REFLECTIONS – 40 YEARS & WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN

**Please welcome my first guest blogger, my dad! A very happy 40th anniversary to him and my mom!**

Ahh! 40 years! To some it would seem a very long time. But for me, having married to this crown jewel of a partner, forty years seems to have passed with little more than a blink of my eyes. I can still remember vividly standing in front of the County Magistrate nervously uttering the words “I Do”. At that moment, deep down “Something Tell Me I’m Into Something Good” (Herman’s Hermit ’65). Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I have actually lucked myself upon the mother lode of love, care, trust, understanding and support. 

Actually, this bull run of good fortune started a little bit more than 40 years ago when she went against her family’s wishes (such courage, almost unheard of in a first generation immigrant family back in the 70’s), left New York and joined this “punk named Leung”, according to my future brother-in-law, in Columbia, Mo. With her support, within a very short time, we were able to prove them wrong. 

Over the better part of the next forty years, while I was out trying to conquer the world of civil engineering with a new venture in KHAFRA: “when you flush, think of us” (thanks to Val Bates), she was home holding down the fort and raising two wonderful children and hardly needing me to worry about them. AND THEY BOTH TURNED OUT TO BE QUITE ALRIGHT. 

Through all the career and physical location moves to new and unfamiliar places, she never once asked questions like “what about my friends, my neighbors, my bridge club meetings, etc, etc. More than that, her trust, understanding, and support have made it so much easier for me to maintain my sanity during stressful times. And there were plenty. When KHAFRA was young and struggling, several times I had to ask for her consent to put our resources, including our own house, at risk to help KHAFRA get over a few humps. She said yes without giving me a nano-ounce of grief. She didn’t even ask if I was making the right decision. Such trust, such understanding and such support, it don’t get no better than that!! 

No less important, during these forty years, she has afforded me the peace and tranquility of a home life that many men can only dream of while they are sleeping. We seldom fought, a fact that Kevin claimed to be not normal. I can count the number of times that we had real serious disagreements with both hands and still have quite a few fingers to spare. On the rare occasion that we do “disagree”, the most amazing thing about her is that by the next morning she has already forgiven and forgotten. 

Nobody is perfect. Neither she nor I are perfect. That she is not perfect is a blessing for me, if she were perfect, would anyone believe that I’ll be the one to have deserved these 40 years of such good fortune? I suspect NOT! Separately, we are two very imperfect people, but we are perfectly matched together. Her stubbornness (after all she is an ox by her birth sign) and lack of mechanical inclinations have perfectly complemented my “go with the flow” attitude and lack of culinary skills for the past 40 years. She Is Perfect For Me. 

So, on this 40th Anniversary, TO LILLIAN: A Toast to say I LOVE YOU!! A Great Big Hug and Kiss to thank you for the wonderful forty years past, and all I wish for is you telling me “WE’VE ONLY JUST BEGUN” (The Carpenters or, strictly speaking, Paul Williams ’70). 

 And one final thought, people have often asked me what our secret is: two words: Yes, ma’am. 

A Year of Five

This year has been a year of fives. Hubs completed his PhD after five long years of blood, sweat, and tears; and a bit of hard work and determination on his part. This month has marked the fifth month that we have had to live apart because of his new job and the hassles of selling a house in this horrendous market and waiting for benefits to become available after a 90 day waiting period. It took us 5 months to sell our house. But, most importantly, today marks our 5th wedding anniversary. It is so hard to believe that 5 years has gone by since our wedding and 12 years since our first date. When I look back on our day, it’s almost sort of a blur because it went by so fast, but there are moments that will stay with me forever. So, in honor of our year of five, I give to hubs, my 5 best memories of our wedding. 

I remember just feeling so excited to finally be getting married and taking that next step. Even after being together for so long before getting married, it was still exciting to know that we were finally getting our forever. 

There hasn’t really been another time that I have been so emotional that I would risk crying in public. I remember that when my dad was walking me down the aisle, and I was looking at hubs smiling at me, that I was just so overcome with happiness that I had to take a few deep breaths so that my professionally applied makeup would not be ruined. 

I remember being nervous. Not nervous, as in cold feet nervous, just nervous in being in front of everyone and the fear of tripping or messing up my vows. As soon as I got to hubs and took his hand, all the nervousness melted away. We were in this together.

I remember many of our guests telling me how big hubs’s smile was when the doors first opened, and I started my processional. I remember our first dance and how hubs sacrificed his sense of self-preservation to endure a 4 minute song because I loved it and wanted it to be our song. 

Finally, I remember just looking at him and thinking how lucky am I that this man is mine? A man, who was smart enough, to not only earn a PhD in Finance, but to know to acknowledge my birthday (Feb 13) and Valentine’s Day as two separate occasions, even though he didn’t have to. This man who takes care of me, indulges my outrageous hypotheticals, makes me laugh whether I want to or not, and just plain loves me. 

Happy Anniversary to my hubs. 5 years married, 12 years together. I love you, and look forward to the rest of our forever. 

Thank you, Mr. Peter.

**I have struggled to find the right words to truly express just how devastating this loss is to our dance family at the Duluth School of Ballet, so apologies for the extreme stream-of-conciousness rambling.

I have been very fortunate in my life that I have not had to deal extensively with the pain and loss that is associated with the death of a loved one. I only know what I have seen close friends experience. That all changed earlier this month when I came home from work, and my mom said that she had something to share with me. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear the words that came out of her mouth: “Mr. Peter passed away.” 

I was in disbelief. Peter was the character in your life that you thought would outlive everyone and be there for years and years so that he would be there to teach our kids. He teased me when he did the photography for my wedding that I would need to get started on the next generation of DSB dancers right away so that studio could stay in business. 

Peter was my very first ballet teacher, and to be frank, he scared the bejesus out of me. He was very no nonsense and didn’t take any crap that tends to come out of adolescent girls. I understand now that what was once seen as plain ol’ mean was really a lesson in self-discipline, not only in the studio but in all aspects of our lives. 

When my mom started working at the studio, and before I could drive myself home, I would be there after everyone had left and was fortunate enough to have those few moments to just hang out with him. He challenged me one year to a chopstick contest, as he was going to a Chinese New Year banquet with my family, to see who could move the smallest item from their plate to the other person’s plate. Unfortunately, we didn’t get the chance to play, but I’m pretty sure that he would have beaten me as my skills are adequate at best. But it’s the little memories like those that are unique and special to each of his students that demonstrate why everyone loved him so. 

Over the years, I always heard parents ask him why he never formed a company through the school, and his answer was always the same. He understood that not every little girl or little boy that walked through those doors wanted to be a ballerina or professional dancer, and that 99% of those students probably would never get anywhere near the professional level, but he guaranteed that 100% of those students would learn to love the art of dance. I always appreciated that he just wanted us to love dancing wherever it took us in life. 

Pliés, pirouettes, and grande battements weren’t the only things that I learned in that studio. The life lessons that I didn’t understand how important they were as a teenager, I will always have with me as an adult. Trying to control a room full of girls, I think he groaned out, “don’t be an aural nuisance,” more than he cared to. He would always say it with a sly grin because he thought he was being so clever with saying “aural” and instead of “oral”. He would always quiz us on the difference just to drive his point home. I can hear his voice in my head sitting in my meetings when someone just can’t seem to be quiet. 

He was fiercely adamant that his students not be “sheep”- if you’re going to make a mistake, make your own mistake and not someone else’s. Lord, I learned that one quickly. One time, when I wasn’t sure of a combination, I started to move one way, and noticed that someone else was doing something differently, so I adjusted and started following them, and boy did he call me out. He made me finish my initial movement and then promptly announced that had I not been acting like a sheep, I would have been correct. Message received, Mr. Peter. Loud and clear. 

Always finish. He was forever on us to never slop out of a turn, combination, whatever. You always finish no matter how behind you are or how badly you think you did it. Always finish.

Peter’s dedication to his students went far beyond weekly classes. When I asked him to help me for a summer program that I was interested in, he not only picked out a dance for me to do, he arranged it so that it would suit my strengths. And then he worked with me for several weeks after class to set it and perfect it. He also coached me on the interview portion in which he gave me the best life lesson I could have ever gotten from him, “Don’t tell them what you think they want to hear. Just be honest, and be yourself.”  
I believe that what endeared Peter to me and all of his students was that he saw in each us, what we couldn’t see for ourselves. There was no such thing as “I can’t” in his studio. You had better duck for cover if those words were ever spoken in his presence. He taught us, he encouraged us, he laughed with us, he teased us, he worried for us, and just in general, he loved us like we were all his own children. He was always saying that he didn’t need any more children because he had all of us. 

I know that for the rest of my life I will always cringe at the word “recital”. Peter Garick did not put on recitals, they were performances, and how dare anyone suggest otherwise. They were some of the best times of my life. There is a reason why all the seniors are sobbing uncontrollably at the end of the last show. 

I credit this man for my love of the musicals Yankee Doodle Dandy and Singin’ In the Rain, which he introduced at the Summer Movie Nights along with all sorts of useless trivia facts about them that has earned many points on the occasional trivia night. 

He is the sole reason for life-long love (read: obsession) of dance and anything involving tutus and pointe shoes. 

He is the link for not just mine, but many decades old friendships. 

And while he may not have a child to carry on his name, his legacy is the hundreds of students who lovingly called him Mr. Peter even years after they have since graduated and continued to love dance. 

So, thank you, Mr. Peter, for allowing me the privilege to share in your dream and to be a part of your dance family. You are greatly missed, but not forgotten. 

Back in the Saddle

A few weeks into the new year, and I am finally getting back on track. I completely went off the deep end in terms of being totally unhealthy. I wasn't exercising. I was eating everything I shouldn't have been eating. And I've got the tighter pants and the enhanced chest area to prove it.

Hubs and I finally got our act together and went grocery shopping to get back to making our weekly meals. I do have to admit that this week's menu is not as Paleo as it could be, but I found these recipes on Oprah.com, and had to try them. I definitely tweaked to make them as Paleo as possible, but there were some things that I wasn't confident trying off-recipe to make them truly Paleo.

For breakfast:

Lemon-Pear Breakfast Bread
These were the substitutions that I made:
- 1/2 cup canola oil (I subbed olive oil for this)
- 1/2 cup honey (I subbed raw agave nectar for this)
- 1 cup purchased pear puree (I subbed pear baby food for this)

Results: It looked a little like meatloaf. Not golden like the picture, but my concoctions never end up like the picture. But the taste was not bad. A little dense, but definitely a filler in the morning.

For lunch, my usual sweet potato chicken corn chowder, except without the corn and the onion. I was such a space case at the store that I completely forgot the frozen corn and onion. It was so crowded, I just wanted to get the heck out of dodge.

For dinner:

Chicken, mushroom, spinach lasagna
My substitutions:
- 1 1/2 lbs mushroom, brushed clean and sliced (I cheated and just got the pre-sliced, pre-washed mushroom carton)
- 2 medium heads radicchio (I changed this out for spinach. Not a big fan of radicchio. Always get more spinach that you think you need, it always wilts down into almost nothing).
- 1 Tbsp chopped fresh sage leaves (I left this out. Sage is always so overpowering to me).\
- 1/3 cup all purpose flour (I subbed the whole-wheat flour for this).
- 4 cups 2% milk (I subbed 3 cups of chicken stock and 1 cup of whole milk for this)
- 1 container part-skim ricotta cheese (I subbed cottage cheese).

Results: I am going to have to play around with the sauce. But not bad for the first time out with so many changes.

So, if you're trying to also get your act together and be healthier, at least until February, what are some of your go-to recipes?

Let's Daaaance! A Footloose Review.

I will admit that when I first heard that my beloved Footloose was being remade, I just about had a conniption fit. What was wrong with Hollywood? Surely, with all the wannabe writers, producers, directors, etc. there couldn’t be a shortage of new, fresh ideas. It seemed that everything coming out was some sort of remake, and not very good remakes at that.

Right then and there I made a vow. As God was my witness, I was not going to see that movie, no matter how many degrees of Kevin Bacon gave their blessing. Well, that vow lasted all of about a week after the movie opened. But it wasn’t my fault! My movie-going partner was dying to see it, and since it was the only movie out worth a damn at the time, I begrudgingly gave in.

There is no harsher critic than a movie-goer that is deeply loyal to the original. This movie was in for the fight of its life.

To its credit, Footloose 2.0 stays pretty true to the original storyline, characterizations, and themes of the original. Big city boy comes to small town, ruffles a few feathers, falls for the girl he’s not supposed to fall for, invokes a revolution, and alls well that ends well.

One element that I did enjoy that wasn’t present in the original was the relationship between Ren and his uncle. It was good to see that Ren had someone in his corner with a level head despite the small town mentality, provided a nice foil for Dennis Quaid’s character, even though not a major character.

Speaking of Dennis Quaid, I thought his character was too easily sympathized with. The character of Reverend Shaw was supposed to be the enemy. He was the authority figure responsible for the town’s ban on dancing. Lithgow’s Reverend Shaw was full of hell, fire, and brimstone and easily vilified. Quaid’s Shaw was not. It could very well be because it’s just Dennis Quaid, and how could anyone hate Dennis Quaid? Or because the audience was given the ability to sympathize with the character and understand that the actions of the character were based out of personal tragedy.

The dance scenes were alright. If memory serves, it seems that they cut Willard’s learning to dance scene short, and also the final prom scene. They both just seemed so much shorter than the original, and those were my two favorite parts.

A few other things:
• Is it me or could Julienne Hough pass for a Jennifer Anniston mini-me?
• And that the actor that was cast for Willard could pass for Chris Penn as well?
• Loved that the director kept the yellow bug, with its nonfunctioning passenger door.
• There were, at times, that the movie felt “hoochified” to give it the sex appeal that seems to sell so well these days
• Was not a fan of Blake Shelton’s version of Footloose, but loved the Jane Dear Girls version that Fandango gave me free from iTunes.

Final verdict? It was as well done as a remake could be done. And I freely admit that I was wrong for thinking that it would be horrible. Does it measure up to the original? Of course not. C’mon it’s Kevin Bacon. KEVIN BACON. But it definitely holds its own, and it will probably be an addition to the DVD collection.

If you saw it, what did you think?

A Mile High and a Mile Long

**Apologies in advanced for my long-windedness**

A couple of weeks ago, Hubs and I got to visit Denver. He was going for a conference, and I just happened to tag along since I had never been. I was really looking forward to this trip. A few days off work, an airplane ride, and a hotel stay. Good times ahead.

When I arrived to my gate, I was surprised to see that Hartsfield had installed little walls of outlets, 2 on each side, between every other row of seats at each gate, which is nice, but very hard to come by unless you get to the gate really early, which I did. I was all settled in with my electronics plugged in, happy in my little social media stalking world, when hunger struck. D'oh. The drawback to traveling alone. If you get up, you give up your seat. In the end, the stomach always wins, and I went off in search of sustenance and caffeine. Luckily there was Dunkin' Donuts near the gate that could provide both. Getting food at the airport is always an adventure. For example:

Me: My biscuit was supposed to have cheese (I know, not very Paleo, but I was on vacation dammit).
Server: (Blank stare)- Okay.
Me: I don’t think it’s on there.
Server: You ordered cheese? (Sheesh, I thought I was speaking English, maybe I should have been speaking “text”.)
Me: Um, yes.

Fortunately, I was able to watch her add the cheese and only the cheese.

The actual flight itself was fine; I slept through most of it. Take-off was interesting with all the swaying back and forth in the wind and rain. And I think this was my first flight ever that had a female captain. Girl Power!

I made it to the hotel and got my key from the front desk and had really bad “der” moment. Although, not entirely my fault. I guess I don’t stay in fancy hotels enough, and by fancy I mean the Sheraton. My ass is usually relegated to a Holiday Inn Express. Apparently, nowadays at these fancy hotels, you have to swipe your room key to get to any floor, instead of just the fancy penthouse suites. Ms. Front-Desk-I’m-Only-Working-Here-Until-The-Wedding-With-My-Rock-Of-Gibraltar-Sized-Ring forgot to inform me of this teeny, but oh so important fact. When I got into the elevator, I pressed the button, and off I went. But then I stopped on a floor that was not my own. It wouldn’t have been such a huge deal except for the fact that the doors did not open. Not so good. Leave it to me to get the defective elevator. Talk about an extinction burst. If that 17 button wasn’t broken before, it was now. Luckily, I kept my wits about me and pressed the open door button. I stepped out into the hallway and pressed the up arrow hoping to get a different elevator. No luck, same elevator. Okay, let’s try this again. 17. Doors close. Up, up, up, wait you missed my floor. Again. 19. This time, I finally saw the little room key swiper. Let me give it whirl. I am such a genius.

I was able to meet one of my sorority sisters for dinner at a brewery called Wynkoop where I got to taste my first bison burger ever. It was fantabulous. After dinner, before dropping me off back at the hotel, she drove me around a little bit pointing out different things that I might like to see. She specifically pointed out the capitol building. Remember this. This is the impetus that would lead me on a walking tour of downtown Denver that I am pretty sure that I didn’t want to have.

With Hubs busy most of the day with the conference meetings, I was on my own for entertainment. On this particular day, Hubs had a meeting that was in a different hotel, so I decided that I would walk him to the hotel and then go exploring.

Okay, so I will preface this by saying that when my friend was driving me around, I had no clue where I was in relation to my hotel. So, when I decided to go exploring it was very last minute and very spontaneous, as in, I did not consult Google. I figured, hey it’s a capitol building, I’m pretty sure that I can pick it out of the skyline and head towards it. Well, that might have worked had I actually picked out the right landmark. So to save myself the humiliation of actually typing out what happened, I will let Google Maps illustrate.

So, this is the route that I could have taken had I wanted to be there in, oh, five minutes:

This is the route that I actually took because I was walking towards the wrong building and too stubborn to look at the visitor guide maps:

On the bright side, I got to peruse the 16th street mall and since it was such a great day weather wise, I didn’t mind being outside, and I got some exercise. At the end of the day, I got the picture of the mile marker. Of course, that didn’t stop Hubs from the obligatory pat on the head when I relayed yet another story of my lack of directional intuition.

On an even brighter note, I discovered a great little place to eat that is not here in Georgia. I had actually planned to go down to the hotel coffee shop for lunch and pick up something there, but as I found out, it is a coffee shop in the true sense in that once the muffins run out, they’re out. Now I was in a pickle. And then I happened to look outside and see that right across the street was the 16th street food court and the first thing closest to me? Noodles and Company. What the hell? Definitely can’t go wrong with a name like that. So, I hopped on over, and it was like stepping into heaven. A place dedicated to serving all things noodles. The best part? Their signature dish is macaroni and cheese. Oh. My. Gravy. It’s almost a good thing that there isn’t one here in Ga. I would be HUGE and poor from eating there every day. Which is what I did. Mac and cheese the first day and beef stroganoff (pictured) the second day.

After the conference was over, we stayed our final night with friends who live in a nearby town. I cooked a big family meal, as a thank you for letting us crash and carting us around. And let me tell you, there is nothing more out of your comfort zone than cooking in someone else’s kitchen. Our last morning there, they took us to a place that is known for their awesome brunch and also featured on one of my favorite tv shows, Man vs. Food.

We made it out of there just in time, a foot of snow was dumped on the city the day after we left. All in all, a great city. I thoroughly enjoyed my first time out there and hope to get back there soon. Although, my skin wasn’t so thrilled with the extreme dry air. I am still trying to recuperate from the snake skin that I developed out there.

He Is...

Happy Anniversary to my Hubs. Today is our wedding anniversary and our together anniversary as well. After being together for the better part of a decade, we didn't think that introducing a new anniversary date would work out too well. Lucky number 13 would pull through again for us(me) and allow our wedding day to fall on our anniversary. In honor of this special occasion, I dedicate this post to him and why I am lucky to call him my Hubs.

He is the calm to my storm. He may be the ginger in this relationship, but I am definitely the one with the fiery temper. One statement taken the wrong way can usually lead to cacophony of slammed cupboard doors as I stomp around the kitchen cleaning, and a pout that can last for the better part of an afternoon/evening. It's become a running joke, that whenever he wants me to clean, all he has to do is piss me off, and the house will be spotless. Side note, I can't clean anything now without being asked what I'm mad about and is it his fault. Fortunately, 11 years has provided him with some insight as to how to deal with my rages. He can deal with me calmly and effectively without aggravating the beast even more. I'm sure he is ready to put a fence around me with a Beware of Irate Wife sign and go hunker down in the underground bunker.

He is the eldest to my youngest. If any of you have read anything about child psychology and birth order, then you would know that eldests and youngests is one of the better matched pairs. Partners who are the eldest naturally tend to take the lead and like to be the "boss" while youngests are used to having things done for them and are willing to follow. I think you can see why these types of people would make good matches. We are a textbook example, especially when we travel. Hubs is on the ball researching EVERYTHING. If I tell him what I want to do and when I want to do it, he's on the internet for hours with how we're going to get there, how long it's going to take to get there, etc etc. You get the idea. Hell, he even figured out the subway system in Prague. And while I am perfectly capable of doing this myself, if he's willing to do it, why would I deny him? But to be clear, he's not some chest-banging caveman that drags me by my hair expecting me to follow blindly. He's very perfectly willing to let me be in the driver's seat when I want or to consider any alternatives that I point out. But he's so good at what he does; I think I'll just continue to let him drive.

He is the comedy to my drama. He makes me laugh. Plain and simple. He makes me laugh when I don't want to laugh and that's usually when I need to the most. When I am particularly feeling low, a well timed, off-colored joke from him is all it takes to clear the gray and get me smiling again.

He is the love to my hate. Hate is a strong word, but I'm working with a theme here. Hubs and I are not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. We do have our disagreements. Sometimes those disagreements are loud. Sometimes those disagreements can be silent....for a few days. But what he has never failed to do was say I love you to me, and then make me say it back. This has got to be, hands down, one of the most important and hardest things that I have learned from him. You always say it back because you never know what can happen. Oh, how I resisted though. The last thing I wanted to do was tell him, "I love you", when what I really wanted to do was hurl the nearest frying pan at his head (see that temper?), so usually he had to settle for a grunted, "you too", in response. It's still a work in progress, but I've managed to go from grunting to saying the whole damn phrase with as much civility as possible, AND, without gritting my teeth. Progress, people, progress. That's what's important.

I could go on and on, but for the sake of brevity, I will cut myself off here. All in all, my hubs is a rockstar. He is a supergenius, gentle souled, not hard-to-look at rockstar. Does he have his faults, sure. Who doesn't? Do I wish that he wouldn't turn every room of the house into his personal hamper? Of course. Do I wish that he would learn to put dirty dishes into the sink and not on the counter catty corner to the sink? You betcha. But at the end of the day, they are faults that I am willing to live with, because to live without them, would be to live without him, and I just don't believe that I would want to or could do that. Hopefully, he feels the same way about me and mine. Or else he's in for a long 50+ years.

Okay, the cliches are done. Promise.

So, here's to my Hubs.
Happy Anniversary!
I love you so very much!