, “That was fun. Do it again.”

It then dawned on me that we were dropping Briton off at school at the end of the week-end. I could just hear him when asked how he spent his week-end. “Well, my aunt took me to a hotel and tied me up.” I’m sure that people have been arrested for less.

Briton is extremely passionate about life, and may sometimes need to be gentled. We hope Jeanne never has to use it, but it’s good for a new bride to have some hope of keeping her husband in line.

Best Friends Forever

The way life works, you just never know who will end up being your best friend forever. How was I to know when I walked into the governor’s mansion selling seafood over thirty years ago that Holly and I would bond for life? She became one of the only friends I could share my family with while living in Atlanta. Only Holly enjoyed the river rafting and camping with my kids that I needed a buddy to do. My kids are grown with kids of their own, but sharing them meant baring and sharing our souls. The people who help raise your kids are soul sisters (and brothers) in a special kind of eternal way.

Elaine and I became bonded forever in September of nineteen sixty-five. With forty-four years of friendship, she’s my longest lasting soul sister and my only blood sister with different parents than I had. My four other sisters shared my blood by default. Her children are my children; my children are her children. She fixed me up with Richard; I fixed her up with her husband, Bubby. I was with her when she received her last child into her arms; she was with me when Richard received his new heart. How could we not attend each other’s children’s weddings?

Getting to Holly’s we were driving toward a hurricane, which didn’t bother Richard who told Jack that was because he (Richard) travels with a hurricane. The trip to Alabama began with an ominous cloud cover, but by the end of the drive, at the end of the day, we were headed directly into the blinding sun. We’re now in Alabama for the wedding of Elaine’s oldest child, Briton. The ceremony is scheduled to be outside at the water’s edge, so we’re grateful that the weather is promising to cooperate.

Elaine, Bubby, Richard and I began our reunion with meeting for a meal at a very quaint old restaurant in Point Clear called the Wash House. For the first time, I tasted tomato grits, which were even better than cheese grits. The service was wonderful, and the food was very good, but we could have just as soon eaten at a McDonald’s for as much attention as we gave the fare -- except for Bubby’s insistence that we go to a restaurant without a bunch of kids. After raising six of the little critters, Bub wants a respite before the next set of grandkids comes along.

After dinner, we returned to The Grand Hotel which is hosting the wedding. Here we sat for hours --outside, with a breeze blowing off the bay, warming ourselves around patio fire pits, toasting our friendship, our spouses, our children, and our grandkids. The long-burning glow of our memories could probably have kept us warm, but the fire was, none-the-less, nice.

Elaine is talking about retiring in less than two years. To begin this new phase in our lives, we’re planning a European victory trip together. Elaine is a very artistic person with little time to nurture her talents. So, to give her extra incentive to carry out her retirement plan, I’m plying her with promises of classes in all the arts and crafts practiced by our new and very talented friends in Coker Creek.

Like the Girl Scout song says, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, but the other’s gold.”

Perfect Practice Makes Perfect

One of Richard’s favorite sayings is “Practice doesn’t make perfect; perfect practice makes perfect.” He must really believe this because he creates protocols for everything he does, including leaving the house for a road trip. He has a list on his computer that he prints and uses as a checklist as he loads the car and secures the home front. Richard’s toiletries - check. Richard’s clothes – check. Adjust thermostat – check. Navigation system in car – check. We rarely leave and have those “Did I turn off the iron?” moments.

Our over-the-hill neighbors take care of our pets when we leave town. Richard has a protocol for getting our pet supplies ready for our pet sitters. It’s nice for me that I don’t have to worry that in the middle of my drive to wherever, I’m going to have a panic attack wondering if I remembered to put out the cat food.

Our first stop was Atlanta to deliver donations to the family members who lost all their household possessions in a flood. Holly and Don have been receiving donations, so we added an overnight visit with them to our mission of mercy. The plan was that Richard and Don were to drop me off for a haircut while they made the donation deliveries.

We had driven through rain all the way to Atlanta, and Don wasn’t at home when we arrived. Their second floor guest room overlooks the hardwoods that were shimmering with raindrops on the last of the fall foliage. I couldn’t resist the temptation to let ourselves in and nap through the rainy afternoon. One of my favorite sayings is “Tomorrow is another day.” -- Besides which, we have to pass relatively close to the flooded family’s new residence on our way out of town. And I can always put my hair in a bun.

Holly is the chef for the Georgia governor’s mansion, and she and Don usually cook for us. But, their house is in the process of being put back together after a full house interior paint job, so Richard offered to take us all out to dinner. Aspen is a good steakhouse owned and operated by a local husband and wife team. Holly and I have enjoyed a meal there before, so we braved the short drive through the rain to get there. A gas log fire greeted us in the dining room. How cozy!

We started with very nice chopped salads. I then had wonderfully prepared grilled scallops – caramelized on the outside, butter-tender on the inside served with crusty polenta and endive. Don enjoyed his ancho pork loin chop, but thought the kitchen needed a course in chorizo and potato casserole. Don and Holly make several to-die-for versions of potato, sausage and cheese casseroles, so I’m not surprised that this wasn’t up to their standards.

Holly was dissuaded from getting her usual rib eye by the prospect of trying a special bone-in filet glowingly described by our waitress. It was nice that Holly was asked to check for proper doneness before the server left our table. Richard had the flatiron steak with a gorgonzola topping. As he got to the halfway point in his meal, the waitress brought over extra gorgonzola for the second half of his entrée.

We had a very nice evening, and the waitress was wonderful, despite Richard’s declaration that her “Minnie Mouse” voice felt like chopsticks being shoved into his eardrums.

Poor Richard’s Life of Leisure

All the greens we got from Mamie’s and all the turnips given to us by Deborah had to be cleaned and cut. I had packing to do before we head down south for a family wedding, so guess who had the job of cleaning and cutting? It was my job to season and sauté -- since I’m substituting healthy ingredients for hog jowl or ham, attempting to duplicate the southern soul food flavor without cardiac arrest. Now, Mamie can tell everybody that I not only had Richard do the planting and weeding, he also had to be my prep cook. I’m so spoiled.

Jack will receive a sampling of this fare. We’ll also share this vegetable wealth with Mamie, Josie, Adam, Deborah, and Charlie; and give some to our across-the-hill neighbors. The rest we’ll freeze for the hoards descending during the Christmas holidays.

Poor Richard; I really don’t think he knew what he was signing on for when he said he wanted me to bring “life” into his house. Richard had lived a life of solitude for forty-six years before I came along. Once I entered with my family and friends, solitude was not an option, and neither, I feared, would be his sanity.

It wasn’t enough that we spent our first ten years together with a revolving door of bawling babies, breastfeeding moms, and disillusioned dads coming through our home and eating at our table. His retirement years have only served to increase the amount of time allotted to nurturing “life” in our homes. I say homes because circumstances beyond our control led us to several moves. The first being when he became disabled enough to need a heart transplant.

The disability leading up to the transplant also transplanted us. I did allow him a small reprieve for his heart transplant, but our retirement home on the lake drew guests like fish draws flies. There seemed to be a party every week-end, and we still had a constant flow of the aforementioned babies, mothers and dads. I was in heaven; Richard was in shock.

Hurricane Katrina gave him his best opportunity to reclaim some semblance of solitude when the mermaids claimed our home for their underwater playground -- if he had only agreed to live in an RV. Now, I do understand that living in a thirty-four by twelve foot space with my mouth could be a bit confining, but at least it was just the two of us.

He said he was afraid that I’d start letting the grandkids have the RV beds, and he’d be sleeping outside in a tent if we didn’t move into a house. When we have guests, it’s true that we move out of our bedroom for them, but we don’t have to move into a tent because we have our RV “apartment.”

Now that we have a house in the holler, I’m thinking of having Richard install a revolving guest door -- but not until we finish harvesting and cooking turnip greens.

Small Town Food and Friends

Coker Creek isn’t big enough to be called a town; it’s really only a hamlet in the woods. We’re barely big enough for a public elementary school, and the students have to go “off the mountain” to Tellico Plains for high school. But if you want to feel a sense of community, Coker Creek School is fairly bursting with civic pride.

For the last few years, a major PTO fundraiser has been the November turkey dinner in the school cafeteria. Attending for the first time this year, we were served generous portions of turkey, cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, roll, tea, and a variety of cakes and pies -- and it only cost six dollars per person. It seems that every family in Coker Creek came to get some of this good grub to either eat there or take home. Betty ate there and bought a second dinner to share with her dog later in the evening. Her dog always gets some of whatever Betty eats.

Richard asked Greta how the PTO could make any money serving such a large meal for such a small price. Greta told him that most of the food is donated by local families. We sure enjoyed our share. I wish we knew who donated the food; I’d love to be able to thank them.

Adam and Josie ate with us, and Adam tried to swap the cake he got at the dinner for last piece of Richard’s caramel cake, which was at our house. He didn’t seem at all impressed by the fact that we were down to one piece because we had shared the cake with so many friends. We declined that deal, but we are trying to entice him and Josie to attend the upcoming Ruritan supper to try the chocolate malted cake that Richard will be presenting.

Mamie came in with her daughter Jean who, I’ve been told, was a wonderful quilter. Since Jean is beginning to divest herself of some her seventy-five years of accumulated possessions, I’m hoping to purchase some of her quilt tops to use as tablecloths. I reminded Jean of this, and she told me to stop by anytime. I'm looking forward to getting back from my trip, so I can sort through Jean’s work.

We also ran into Anita and her Italian mom, Evie, who makes the world’s best biscotti -- which we usually swap for some of our Cajun roasted pecans and bourbon balls at Christmas. Come to find out, Evie is going to celebrate her ninetieth birthday this spring. I’d better get on the stick and take her up on her offer to teach me to make biscotti. Times-a-wastin’ for me to learn all the secrets of these wonderful pioneer women.

With full stomachs, we went to Mamie’s to divest ourselves of our full trailer of Nancy’s gift of garden gold. After accomplishing this task, we harvested lots of turnip greens to add to the turnips from Deborah. And Jack wants us to come get some of his pumpkins before our trip. We may never get rich in money, but with our wealth of friends, I’m fairly certain we’ll never be hungry or homeless.

Living Large

The word is out that Richard and I collect other people’s poop – not from them, from their horses. Nancy called to give us the opportunity to collect her garden gold. The day dawned bright and beautiful, so we took her up on her offer.

On the way to Nancy’s, we dropped by our across-the-hill neighbor’s house to drop off dirty rice stuffed peppers and noodle pudding. Their granddaughter Cassie was being motivated to clean her room by the prospect of going to Nancy’s to help scoop the poop. Now, that’s a new one on me: If you clean your room, you can go clean poop out of a pasture. Whatever works; Cassie showed up at Nancy’s in short order.

We could have spent the entire afternoon strolling through the woods to enjoy this perfect weather, but we chose to get up close and personal with nature. Richard and I had a little system going. He’d hold the snow shovel while I raked the meadow apples into it; empty and repeat. Two and three quarter hours of walking and talking while shoveling shi_, and the pasture was almost feces-free. Richard commented that the horses must feel really important that four people were so interested in their droppings we spent a whole afternoon collecting them – by Richard’s estimate, about two thousand pounds of poo-poo.

Because we so enjoyed the barbecue shrimp and cakes the night before, we wanted to share the experience with more friends. We had packed leftovers for Nancy and Jim, for Deborah and Charlie, and for Jack. When we finished loading our trailer, we began to make our meals-on-wheels rounds. Nancy agreed that it was a pretty good trade: predigested food in exchange for what her ponies had already processed. Deborah traded fresh turnips and Jack gave us a head of his home-grown broccoli for our leftovers.

Deborah had also asked me to share my wing-it secrets to creating a flapper costume, as this was my attire for last year’s Halloween party. Since Deborah is so tiny, she’d fit on my jeans pocket, she certainly can’t simply borrow my costume. We spent a little time discussing options and trying on her pieces of potential costume pieces. Richard and I were pretty happy with our afternoon’s activities.

Dusk was settling by the time we got to Jack’s, so we sat on his porch a while and enjoyed the mountain vista. It was such a perfect ending to our day that we decided to put off spreading the garden gold until the morning. As Richard is fond of saying, “A great pig like that, you don’t eat all at once.” We’re retired; it’s about taking time to smell the roses -- and the fertilizer they grow in.

We hardly had to dirty our kitchen to enjoy a feast of steamed broccoli, leftover salad and re-heated barbeque shrimp before collapsing on the couch for a bit of TV before bed.