Valley Views

valley views Don’t hold back

“ Tell them you love them over and over again. Tell them too much, and never too little, for the time we have is short, but the love we have is endless.” - Dane Thomas

This week would have (should have) been my 35th wedding anniversary.

I guess it is my 35th wedding anniversary. I’m still married, albeit without a husband. A widow (deep heavy sigh). He died shortly after our 33rd anniversary. But still, I remember, and I celebrate. No, I just remember.

We’d planned to do something “big” on this anniversary. We never felt like we had the chance before. Fifteen, twenty, even twenty-five - we let them all pass us by.

We were always too young, or too poor, or too busy raising kids to spend the time or money for anything for just the two of us. It seemed too extravagant.

We took lots of family vacations, but they were planned around our four kids.

We always spent time together, but it typically involved practices, games or performances (of the childhood variety). We spent many weekends away from home in hotels - for tournaments and supervising kids in the pool.

They were good years - building a family, raising children. We were happy to put special times for just the two of us on hold because we had all of our future for us as a couple. We married young. We were young. There’d be plenty of time. Or so we thought.

We thought we’d do something big this year. He’d always promised to take me to Europe. But it could have been so many things: a long weekend in Las Vegas, a trip to a secluded cabin in the mountains, the beach. Anything - something. It didn’t matter what. It would be a rare splurge on just the two of us.

Instead, now, it’s just me. And I have some advice.

Don’t wait. Don’t wait. Don’t wait.

Please.

Don’t. Wait.

There are always logical reasons to wait. To put off the things you really want to do with your spouse because you don’t have enough money or time or whatever you think you need to do all the things you want to do. Please take note of my circumstance.

You never know when your own later may no longer exist. Take the trip. Go on the vacation. Fish for salmon in Alaska. Cruise the Mediterranean. Hula in Hawaii. Surf in South Africa. Volunteer in to build a school or a church. Go on safari. Visit a nude beach. Buy that hobby farm. Plan an extravagant night out on the town. Buy her the diamond. Get him those golf clubs. Do it now.

My husband and I passed by anniversary number 30 and thought we had to wait until number 35 to celebrate something grand because 35 was the next big number.

Take it from me: numbers don’t matter. Life matters. Now matters.

Celebrate now. Celebrate this year, next year and the year after. Heck, celebrate more often than that. Celebrate always. Every day. Unabashedly.

Because, at the end of it all, not too many of us regret all the good and joyous things we did in life. We don’t regret the happy memories or songs we sang together.

What we might regret, and often regret, are the spectacular things we didn’t do. Even the mundane things we didn’t get a chance to do. Those that we thought we’d get to – some day – but didn’t because time ran out

My best advice? You never know when time will run out. So do it now. Experience to the fullest. Enjoy. Love. Create a memory worth keeping. Let your husband (or

Slices of Life Jill Pertler Syndicated columnist

A journey through a violin

I’m told my great-grandmother was a child protégé on the violin, one who graced prestigious stages with her music. However, about 80 years ago, her mother had her put down her violin for reasons no one fully understands and she never picked it up again.

From that point on, her violin was handed down through my family. It was stored in different climates throughout dozens of moves and passed through several hands until it landed in mine.

I received it wrapped in bubble wrap, preserved as well as could be managed, but crumbling under the weight of years. Its sides had separated from its body in several places, the wood occasionally cracked and warped. A peg was missing, another had crumbled within the scroll, and the two that remained held onto strings that were curled and broken. Its bridge was absent as well, letting the tailpiece rub and mar the wood, but the original chin rest made of cork remained.

I certainly didn’t inherit my great-grandmother’s exceptional ability, but I have played violin for most of my life. I’ve changed countless strings, swapped out several pieces; I can care for an instrument.

But the care this delicate instrument so clearly needed? I wasn’t sure I could do it. I’ve worked in historical fields enough to know what big deals restoration and pres-

A Taylor’d Approach

Taylor Davison

Editor, Valley Journal

see page 11 wife) take you to Europe.

Make it spectacular.

Let me know how it goes. I’m rooting for you.

Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.

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from page 10

ervation are, the skill and knowledge they require to bring things back to stability. I’m not a trained professional and I certainly don’t have the qualifications.

However, I had to acknowledge that the violin doesn’t belong to a museum. It belongs to me. And like the generations that owned it before me, taking the violin in for professional restoration was simply not possible with my budget.

I did some experimental googling to learn what would need to be done to restore the integrity of a violin body, and surprisingly, the more I researched, the more possible it seemed for me to pull off.

Ultimately, I decided I had to try. I couldn’t let it go through one more generation, slowly degrading in bubble wrap because of the absence of a perfect solution. The perfect had been the enemy of the good for too long and as the violin was now in my care, I would do the best I could by it.

I reached out to some friends who work in restoration, as well as a luthier I know in another state and with their helpful advice I set to work bringing the violin back to life.

The first step was to get my hands on a set of special clamps used around the body of the violin to reattach its sides. Waiting for those to arrive from the internet was probably the longest part of the whole process, but with their help I was able to bend the rehydrated wood back into position, with only a little bit of fear, and reattached the sides.

Once the glue had dried and the cracks mended, I was suddenly no longer afraid to touch the violin. No longer falling apart at the seams, it suddenly started to feel more modern. After all, violins haven’t exactly changed much in the last century. And this solid thing in my hands? I knew this. I had handled these for years.

With bolstered confidence, I moved onto the pegs. The two that remained stayed in their place, but the replacements took a little longer than I’d anticipated. The pegs I’d purchased to fill the empty slots had to be sanded down to fit. Turns out instruments made around a century ago were a little less likely to have standardized measurements.

After that messy business was finished, I cleaned and polished the wood. I slid a new bridge into place and added new strings one by one, tuning them up as I went.

With all the pieces in place, the violin looked younger than I could’ve imagined, the fresh strings gleaming against the fingerboard. Only the cork chinrest, delicately cleaned, gave a clue to its real age.

That, and its sound. While my own violin sings crisp and clean, a quality instrument but only about a decade old, this one rolled and echoed, aged like a fine wine.

While my own inexperienced restoration went surprisingly well, the final product is solid with repairs carefully concealed … I’m aware it’s unlikely to fool an experienced professional. However, this new old possession of mine can now be held and handled, can be tuned and plucked and once again do what it was made to do.

As I drew the bow across the strings and listened to it sing for its first time in 80 years, I think my great-grandmother would be happy with my decision.

letters

Support the theatre

Editor,

Home run! The Port Polson Players hit it out of the park with their latest play, “Home Games.” About a father-daughter connection, it was both poignant and funny at the same time. Have you ever laughed and cried at the same time? Then you know how it feels to cross home plate.

The acting was phenomenal, with real-life daughter Anna showing maturity beyond her years, and father Neal giving us a grumpy yet lovable version of a parent suffering (and enjoying) his dementia. Their relationship felt very real and sweet. We also hope to see Eric Donovan again in many more roles.

Our thematic takeaways include family is forever; don’t let phony people mess with your values; and most especially, love wins. These are timeless themes we all can relate to.

Once again, the Lewings have given the gifts of their time, talent, and love to our community. Please support this local treasure by attending the upcoming plays, “Over the River and Through the Woods” and “Driving Miss Daisy.” You won’t be sorry.

Comedy

JULY 28- AUGUST 7th Thurs. Fri. & Sat 8:00 pm Sunday Matinees 2:00 pm

At Polson’s Theatre on the Lake PortPolsonPlayers.com or 406-883-9212 for Reservations

Nancy Teggeman Polson

LAST WEEK!