Seasons of love

Love is a drug, as Bryan Ferry noted; the chance to be intoxicated by it comes along all too rarely; and I for one believe the chance is worth plenty of adjustments – in terms of who I think I am, how my life is supposed to go – and even, perhaps, in terms of how cold the water is that I can stand.  – Naomi Wolf, “Midlife Passion”, Sunday Times Style Magazine, 14 Feb 2010

Naomi Wolf’s comments about ‘second chance love’ could not be more true. The rush of love is all more precious and delicious when it is found and enjoyed after one has been wounded and bruised in prior skirmishes on the battlefield of amour. 

This is certainly a thing to be celebrated, and I was delighted to read such a heady, breathless, almost frothy account of “midlife passion” from Naomi Wolf, a stalwart of the American feminist movement.

She writes: “I am sure that some of the feelings of intense wellbeing I have around my lover has to do with things as simple and inexplicable as the fact that the rhythm of our heartbeats and breathing happen to be in alignment. When I am near his pulse, I calm down. It doesn’t get much better than that.” 

I know exactly what she means.

The D.E.B. and I celebrated our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple this weekend. And what a weekend it was! A weekend full of tears (happy ones), joy and laughter.

Valentine’s weekend started for me with bang. On Friday, I was invited to appear as a “Coffee Club” guest on “The Annie Othen Show” on BBC Radio. Annie and her team had planned an exciting pre-Valentine’s Day special, which included a vast, in-studio chocolate fountain; and a bit of retail therapy, with us three Coffee Club guests doing a blind sample test of candles and hand cream.

The piece de la resistance was a special appearance by Mr. England 2009, Andreas Kattou. A Warwickshire lad from the town of Rugby, Andreas is of Greek Cypriot extraction. His family own and run a popular local fish and chip shop in Rugby, he has already raised millions for charity (“Children in Need” and “Help the Heroes”), and he loves his mum. He was a doll.

As is probably no surprise, when Mr. England arrived, and chocolate body paint surfaced. Annie Othen asked me to have a go painting Mr. England with the chocolate paste. Jane Austen character that I am, I painted a big chocolate heart on his arm, but refused to lick it off!

Annie had invited me to be on the Valentine’s show as I had developed a reputation as an incurable romantic the last time she had had me as a guest on her show.

At the top of the show, Annie asked each of us our thoughts on Valentine’s Day. The two other guests gave very realist and borderline cynical responses. To be far, Pam, a ‘Virtual Vicar’ with iChurch, made a very good point that Valentine’s Day can be a very difficult time for the lonely, the single, the bereaved, the divorced, &etc.

As such, I feared sounding sappy or superficial by comparison. But, hey, when you’ve got a good thing going on, why be shy about it? So, I said, that yes, I was very, very excited about Valentine’s Day, and very much in love. But, I tempered this enthusiastic response by adding that the D.E.B. and I – being second timers – strive to love and care for each other so that every day is Valentine’s Day.

I could hear the sound of the world puking collectively in the corner, but I didn’t care. What I had to say was as true as rain on a summer’s day in England. The D.E.B. is so wonderful and loving, that he makes me want to be a better wife to/for him, everyday.

“Most marriages don’t need work. What they need is laughter, forgiveness and the odd lie-in.” – Andrew Clover

On Sunday, the D.E.B. and I rose early, and exchanged Valentine’s presents over morning coffee, and then went to a special “Thanksgiving for and Celebration of Marriage” service at St. Peter’s Church.  

The Vicar had us invited to take a special role in the service. Mid-way through the service, the D.E.B. and I stood in front of the congregation, representing all the husbands and wives present, and then led the married couples in a re-affirmation of their wedding vows, and in a litany of praise, thanking God for the blessing and expression of God's Love that is marriage.

It was just like getting married all over again. *SIGH*

It was a very powerful service, with married couples of all ages and lengths of time being married taking part. The choir did an amazing job, and performed Bach’s anthem “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” a popular wedding favo(u)rite. Around the church there were streams of happy tears as people reminisced together quietly on their own wedding days.

After church, the D.E.B. & I came home, wrote cards, wrapped the chocolate chip cookies I’d baked the night before, and delivered them to four of our friends in the village, who are alone and/or recent/recent-ish widows.

The Virtual Vicar on the Annie Othen show had made me think about this, and the importance of spreading some love to those dear women, so that they would receive a card of love on Valentine's Day.

Then we took a little road trip to Woodstock, down near Oxford, to Blenheim Palace -- the stately home where Winston Churchill was born. It was beautiful day. Cold, but beautiful. And, Blenheim is a remarkable and amazing place.

I was also able to arrange a special Valentine’s Day Sunday Lunch for us in 'The Orangery' at Blenheim. It was dreamy. The restaurant itself is quite grand – I wore cashmere – and the views over the gardens and grounds from the restaurant are just breathtaking.

Moments like this, I think, are what Naomi Wolf is talking about in her essay. Those moments when there is no one else in the world; where you are surrounded by beauty; where you could sit for hours, for days, with a bottle of wine and talk about everything, and absolutely nothing. With a dollop of chocolat marquis just for good measure. 

Splendid.

 

Blue Monday: Sniffles and My First Faux Pas

Have come to the end of a very blue Monday. I’m battling what is either a bad case of hay fever/allergies, or a cold. Whichever, it has brought with it a quite annoying ringing in my left ear.  All of this has me longing for the comfortable familiarity of my former home. Drugstore giants Duane Reade and CVS were never far away. In my little corner of the Greenwich Village, there were in fact three (3) large Duane Reade stores less than 7 minutes walk from my apartment. Out here, in the rural Warwickshire countryside, Boots – a wonderfully elegant alternative to Duane Reade or CVS, more akin to Target -- is a half hour bus ride to Stratford-upon-Avon, or a 20 minute bus ride to Warwick. Ugh. Thank God, then, for Sainsbury’s, and of course, the D.E.B.

But, access to a drugstore (chemist’s) is only part of the problem. On days like today, and I think whenever one is under the weather, or “poorly,” one hankers for the familiar. I need/want remedies and cures that I know, love and trust. Heaven knows there is probably no difference whatsoever between Benadryl and Benalyn, or Nurofen and Advil. As Shakespeare wrote, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell just as sweet.” Now, I love the Bard more than most, so I have always taken his words to heart, but sometimes, when a girl needs Tylenol, just she needs Tylenol!

All this has made me think I should have done a better job of greasing the wheels in New York City, and convinced someone, anyone, to send me routine care packages full of American necessities: any and every variety of Tylenol; Popcorn, Indiana - Gourmet Popcorn (Sea Salt flavor, mmm…); TIDE laundry detergent; Lysol spray, (“Crisp Linen” scent); real Diet Coke, Nutter Butters, and a manicurist.

But, a part of acclimatizing, is, well, … acclimatizing. So, I’m sure the British remedies will do their best.  

Committed my first faux pas this weekend. At the St. Peter’s-C of E  “Harvest Supper,” no less. Thankfully, I did not, as I was wont in the ‘90’s, get drunk and start performing a karaoke rendition of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin”. No, this infringement was far worse. Suffice it to say, the lesson I learned, the hard, but utterly polite way, was that most Britons over the age of 60 have not yet “forgiven” Wallis Simpson, and still view her as a “selfish, American, two-time divorcee from Baltimore.” Yikes.  And, I made the mistake of feeling the need to “stand up for my fellow countrywoman.”  Double Yikes.

Don’t you just hate that awkward silence that happens after you’ve said something truly asinine?  You can just see and feel that metaphoric tumbleweed drifting slowly across the room. Realizing I had rushed in, where a more angelic—or at least more sensible—woman would have feared to tread, I attempted to dig myself out of the hole I was in, by musing, “Well, for whatever else, she (Wallis Simpson) certainly had incredible style.” The women around the table had to agree with me.  The tumbleweed cleared, and we were all friends again. Phew!

In the end, it was a truly incredible evening. The D.E.B. and I actually had a super time, and even led our table to victory in the “Search Your Pockets & Your Handbag” relay. A miracle, really, given that Mavis on table 3, had us stumped when she was able to produce the requisite “unworn pair of tights.” (Don’t ask.) Ah, the English and their “party games.” (As if I don’t already carry enough useless items in my last season’s Kate Spade!)

We, the victors on the “top table,” celebrated our win with an extra bottle of red wine and a huge tin of choccies (chocolates).  In the midst of this afterglow, the very dear gentleman, with whom I had had my Wallis Simpson impasse, smiled broadly across the table from me, and reminded me that Winston Churchill’s mother was American. He then leaned forward, as if to indicate a shift to a more serious tone, looked me straight me the eye, and said with great earnestness, “We are all pulling for Obama, you know.”

The American presidential election, so remote and distant as it sometimes feels and seems (I must say, I’m pleased to have avoided the “party games” that seem to be running amok in the States right now), this moment reminded me that there is no remoteness, no distance in our world.  Whatever our differences of time, place, age or opinion, our collective destinies are, and have always been linked. America has had, and continues to have, a significant impact on British history, culture and life. More than we Americans are even aware of sometimes. 

p.s. Spent the evening unpacking countless boxes that just arrived from New York. After wading through mountains upon mountains of bubble wrap, and those dreadful, dreadful “plastic peanuts,” I am painfully aware that, true to my Southern belle upbringing, I have accumulated an unreasonable amount of china, silver and stemware -- the way some people collect stamps, or rocks. 

p.s.s. D.E.B. sits across the room from me as I type. He is strumming away softly on his guitar. He is so talented and creative. [Between us we have amassed five (5) violins, two (2) mandolins (both his), two (2) guitars (both his), and one (1) cello (mine). We are more musically stockpiled than the Von Trapp family in The Sound of Music! ] Sitting here, watching and listening to him, my thoughts drift… how magic it would be to create life with this man. This man, so like me—same birthday—and yet so different.