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Most everyone says you look better with a smile. And for the most part I think that’s true.

Except when it isn’t.

I dated someone once – a tumultuous two year affair that ended badly – who, at the time, I found very physically attractive. So long as he kept his mouth shut. And never laughed. Or smiled.

At one time I thought he would make a great male model. He was tall and lean with a sculptured, muscular swimmer’s physique. Chiseled cheekbones and eyes that twinkled whenever he looked at me. Nice hair.

But if he smiled…

Remember that scene in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer when Santa first lays eyes on that shiny nose? The big guy’s hands fly up to his face and he sort of staggers backward? Well, that’s the kind of reaction I’d have when this guy smiled.

He just looked kind of, well, goofy. Go all serious again and I’d melt. Laugh, grin or smile and I had second (and third and fourth) thoughts. I know this makes me sound shallow and superficial but that’s what I remember thinking during our time together. His smiling face was definitely NOT an attractive face. Off-putting in a huge way. It’s just that he was so much better looking when he had that somber (dare I say, smoldering) look about him.

So, things did not turn out well for our relationship – we just weren’t a good match whatsoever for a number of reasons – and subsequently we both moved on. He married, I married and over time the bad vibes between us, well, they just didn’t matter anymore. At least, not for me. I ran into him at a wedding a few years back and we had a pleasant enough conversation but standing there chatting with him, for the life of me I have no idea how I ever got past that dopey smile of his in the first place.

 

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The Julia Roberts film, Sleeping with the Enemy (in theatres in the early 90s, coinciding with the early courtship days for my husband and me) is about a wife who plots to escape an abusive marriage. An early scene in the film depicts soup cans in the couple’s kitchen which are shown lined up perfectly in the cupboard, the labels all turned just so. Another scene has Julia’s character hurriedly straightening bath towels that are ever so slightly out of alignment, the implication being that this will anger her husband who insists on things being neat and orderly. The movie, predictably enough, concludes with Julia being able to get away from her brutal husband and, we assume, living happily ever after with the new man in her life who saves her from a homicidal attack by her husband shortly before the credits begin to roll.

The point of all this – somber and important social commentary aside – is that my husband, while certainly not brutal or abusive, was a bit of a stickler for things being tidy and organized and otherwise ship-shape when we first met. In perfect opposition to his fastidiousness, I was a bit of a slob. In my defense, I think the word ‘slob’ is an overstatement although I will admit that you would be more likely to see dishes stacked up next to the sink and beds unmade at my place than at his. I prefer to describe my domestic outlook while we were dating as ‘relaxed’ and ‘laid back’.

Anytime Bill displayed his penchant for order and structure, evidenced by an oh-so-neat arrangement of tools or household cleaning supplies or personal hygiene paraphernalia, Wesley and I would snort and giggle and one (or both) of us would exclaim ‘Sleeping with the enemy!’ It was always done in good fun and Bill would laugh along with us.

Fast forward to our present day marriage…

It’s funny how our roles have reversed over time or, rather, evened out. Perhaps we’ve both just been a good influence on each other. I am now known more for keeping a tidy (or in any case – tidier) house and am sometimes chided by some in my family for it. Once, while hosting a holiday dinner, my mother was standing next to the stove when I noticed a kitchen towel hanging on the door was out of kilter. When I reached over to straighten it, Mom said ‘Julie, you’re scaring me.’

In the meantime, Bill has become more lackadaisical about things such as directly carrying recyclables out to the garage (99% of the time that’s exactly what I do while he prefers to just lay them on the counter by the door that leads to the garage). Another example is a continuing nag of mine about his habit of leaving dirty socks laying on end tables or on the floor in the living room.

Over the years, thanks to my husband’s example, I’ve become a better (read: not perfect!) housekeeper. I crave structure and order and dislike clutter. And apparently I’ve succeeded in getting Bill to focus more on what’s important and timely instead of hard and fast rules about a place for everything and everything in its place. Shrug. In any case, it seems to work for us.

Oh, but I do still enjoy sleeping with the enemy!

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Just like the aftermath of a New York City ticker parade, these locust leaves provide a vibrant ground cover beneath the arc of this sweeping handrail. I reckon this is as good a metaphor as any to celebrate this, my 100th post on A Sawyer’s Daughter.

Thanks to all who’ve stood on the curb cheering me on!

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To write ~

Start with an idea, ponder it awhile, flesh it out and approach it from different angles and perspectives. Try it on for size; you’ll know when it fits. Next (or more appropriately, throughout) add passion to the mix, modulated by the voice only you possess, the one that announces to all that this is who and what you are. Sift it, shake it up, sit on it awhile, revisit as needed. When it feels right (write?), begin.

If it has momentum, the task is a pleasant, satisfying chore. The words and thoughts and essence of your message will fly from your fingertips, the keyboard barely able to keep up. Success does not necessarily follow but if it is a joy and genuinely represents your soul, your very core, then that is its own reward.

Should, however, the completed effort require more than you were quickly and easily able to give but you stretched beyond what you thought you knew to be your limits, very likely then, the warm glow of achievement, of a job well done will honor what was extracted.

This, I believe, is why we write.

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IMG_0372 I don’t want to creep anybody out but I snapped this sitting in one of the stalls in the women’s restroom while my husband and I were touring the campus of our alma mater on Game Day last weekend.

It made me smile.

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Ah, life is good.

Beautiful fall weather, that incredible light late in the day, reconnecting with family and friends, reading the Sunday paper in the morning with a yummy cup of Starbucks cheer (husband sitting across the table from me, unaware that I occasionally steal a glance his way, thinking to myself ‘God, he’s handsome’), the satisfaction of lazing away the afternoon – never mind that there are chores that need done, snatching glimpses of football games in progress (with Bill ever vigilantly monitoring the status of our Fantasy Football teams) and a belly not-too-uncomfortably full from a late lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant where the owners know our order and quite frequently deliver it to our table, unbidden, with nary a word passing between us and the waiter.

While Monday morning and a full week’s work looms just over the horizon, for now, we are content. Still madly in love, happily enshrouded in our own little ‘La-La Land’, ours is a marriage that continues to work, to soar, to flourish, to thrive. Life is good and I’m over the moon to be spending it with this thoughtful, wonderful man, my partner, my husband, my friend. Yes, life is good.

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I’m cranky.

There. I’ve said it. Don’t ask me why, because I can’t really explain it, but since we got back from our wonderfully relaxing vacation in Colorado last week I’m in a mood. First day back I felt GREAT! Isn’t life fantastic? Lots of energy, sleeves rolled up, told husband I felt like I had my mojo back.

And then it all went south.

My first thought was that perhaps my foul demeanor was due to the change in elevation. Many of the trails we hiked in the Rocky Mountains brought us higher, ever higher, our lungs expanding in the thin air and our hearts pounding like jackhammers in our chests. One day last week we stood at a high point along the Trail Ridge Road where we towered over everything else around us at more than 12,000 feet, wind howling and bellowing, it seemed, from every direction. But now, here we are, back in the lowlands of the Midwest (Des Moines, elevation 958) and my poor body has no idea what to do with all this extra, heavier, moisture-laden air. While in Estes Park we pretty much ate what we wanted but came back at our pre-vacation fighting weights, thanks to all the hiking we did. Stuck in ‘pig-out’ mode, we’ve maintained the same eating habits so maybe that’s a contributor as well to said crankiness.

But when I ponder this further I think I know the answer. In Colorado, for one glorious week, we knew FREEDOM. We did pretty much whatever we damned well pleased and never (well, hardly ever) gave work more than a glancing thought or two. Monday morning when the alarm clock went off at five-twenty, it was truly a rude awakening and an evil reminder that our time, now, was no longer ours to call our own.

Sing it Soul II Soul: Back to life, back to reality!

Bill and I have taken very few trips longer than a three or four day weekend. This time we were away from work for ten whole days. That’s a long time to get used to being on your own schedule, being master of your minutes and hours and days. I loved it! But oh how cruel having to return to the workaday world after such a carefree existence as that which enveloped us in Colorado. Perhaps it’s because retirement isn’t really that far off but this little ‘vacay’ of ours has just made it seem even more tantalizing than ever before. I want it and I do, yes, want it now. The harsh, financial vagaries of life, however, intrude.

The state-run lottery here has a slogan that urges folks to buy tickets by (not so?) gently reminding them that you can’t win big bucks if you don’t play the game. So please excuse me while I, ahem, make a quick run to the nearest convenience store.

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We’ve been cable-free for several months now after paying homage to the DirecTV gods for far too many years. Not being chained to endless political programming and 24×7 news coverage as well as getting sucked in to one cable TV documentary and special feature after another is refreshing. We now have more time (though in truth never, never enough) to pursue other interests.

If ever I thought I might miss the plethora of options cable TV provides, those fears have now been laid to rest. Late this afternoon, while out and about, we caught a glimpse of some of the cable news stories du jour. The overly dramatic posturing, the hype, the propensity of the news personalities, regardless of your political persuasion, to insert themselves in such a manner as to being the story nearly induced nausea. The only thing we’ll miss is easy access to televised sporting events such as away games for our beloved Iowa State Cyclones. A small price to pay, however, for a return to sanity and clearer thinking. No regrets whatsoever. I heartily recommend cutting the cord and returning to network TV. With the easy and affordable availability of streaming and movies we don’t feel like we’re missing a thing. And saving almost $1200 a year sure feels good on the old pocketbook as well. A winning proposition no matter how you look at it!