The Bird

I've been a very busy girl...obsessing.

In the next few weeks I am beginning my dream job of hosting a radio show (think Frasier meets Dear Abby with a twist of Ellen, Jesus and Buddha). I would LOVE to get to know some of my virtual world buddies better so PLEASE call in! More info can be found at The Diva Toolbox. It's an internet radio show, an hour a week on Thursdays from 12 noon - 1pm. I'll take your calls on any issues with which you might be struggling and need some advice, especially those related to love and loss. Things are just getting underway but I'll keep you posted with the debut date.

Anyway, in the thick of obsession, I've made it to the gym today and as much as I drag myself there some days, it's always worth it for several reasons. First of all, I don't want to grow up to be an old lady who can't walk and two, I desperately want to get back down to a size four. But a byproduct of my time walking up make believe hills on the treadmill is gaining some often much needed perspective. Somewhere between the first five to seven minutes perspective generally hops on board beside me, smiles and waves hello. At this point in my exercise routine, I'm still busy going over my mental litany of things to do once the gym releases me for good behavior.

"Conquer the world, get on Oprah, write a best-seller, stop at the grocery store, empty the dishwasher, fold the laundry, meditate..." Lucky for me, Perspective throws my obsessive mental state a bone most days and today he tossed in "remember how lucky you are to be married to The Bird."

"Aunt Steph, when I get married I want to find someone just like Uncle Bird." My nieces tell me this so often. But some times when I get stuck at the intersection of laundry, groceries, working, breathing, etc. I forget what a lucky girl I really am.

The Bird loves me and I adore him. We met in high school January 10, 1985. How do I remember? Because my sense is everyone remembers the defining moments in their lives. Somewhere inside me I knew in that moment, my life had just turned the corner onto True Love. At the risk of sounding "Oh Lord, I'm gonna vomit" corny, as a kid I used to sit on my flagstone walkway under the stars and think about my prince charming. I tell my nieces and nephews that real love takes hard work and it does, but, The Bird and I had something so amazingly natural even as young teenagers.

February this year made twenty four years we've been together and while running on the treadmill listening to "All I Have" by Beth Nielsen Chapman, I was almost brought to tears.

The Bird is my barometer of reason-my home base. He has mastered the art of ignoring my whirling dervish moments with an air of confidence that communicates he is certain I'll figure out whatever the crisis of the moment is successfully. He loves me like you see in the movies. When I tell him I need him, he listens. He laughs at my silly jokes, likes almost everything I cook, holds the door open for me even at the grocery store and puts his arm around me at Mass on Sundays. When I ask him if I look fat, he say, "No!" Even when the harsh truth is, "Welllll....maybe a little doughy."

October will be twenty one years since he fluffed up his nest, got the place spiffy and invited me to fly in for the duration. Up top, that's a picture of our nest.

Twenty plus years later, when I snuggle up next to him, whether at Mass on Sundays, sitting on the couch getting lost in some HBO show or on an airplane, the world dissolves away. I am home. The Bird is a man of unprecedented integrity, a consummate gentleman. He is generous, the likes of which I've never seen and works really, really hard.

I am certain God is proud of the man he is, the husband he is and even though I never could give him a son to call him "Daddy," I know he is a man with a living legacy. And me, I am the proud wife of this man.