Category Archives: Andy

My Husband’s Birthday

Today is a very special day, as it is Andy’s birthday. And not just any birthday – the big 5-0. Yes, if you can bring yourself to believe it, my husband is fifty years old. Luckily, I’m not one to have any hang-ups about age – or age-differences in couples – so the thirteen year span between us averages out when you consider our respective maturity levels. As for reaching the mid-century mark, Andy seems the same to me. As per his request, we’ll be having a low-key day and night at home, in which I’ll cook him the very first meal I ever cooked him, and I’ll force myself to sit through whatever video he wants to watch.
Sometimes Andy seems to get short shrift here (it is, after all, my blog) but he is ever-present, and one of the stalwart forces that gets taken for granted. On this day, I am reminded of all that he has given to me, and to our life together. I wouldn’t be who I am without him – and all that I’ve ever done here is due largely to everything he’s ever done for me. And so, to the kindest, gentlest, funniest, handsomest, and best man I’ve ever met, Happy Birthday. I love you, Andy.
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A Surprise for My Husband: The Maine Event

It all had to be done with the greatest of care and the strictest of confidences. While good at keeping secrets when explicitly asked to do so, I am less good at not spoiling the surprise aspect of things that are too fun to keep secret. As Andy is turning 50 this weekend, I wanted to do something extra-special for him. Knowing that a surprise party was out of the question, and out of the realm of anything he would enjoy, I hatched a plan that would capture him by surprise, but also (fingers-crossed) be something he would love.
For our annual trip to Ogunquit, in which we usually depart on the Monday following Columbus Day weekend, I secretly reserved our room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn for two extra nights. I managed to keep it a secret until that Monday, when I woke him, and he groaned with the displeasure of having to leave such a wonderful place. The day of departure is always a very depressing moment, so it was with great happiness and excitement I handed him two new outfits and said that we would be staying for two more days in honor of his birthday. I actually got him to crack a smile (far more than the usual reaction that something as big as a pool table would normally elicit) so it was a success.
To go along with the pre-birthday surprise, our innkeeper Mike made this magnificent cheesecake in his honor. It was delicious, and miraculously gluten-free (I’ll need to get the recipe for my friend Missy – I’m told ginger snaps are the secret for the crust). We shared it with a couple of other guests and friends, and pulled off the perfect little celebration for someone who doesn’t like a big fuss. (For those wondering, his actual birthday is October 20. I’ll be accepting gifts in his honor. I know he loves the Tom Ford Private Blends collection. What?)
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Make A Wish & Blow

These are the ashen remnants of my Fall wishes, lying on our Boston windowsill, waiting for the wind to whip them away. On the first day of each season, in a tradition that Andy taught me when we first met over a dozen years ago, we make a list of our hopes and wishes for the season ahead, then burn them as an offering to the universe. It is a ritual I have come to love, if only to remind us of the passing of time, the demarcation of the days, the way the hours wait for no one. My wishes, oddly enough, are not for material possessions as one might assume – there are no Prada bags that make the list, no Tom Ford Private Blends inked out upon the page. They are far more basic and, again at odds with what the world thinks of me, far more selfless. In those wishes hides the truth, and by burning them I keep it safe.

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Super Moon, Super Fight

The Super Moon rose a few Saturdays ago – on our anniversary weekend no less, when we were ensconced in Boston and enjoying a dinner at Clio – and wreaked havoc with our evening in the form of a big fight. Exerting its pull and its crazy power to upend things, the moon worked to wreck a very fine dinner as Andy and I fell prey to its advances and went into warrior mode.

We’re not one of those couples who yells or screams all the time – that’s not the way we operate. Our style – the one that works (or doesn’t always work) for us is smooth sailing for a long time, then a big huge fight that brings up everything that’s bothered us over the previous few months, then a few days when it all dies down and goes back to normal.

I’m not saying this is the best way to deal with things – most of my perfectly-married friends say we need to work on communication – but I was not raised that way, and every time I did communicate, well, it ended in a fight anyway so why even bother?

Personally, I’d rather have one or two days every few months where things are brought up and discussed (or yelled about) and enjoy the majority of peaceful time in-between, rather than deal with every single squabble that comes up and potentially ruining every other hour.

Every marriage has its rainy days. Andy and I are lucky to have not had many storms. Still, one has to be wary, always aware of potential hurricanes on the horizon, (or super moons) and keep them at bay with kindness, compromise, and that magic, elusive ingredient that solves so many problems – forgiveness.
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My Husband’s Birthday

Today is Andy’s birthday, the photo at the end of this post was taken during his police officer days. (Hot, I know.) He’s comes a long way since then, and for the past decade I’ve been lucky enough to be along for the ride. There’s no way to put into words what this guy means to me, but here are some of the best things about him.

He is kind and compassionate to everyone and everything, especially animals (even the chipmunks that are over-running our backyard).

He is able to change and grow (when we met he had never tasted Thai food, now he makes his own chicken yellow curry that rivals the best restaurant).

He knows cars (and when such pesky items as gas and registration renewals are needed).

He still misses his Mom.

He is generous with his cooking and baking, always making an extra batch for family or work.

He loves to laugh at comedies that I sometimes find funny (Carol Burnett) and comedies that I don’t (National Lampoon’s Anything).

He is always up for a Broadway musical.

He wears cashmere sweaters, which makes it extra fun to hug him in the Winter.

He is always a gentleman, but not afraid to ‘Get Wicked Tonight’, even in front of my parents.

He treats my family like his own (because they are).

He’s not big on going out, but always has a good time when we do.

He has the integrity of a cop, without the power-trip attitude.

He is never ashamed to be seen with me, even when I look like Mrs. Peacock.

He’s a good guy. It sounds so simple, but it means so much, and these days they’re not easy to find. Come to think of it, they never were, and that’s why I’m the luckiest husband in the world.

Happy Birthday Andy ~ I love you.

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The Night I Met My Husband

Ten summers ago I was living in Boston, in between jobs, and visiting my parents’ home in Amsterdam to enjoy their pool and central AC. It had been a summer of healing and restoration, having finally shirked off the residual bitterness of a painful winter break-up.

That summer had also been a rainy one, and on a Sunday evening, after playing cards with the girls, I made my way to Lark Street. The rain had let up, and the evening had turned into a beautiful one.

I would go out for one cocktail, completely alone, sit at the bar, and be all right with being alone. There was nothing left to prove.

I walked into Oh Bar wearing an old pair of Structure jeans and a T-shirt. The place was practically deserted on this particular Sunday night, and I was glad for that. Sitting at the bar, I ordered a screwdriver and smiled at the sunny glass of orange before me. For all that had happened, I was all right. Without any job prospects before me (aside from a quick temp assignment at the Boston Phoenix), without any real direction of where I was headed, I still felt good about things, and the expansive future of what-might-come spread out before me.

A trio of guys came into the bar and sat down at a table behind me. I turned around briefly, but meeting men was not why I went out that night, so I went back to my drink and solitude. When I finished, I was about to leave when one of the guys, who said his name was Patrick, introduced himself and invited me over to their table. I hesitated, then agreed. There were worse things than talking and meeting a few new people.

The cutest of the pack sat across from me, and I thought he was so handsome that he would be completely out of my league. He said his name was Andy. I looked into his eyes and saw what my life might be, and though it was the last thing I was looking for, the idea of love peeked out of my heart. I dared to hope that he was seeing the same thing.

We stared into one another for hours, talking until we were the last two people there. I didn’t want the morning to come. We’ve been together ever since, and today we celebrate our tenth anniversary.

Happy Anniversary Andy – I love you. Here’s to us!

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Ten Years Ago This Summer

The writing here was uncovered in an old project of mine ‘A Man of Mode‘ that I wrote ten years ago, right after I met Andy. Not to portray myself as psychic, but it’s amazing how much of it has come true in the ensuing decade since it was written:

August 2000: At the end of the summer I sit on the back terrace of my parents’ house. The sky is that brilliant blue which only comes with the arrival of fall, and the sun is intensely bright through the crisp, cool air. A breeze rustles the leaves and the pool glistens with tiny waves.

The gardens are wildly overgrown, but the flowers of the perennial bed are rich and vibrant ~ the startling golden-yellow of the black-eyed Susans, the light magenta of the purple coneflower, and the orange-red shadings of the gloriosa daisy. The fading blue globes of echinops and the pastel palette of the malva are the only subtle bloomers now. It is almost time for the gardens to go to sleep. In a few weeks I shall return to plant the spring bulbs and say good-night for another season. All the rain has fortified the plants and next year looks to be brighter and better. I breathe this sunny air and feel calm. The chaos has come to a close, the curtain contentedly descended. A monarch butterfly alights upon a bush by the pool, its wings gently undulating and reflecting spotted glory. I am alone in the sublime beauty, but my heart does not ache.

Fragmented visages of the future soar before me as the butterly flutters through the forest and disappears. I can see Andy with me ~ working in the garden I think ~ as a friend or lover, I cannot tell and it does not matter. Of course Suzie is there and she is making me laugh. My parents ~ older and funnier ~ wiser and accepting ~ are at holiday dinners and summer vacations. I can see my brother and his wife and their children ~ my nieces and nephews ~ and these kids like me. To them I am Uncle Al ~ the crazy fun guy in the family who gives the best birthday and Christmas presents. I make them laugh and know that they won’t let me die alone. That old fear has been erased ~ replaced by the sweet realization that I am somebody to be loved, and always have been. Why has love been so easy to give and so difficult to receive?

I feel the transient nature of the moment, but not the panic that customarily accompanies the feeling. There is no longer the need for a photo shoot or other lasting evidence ~ I take the beauty into my soul and it is all I need. A dragonfly darts about the pool, skimming itself across the water and crackling light off its translucent wings. No one sees this but me, and I smile a smile which no one will ever witness.

 

In some ways, this is the life I have crafted for myself and Andy, and though it hasn’t always unfolded in the exact way we may have envisioned it, everything that’s happened was meant to be, and we’re both pretty lucky. I can’t wait to see where the next ten years take us together.

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The Residual Glow of Marriage

Never again would they be parted. All the rest of their lives they would be together.” ~ E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan

The first thing most people asked when I returned from our wedding was whether or not I felt any different. I assumed, and professed many times, that I would not feel any such shift… why should anything change after nine years with Andy? The biggest difference would be a bit more sparkle on my ring finger, and a few new memories of Boston.

I was wrong. The day I got married was one of the happiest of my life. The ceremony, the words, the blessings of family and friends, and the legal document ~ they all created a moment and a covenant between Andy and me that made a profound difference in my life. It was as if, finally, our relationship was official. Not that it hadn’t been for the previous ten years ~ this just affirmed it publicly, and though outwardly nothing may have changed, I think it resonated within both of us.

I don’t usually gush about love and stuff ~ and I’ve always taken the hard line and adhered to Madonna’s warning of, “What’s the point of sitting down and notating your happiness?” There’s something powerful and compelling about the darker side of life, something more interesting and artistic in the sadder aspects of our world~ but every now and then there’s a moment of happiness and joy that transcends the cliches and mundane platitudes of Hallmark love, and for the first time I felt that.

 

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Our Wedding, Part 8: The Wedding Dinner

For our last evening in Boston, we prepared for a very special dinner at Mistral, courtesy of my Mom and Dad. We had never been there, so we made the reservations based on good word of mouth, and the hope that all the rave reviews were true.

For this night, I brought out a checkered bow tie.

Andy chose a tie by Christian Lacroix. (Yes, sweetie darling, Lacroix.)

Dinner was amazing – I debated between the cornish game hen and their signature sole dish, opting for the sole in the end. Andy’s sister Karen got the game hen and said it was excellent.

Andy finished with a piece of carrot cake that he says is the best he has ever had in his life. It was a glorious end to the happiest weekend of my life.

We walked Karen back to the Park Plaza on a beautiful, breezy spring night.

Our hotel welcomed us home with bursts of peonies, and warm light.

For our final fashion moment – t-shirts and boxers – the true sign of a contented couple.

And so begins our happily ever after…

{To be continued on July 24, 2010.}

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Our Wedding, Part 7: The Wedding Lunch

After our stroll in the park, we headed across the street to the hotel to change and fill out the official marriage documentation. Here is Chris as he signs the license and makes it all legally official.

Andy and I changed into dressier pants for a lunch at the Four Seasons, and placed the bridal bouqet in a vase above the fireplace.

This was my white raincoat, in the event of rain – now I could wear it just for its fun ruffled back.

Andy opted for khakis over fancy frills, but we both kept our matching shirts on as we headed over to the Four Seasons for a midday lunch courtesy of “Aunt” Elaine and Suzie.

Andy and I had reserved the Bristol Lounge of the Four Seasons on our last trip to Boston, and their service was splendid. They even brought out a congratulatory chocolate tower cake – eight layers of chocolate and cream that was enough to feed all nine of us following a delicious meal.

After lunch, we had some time to ourselves to rest and relax.

Later in the day, I returned to the Public Garden alone. A pair of swans was just beginning to build a nesting area on the side of the pond. One of them swam around with the swan boats, periodically returning to his partner, who seemed to be doing most of the work. Not unlike a certain other couple…

{To be continued…}

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Our Wedding, Part 6: The Perfect Day in the Park

When we chose the Boston Public Garden as the site of our wedding, we knew there was the potential of bad weather. May is hardly the safest month to bank on sunny skies, but we also decided that rain or shine, there was nowhere else we’d rather do it. We’d spent a number of our Boston trips strolling through the leafy expanse, watching the playful squirrels and waterfowl, and it always felt like an oasis in the midst of the city.

The site of the ceremony was near two of my favorite trees – a mighty Metasequoia and a looming larch – and between two flowering cherries.

On this, our wedding day, we truly lucked out. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and a pair of swans was just beginning to nest by the pond. After the ceremony, we walked around the park, savoring the moment and the beauty.

It is one of our favorite places in the whole world.

{To be continued…}

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Our Wedding, Part 5: The Ceremony

The hotel has changed their flower display in the lobby. On the morning of our wedding, big, beautiful double pink peonies burst forth in bloom, filling the air with their gorgeous fragrance. Grounded by green hydrangeas and backed by soaring pink cherry blossoms, it is the perfect backdrop to a sunny spring day.

Back up in the room, I have changed into my wedding outfit and take one last look at the Garden to see if I can glimpse our families assembling.

As decreed many moons ago, I am wearing an old pair of ripped jeans. They are the same pair of jeans I was wearing when I met Andy in the summer of 2000. Now, almost exactly ten years later, I somehow still fit into them.

I have on something old (a pair of lime-green moccasins circa 1995), something new (a striped Burberry shirt), something borrowed (a stone necklace from Denmark, courtesy of Suzie, that I have tied around a belt loop), and something blue (the jeans). Andy wears a lime-green shirt that matches mine, and a pair of new jeans.

Suzie has brought an unexpectedly-perfect bouquet of white peonies for me to carry, and they smell sweetly of summer. (Of all things, and of all people, I did not think of having flowers, but Suzie saves the day.)

It is time.

We make our way to the Boston Public Garden, where we meet up with our families.

Our friend and officiant Chris crafted the ceremony we had always envisioned – simple, sweet, meaningful, and with just a few touches of humor to keep our families smiling.

There were a few tears of happiness as well, and I finally understood what all the fuss was about. I always wondered if people really meant it when they said that their wedding day was the happiest of their lives. For me, it certainly was.

After the final vows and the first official kiss, I just had this overwhelming wish to hug Andy because I was so happy. It wasn’t planned, but that’s what love does.

{To be continued…}

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Our Wedding, Part 4: The Dawn of the Wedding Day

I wake first, as usual, and pad into the living room. It is a beautiful sunny day , and the light fills the window that looks out over the Public Garden.

It is still and silent. A sense of calm anticipation fills me, and a quiet elation, as I contemplate that I will soon be marrying the man that I love.

I peer through the window and can just barely make out the spot where we will be married. Though Andy sleeps in the room right next to me, I feel sublimely alone, and safe in the knowledge that he is here.

These are our last moments as single men. Despite the fact that nothing will change, it is a shift. We will now be bound together. It is a rite of passage, another step in growing up, and we are ready.

Both Andy and I had led extensive lives before we met one another, and in the almost ten-years we have been together we have continued to do so. But our wedding will mark a milestone – a delicate demarcation in our journey. We are letting go of what came before, and this is a new beginning for both of us.

In the hours before we are joined, I have this one last moment to myself.

{To be continued…}

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