Today we said So Long to our beautiful “Ava Mae.”

We’ll see you in a few years, Girl.  Sleep tight.

I was thinking about my ring the other day – the ring you see here:

It’s simple.  It’s yellow gold (which much to my dismay, has fallen rather out of favor these days…) and is inlaid with 10 small, square diamonds that lie flat and even – no danger of snags or of posts breaking off at the setting.  It goes with a wide (very wide – love (!) — which you can see in the picture, too) gold band.  That band was my mom’s original wedding ring.  She gave it to me because I needed a simple band to wear when I deployed, and the idea of wearing a band from my parents meant a lot to me. 

The two rings go together so well, that you’d think they were a match made in Heaven – but they actually came together 39 years apart.  Here’s the story of Ring #2:

John and I have had some times together – really wonderful trips, whether they were international destinations or just local jaunts.  The Ring Trek happened in Loch Torridon, Scotland, in June of 2007. 

We were gone – gallivanting around the entire wonderful country for three weeks, and Armour joined us for the latter half.  It was our last trip before leaving Europe – a terrific time - one filled with laughter and experiences I doubt any of us will forget.

So there we were on Week 1, about Day 4.  After a proper fry-up breakfast, we needed some air and exercise.  It’s still brisk in the mornings in June in the north of Scotland, and I was glad of it.  I was queasy after eating way too much bacon and was in a foul mood.  John was treading lightly, poor guy, and suggested we go for a “hike.”  “I’ll bring snacks and water, Hol – you don’t have to carry anything.”  

Although a casual stroll around the East end of the Loch was what I’d had in mind, I agreed, and off we went, driving down the wrong side of the road. 

The trek started easily enough; the terrain on the moors is deceiving.  Everything looks a lot closer than it is.  John had a summit in mind – and kept checking the map to make sure we were going the right way. 

For about three hours, I trudged on ahead, or trudged along behind – take your pick.  I was cranky, nauseated, and wanted to back to the Great Hall at the lodge and have a glass of wine (this was back when I drank…but the story of me stopping drinking is for another post entirely.)

At the three hour mark, my patience was a frayed edge, starting to unravel, and I was ready to stop and turn around – screw the summit!  Just then, we crested a hill, and ran smack into a gorgeous mirror of a lake  – its flat surface unbroken and shielded from the wind by peat and heather and rocks. 

I stopped and rested and John stopped, too.  He kept looking at me, which ordinarily, just makes my heart beat faster – John’s is a careful, measured stare.  If you’ve ever had it trained on you, it truly makes you know you’re being considered. 

“The Look” this particular afternoon was a bit bemused, a bit cagey.

I should have known.  (I’d been cranky all day, People.  Just a real Pill.)

And he says to me:

“Hol, I worry when you get upset.”

“Huh?  What are you talking about, John?”

“Well, it makes me wonder.”

Me, looking at the lake, not paying attention to him, lost in my irritability – I didn’t answer.

“Hol, it makes me wonder if you are ever sorry you married me.  I mean, when I asked you, I didn’t even do it right.”

Hoo Boy.  So now I felt really terrible.  “Had he been worried about this for the entire last three hours?” I asked myself, thinking simultaneously how my mood had ruined a perfectly good vacation day…and that truth be known, his proposal was romantic precisely because it was so unplanned.  It was in a car, for Heaven’s sake…so no, it wasn’t done “right” – but it was absolutely fine by me and it achieved the goal. 

“John?  What?  Of course I don’t regret marrying you!  Best decision I ever made!” 

As I turn around, he’s on his knee, close to me, with the ring in his big fingers – with a grin on his face – saying, “Well, good.  Because I want to ask you to marry me, ok?  All over again?  Would you, Hol?”

And that’s why that ring is always on – whether it’s nested in between the fancy-schwancy platinum set we got married with – or with my deployment band that my mom wore on her combat tour in Vietnam – it’s my memory of, and my anchor to, the Best Man I Know.

Once again, an overdue post.  So much for my promise to John to update every day this year. Grrr.

New computers won’t be in our hands for another couple months … we refuse to put them on credit.  So in the meantime, I make do with a teeny little computer with dreadful screen resolution and with which I cannot even Skype with John. 

Anyway. It’s Sunday morning, I’m grumpy for the reasons above, and was looking through my pictures and found these from the January 2nd outing with my Aunt Sara and Uncle Pete.  We went to visit a place that Uncle Pete had visited as a child (his family had their winter homes there), and where he brought Aunt Sara soon after they were married.  It’s a beautiful, beautiful place – and it is steeped in the Art Deco aesthetic that I so love. 

And the memory of that little trip, plus their visit in general, and a good strong cup of coffee this morning put my bad mood at bay.  There’s plenty to be happy about.

Do enjoy these photos, as I did.

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The Christmas tree was still up! Fellow observers of the Full Twelve Days of Christmas. Love that.

The details in the private section of the Gardens were exquisite – like this crane lamp, and the sconce:

This is what visitors to the public side never see – I felt so lucky that day.

Hello, Lovely.

There was a mated pair of these swans at the base of the Tower.  She made me want a pair for myself someday.

The incredible marble and coquina “Singing Tower” was the highlight.

And once again, John was missed.

We’re here in New Hampshire – it’s cold and the air is biting…I love Thanksgivings like that. We drove up the long driveway to the House at the Top of the Hill, a drive I’ve made for 40 years – and we ate sandwiches and lentil soup that Aunt Sara had ready and that said to us: “Welcome.”

Families are great. Family traditions are great, too – like the familiar silver pheasants on my Aunt’s Thanksgiving table.

We’re here (we being my mom and my dad and I) at Armour & Tanya’s in Delaware.  It’s a great house, warm and inviting. 

Tanya is expecting *my niece!* Alexandra in late March.  I don’t think “excited” covers it for me. 

I went running today – a long, slow run – with my little iPod Shuffle on, and as normally happens with a long, slow run – there is plenty of time for thinking.  Delaware is hilly.   As luck would have it, the 30 minutes out was mostly uphill (that is lucky…because the 30 minutes back was an easy series of downhills!) 

I wasn’t thinking much beyond “one-foot-in-front-of-the-other” on the way out…but on the way back, my thoughts wandered.  I thought about how happy my brother is, and what a wonderful welcoming place he and Tanya have made here – and how I can’t wait to meet their little girl.  That made me think about what kind of father my brother will be, and how I am looking forward to that evolution…Life can be so Beautiful, you know?

It made me think about my own dad and my earliest memory of him – which oddly enough involves running:

I was little – maybe 2 or 3 years old, and we were stationed in Germany.  My mom and I were up at the top of a cobblestone hill, and my dad was at the bottom.  I wanted to *get* to him…like, fast.  So I started running. 

My legs were carrying me fine, but nearing the bottom, I panicked.  My dad’s face, looking at me, was also panicked.  What I could not have known at the time was how worried he was; my mom told me later that if I’d fallen, my face would have been crushed beyond repair.  My legs were just moving too fast – gravity, inertia – it would have all overtaken me if he hadn’t been there, poised like an NHL goalie, ready to catch his little girl. 

But he did.  And my first memory of my dad was that he saved me.  

That’s a great legacy for Alex.

I’m driving from Florida to New Hampshire for Thanksgiving.

I’m just going to let that sink in.

*******************************************

On the way up, my mom and I stopped to see my aunt and uncle at their Riverhouse.

My uncle built a new addition, right on the riverbank, dedicated to my grandmother – my mom & my aunt’s mother – who liked to sit right where the pavilion sits now, with her glass of water (paper napkin wrapped around it) and her cane pole.

We had a fire the night we arrived, with hot cider…

…and a fire the next morning, when we had breakfast.

The morning was cold and foggy.

Perfect.

But we were missing John, especially considering the duck hunting to be done.

It’s been a Long Absence again. I have a myriad of excuses – mostly time-related, but also due to equipment. John and I are about to be out of debt after nearly 7 years of carrying around a LOT of it. It’s such a burden, and I applaud those who are good with their money, because I’m ashamed we are not.

Our verse for our marriage is “To whom much is given, much is expected.” – and we believe it, People. So, we continue to give away, but truly, what is the purpose of building wealth? It’s to give, to make a difference, to help.  We can, and should do more – we should not be throwing it away on credit card debt.

So, anyway – we will finally be able to get new computers…MacPros (YIPPEE!) next month. I told John that I’d try and post every day because he wants me to: “I don’t even know what the house looks like anymore, Hol.  Trust me.  There’s beauty to me in what you consider the mundane details.”

Wow. Wife of the Year – RIGHT HERE. 

Anyway, we spent two idyllic days in a faraway place where he will be for the next half-a-year, and ended every evening of that very brief respite (three of them) with steaming mugs and chilly air, and a beautiful, beautiful view.  We talked about the future – and our plans for it.

My favorite kind of conversation.

With my favorite person.

The last day we were in Jordan, John and I made a Pilgrimage of sorts – to the spring at Bethany-on-the-Jordan – to the place where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist.

Here we are at the site.




Logic and recent (circa 1996) archeaology almost guarantees that this spot was where Jesus and John the Baptist actually entered the water. This view is of a spring, and the water from it used to join the Jordan in this spot. (After Syria and Israel put up their various dams, the Jordan shrank significantly, which is why you don’t see the rushing waters right now.)

If John the Baptist had picked any other spot, he couldn’t have baptized anybody, because the Jordan was so swift then that people would have been swept away.

It was an amazing sight – and very moving.




“Now in those days John the Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of Judea, and saying, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!’

“For this is he who was spoken of by the prophet Isaiah, saying:

“The voice of one crying in the wilderness:

“Now John himself was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist; and his food was locusts and wild honey.

“Then Jerusalem, all Judea, and all the region around the Jordan went out to him and were baptized by him in the Jordan, confessing their sins.”




“…and he said

‘I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but He who is coming
after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will
baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in His hand,
and He will thoroughly clean out His threshing floor, and gather His wheat
into the barn; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’ “

“When He had been baptized, Jesus came up immediately from the water; and behold, the heavens were opened to Him, and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting upon Him.”

~ Matthew 3: 1 – 17

I’m going to go ahead and start this off with a great picture of John with a Jordanian goat. The thing had enormously long ears…freakishly long, actually…and followed him around like a dog.

This will come in handy, later, as you see the pictures of me trying to get one to even let me get close.

It kills me that I am the hardcore animal lover in the family, yet they all gravitate toward HIM. (It also kills me that as the public affairs officer in the family, where taking a decent picture is a Level 1 Task, John also just has an “eye” for photography and takes way better pictures. Photo credits (except when he’s in them) go to John.)

Anyhoo, Jerash is a small site of Roman ruins about 45 minutes north of Amman, and we were in Jordan for a conference. The conference ended and we had one day to travel before we flew out.

So, we did. (Travel to a Jordanian site, that is.)

And we’re so glad we did. Jerash was amazing. See the little lizard on top of the column?

We were amazed at the pillars – this particular one (complete with cute little birdie) moved a little bit when the wind blew – a bit disconcerting.

Here we are in front of a fountain dedicated to the Nymphs.

Men were men, even back then.

{Sigh}

And here we are, in the Northern Theater – so amazingly acoustically perfect that we could hear each other from opposite sides, even when we whispered.

All right. So here we go. This is the Goat Sequence.

MAN was I frustrated when after all this, John had a little one just following him around!

But this was before that.

This is called “Showing John How It Should Be Done.”

Step One: “Heeeeeeere, Billy Goat!”


“Wanna be friends?”

“Yeah, right, Lady…not on your life. Let me sniff you before you take another step.”

“And I guess you can pet my head…

“…hmmm.

“Maybe I should head-butt you…”

“Look, John! What a sweet Billy Goat!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hmmmm….yeah, this broad is really starting to annoy me now. If I get a running start….”

“Maybe I could bite her fingers instead?”

“Unbelievable. Is she for real?

“Finally!

“Ugh…that’s 5 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.”

Meanwhile, here came John, who handed me the camera, looked around for a goat, and all of a sudden – there she was…ready to get a pat on the head from him.

Hmmph.

Here it is, again:

So, back to the pictures of The Ruins.

Here’s John demonstrating how short the folks must have been back then…in the corridor of the Northern Theater.

More beautiful pillars…

Difference in architecture between then and now…(we like the “then”.)

Hadrian’s Gate.

Chariot Ruts!

See? There they are!

A lovely Mosaic floor in one of the many Christian churches on the site…

…and the close-up. (Thank you, telefoto lens!)

Figs! I love figs!

Pretty darn good camouflage.

The colors were so beautiful!

Nope, Mom. Didn’t drive to Syria (though we’d love to see Damascus!)

This picture’s for you, anyway! Ha!

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