Gratitude for a marriage gone awry

Fifty-three years ago today I stood in a garden on Osteopathy Avenue in Kirksville, Missouri and exchanged vows with the late Joel Alter. We didn’t care that only a thin line of bushes separated us from the goat pens nor that the music was a rented tiny organ—I don’t even remember what was played. A friend had made my dress, and I kept it for many years before giving it away. We honeymooned, with good friends, one night at the local Holiday Inn.

We were happy for fifteen years. He built his career as a surgeon, bought us my “doctor’s wife” house, drove fancy cars, and, best of all, adopted four children. I often think of those as my golden years. They were followed by two miserable years while the marriage was crumbling. A failed marriage is never a one-way street, and I’m not writing tonight about recriminations (oh, yes, I have a long list but, probably, so did he). We divorced in 1982.

This is not a letter about blame. It’s about gratitude. If I hadn’t married Joel, I wouldn’t have the four wonderful children I have. I wouldn’t be in Texas, where I’ve been for 52 years. And I wouldn’t be eating kosher food, which I love. Joel taught me a lot of things but probably none more important than an exuberant joy in life. He loved to dance; I was a lousy dancer, but I could dance with him. He loved animals, and I caught his love, particularly of dogs. He cared about people, and I am more open and concerned about others than I might have been if he were not in my life.

A friend looked at me today and said in pure astonishment, “If he hadn’t brought you to Texas, we never would have known each other”

But the biggest thing Joel ever did for me was to leave me after 17 years of marriage, 20 years together. He reduced me to tears one night shortly before by telling me he’d take the kids, the house, everything but me. Of course, I wouldn’t give up my children. At the time, I didn’t see his leaving as a gift. I was in my early 40s, with four children ages 12-6, and I was scared, no terrified, about the future. It turned out just fine, thank you.

I have come to appreciate that great gift. If he had stayed, my children probably wouldn’t be the well-balanced, happy people they are, family people, contributing to their world. I wouldn’t have had the career I did nor would I have become the writer I call myself today. And I wouldn’t have built the wonderful life I have—friends, church, a secure home, great memories of the last thirty-plus years.

So thanks to Joel, though he didn’t intend his leaving as a gift, and his life didn’t turn out to be the happy days he expected. I have carried Joel with me, all these years, in a small place in my heart, in too many dreams, in some of the better ways I react to people and the world.

When people moan about divorce or how hard it is on the children or some such nonsense, I just smile and say, “Not always.”

Thanks, Joel.

Good times shared, old times recalled

             Forty years ago I was happily married (or so I thought) with four young children. We had good friends, also happily married (so they thought) with three children about the ages of ours. Both husbands were doctors—I throw that in though I’m not sure what it tells.  The two families shared many dinners, pool parties, holidays—we were close friends.

Then, almost simultaneously, we both divorced. For a year or two, Nancy and I went out to dinner, but we mostly talked about what was wrong with our exes—we had neither one sought the divorce—and I guess that got to be burdensome. She was busy with her work as an OR nurse, eventually in charge of a large staff, and I was working and raising my babies. We drifted apart, and I didn’t hear from her for years. Thirty years we decided today.

A month or so I looked her up in the phone book, called, and she sounded delighted. But it didn’t work out for her to plan a get-together right then. Maybe early last week, she called, and we arranged to have dinner on Friday night. Then a bug of some kind got my stomach, and I had to cancel. So today we finally had lunch. She lives downtown but came to my part of town, and I thought of taking her to a small, quiet sandwich shop—but it was closed. So we went to Carshon’s, the deli where she said she hadn’t been in years. Apparently she had a hunger for corned beef, so all was good.

It was interesting to me that we didn’t do a lot of “Remember when” stuff. We talked about what we’re doing today, what and where our children are, how we like retirement. There was no regret for the past. I found Nancy to be as full of fun, wit and laughter as she always was. At one point she looked at me and said, “We’ve had interesting lives, haven’t we?” and I agreed. Some of our today stories are tinged with sadness, but for the most part we agreed that we are so much better off single and we are happy with our lives.

Yes, we have happy memories but also some unhappy ones, and I’m glad we’ve both put them behind us. Now that we’ve reconnected, I’m sure we’ll see each other again and more often. I told her one mutual friend sent love, and she said, “Oh, I’d love to see her.” So next time I cook for Linda, I’ll invite Nancy.

Reconnecting is really good. Got an old friend you haven’t heard from in years? Give him or her a call. Some people just aren’t good communicators, and whoever it is might be really glad to hear from you. I recommend it.

Is this what happens in old age?

I had a full calendar today--a haircut appointment, a dermatologist appointment followed by lunch with a friend, a play date for Jacob at our house and happy hour with the neighbors. The only one of those things that worked out as planned was the happy hour.
Went to my haircut, waited half an hour for Rosa, thinking maybe I'd gotten the time wrong. Finally got her on the phone--my appointment was a week ago today. No wonder my hair seems extraordinarily long--now I have to live with it until Tuesday morning. No special Easter "do" for me.
The dermatologist actually worked out more easily--I saw the appointment on my calendar twice, called  and found out it is for a week from Monday. And the friend I was having lunch with cancelled because she's having a busy week. But getting all those things wrong on my calendar shook my self-confidence.
Anyway then I was free to join good friends Phil and Subie who were lunching with Bob Compton, who we all know from his days as Dallas Morning New Book Editor. We ate on the patio at Nonna Tata--okay, it's a graveled covered area, but it was outdoors on a gorgeous day. Had my favorite thing--braseola (the beef version of prosciutto) covered with sliced grana cheese and a light lemon dressing with a side of wonderful potato salad--the no-mayo kind.
After school, a good friend came home with Jacob--the friend's grandfather always accompanies him, and we have great visits while the boys play. But today, I soon had four boys playing football in the front yard and two moms on the porch. One mom took her son home, and the other mom took all three boys to her house--bless her! The grandfather and I had a nice long visit, and then I had a quiet afternoon and got lots done. Jacob went from the first boy's house to that of the original play date; then the grandfather took them all to the schoolyard to play. It was after six-thirty when Jacob came in, sweaty and exhausted.
Meantime I was having wine and southwestern tuna on the deck with my neighbors. Lovely evening, good company, good food.
Struck me again how lucky I am to have friends of all ages--from the grandfather I visited with after school (his kids are twenty years younger than mine so he's much younger than me) to my neighbors in their fifties to the mothers of Jacob's school friends who are younger than Jordan. Variety truly is the spice of life--and I like my spicy life.

Procrastination and the good life

Today Jean and I picked up our flowers of the month--a program sponsored by the AAUW (American University Women). Jean and I exchange certificates for the year each Christmas and always have lunch before we pick up our flowers. Aren't these lovely? White roses kissed with lavender. You can't see it too well, but the vase sits on a coaster hand woven by Jean. Today we went to a classic tea room and had scoops of salad--chicken for her and tuna for me--with fruit. Fun.
This is one of those nights when I start a blog and don't know where it's going. I've had a lovely two days being lazy. Finished (for now) a major editing project, so the chore of digging into my next novel is facing me--it's been simmering in the back of my mind for a long time, but I'm a believer in that simmering process. At the same time, I'm a procrastinator, so tonight I've written a guest blog and am writing this and trying to convince myself to start on my newsletter. Once I get those first words on paper, I know the rest will come easily--it's getting started that boggles me.
But being lazy is kind of nice. This morning, by 10:30 I hadn't done a lick of work--at least at my desk. I'd watered plants, done my yoga, showered, read Facebook and the newspaper and my emails but hadn't settled down to anything serious.
Meantime I'm enjoying the feeling of not rushing, not feeling pressure. There was a blog somewhere today about the need for writers to write faster, produce more. It's true that the more books you have in print, the better each book sells. But several Sisters in Crime protested--one that quality would suffer and another that personal life would suffer. I second both arguments. I'm fairly productive--once I start a novel, I keep at it (probably what's keeping me from starting), but I don't want to sacrifice quality. And I have way too much else in my life--family and grandchildren and friends. Writing is a huge part of my life, but it's not the only thing--my children and grandchildren come first and I will always drop everything to be with one or more of them; I'll also drop things to have lunch or a glass of wine with a good friend. And sometimes, I just want to read someone else's mysteries.
It's a good life. Now on to that newsletter....