A Valentine

My husband has gone out to dig out our driveway. We've been at it for four days. He brought out the stereo for musical motivation. The CD?

The sound track of "A Bridge Too Far."

For those unfamiliar with the film (a worthy watch of the heroism and insanity and luck and courage and sadness of Operation Market Garden); there are many quotable scenes but the one that perhaps gets used the most in our family is a discussion between two officers about a heavily fortified bridge that must be captured.

Brigadier General Gavin: What's the best way to take a bridge?
Maj. Julian Cook: Both ends at once.

Brigadier General Gavin: I'm sending two companies across the river by boat. I need a man with very special qualities to lead.
Maj. Julian Cook: Go on, sir.

Brigadier General Gavin: He's got to be tough enough to do it and he's got to be experienced enough to do it. Plus one more thing.

He's got to be dumb enough to do it... Start getting ready.

We switch roles based on who starts the conversation but here are a few examples:

What's the best way to clean the basement?
What's the best way to tackle the laundry?
How are we going to manage 5,6,7, 8, 9 children?
How are we going to pay for college?
How are we going to shovel all this snow? (They're predicting more tomorrow).

Junior Officer: what was all that about, Major?
Maj. Julian Cook: Well someone's come up with a real nightmare. Real nightmare. (Sending out all the junior officers to shovel as we speak).

Being the eternal optimist of the family, I'm now hunting through our collection of music for a different soundtrack; The Incredibles.

Coca-cola Formula One for Fantasy Writers

It begins in a far away place with a lonely foster son. His adopted family has cared for him but at the same time, failed to recognize or acknowledge his inherent specialness. His secret power that is even unknown to himself, owing to not having any known past, lays languishing, undiscovered until he witnesses an act of extreme heroism and/or violence that rouses him to action. He helps in some small and admittedly lucky capacity but the result is that the person he helped, recognizes his “potential.” The saved person is a man of mystery, and yet of the world, whom the commoners ignore or consider “strange.” Our would be languishing hero is of course, drawn to him and trust him instantaneously, be he Aragorn, Hagrid or Obi Wan Kenobi.

In a rush of exposition, he is removed from the bland local landscape of peasants and poor, brought to a place of peace, bounty, excellence and knowledge. Yet all this perfection is tinged with sadness, it is dying if only because no one has come with the sacred power, the chosen one, the ring, or the number of mitocondrians necessary to rejuvenate the perfect world and recall its glory days. The apprentice hero is loaded with gifts and given a stern lecture by the all knowing super mentor that knows what he is capable of becoming. This usually results in a pondering soliloquy or equally dense dialogue between the “strange hero” who has plucked this youth out of obscurity, and the mentor, with whom the strange hero goes way way back, lots of emotional baggage. The hero is accepted, he shouts yippee or mugs a grin or claps his hands as he begins his jedi/wizard/training. He is tested, during which he makes friends, enemies and comes to grip with just the beginning of his true origin. This is usually when comic relief is added and a few precious bits of dialogue that are not simply plot exposition.

Part of that origin is the story of the death of his actual family, and the decision by those who acted as surrogates to hide him away, in a basket in the water, in a home with muggles, at Bag End fishing, and on Tattoie fixing space pods racers and dealing with jawas. Discovery brings with it self knowledge and awareness of the family grudge score that has not yet been settled. Anger in the young prodgeny threatens to destroy his destiny, but with the aid of friends, a good woman, a faithful older man with a sword and a funny lovable side kick or two, he masters his emotions and his power.

In his final quest to rid the world or universe depending upon the genre, of evil, he will make mistakes and someone will be lost either through a betrayal or perceived betrayal, a mistake in judgement, or due to poor preparation on the part of our hero. He will stiffen his resolve and strengthen from this loss, as the female in his band suddenly discovers she finds him attractive and works to support his efforts in the quest.

The resulting giant climax between good and evil will take place only after the original plan to do something far more discreet fails, resulting in two of the following three things happening.
1) Death of villain, after he refuses mercy.
2) Final revelation of Villain and Hero’s relationship.
3) Conversion of villain, resulting in transformation of whole world.

Grand Finale wedding style feast which praises heroes, allows for the girls to kiss the boys, wounds to have been neatly cleaned up, and final cast of character bows with music, drums, firecrackers, food, wine, shiny medals and smiling faces.

This of course is top secret and usually what were unnecessary plot strings left unraveled will be pulled apart in the prequels and sequels that follow for oodles of dollars. Be sure to include some furry creatures in subsequent books/films, so as to garner profits from plush replicates purchased by fan boys everywhere.

Next week: The Guide to writing Romance: Hint...forbidden love,gives meaning to an otherwise bland existence that is pure duty and drudgery, which allows the individual loved to achieve artistic/personal fulfillment, even at the expense of everyone else in the world. Everyone else understands when that love, then surrendered for the good of the world, via death or honor, is discovered. Everone else except perhaps one or two immature individuals who exemplify selfishness and poor judgement in the story, gets the importance of this romance and views the affair as having been meaningful and necessary for the individual in question to achieve personhood.

Joining the Gamers' Club

What we don’t know innately, we marry.

For example, my husband has a built in GPS in his head. He can tell North on a starless night without a compass or those pesky Auroras Borealis. On the other hand, I still navigate the town that has been our home for thirteen years with mild trepidation. There is a Bermuda Triangle within its radius that plagues me still to this day. The directions for getting to the Victory Center where our daughters play basketball have imprinted on my brain such that I cannot get there….without getting lost first. I have come to terms with my faulty brain. I don’t take them to games anymore.

I dance, love musical theatre and enjoy reading the classics. He reads history for pleasure and can remember it without a test the next day. In other words, ask me if you’re playing Trivial Pursuit for the brown or the pink slice of pie, ask him if you need the history one. I don’t even remember what color that pie piece is.

Where are my…?

During our dating years, I marveled at how organized and put together my future spouse was. He never lost anything. I lost my purse and found it later the second night we met. My I.D. card fell out of my pocket in December. When the snow finally melted that semester in April, I found it again.


I have learned to look in the place where things ought to be first when beginning a mission to retrieve lost objects. Cue Mission Impossible music here. I am now the GPS for all items within the household.

"I can't find my music stand."

"It's next to the computer in the study."

"We don't have lunch boxes!"

"They're still out in the car where you left them."

“Where are my papers from yesterday?”

“They’re on the table under the lunchbox in the kitchen.”

Actually, I’m more like the brown paper envelope in the middle of the Clue Game. I have the answers, I just need the right question.

Scrabble, Upwards and On Words…

We play cards and strategy computer games and every board game there is in our house. My husband is the master of the set battle plan, thus he usually wins at hearts and always at “Go.” My method of play is more on the fly, I school him at chess and occasionally have a run of victories at cards. Where we both are evenly matched is Scrabble. He can plink down amazing words.

Because I’m a non-speller, my victories have been mostly moral ones, but there was one where I put down the “J” on a triple letter score to catapult to the lead, forming the word “Jo.” “That’s not a word. I challenge.” It was a bluff, but I lucked out. It means sweetheart. I tried calling him that for a time, it didn’t stick. It’s a stupid word and even I concede, I won, but with dishonor. (You have to say that last part with a Klingon accent).

Speaking of Klingons,

If anyone in cyber space has Quest for the Throne, the Klingon version of Star Fleet Battles (STB), I’ll buy it from you. Back in my sophomore year of college, he bought the game to teach me about STB quickly and I was undefeated in seven tries despite being an absolute rookie. Then the game vanished mysteriously. He promises he didn’t throw it away.

Gifts and Gift Giving

November 15, 1992 A day that remains pivotal in my spousal relationship. No, it’s not our anniversary or the anniversary of an anniversary or anyone’s birthday. It’s the day we stopped being newlyweds and became a “settled” couple. My husband came home and saw me putting away some shirts from the drycleaners. After dinner, he gave me a pensive gaze and said with recognition in his voice, “You don’t iron for me anymore.” I laughed.

December 20, 1997 We were wrapping up the last of the loot when it occurred to me I hadn’t bought my beloved a present. Expecting a baby, I could have punted and just allotted the oversight to pregnancy hormones. My admittedly feeble attempt to rectify the situation was worthy of spousal scorn, but he’s a very gallant man. My folks were in town for the holidays and I had purchased several books. Having overheard my mom talk about having read one of the books I had bought for her, I regifted on the spot. The problem was, he knew about that book in particular and the fact that it was originally intended for my mom. The inscription on the inside says it all. “I was thinking of you as I wrapped this book, Love S.”

The other day, my husband called me about a sign he saw talking about giving your wife a rock to remember. “How about some quartz?” he offered. “Wow. That would be great!” He showed up with what I estimate to be a 90 lb. boulder that looks very nice in our back yard. The sparkly earrings came later. I countered by getting him something I swore when we dated I’d never do, some practical gifts, fresh pants and socks. Then, feeling bad, I impulsively bought him a beautiful red blanket, and “The Man of LaMancha.”

Romance may be about getting hearts and flowers but love isn’t about getting what you want. It’s getting what you most profoundly need, even if it’s to be told to shape up. We’ve both demanded that the other become more of the person God intended us to be over the years. We diet and budget and struggle with organizational systems to manage our many charges together. He’s learned to bring chocolate on any occasion and how to dance, and I’ve discovered the History section at the book store under his tutelage. I’ve introduced him to musicals and classic film and he’s taken us to civil war battle grounds and explained the campaigns. He’s even navigated me over the phone to the basketball center. And together, we’re a tough match in cards or Trivial Pursuit.

Think I may buy an ironing board, just to surprise him.