Falling In Love With My Husband- Again

 As a young girl I often heard my Mom say things to my Dad, or to no one in particular, such as: "What happened to all the bananas, I just bought a bunch yesterday and they are all gone!" My Dad was a big guy, and yes, he did eat a lot of bananas!  Or when my Dad, who loved to entertain and cook Italian food for his family and friends, invited over twenty people into our home for a meal, my Mom would react with anger, "Why does he always do this!!!!- he is going to take over my kitchen!" My parents would proceed to cook together, arguing as they worked. In my Italian family a lot of the bickering was over food: what to cook, how to cook it, and who was going to get the credit for the results.

I "learned" at an early age that my Dad did not do things as my Mom wanted things done and she frequently made this known to me and my brothers. For many years of my marriage I found myself repeating this behavior with my husband. My husband, the gentle, patient man that he is did not respond. That is, at least for a while. You could say I was lucky. Maybe not. As Charlie began pointing out the criticism that I directed towards him, he also reminded me of my Mom's reactions to my Dad's actions.
At first it was difficult for me to hear this truth. I was young at the time and was not sure how to change my reactions to my husband, and at times I did not want to. It was comfortable, this behavior of mine.

This past May I turned fifty and decided that I wanted more love in my life. I wanted to love myself and my husband in a deeper way. Using the works of Byron Katie, Loving What Is, and developing a daily practice of mindfulness- paying attention to each moment and "falling behind" and just watching the incessant chatter in my mind- I began to make a shift. The more I was able to notice my thoughts, the ones that criticized and complained about my husband and myself, and then question their validity, the less these thoughts would pop into my consciousness. Or if they did appear in my mind, I taught myself to laugh at them.  More and more I noticed the little, sweet things that my husband does for me and my son. The way he lovingly makes breakfast for us, or while we are driving together in the car he reaches over to me to hold my hand.  I focused on the good, on love, and practiced gratitude each and every day for all the blessings I was given. A shift took place; my heart opened wider and wider. The more love and acceptance I gave to him and myself, the more I received. Then one day recently I woke up feeling like the newly married bride, excited for the day with her new husband- only it was twenty-three years after the wedding!

Susan's Autumn in Central Park Painting, 30x36

Making Miracles

For the last two weeks I have been teaching a class inspired by Melody Beattie's book Make Miracles in Forty Days. One of the exercises I had the class do last week was to make a list of all the people they resent or are unable to forgive, including themselves. Writing a resentment list is one of the things that Melody suggests you do in her book. Melody states: "having a heart blocked with resentments is the number one barrier, according to many experts, to achieving what we want in life, to manifesting our goals, and to experiencing joy; plus there's a universal law that says if we want to be forgiven, we need to forgive." As the class began writing, I thought to myself: "I guess I should write a list also, although I do not have any resentments. I will play along and jot a few things down."

So I began my list with a few resentments I had towards my husband that I had previously written about and let go of. A few more things came onto my list, resentments from my childhood that I had worked through. Surprise, surprise! That evening when I came home from class I was angry. I sat with my journal and wrote page after page of hurts, anger pouring onto the page, with many expletives filling the lines. Where was this all coming from? So much rage! It did not matter. The next morning when I woke I felt a heavy weight had lifted from my shoulders. The resentments that I thought I had released had still been lingering. I learned a lesson. From time to time I need to check in with my feelings and pay attention to any hurts or anger that may be below the surface. The reason being that these are the things that stop us from experiencing miracles, or blessings in our lives.

My Son's Surprise

Last week I was feeling melancholy for the second day in a row, not sure why, just knowing that everything was good in my life and there was no glaring reason for these feelings. I was praying and asking for the feelings to be lifted and was not having any luck. It was approaching lunch time and I was in the bathroom and yelled down to my son, Michael, in the kitchen: "what would you like me to make you for lunch?" He answered, "I have a surprise for you, but it's not ready yet." In the kitchen I could hear pots banging, the clinking of utensils, and savory smells. The chatter in my mind was saying things like, "I hope the kitchen isn't getting too messy," "I hope he isn't making something too fattening." As I walked into the kitchen after having these thoughts my son looked at my face and his expression changed from excitement to a frown. Taking in the pots on the stove and all the work my son had done to surprise me with a home cooked meal, I quickly changed the doubtful expression on my face to a smile, hugged my son, and expressed my gratitude for all that he had done. Michael's face lit up as we went to the stove to finish the meal.

At this point I had made a shift. My heart was wide open, the melancholy I was feeling for two days had lifted, and I wanted to express my gratitude to my son for the gift he had given me. I went into cooking instructor mode, and together Michael and I picked fresh herbs for the tomato sauce he was making and I taught him to save some of the pasta water to add to the pasta when it was done cooking ( the starch from the pasta water helps the sauce adhere to the pasta). We were a team, Michael and I working together to create a meal filled with our love for each other. Just so you know, Michael would not let me wash the dishes, yet another gift from my thirteen year old son.

Love As Our Source: A Gift for Valentine's Day

On this Valentine's Day love is in the air, as well as chocolates, flowers, fancy dinners and jewelry. We look for love from our friends, children and spouse. As children we are taught to search for love outside of ourselves, encouraged to find a mate with all the qualities best suited to us. So we spend many years searching for the perfect love. It isn't until many years have passed, and perhaps much pain, that we begin to realize the love that we were seeking was with us all along- inside ourselves. The source of our being is Love. Within each of us is a beacon of love and light which is available to us every minute of every day. Some call it the Christ within, God or Goddess, or their Higher Power. It does not matter what we choose to name this unlimited supply of love, wisdom and strength. What matters most is that we come to know this source as our true nature, one of love and good. We can turn to this source for creative inspiration, intuitive knowing, to guide us, and give us strength.

So today, on Valentine's Day, let us go within and connect with this force of love and light to give to our friends, spouse, or strangers passing by, so that they may come to know the truth of who they really are: Love. This is a gift we can give to everyone! Happy Valentine's Day!

A Life of Prayer

My grandma Marion prayed. She lit candles for me, for my husband Charles, and I am sure for many others. Faith. She had a difficult, hard life, as viewed from the perspective of outsiders looking in. However, did she view her life this way? My grandmother had a deep faith. With a son that was a drug addict, stole from her-even her wedding ring- to selfishly provide for his drug habit, she kept her faith. Two of my Grandmother's sons pre-deceased her. With a mentally retarded daughter, and a husband that passed away over twenty years prior to her passing, she had faith. She prayed, lit candles in church, and once a week she walked from her home in the Bronx to her place of worship, where she gave service by cooking for the priest. Father Zucherreli awaited my grandmother's presence, for the smells of her meatballs frying and her rich gravy simmering on the stove, for her laughter and conversation.

My grandmother often greeted me with a strong pinch of my cheek, saying in Italian, "sei bella," you are beautiful. Although she did not talk to me about her feelings, I knew that she loved me deeply. When I first met my husband, who was of the Jewish faith, she immediately saw his inner beauty, his light, and loved him unconditionally. Grandma Cardia would tell Charlie, "I lit a prayer candle for you at church." Other members of my family had difficulty seeing past my husband's heritage. Grandma did not. Her faith was larger then this, more encompassing. She was able to intuitively know that Charlie loved her, and she loved him. This is the essence of faith, a love that transcends our physical being, a love that encompasses all. Grandma knew this.