Working through it

I'm still trying to process the death of my ex, Joel. That's him above, I think after a marathon. Although in a wheelchair for a decade or more, he was once a dedicated runner. I've gotten an outpouring of love and understanding today from friends old and new. They all seem to understand that it's not nearly as simple as saying, "Oh, well, I haven't been married to him for thirty years, so it doesn't matter to me." It does matter, probably made more of an impact on me than on our children. I've heard so much today about good Joel/bad Joel that my head is spinning. For years, I've wondered how to explain to people why I married him, but a friend summed it up so well today when she wrote, "In the old days he had a charisma that was charming and an enthusiasm for life that was infectious." There you have it--that's why I married him, and that's the man I grieve for. I remember too a few years ago when a friend from early on and I stood on my front porch talking about Joel. With us was her son, named Joel, then about thirty. Finally he exploded, "Wait a minute! If he's such a bad guy, why am I named after him?" His mother looked at him and said simply, "Because we all loved him back then." Funny and complicated stuff.
It looks like the service will be this weekend in Santa Rosa on their farm--Joel told me it is the former Jack London homestead. Not sure about that, but it makes a good story. My four children will go together, along I think, with Joel's brother, the Uncle Mark to whom they are all close. They will not take spouses or children. But there goes our rodeo/stock show weekend, which I had been looking forward to. A petty thought at this point.
Meantime life goes on. I was slow getting going this morning--slept late and overwhelmed by emails--but finally did the cleaners, post office, Williams Sonoma (fruitless trip), Origins (expensive trip) and Central Market. Came home and finished laundry, cryovaced the meat I bought (my doctor told me to eat more read meat while a friend told me her doctor said not to eat red meat--go figure!), and fixed some curry/chutney/chicken salad for my supper. It ws okay but probably not a recipe I'll keep or repeat.
I am reading galleys on my second Kelly O'Connell mystery, No Neighborhood for Old Women, but because of distractions I'm moving slowly. The editor would like to have them back early in the week but that's looking less and less likely. I'm plugging away though.
Can't say enough about my wonderful children--the solidarity they've shown through this, the support for me (they seem less emotional than I am), their willingness to pay their respects to a father who was distant from them. Regardless of all else, I have a wonderful family and am so blessed.
And say what I might about Joel--he brought a lot of pain and grief into my life but earlier he brought great joy and love and laughter. That's what I choose to remember.

I've lost a friend

I got the news tonight that my friend Charles died about 6:45 in the nursing home floor of Trinity Terrace. He was 92. I hardly know where to begin to say how important Charles was to me. In the late '60s, he came to teach radiology at the osteopathic college where my then-husband was faculty. We became friends, and he and his wife invited us to their ranch for a weekend--they had then one guest cabin, though they later built more. We all went, and I remember stopping at Zaby's in Kaufman, a barbecue place that had pictures and sayings about Christ all over the walls, including that picture that looks like a blur of black and white until  you learn the secret and then you can never again look at it without seeing Christ's face in the snow. The barbecue wasn't particularly good, but the kids loved the fried pies. Afterward, they led us down country roads until Charles remarked to his wife, Reva, that we must think they were taking us to the ends of the earth. After that, we spent many happy weekends and a couple of longer vacations at the ranch--the boys fished, even though there were alligators in the waters of the lake. Once I saw an alligator about to get a baby duck, and I screamed for Charles to do something: "It's the law of nature, Judy," he said.
Another time he had a steer named Houdini (because he was so adept at escaping) in a pen between the main house and our cabin. The kids petted and loved on Houdini every time we went by. Sometime later, we were all eating dinner on the porch overlooking the lake, and Charles asked the kids  how they liked the meat. They chorused that it was great, and Charles said, "You're eating Houdini." Nobody ate much after that.
After Joel left us, Charles and Reva remained my firm friends, and as soon as the kids could drive, we went back there often for weekends. Reva was a country girl from Missouri, and she brought with her great cooking skills. We had marvelous times together in the kitchen, and I think some of the happiest moments of my life were spent on that porch at the dinner table. Sometimes we took family friends, who always enjoyed the experience. Reva and Charles welcomed a wide variety of people to their guest ranch, becoming friends with almost every guest. They hosted campouts for bikers' groups, outings for the osteopathic college, and all kinds of groups that fit Charles' interests. Alzheimer's took Reva from us, first as a person and then finally a few years ago. I miss her today, but I was delighted when Charles got her prune bread recipe (always a secret) for my cookbook.
Charles moved back to Fort Worth, and I saw him frequently. We ate at a restaurant that served mussels because he loved them. They came in a variety of sauces, named by colors, and when he was asked which one he wanted, he muttered, "They didn't come in colors when I was a kid."
Charles was one of the brightest intellectuals I've known in my life, a student up until the last few months, reading voraciously but never fiction, always enlarging his knowledge. A marathoner (he used to always win his age group) and a veteran biker, he went annually to a bike camp in West Texas until a couple of years go. Until a year ago, or maybe less, he was still riding his bike and running in the neghborhood. He had the wisdom to do what few elderly do--one day he told me he hung up his car keys. He'd had a near accident and he said it wasn't his skill that averted a disaster.
In recent months I visited him in the nursing home--hard for me, because he was in the same place only rooms away from where my mom died. But his sense of humor and his clear thinking remained intact until maybe the last month. When I visited last Sunday, two other friends were there and we talked. I had the sense that Charles was happy to let us talk around him and participate occasionally. When I said he looked content, he repied, "I am. I don't hurt, and I don't want for anything." I think that's how he died, and that brings me a sense of peace.
I think I was always a little bit in love with Charles Ogilvie.