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Happily Ever After

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The Time Has Come

by Valerie Nusbaum

It’s said that all good things must come to an end. The time has come for me to hang up my pen and paper (or keyboard as it were) and bid adieu to Happily Ever After. It’s been a very enjoyable ride, but I’ve said everything there is to say—some of it twice, I’m sure—and it’s time for me to give you, dear readers, a break. This wasn’t a decision I made quickly or easily, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. Last summer, I broached the subject of ending my run and then decided to go out at the end of 2023.

I started writing for The Catoctin Banner in July of 2008, so it’s been over 15 years, and that’s as long as I’ve stayed with any job. Deb Abraham Spalding and I had a conversation in my living room all those years ago, and Deb took a chance on me as a columnist. I remember my very first column was about our neighbor’s dog, Boomer. I compared some of the things Boomer did with some of Randy’s antics. Our neighbor, Nancy King, read the column and promptly ran over to our house with a dog biscuit for Randy! And, so it began.

Thank you, Deb, for taking that chance on me. Your support and encouragement have kept me going when my mind was blank. It’s been my honor and pleasure to work with you and all the staff at The Catoctin Banner, particularly Michele Tester, whose proofreading and editing skills kept me on track more than once. Thank you, Michele. I’ll see you at the beach!

I’ve been very fortunate to have a husband and partner in all things who can laugh at himself. Oh, he laughs at me, too—make no mistake about that. Some of you readers have chastised me for poking fun at the things that happen in our home, but, truthfully, if Randy and I didn’t have a sense of humor about our life, we’d be up the creek. Those of you who know us well know that our life hasn’t been all unicorns and rainbows, especially during the last six or seven years. It’s gotten more and more difficult to find things to laugh about, but I can always count on my husband of 30 years to make me smile or downright guffaw in a very unladylike manner. Thank you, Randy, for that, and for so many other things. Your positive attitude and determination in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds have inspired me and many others to “put our shoulders into it and push.” The fact that you never complain, even when it’s understandable or expected, never ceases to amaze me.

My mom was also a source of inspiration and merriment. She had a good sense of humor, and she put up with a lot from her three children. I’m counting Randy as the third child because Mom often had a better relationship with him than with my brother or me. I’ll never forget the time I came downstairs to start breakfast and found Mom and Randy at the kitchen table discussing something I’d never dream of discussing with my mother! Randy seemed to be trying to make Mom feel sorry for him. After having my mother with me for such a long time (I’m old, remember?), I’ve been struggling to find my way without her this last year.

What will I do next? Who knows? The hubby and I are still fit enough to get out there and do things like travel, so we’ll probably do some of that. We have a whole bucket list of places to see. Are we leaving Thurmont? Nope. You’re stuck with us. We like it here and plan to stay until we can’t. Hopefully, I’ll see some of you around town. I definitely won’t become a contestant on Survivor or any other reality show. Randy, however, has plans to become the next Golden Bachelor if things don’t work out with me.

I’ve made a lot of friends and connections through this column, and most of the feedback has been positive and generous. I’d name names, but I’d be sure to forget someone (unintentionally, of course), and I don’t want any hurt feelings or angry townsfolk. Believe me, I’ve enjoyed your cards, letters, emails, and in-person comments and chats. Well, most of them, anyway. You’ve been gracious and friendly, and your kind comments are the reason I’ve kept writing as long as I have. You’ve been so thoughtful in taking the time to write and in surprising me with all kinds of goodness. Thank you for that.  I’ve always been amazed that anyone wanted to read what I wrote.

After roughly 185 columns, though, it’s time for me to say farewell to this chapter of my life. I’ll miss hearing from you, but I hope you know how much I’ve appreciated it all.

I’m wishing every one of you a very Happy New Year, filled with all good things. As my friend, Madeleine Sherald, used to say, “It’s been real, Camille.” She also said, “It’s been real, and it’s been good, but it ain’t been real good.” That doesn’t apply here. If you’re old enough to remember Lawrence Welk, I’ll say, “Adios, Au Revoir, Auf Weidersehen.” So long!

Happily Ever After Reality? Not Really.

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by Valerie Nusbaum

Your friend Randy has decided that it would be a great idea for us to star in our own reality television show. He thinks that having a camera crew follow us around all day, every day, would make for some terrific TV. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. First, because the people from Hollywood wouldn’t consider us interesting enough, and second, I’m not doing that.

No way do I want someone documenting my every move and conversation. Can you imagine what that would be like? I’d be getting sued every week for saying something politically incorrect, not to mention the fact that my appearance first-thing in the morning would scare off the crew.

Since the hubby isn’t going to get his own show, he says that he’ll settle for getting a slot on an already existing program. Randy likes Survivor, and he’s pretty sure he could make it the entire thirty-nine days out in the wild, even though he’d be the “old” guy on the tribe. He can make fire. I know this because he yells at the TV when the show is on and calls the contestants bad names when they can’t do anything right. Randy can hunt and fish, so he’d be responsible for feeding his tribe. That’s an important job because the tribe members need to eat to keep up their strength. The only drawback that I can see to Randy being on Survivor would come during the episode where the family members visit. I don’t think any of Randy’s family would show up. I know I certainly don’t want to travel halfway around the world to spend the night in some hovel, filled with dirty, stinky people, even if one of them is my husband. I can sleep with him at home when he’s dirty and stinky if I want to, but I don’t. There’s also that whole “eat a bug” thing. Contestants’ family members are usually put on the spot in some kind of challenge to win a reward. I’m not eating any bugs, nor am I eating any intestines or other gross animal parts that are considered delicacies in other parts of the world.  That’s not gonna happen; therefore, Randy would lose the game.

With Survivor no longer an option, my dear husband has decided that we should team up for The Amazing Race. Unfortunately, there are disgusting eating contests on that show, too; as stated before, I draw the line at eating things I’m not familiar with. I also don’t want to do any of the water challenges, and I am scared to death of heights. Randy has my blessing to find another partner for this show, but he seems to think that him going off with Steve or Andrew for several weeks defeats the purpose of us becoming reality stars together. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to allow my husband’s dreams to come true. Plus, I’d get a whole month of “me” time, and I could take baths in my tub and sleep in my own bed.

We can’t become contestants on either The Amazing Race or The Voice because neither of us can sing. Dancing With the Stars should exclude us due to the fact that neither of us is a star; although, in recent seasons of that show, the actual stars have been few and far between, so we might actually stand a chance of making the cast. Randy is a pretty good dancer, but don’t ask him to do the tango. Seriously.

American Ninja Warrior would be the ultimate challenge. We both love that show. The problem is that the only way we’d make it there is if the producers were looking for two really old and rickety examples of what not to do.

We could try out for Naked and Afraid, but I’m afraid to be naked and there’s that whole dirt and bugs thing again.

This leaves us with the Real Housewives franchise. If Andy Cohen ever comes to Thurmont and puts out a call for auditions, I’m all in. Can’t you just picture it? A real housewives show with REAL women! There’d be no swanky parties, no hair and makeup people, and no jets or limousines.  Instead, I and the other “housewives” would get together and discuss our very real problems, while we shopped for groceries and put gas in our cars. We’d go to work, and then we’d go to dinner at Mountain Gate and eat real food with nary a drop of alcohol in sight. When the name-calling and hair-pulling commenced, we couldn’t blame it on intoxication. The best part is that Randy would love being a trophy husband. Sadly, I don’t see “The Real Housewives of Thurmont” happening any time soon, even though a lot of my friends and neighbors have the potential to become overnight sensations.

My only other option is to relent and make a real reality show with Randy. My vision is of the cameraman being set up behind our couch, filming the backs of our heads as we watch television and make fun of everyone on the “reality” shows. I think it could work.

Happily Ever After

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Isn’t It Romantic?

by Valerie Nusbaum

“Randy, when you have a few minutes I have a couple of questions for you,” I called to my dear husband.

He walked slowly into my studio where I was doing some cleaning up, and he sheepishly asked, “What is it you think I did?”

“Nothing. Did you do something? Oh, never mind. I need to know what you’d consider the perfect romantic evening.”

He made that face—the one that’s a cross between fear and smelling something awful—and replied, “I don’t know. You can’t just hit a guy with a question like that and expect the right answer.”

I assured him that there are no “right” answers to the question. I simply wanted his opinion, and I urged him to say the first thing that came to his mind.

He thought about it for a minute and told me that his perfect romantic evening would start with dinner at home, preferably nothing garlicky and no raw onions, and also nothing that causes gas. He asked why I wanted to know. I replied that I was doing some research.

“For a column? Or are you planning to romance me?” he asked, and he did that thing where he wiggles his eyebrows, which is silly because that always makes his head hurt.

I pointed out that dinner at home would be fine as long as I didn’t have to do the cooking. It’s not that I mind cooking a nice meal for Randy. I do it all the time, but we women sometimes like to enjoy a meal that someone else has prepared. Right, ladies?

In my research, I really was just trying to get a handle on how we look at romance and what we find romantic. Do men view romance differently from women? Do men even know what romance is, or do they care, for that matter?

For me, something as simple as Randy leaving me a note beside my teacup in the morning is romantic. He fills my tank with gas without being asked. If he sees that I’m cold, he gets a blanket for me. It doesn’t always have to be a grand gesture, although, just once, one of those would be really nice, too. I explained all that and Randy asked what I meant by “grand gesture.” I said, “A weekend in a luxury suite in a posh hotel or a trip to Paris, big pieces of jewelry or dozens of roses—things like that.”

He replied, “I did that whole luxury suite thing, remember? And it didn’t go well.” He’s correct. It wasn’t great, but mainly because we’d heard about the hotel/resort from Randy’s former boss and the place turned out to be not all that luxurious. Plus, I knew about the trip from the start. It wasn’t a surprise and grand gestures are supposed to take one by surprise.

“You don’t like surprises. You don’t handle them well at all.” He’s right about that, too.  It’s just that we women get tired of having to tell our men what we want. Why can’t they figure it out on their own? I know Randy isn’t a mind-reader, but he lives with me and sees me every day, so shouldn’t he know what I like and don’t like? Granted, if I tell him what I want and am very specific about it, I usually get exactly the present I’m looking for, but it’s not a surprise. Oh, I pretend that it is. We women all do that, don’t we?  Wouldn’t it be nice just once not to have to go through all those machinations to get “the gift”? In truth, Randy has surprised me with really great things over the years, and he’s come up with good ideas on his own. I’m one of the lucky ones because I have a man who makes the effort. He just isn’t always sure what he’s looking for or why he’s doing it.

I, on the other hand, am like a dog with a bone. I hear Randy say he wants or needs something, or would like to do something, and I look for it until I find it. I like a challenge.  He has to be careful around me, because sometimes he makes a joke and ends up with a pair of black satin shorty pajamas. Oh, yeah, I found those babies and he wore them.

Sometimes, I get it right without meaning to. For Christmas, I wore myself out shopping and wrapping and trying to find things that would make Randy’s face light up. It turned out that the gift he liked best was the little slot machine bank I’d bought on impulse as a joke. I got the beautiful necklace that I’d described and asked for.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that Randy is right. It makes sense for us to plan trips together and to discuss buying tickets to concerts and plays, because we don’t always know how the other is feeling. OK, I know how he’s feeling and what he’s thinking, but he can’t read my mind. We’ve already established that. It’s usually a good idea for us to choose a restaurant together, too. Please don’t tell him that I said he was right. That would really put a damper on the romance.

Happily Ever After

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‘Tis the Season

by Valerie Nusbaum

It’s September as I’m writing this column. The kids have gone back to school, and summer is pretty much over. I can hardly wrap my mind around those facts. Thanksgiving is only two months away, Christmas is closer than I care to imagine, and Halloween is almost upon us.

September and October used to be very busy months for Randy and me because early autumn is the time when all the fall festivals and outdoor arts and crafts shows are held. Back in the day, we used to participate in at least four or five festivals and shows annually.  It was a fun way for us to spend time together, as we sat in our tent and sold our handmade wood items, watercolor prints, potpourri, jewelry, candles and floral arrangements. Over the years, we’ve handcrafted everything from holiday ornaments to wall hangings and yard decorations. Christmas trees, crab mallets, greeting cards—you name it, we’ve made it.

Last year, we more or less retired from the arts and crafts business. The work involved in setting up and tearing down for a two-day show is very hard on our old joints. Not to mention that two or three days of dealing with people wears a body out.

I don’t know how those of you who work in retail manage it.  Shoppers and lookers can be very rude, sometimes without meaning to. Plus, the weather doesn’t always cooperate, and it’s no fun in the rain.

In November, Randy and I said goodbye to Catoctin Colorfest, after many years of setting up our tent in the Community Park. Yes, we’ll miss all the shows and our friends, but we will still be able to attend and do some shopping, and we’ll finally be able to get something to eat! Who knows? We might miss it so much that we’ll find ourselves wanting to get back into it. Maybe when Randy actually retires, and we have some time on our hands.

If you’re a person who enjoys getting out in the beautiful fall weather and looking at all the interesting items for sale, I’m giving you a helpful list to make your craft show experience a happy one. Read on.

 

Eleven Things You Should Never Say to an Artist or a Craftsperson

 

“I/My husband/My kid could make that.” FYI: We don’t care.

 

“I saw one of those at Walmart, and it was cheaper there.” Good for you. Chances are the item you saw at Walmart wasn’t handmade. That’s probably why it cost less.

“Did you make/paint/draw that?” Most juried craft shows or art fairs require that the items for sale be handmade and that the person who actually did the making be the one selling. So, yes, I made it. Duh.

“Will you give me a discount or take less for it?” Craft shows are not flea markets. Most of us vendors never get paid for the amount of time we spend making our art. We can’t afford to give discounts or offer sales. The really good shows prohibit price haggling or sales.

“Can you give me directions for making that?” Sure, but why would I do that? I have a whole table full of things I’m trying to sell.

“That’s very nice, but I don’t know where I’d put it.” On Saturday morning, I might respond with a “thank you,” but by Sunday afternoon, I might have a few suggestions for where you could put it.

“Would you make one for me?”  See #5.

“You remind me of my grandmother.” Unless your grandmother was Georgia O’Keeffe or Frida Kahlo, I might be a little offended by that statement.

“I really need to start selling my own work.” Please do, so I can come by your booth and make you feel bad.

“I don’t have the time to craft/paint/sew.” Then what, pray tell, do you do with all that free time? Sleep?

“Yes, but this isn’t, like, a real job.” No, it isn’t. I work much longer hours for lots less money and even less appreciation.

So, as you can see, I really did need a little break from the business. I’m still selling online and doing an occasional exhibit or small indoor show, and I’ll probably always paint or make some crafts for the sheer pleasure it gives me. I just found selling it in-person is too exhausting. Randy has had so many other things going on in his life in recent years that he, too, needs some time to regroup.

We’ll carry with us many pleasant memories of our vending days. One, in particular, still makes me smile. It was during Catoctin Colorfest, and it had been a long day. A young father came into our tent with his small son. The little boy was looking at some of my prints and seeming to enjoy himself. The father came over and whispered that his son loved to draw and paint, and asked if the boy could ask me a question.

“Sure,” I said.

The boy was about five years old, and he very seriously asked, “How do you stay inside the lines so good?”

I answered him honestly when I said, “I don’t always, and that’s OK.”

Happy Fall, y’all!

Happily Ever After: A Letter to My Husband

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by Valerie Nusbaum

January 2017

 

Dear Randy:

Since we’re beginning a new year, I thought it might be a good time to review our marriage and relationship. I know that as you’re reading this, you’re making that face.  You know the one. It’s a cross between a deer caught in the headlights and smelling something foul.

I asked you recently if you wanted to discuss the state of our union, and I did listen to your lengthy dissertation about how we made a commitment years ago and nothing has changed. I especially remember the part where you stated that marriage isn’t easy, but I took no particular offense to that. I don’t understand how you can say that living with me is hard, though. I’m very good at compromise, and I almost never disagree with you—except when you’re wrong.

You and I have stuck together through the good times and the bad times. As you pointed out, the bad times have included one of us holding the bucket while the other one heaved into it. In my defense, I only made you do that once that I can remember. I don’t throw up a lot. There was that time when I caught a virus on the cruise to Alaska, but you didn’t have to clean up after me. The cabin stewards in the hazmat suits took care of it while you laughed.

We’ve laughed a lot and, more often than not, we’ve laughed with each other and not at each other. Yes, I did laugh at you the time you cut your hand while you were slicing ham and thought you had cut off your finger, but it was actually a chunk of ham you had bandaged. You have to admit that was funny. And I helped you clean it up.

Now that I think of it, you’ve laughed at me quite a few times when I’ve inserted my foot into my mouth. I know I do that a lot, and I’m glad you find it entertaining. I know what a hamfest is now. Thank you for clearing that up for me.

You’ve always been a good sport, and you’ve come along for the ride with most of my crazy ideas. A lot of husbands wouldn’t have taken ballroom dancing lessons. You not only did that, but you excelled at the cha-cha. And you ended up teaching the mat-cutting class that we took when the instructor cut his hand.

We’ve explored lots of new places together and collected souvenirs and memories by the boxful. It seems that we always manage to find something to giggle about during the tours we take. Trolley cars and duck boats, trains and carriages…we’ve had experiences that no one can take away from us. I can’t help it that people like to tell me their life stories. I have that kind of face. I know it bugs you sometimes; not my face so much, but the fact that people seem to wait for you to leave the area and then pounce on me. I must look like a good listener, and I do have nice teeth.

You, on the other hand, look like a problem-solver, and that’s exactly what you do for others. You solve a lot of my problems, even when I don’t ask you to. Sometimes, I don’t want a solution, only some sympathy when someone hurts my feelings. I know it’s a man-thing. You can’t help yourself because the answer is so clear to you. I also know that a lot of the time people approach you with questions because they think you’re in charge; you make up things to tell them so they’ll go away. I never tell on you, though, because I’m a good wife.

You’re a good husband, too. You’ve put up with a lot over the last twenty-five years.  You’re also a very lucky man, because I haven’t let myself go and I’m a good cook. To your credit, you’ve eaten more than one meal that could best be described as “interesting” and you’ve never complained. You even thank me for feeding you and for doing your laundry.

I thank you, too, for building things for our home and for working so hard to make a good living for us while I struggle with my business endeavors.

You’ve welcomed my family into your life, and you’ve accepted my friends as yours. I hope I did the same for you. We’ve shared so much, but I’m very happy that we’ve always had separate bathrooms and that your workshop is in the backyard. There are some things we shouldn’t have to share.

I guess when it’s all said and done, you were right again.  A long time ago, we decided to get married and make a life together, and we agreed to all the things we promised in our vows. I remember that you chewed your lip through the whole ceremony, but we did it anyway and we’re both still here. You said that you weren’t going anywhere (without me) and neither am I.

I’ll do another year, if you will. How do you feel about another twenty-five years?

Love, Valerie

(Randy surprised me with a reply, writing in my column: Why only 25?? I Love you too…. Randy.)

Happy New Year to all of you! I hope 2017 is the best year yet for everyone. I also want to wish a very happy eighty-fifth birthday to my sainted mother!

happily ever after

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You Asked For It

by Valerie Nusbaum

In last month’s column, I asked you to send me your questions and I promised I’d do my best to answer them. You held up your end of the bargain, so here goes. Several of you sent in questions asking for my help, but you asked to remain anonymous. I can’t say that I blame you. I completely understand that you wouldn’t want your friends and family to know that you’re desperate enough to come to me for advice.

I’ve selected some questions about relationships and love, at least the ones that could be printed in a family-friendly publication.

Dear Valerie:

The lady in my life has told me that she doesn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day.  She told me the same thing at Christmas, and I gave her what she asked for. She didn’t speak to me for two whole weeks. Should I get her a gift this time, or should I honor her request?

—Signed, Not Bill Blakeslee

 

Dear Not Bill:

The fact that you even have to ask that question tells me that gifts are the least of your problems. At the very least, buy her flowers and chocolates, but after your gaffe at Christmas you’d be wise to spring for jewelry—the good stuff.

Commit this to memory: When a woman tells a man that she doesn’t want a gift, SHE DOESN’T MEAN IT.  It’s a test. Do not fail the test a second time. No man gets a third chance.

—Good luck, Valerie

 

Dear Valerie:

I was wondering if you and Randy argue a lot.  My husband and I do, and sometimes I worry that we’re abnormal.

—Signed, Combative in Crisis

 

Dear Combative:

Don’t worry.  You and your husband are not abnormal at all (unless you bite his head off for saying “Good morning”).  It’s healthy to air your differences.  I’m always suspicious of a couple who profess that they never argue.

Randy and I agree on most of the major life issues, but we bicker about the small stuff all the time. His driving makes me crazy and my worrying and nagging gets on his nerves. Mostly, I worry and nag him about his driving.

Just remember to treat your spouse with respect, and remind him to do the same for you. If you need to yell at him for leaving the seat up, go ahead and do it. Or better yet, get even. 

—Hang in there, Valerie

 

Dear Mrs. Nusbaum:

How can I get my man to lose a few pounds without hurting his feelings?

—Signed, Too Big For His

     Britches

 

Dear T.B.:

You said that he needs to lose a “few” pounds, so I’m assuming that he isn’t going to be taking up sumo wrestling any time soon.  Also, you didn’t mention if your man is having health issues that could be due to his weight. I’d suggest that you have him see his doctor for a check-up. That may involve tricking him into going, but it’s necessary. If your guy has health issues, the doctor may take care of the diet issue for you. 

If the doctor gives your man a clean bill of health, then it’s up to you. Get rid of all the junk food and sweets. Cook healthy meals, and suggest that the two of you take walks together or invest in a treadmill. If he’s doing the cooking, you might want to get more involved so that you know what you’re both eating. I’m a firm believer that anyone who likes to eat should also know how to prepare food.

On the other hand, if your guy is quick to tell you when you gain a few pounds or you look less than perfect, ignore my previous advice. Call him “Porky” and tell him his super model days are over.

—Whatever works, Valerie

 

I am compelled to remind you all that following my advice could be hazardous to your health and your relationships. I am neither qualified nor certified to counsel you.  I’m simply offering my opinion, which could change at any time. I’m menopausal. If my advice doesn’t work, I really don’t want to hear about it.

Some of you also sent in general questions, and I’d like to address a couple of those as well.

Shirley Greene asked me if Randy and I share the same middle name. Yes, Shirley, we do, and we both dislike it. Randy has forbidden me from using that name in print, but I can tell you that he’s named after a blue grass song. 

Jamie (no last name) wrote me the following:  “I was driving past your house the other day, and I noticed Randy standing on your porch roof. Why was he doing that? Do you think it was really a good idea?”

Several answers come to mind, Jamie: (1) He was being punished for not buying me something; (2) He was hiding from me; (3) He goes up there to think.

The truth is that he was washing the outsides of the windows. I’m pleased to report that the only casualty that day was the bottle of window cleaner. Yes, I am a lucky woman. I married a man who does windows.

I’ll answer the rest of your questions another time. My thanks to all of you who helped out with this month’s column.