Living Happily Ever After

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Through a Keyhole

“The view of Earth is spectacular.” (Sally Ride)

I was reminded of this during a vacation in Rome several years ago. We’d seen many of the well-known sights there and then one day, hired a car. The silver-haired, suave Italian driver spoke heavily accented English and promised us a day we’d always remember. He said he was going to show us HIS favorite places in Rome. First on his list? The embassy of Malta.

As we drove there, I began to think I’d understood him wrong. An Italian gentleman living in Rome, surrounded by literally ages of history and beauty…and he was taking us to another country’s embassy? And for what? I didn’t understand why, or the purpose of our drive up a winding road, but we carried on. When we arrived (sure enough, at the embassy of Malta—which appeared to be deserted as it was a national holiday) our driver had us all step out of the car and approach the door.

The doors were large, antique looking and had an old-fashioned yet elegant metal plate containing a large keyhole. The driver instructed us each to bend down, put our eye to the keyhole and look. I confess, I’ve never done anything like that in my life much less on a vacation, but I did it. As I bent down for a look, I half-expected guards or other officials to unexpectedly appear and haul us away for peeping or spying where we shouldn’t be. But instead, the result was a sight and a memory I’ll never forget. (In fact, it’s the ONE thing I tell everyone they have to do in Rome.)

Through the keyhole I saw an arched passageway covered in green vines leading to an opening at the end similar in size and shape to a large window which unfolded into a magnificently framed, unforgettable, incredibly picturesque view of the city. It was absolutely breathtaking. Something that can’t be experienced any other way but by making the effort to find Malta’s embassy, getting out of a comfortable and air conditioned car, walking to a closed door, bending down to squat in front of its keyhole and opening your eyes to the experience. (I know, because I tried over and over again to stick the lens of camera against the keyhole and get a picture of it. Most attempts didn’t really turn out, and the few that were somewhat visible simple were not representative of the sight. Somewhere in translation, the magic could not be captured.)

It’s a lot like life.

“Life is full of surprises and serendipity. Being open to unexpected turns in the road is an important part of success. If you try to plan every step, you may miss those wonderful twists and turns. Just find your next adventure, do it well, enjoy it…” (Condoleeza Rice)

We each are blessed with unexpected opportunities—some joyous, some unforgettable, most leading to growth or the expanding of our soul in one way or another, and literally all of them unanticipated. But by choosing to embrace them, being humble whatever the experience may be, we come out on the other side enriched, and the better for it. It always depends on you: What you choose to do with it. How you choose to look at it. What you decide to make of it or to let it make of you. After all, “From a dog’s point of view his master is an elongated and abnormally cunning dog.” (Mabel L. Robinson)

So enjoy the unexpected adventures and the opportunities you’re given to enhance your life perspective. You’ll be the better for it. You’ll become more than you otherwise would have.

And, if you’re ever in Rome, you know where to go.

The Rest of The Details

“…Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we; Little we fear Weather…” (William Makepeace Thackeray, “Vanity Fair”)

Married.

We walked out of the temple, hand in hand–and into a freezing, icy, winter wind.

We attempted to take some pictures to mark the occasion, but after the first one or two photos, the wind blew the tripod attached to the camera over (and broke the camera!) So the few wedding day pictures we have were taken with a cell phone. But that’s o.k. because due to the wind, #5′s hair, or mine, was standing on end in about every picture anyway. We’re just grateful we have a photo to mark the occasion. (Thank goodness I had no illusions about looking young or lovely on my wedding day–the ravages of time, remarrying mid-life–43 1/2 years old, to be specific–and the unrelenting wind, took care of all of that! Lol.)

We joined our family at a casual, family-friendly luncheon put together for us by my sisters and a cousin, complete with entertainment. We unofficially called it “The Michael Howard Show” as both performers had that same name! It featured my two favorite singers, my cousin and my new husband. As part of the performance, #5 sang the song he very first sang for me. It has, as he introduced it, “sort of  become ‘our song’.”

And then we were off on a honeymoon, made possible by my new mother-in-law who graciously agreed to stay in our home and take care of the 5 children who still live at home. It was such a gift: to know the kids would be taken care of, and nurtured, and be able to enjoy time with their grandma while we were gone; we didn’t have to worry about a thing. (I was especially worried about my youngest; we experienced a MAJOR change, marriage, and I left him that very day to go on a honeymoon.) Thanks, mom.

“A house needs a grandma in it.” (Louisa May Alcott)

Especially when the parents are on their…honeymoon!

A New Family Picture

“Life is a rough biography. Memories smooth out the edges.” (Terri Guillemets)

Prior to my 2009 nightmare, I won a free 16×20 portrait at a charity auction. I had forgotten all about it, but as I packed to move, I found the coupon. I thought it was a timely discovery: I was moving and wouldn’t be able to use it after I moved away–at that time, I couldn’t imagine when, or if, I’d ever come back, if even for a visit. I was divorcing and didn’t have one picture of just my children and I to hang in our home. So I booked an appointment for a new family portrait.

We all got ready, wearing coordinating clothes, and drove to the portrait studio. It actually wasn’t any different, up to that point, than getting any other family picture taken had been. Except that even the youngest child was happy and in a good mood. (I had always been the one to schedule the appointment, choose the clothes, get myself and all of the children ready, and then He would show up, change, and go with us to the appointment–although He was usually stressed out about something and his stress would rub off on some of the children as we drove so that by the time we got there, things were a bit of a challenge. Then He’d do something to help everyone feel happy again, usually the promise of a treat afterward took care of it, so our picture experiences ended up being good memories. But His behavior was the reason we needed a treat afterward!)

I was excited that the picture was not going to cost us a thing at a time we had no money. I was excited to have a picture appropriate to hang in our home as we began a new life. Everything was going off without a hitch…until we were walking in the door of the studio.

My middle son, who was nine years old at the time, stopped, turned to me, and asked, “Wait. Where is Dad? Why are we getting a picture taken without Him?”

How do you answer that, at a time like that?

My poor boy. Every little thing about our unexpected life was so sad for him and hurt him. We couldn’t even get a picture taken without causing him pain!

It reminded me of something my oldest wrote in an essay at about the same age, only life, for him, was a lot different then: “I am like a camera taking pictures with my mind.” He was referring to happy memories, I think, and I couldn’t help but wonder what my middle son’s life camera was documenting for his future reference.

My challenge then, as it had always been, was to help my children create happy memories to record in the cameras of their minds. Only the material they were working with, the life they were documenting, had dramatically changed–and not for the better, I thought at that time.

But I had to help them do the best they could with what we had to work with. For them. And for me.

I had to hope that somehow, I could help them realize that, “Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember.” (Seneca)

If you handle them right.

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