Middle-age

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Carry On

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My fiancé Steve sent a sweet email on March 23rd, telling me about his correspondence with an old friend who was looking forward to our wedding, then noting he’d had a realization: March 23rd marked what would have been his and his late wife Karen’s thirtieth anniversary.

Coincidentally, I’d recently read a novella in poetic form by Lesley Wheeler, The Receptionist. In the chapter “A Ghost at the Thanksgiving Feast,”  the receptionist’s stepmother flames out at a mention of her husband’s first wife during Thanksgiving dinner. Later she apologizes for her unseemly outburst.

It’s never occurred to me to be upset by the fact of Steve’s life before me. I’ve always seen his first marriage as evidence of his ability to commit to and care deeply for someone, a sign he possesses the strength and flexibility a long, happy marriage requires. He learned how to love a partner, and let himself be loved by a partner, from and with Karen. She and he raised two wonderful sons who are now part of my life. There are no threats here, only gifts.

Everyone has a history. If anything, not accumulating a rich store of experiences by the time you’re over forty makes you more weird than normal. Yet often we’re quick to label the bulk of our romantic past with the pejorative term “baggage” and attach all kinds of angst to it. Why? The end or loss of any relationship brings great grief, but before that, even in that, there remains love and joy. Continue reading →

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How to Tell You’re in the Right Relationship: Two Snapshots and a Metaphor

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Snapshot 1: Clearwater Beach

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Clearwater crowds

I recently drove to Clearwater Beach from Tampa, where I was attending a conference. I left in the middle of the day, landing myself smack in the middle of high beach traffic, exacerbated by construction obstacles and a GPS that kept trying to send me the wrong way down one-way streets. Return traffic was even more frustrating, driving back to the city a long, arduous process made doubly painful by the fact the beach itself was disappointing. Near the Coronado St. pier, cabanas lined the shore from one end to the other, jammed so tightly side-by-side that if you stood behind them, you could barely see the ocean. Stand in front, you’re crammed elbow to elbow, towel to towel, with spring breakers of every stripe. There were no shells to be seen on my visit, and the only sea-life I encountered were the poor gulls being harassed by a kid pretending to hold a cup of food, then splashing the birds with water as they approached. Walking along the surf-line felt more like playing chicken than taking a stroll, since every other step required dodging right or left. Parking to enjoy all these privileges: insanely pricey.

There were a few unexpected delights: an alfresco dinner of a grilled grouper sandwich and cold lemonade, sand that slipped like silk over my bare feet. And a brief conversation with Mary Beth, a bubbly young woman who bounded up off a nearby hammock and asked to share my shade after I gave up on the crowds and retired to a cluster of palms well behind the cabana line. Mary Beth and I traded talk of vintage clothing finds, and she complimented us on our similar (good) taste in sunglasses. She was as sunny as the bright orb above.

Still, I left Clearwater almost more stressed than when I arrived. It was a bad fit and bad timing. The costs outweighed the benefits, and I felt uncomfortable, disoriented. Getting there was difficult, getting out even worse. The best thing about the visit was the lesson learned: no matter how much I loved the ocean, not every beach would make my heart sing.

Snapshot 2: Pass-A-Grille

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Chair-on-loan

I drove to St. Pete Beach from Tampa early on a Saturday. The timing was right: the traffic light and steady, the GPS cooperative, most of my journey lit by the warm pink glow of sunrise. When I arrived at Pass-A-Grille, the parking lot was near empty, and I parked just a few yards away from a public access boardwalk over the dunes. As I paid the fee at the meter, I noticed a beach chair leaning up against a nearby trash can. It wasn’t fancy, but it wasn’t broken. It seemed to have been left there just for me. Continue reading →

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I Propose…

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After a long, hard (and in many places, lingering) winter, the day we’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived.  Happy Proposal Day!

Wait, what?

You were probably expecting me to say, “Happy first day of Spring!” That it is. Is it also, at least according to some, National Proposal Day. The origins of this unofficial holiday are not entirely clear, although a couple of websites reference Texan John Michael O’Loughlin as the creator, noting he chose March 20th specifically because the Vernal Equinox “symbolizes the equal forces between the couple necessary in making a marriage work.”

The National Day Calendar–prime source for oddball holidays of all stripes–acknowledges National Proposal Day, although this year it’s highlighting, on the lighter side, ravioli, and on a more sobering note, Native HIV/AIDS Awareness Day. Based on the wildly rambling website http://www.proposalday.com, it sounds like the holiday may have been imagined primarily as a (gasp!) marketing gimmick to sell “Proposal Day Cards” and, even more intriguing, “Proposal Day Candidacy Cards,” which are not for proposing, per se, but rather to “declare your candidacy for marriage directly to the one you love” and “make clear your desire to be viewed by them as a candidate for their consideration as a spouse.” If you’re the crafty sort and don’t care to buy a Candidacy card, the site also has suggestions on how to make your own.

It all sounds a little bit too much like those non-committal pseudo-invitations that pass for asking someone out these days: “Maybe we can meet up for lunch sometime,” or worse, “There’s a really great band playing downtown Friday night I was thinking of going to see.” Um, was there a question in there somewhere?

If you want to ask someone to marry you, propose.  If not, don’t.  Save declaring candidacy for the politicians.

But since it is Proposal Day, I have a proposal to make. How about we simply celebrate the arrival–on the calendar if not in the forecast–of Spring? Let’s celebrate new beginnings, the possibility of growth, the balance of hours on this day.

I don’t know if Proposal Day is a “thing” or a wanna-be.  But Spring, beautiful spring, is here at last.

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Better Late Than Any Other Ever

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Earlier this week I was walking across campus when a group of maybe eight or ten students approached from a crossing pathway. The afternoon was warm and sunny—the kind of weather we hadn’t seen in quite a while—and their high spirits were obvious, even from twenty feet away. The young men and women laughed and joshed one another, and as they eventually passed behind me, one guy began whooping and calling out, razzing his friend, clearly holding court within the crowd.

I smiled at their exuberance. But as the young man’s performance escalated in volume and bravado, my thoughts did the following hop, skip, and jump:

  • Even when I was young, I wasn’t one to hoot and holler my way across the quad or cavort with my friends at top volume in public places.
  • Actually, I’ve always found that kind of boisterous behavior a little off-putting, especially in men. Attention-seeking at best, overtly aggressive at worst.
  • I wonder if Steve ever walked across campus in a clump of his buddies, whooping and hollering and causing a ruckus?
  • I can’t picture it.
  • I like that about him.
  • I bet I would have liked the man he was while he was in college.

That last piece got me to thinking about the importance of timing. Steve and I have had several conversations about how we met at just the right time, the precise moment in our adult lives when we were ready and right for each other. That statement—and its opposite, the eye-roll-inducing “it’s just bad timing” breakup line—sound like hackneyed romantic clichés. But timing matters. Continue reading →

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Here Comes the Bridal Show

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Brideness earns you entrée into a strange world you never had access to before and (god, spouse, and lawyers willing) never will need access to again. Witness: the bridal show.

Technically, I suppose, anyone could go to a bridal show. For the disinterested, it would be a strange and uneasy universe. When I was younger I considered crashing just to see what magic lay behind the lacy white curtains. But I suspected the free cupcakes wouldn’t compensate for the sting of being surrounded by members of a club I wanted to belong to but hadn’t been asked to join.

Now I’ve got my credentials and the club is open. But I’ll be darned if they still don’t look at me funny when I come knocking on the door.

Bride’s Night: Boa Contradicter

Back in the fall, I invited my girlfriend Melissa to join me at Bride’s Night, a biannual event put on by Caroline LaRocca Event Design that travels to different wedding venues around town. It’s marketed as a girl’s night out, with a fashion show, stylists on hand doing quick up-dos, an on-site mobile spray-tanning booth. I’d modeled for a previous incarnation, but I’d never attended as a bride.

Melissa and I met at the venue, the beautiful Corinthian Ballroom. At the door, Melissa saw someone she knew and stopped to say hello, so I went ahead to the check-in table.

The greeter’s eyes slid across my face then quickly flicked to either side of me, checking for companions. She hesitated and said, “You’re not…are you…a bride?” Continue reading →

Once Upon a Traditional-Fairy-Tale Takedown: Readers’ Love Stories

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shoes 1b captionThe week before Valentine’s Day, I initiated the “Traditional Fairytale Takedown Challenge,” asking readers to eschew standard romantic narratives and write some alternative fairy tales, real-world love stories that reflect the rich and varied ways we fall and stay in love. You answered the call with tales that capture the beautiful, complex, occasionally frustrating, perfectly imperfect ways we love one another, and ourselves. Thank you, readers!

This collection gives me more hope than any Cinderella story that love does indeed win.

There are the romantic realists, those whose stories show us that humans are fragile and imperfect, that loving someone deeply requires vulnerability and negotiating differences.

Once upon a time there was a broken fair lady. Her heart was shattered beyond repair. One fateful night, in a night full of despair, a not so shining knight stepped forth. He bravely picked up a fragile shard and began to help the fair lady try to piece together what once had been broken. Though the process was not without pain and anger, the outcome healed the fair lady. She was blessed with a most beautiful son and a not so shining knight who, to this day, remains by her side protecting her fragile heart. –Lora Jarrett

Another take:

“A Short Fairy Tale of My Own,” Oui Depuis‘s honest fairy tale about day-to-day love.

There are surprise entrances. Love does seem to show up when and where you least expect to find it.

Once upon a time a divorced mother of 2 went to her high school reunion and met a friend she hadn’t seen in years. Although they had never dated before there was an instant spark now. He fell in love with her kids as well. A year later they were married and have been for 14 years, adding another prince along the way. — Michelle P.T.

A surprise that reminds us to focus on the fun from Twenty7zero3:

Once upon a time a girl asked if her bum looked big,
Her friend told her indeed it did,
but there was no time to change
As the taxi had been arranged,
for a night on the tiles,
So they left with smiles,
And that’s the night she met her prince!

Continue reading →