Happy birthday, Martha: 65 reasons to smile

My wife, Martha Muzychka, is celebrating her birthday today, and it’s one of those “milestone” birthdays. She’s 65.

We got a jump on things on Saturday, when I threw a party for her and an assortment of family and friends. There were people from the various parts of Martha’s life — family, childhood friends, old colleagues, her book club, crafting pals, and so on. I even got “Hello, My Name Is…” stickers because some folks were meeting each other for the first time.

Martha is the thread that bound us all together.

She has that way of making connections: as long as I’ve known her (we got together in late 1985, and were friends for a few years before that), she has been that friendly, sociable force that breaks the ice, finds common ground, draws people together. She has some secret weapons. One is her legendary smile. There is her remarkable curiosity, and there is her kindness. Her empathy. And, never forget, there are her cookies. If you’ve ever seen what Martha can crank out over Christmas, you know what I’m talking about.

I gave a short speech at her party by means of a toast, and I’m not actually quite sure what I said.

But I do know I started with a family story I’ve always loved, and I’ll relate it here — as well as some of the things I hope I expressed on Saturday night.

When Martha was a toddler, she was out for her walk with her visiting uncle. When Martha got tired, she put her arms up in the air: a clear sign that wanted to be lifted and carried. Her uncle — we called him “Stryko,” or “uncle” in Ukrainian, and his name was Ivan, or John — had a bad back at the time, and would shrug to Martha that he did not understand what she wanted.

As I joked on Saturday, this was hardly the only time Martha threw her arms up in the air in frustration with a man!

Stryko was a Ukrainian priest, and he went on to marry each of his brother Stefan’s children, starting with Martha and me in 1988. Martha adored him. When we made our last trip to Rome to see him, his face just lit up when Martha came in the room.

She’s always had that ability.

One of the things I love about the story of her and Stryko is that it involves communication: a theme throughout Martha’s life and indeed her career.

At the time, Martha was not speaking, and her mother — a pediatrician — was concerned. Julita consulted with her mentor, Dr. Norah Browne, for advice. As always, Norah saw an explanation. Martha was simultaneously learning Spanish from her mom, Ukrainian from her dad and English from everyone else. Give her some time!

As Martha has always said, she more than made up for a silent start, and has never been shy about speaking her mind.

Martha is still someone who puts her hand up. She volunteers. She shows up. Her friends know she will be there with what’s needed, sometimes before they knew it themselves. She’ll offer a shoulder, an ear, a hug, a drive, some soup: whatever is required or feels right.

We were so delighted to become parents in 2000, and watching Nick grow up and continue to evolve has been a deep and enduring source of pride and joy for both of us.

I retired some months ago, and have been encouraging Martha to join me. She’s decided to wind down her business — she has been self-employed since 2005 — a fair bit, but is continuing to work on smaller projects that keep her interested.

We have been relishing having more time to do things we enjoy, and that includes what we call spontaneous moments: just doing something on the spur of the moment. It has sometimes felt luxurious to escape the world for a few hours, given how exceedingly scheduled both of us have been!

When I was picking out photos for a social media post, I was again struck by the consistently warm smile I saw through the years.

I hope to see that smile — and to make Martha laugh — for many, many years to come.