I read a study recently which found that siblings are more likely to be different than alike. Scientists think it has something to do with expanding the gene pool.
I heard an interview on Thanksgiving with the creator of Modern Family who said, regardless of how different they are, siblings are always bound together.
Happy birthday to someone with whom I have hardly anything in common, but whom I love and adore...like a sister.
At the end of last summer, one of our pastors--and someone I'm lucky enough to call a dear friend--left her position as Assistant Pastor of our church to become the lone pastor of her own church. Kristin's departure made for a rough summer, and I remember crying for most of the week (okay, month) before she left. People reminded me that she wasn't dying or even moving to a different area code, but it was a rough road nonetheless.
Soon after she left, I visisted her at her new church. When I got there, she and her secretary were having a discussion about whether or not to staple the bulletins for Sunday morning. "Should they be stapled?" Kristin asked. "I just don't know. Are they usually stapled? Would you want a stapled bulletin?" This went on for a while until Kristin asked the secretary how it's usually done. Apparently, they usually weren't stapled. So they left it at that. No staples.
Last weekend, Matt and I drove out to Westminster for Kristin's installation as the new pastor of her very lucky church. Once again, I found myself crying. But this time, I wasn't sobbing or feeling sorry for a loss. I was smiling. She was so at home, so comfortable. And while I'm still sad that I don't get to see my friend every week, I'm happier to see her so fulfilled and content where she obviously needs to be.
And at her installation, the bulletins were stapled.
I knew Matt and I were taking a weather gamble when we decided to get married in mid-October in Minnesota. I told myself not to stress about something I couldn't control. I calmed myself down by reminding myself that, even if the weather was terrible on our wedding day, we would still have 50 anniversaries to enjoy good weather.
The week before our wedding was cold and rainy. But October 15, 2005, was stunning: 70 degrees and sunny. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect fall day.
Then came the first of those 50 anniversaries. On our first anniversary, October 15, 2006, we went to Hawaii and were greeted by an earthquake and subsequent power-outage. The highlight of the island-wide blackout was the several hours we spent sipping Big Gulp margaritas out of paper cups at this Mexican restaurant:
The next three years were much of the same.
October 15, 2007: Brutal cold snap
October 15, 2008: Wind, rain and hail
October 15, 2009: Cold, damp, drizzly and miserable
And now we've come to October 15, 2010. We're celebrating our fifth anniversary with a weekend getaway, just in time for the massive nor'easter moving its way up the east coast.
What's better than one 30th birthday? Two 30th birthdays and a 28th birthday thrown in for good measure!
I was lucky enough to celebrate my milestone birthday with Kris, who was also turning 30, and Mary, who is a wee child of 28: In honor of our milestones, we celebrated with an assortment of old-people favorites, from mashed potatoes and Jello to our signature "coffeetini" cocktail (modeled here with Jessica who made the journey from Pittsburgh for the big bash): Matt also got us some headwear that he thought would be appropriate (if not for a birthday party, then for next year's American Gothic-inspired Halloween costume): And I don't remember the last time I had a cake with my name on it (Thanks, Arjun!): Thank you, Mary and Kris, for making my 30th birthday 30 times as fun and 30 times as memorable.
Last weekend, Matt took me to Woodberry Kitchen in Baltimore for my birthday. I loved the food--especially the emphasis on local, sustainable agriculture. Matt, on the other hand, won't be requesting a return visit for his birthday.
As soon as we sat down, our waiter talked ad nauseam about their "extremely special" pork feature that was butchered on-site and came from a farm in New Jersey that only sold to three restaurants in the entire world. I believe the word "succulent" was used at least five times. A few minutes later, he came back to ask if we had any questions. He saw me looking at the wine list and went off on another five-minute oration about a specific region in California that produces some of the finest wine blends this side of Bordeaux. Apparently, he lived there for quite some time and "really experienced" the wine. Matt was so annoyed by this time, that he refused to make eye contact and insisted that we order everything quickly and avoid all possible conversation starters. I thought we were in the clear until we discovered the cheese appetizer we wanted wasn't available. Our waiter used this as an opportunity to tell us the names and favorite colors of the goats the other selections came from.
I think the waiter sensed our (okay, Matt's) irritation. Not more than five minutes after taking our order, he not only complimented the next table on their wonderful meal order, but also brought them an order of oysters on the house. Just a few minutes after that, the chef visited another table and brought them a free dessert.
Rachel: "Check that out. The chef is visiting that table over there." Matt: "Really? Why?" Rachel: "I don't know. Maybe they did that whole 'compliments to the chef' thing." Matt: "You mean, they burped really loudly?"
And the mystery of the oil-and-water relationship of Matt and Woodberry Kitchen continues...
Perhaps still reeling from my 30th birthday last week, I've had another one of my favorite Dar Williams songs in my head for many days. As I've said before, her songs have a unique way of cycling through my life and popping up when I need them most. This one was a great companion this week (and the imagery in this version is inspiring for any woman of any age):
"You're Aging Well"
Why is it that as we grow older and stronger The road signs point us adrift and make us afraid? Saying "You never can win," "Watch your back," "Where's your husband?" I don't like the signs that the signmakers make.
So I'm going to steal out with my paint and my brushes, I'll change the directions, I'll hit every street, It's the Tinseltown scandal, the Robin Hood vandal, She goes out and steals the King's English And in the morning you wake up and the signs point to you,
They say "I'm so glad that you finally made it here," "You thought nobody cared, but I did, I could tell," And "This is your year," and "It always starts here," And oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh, "You're aging well."
Now I know a woman with a collection of sticks, She could fight back the hundreds of voices she heard And she could poke at the greed, she could fend off her need And at anger she found she could pound every word.
But one voice got through and caught her up by surprise It said, "Don't hold us back, we're the story you tell," And no sooner than spoken, a spell had been broken And the voices before her were trumpets and timpani Violins, basses and woodwinds and cellos, singing,
"We're so glad that you finally made it here, You thought nobody cared, but we did, we could tell And now you'll dance through the days while the orchestra plays And oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh, you're aging well."
Now when I was fifteen, oh I knew it was over, The road to enchantment was not mine to take, 'Cause lower calf, upper arm should be half what they are, I was breaking the laws that the signmakers made.
And all I could eat was the poisonous apple And that's not a story I was meant to survive, I was all out of choices, but the woman of voices She turned round the corner with music around her, She gave me the language that keeps me alive, she said:
"I'm so glad that you finally made it here, With the things you know now, that only time could tell, Looking back, seeing far, landing right where we are And oh-oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh, you're aging, oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh and I am aging, oh oh-oh-oh oh-oh, aren't we aging well?"
Last weekend, we held our much-anticipated Cinco de Matto celebration in honor of Matt's 30th birthday. In honor of the occasion, I commissioned our friend Garrett to make a cornhole set with Matt's face on it. Much to my surprise, instead of putting Matt's head on both, Garrett made us a delightful set:
Aside from the cornhole and a boat-load of delicious Mexican food, we were joined by dozens of Matt's wonderful friends...
not to mention several of Matt's other favorite things, from fireworks...
to a very special piñata:
Okay, the piñata experience was more for me. Regardless, happy birthday, Matt!
I've been thinking for a long time about a post for Matt's 30th birthday today. How do I poignantly wish him a happy milestone without sounding trite or sappy? So instead of relying merely on my own words, I'm sharing the adapted words of another instead:
"A Man Who Thinks He is Thirty" Adapted from a poem by Ogden Nash
Unwillingly Matthew awakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step he takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Matthew is in Matthew's sight Just old and gray and dirty; Twenty-nine he was last night; This morning he is thirty.
Shining like the morning star, Like the twilight shining, Haunted by a calendar, Dear Matthew is a-pining.
Silly boy, silver boy, Draw the mirror toward you: Time who makes the years to whirl Adorned as he adored you.
Time is timelessness for you; Calendars for the human; What's a year--or thirty--to Loveliness made person?
Oh, Night will not see thirty again, Yet soft her wing, dear Matthew; Pick up your glass and tell me, then-- How old is Spring, dear Matthew?
I got a wonderful birthday present from my Feyds and Annabear this year. Thanks to wonderful after-Christmas sales these past few weeks, it's the gift that has kept giving and giving (and, thanks so some mismarked items this afternoon, it will continue to give):
The only thing that would have made this awesome gift better would have been shopping with Feyds and Annabear. Maybe next birthday.
Two of our very favorite people got married the weekend before Thanksgiving. Ben was Matt's roommate in college (really, for the better part of a decade), and Tracy is his perfect match. To give an idea of how awesome these two are (and how wonderful they are for each other), this was their wedding invitation: It should also be noted that Tracy has two daughters. I would say that they helped pick out the invitation, but we know Ben too well. This is what he wore at the reception: And this was the topper on their cake: I had class the weekend of their wedding, so I had to stay at home, but it looks like it was a great celebration: And even though this one is blurry, I have to throw it in, because it's so classic Matt and Ben. Matt is dancing like a white guy (probably saying "AOOO") and Ben is pretending to pick his nose. So juvenile, so ridiculous, so sorry I missed it: We wish you many happy years, Bennie and Tracy!
My birthday isn't until tomorrow, but Matty surprised me this weekend with my present.
We took this photo just before we left. Matt wouldn't tell me where we were going. Oh, the anticipation! I knew we were going somewhere in D.C., but that was it. I found out that we had a reservation for "between 7 and 8," which confused me even more. I thought we were going to a play or dinner theater, but no. What a great surprise when we pulled into a parking lot and saw this enormous boat: We spent the rest of the evening sailing down the Potomac River, seeing all the monuments and other attractions from the water. I've seen these buildings hundreds (maybe even thousands) of times, but I'd never seen them from this angle, and they've never looked so beautiful: Matt and I stuffed ourselves silly with the ship's wonderful food. After our final course, Matt had had enough. "Stick a fork in me. I'm done," he said: The ship had a dance floor, too, so we boogied the night away after dinner. I've never considered myself a great dancer, but I do like to think I have a fair amount of rhythm. That was all put to rest when several African American couples started dancing by us. My worst suspicions were confirmed: I suck.
At one point in the evening, the band announced all the birthdays on board and asked the whole ship to sing to us. I think Matty was the only one who sang "...to Rachie," but he was the only one I was listening to.
Hundreds of people may have been singing, but nothing says "happy birthday" like a candle in some flan: ...not to mention, spending an evening out with your very favorite person:
Pagan Schmagan. My sisters know how to celebrate, regardless of the holiday: That's Sister Kenneth in the middle (a.k.a. Sister Kass) and one of our secretaries, Linda, on the right. Linda's not a sister either, but we both felt like honorary ones today in our "Halloween Habits," as Sister Kass put it.
Sister Kass (dressed as The Great Pumpkin) started calling me Minnie when I hung my Twins poster up at the end of last season. Naturally, I started calling her Saint Paul. I told her that "Sister Saint Paul" was redundant. She said it was an oxy moron.
Not to be outdone, our service dog, Newey, also dressed as The Great Pumpkin:
And this was the topper on their cake:
I knew we were going somewhere in D.C., but that was it. I found out that we had a reservation for "between 7 and 8," which confused me even more. I thought we were going to a play or dinner theater, but no. What a great surprise when we pulled into a parking lot and saw this enormous boat:
We spent the rest of the evening sailing down the Potomac River, seeing all the monuments and other attractions from the water. I've seen these buildings hundreds (maybe even thousands) of times, but I'd never seen them from this angle, and they've never looked so beautiful:
Matt and I stuffed ourselves silly with the ship's wonderful food. After our final course, Matt had had enough. "Stick a fork in me. I'm done," he said:
The ship had a dance floor, too, so we boogied the night away after dinner. I've never considered myself a great dancer, but I do like to think I have a fair amount of rhythm. That was all put to rest when several African American couples started dancing by us. My worst suspicions were confirmed: I suck.
...not to mention, spending an evening out with your very favorite person:
That's Sister Kenneth in the middle (a.k.a. Sister Kass) and one of our secretaries, Linda, on the right. Linda's not a sister either, but we both felt like honorary ones today in our "Halloween Habits," as Sister Kass put it.
