lifeaccordingtochristine.com

I am fond of saying things that help me to keep perspective such as, “If this is the worst thing that ever happens to me, it is going to be a great life.” I say it often.
In a world filled with chaos and confusion, perspective and a sense of humor serve one well.
So it was when I started dating a few years before I met Jim.
Having just gone through a nasty divorce, and having lost everything of monetary value- like my money, my cars and furniture- I was relatively adamant about not dating or the word marriage.
Make no mistake, I did not blame men for my troubles- I no longer trusted my judgment. I had known husband number three 13 years before I married him, number one and I grew up together and I knew  husband number two 2 years before saying, “I do.”  My theory was that I could pluck a complete stranger off the street and get the same results!
I became fond of saying that I sucked at marriage.  I still say it!
An intervention of sorts one Sunday evening got me back into the game. I was about to fly out for a series of business trips that would keep me away from home for 30 days when my visiting son suggested we stop and visit friends- my “adopted” dad, his wife (my friend for 30 years) and my daughter’s godmother who “happened” to be visiting. I know that is a lot of quotation marks for one sentence- work with me.
During a lively conversation of how things were progressing with my consulting business, Roy (adopted dad) said he had something he wanted to talk to me about. I looked around the room and all eyes were upon me. He started by telling me that he was afraid I was killing myself.
Uh oh.
I began to protest and make jokes but he interrupted me and said he was serious. He was afraid I was going to die; everyone in the room was afraid I was killing myself. He went on to say that I never smiled anymore, no one ever saw me, I never went to movies or dinner……I just worked.
I didn’t see it coming.
I looked to my son and he was nodding in agreement.
Suggestions flew around the room as to what I should do to improve my life, all of them made as though I was not sitting in the room; all of them starting with working less, the most extreme suggesting I sell my home or file bankruptcy. That suggestion brought tears to my eyes and I started to cry.
I explained that my home was all that kept me going. It was the reason I got up in the morning, the focus of my energies and that selling was not only not an option, it would take away my reason for getting out of bed each day. At that moment I needed a focus and a purpose; a goal and a dream; my home was it.
Much discussion ensued and I ultimately gave my word that once a month I would take a long weekend and spend it doing something fun. I would make it a point to spend time with my friends and son (at the time he was the only child living near me).
That night I flew from Cleveland to California before ending my week in Scottsdale AZ, to visit my very good friend, Karen.
Karen and I have laughed and cried over some amazing stuff. She befriended me when I first moved to AZ. She was the friend with whom I saw the movie Titanic. We took a pitcher of homemade Bailey’s with us to the theater, thought better of taking it in and when we left the movie three powerful, depressing hours later, we sat in the parking lot and chugged it straight from the pitcher….then we went shopping.
I could not wait to spend the weekend with her. She and I laughed and joked and caught up. She then proceeded to tell me that I needed to start dating again.
I was flummoxed.
What was going on? Was I that pathetic? Was there some sort of conspiracy going on?
I told her about my previous weekend’s intervention and how a conversation with my daughter during the week further amused me. Mindy told me that Roy and the gang in Cleveland had contacted her and asked her to intervene because they felt I was closer to her than anyone.
Karen said she knew just the cure- Matchmaker.com.
Nope. No way.  Not happening.  Not doing it.
Karen poured me a Strawberry Daiquiri.
“Here, she said, drink this.”
While I was drinking she told me how much fun she was having and how it was great to come home at the end of the day and have emails…….
I replied that I was excited for her but it was not for me. I did not need to date.
She handed me my second daiquiri and said she understood.
While I was drinking it she showed me her new sewing room and while we were there she suggested that I sign up for Matchmaker.
Patiently I explained that one of my other good friends owned a dating service and had begged me to allow her to fix me up- for free- with a guy in Hawaii or anyone I wanted from her client list and I had told her “no” as well.
I inherently do not trust men with too much money and good looks. They are like sharks….always moving from one woman to another; always on the prowl for the BBD- bigger better deal. Why? Because they can; they have money and women have enough low self esteem to allow their bad behavior. Not this girl…….right.
Likely a bit judgmental but it is what I believe. After all, we have seen the commercials for the guys who have to compensate for their inadequacies (thank you, Kia or Hyundai….whichever of you had that hilarious commercial a few years back) with hot cars and we all know that the 80 year old codger with the 23 year old babe on his arm did not win her with his sex appeal- he won her with his checkbook. AND, if it works for THEM, no harm no foul- it is just not my deal….. Dare I say I am a realist- I don’t even fantasize, I know perish the thought. That is likely another story or a 12 step program- depending on whether you are male or female.
ANYWAY……..
Karen murmured soothing noises that were meant to make me feel better about my decision- and suggested that since we were already in the computer room, why not fire it up so she could show me what it was all about, and oh, was my glass empty again?
While I nursed my third daiquiri, Karen showed me around the site. By the time we had finished two pitchers, I was a member of Matchmaker.com.
Because nothing is ever easy, my first contact turned out to be a lunatic and a stalker. No worries…..cell phones are beautiful things. You cannot touch a moving target.
And moving I was. If there were 30 days in a month, I was gone 27 of them.
I “flirted’ with a few guys but found it very easy for someone to watch my every move on the Matchmaker site.
Ultimately, I moved to Match.com. I liked “dating” without leaving my house, in my pajamas and half way across the country. It was my idea of perfection. No muss, no fuss. I also climbed out of bed one night and rewrote my profile- from my heart. Figured I might as well let them know who I was right away so they could move on before wasting time- mine and theirs.
My profile was no nonsense. It had heart and compassion but literally read that players need not apply! I wrote that men who were jealous could move along- I worked in a male dominated industry, kissed all of my clients, hello and goodbye, and would be on the road traveling with them for weeks at a time. I had no need for anyone’s “issues.” Jim says it was a huge shield….. I say it was a statement. People only come in two flavors- I was not eliminating half the population to please some man I did not know.
I met some really great guys online- and some strange men.  I met and had drinks with the same guy twice-  he did not remember me until I reminded him and I could not believe he was the same idiot I had ditched a year before when he tried to sleep with me after one drink! BTW- who was dumber in THAT scenario? He was still a letch!
Women frequently ask me if I met any weirdos. Of course I did! The truth is that I would have met them anyway. I am not a bar girl but if I was, those same men would have appeared in my line of vision at some point.
Because I was at home so little, when I was there I might have 4 “dates” in one day- breakfast, lunch and dinner- and a coffee date in between. It was pretty evident I was not taking it seriously. And I was starting to put on weight…… just kidding.
Each real date was nerve wracking for me. Did I look enough like my picture? Was I thin enough? What if I wasn’t good enough? I know- just smack me for that one.
And the men? OH MY GOSH.  Seriously- let me spell it this time, LAUGHING OUT LOUD!!!!!!
Here is what I learned about men.
While women are busy worrying about our looks and if we measure up, men are completely blind to their looks and don’t care if they measure up- they are men, deal with it.
For instance, a man would write in his profile that he was very good looking. When I met him he would be wearing black socks, tennis shoes and had a face that his mother would love- and only his mother.
One such man was the president of a local union for the automotive industry. He was so impressed with himself that I did not need to be. That worked out well for me as we proceeded through a very one sided lunch- he loved to talk about how important he was.
I have a couple of character flaws; one of my favorites is when people are self impressed, I like to goad them on. Feigning interest while thinking about my upcoming pedicure is a real art form for me.
I asked all of the appropriate questions about Mr. Important and continued to drill down on his answers as he regaled me with how he worked to keep the jobs of the guys who missed work when they should have been fired, had men brought back after they had been fired or helped his men stay out of jail. He told me about a guy who beat a man within an inch of his life, nearly killing him because the man was gay. He said it was ugly and the union/line worker was going to go away for a long time……but the charges were dropped because the Prosecutor’s office lost the file.
I was incredulous. They lost the file? How in God’s name could they be so stupid? What the….?
He looked at me as though I was from another planet- he may have even said, “Duh…”
I was horrified as I realized what he meant. Palms were greased and a man walked away with a heinous crime unpunished.
Disgusted by what he was saying, I asked him if his mother knew what he did for a living. He said she did not.
I told him that it was just as well, it would kill her.
With that I made my excuses and left.
He followed me out to the parking lot, said he would love to see me again, I murmured something that likely sounded like “ditto” and I never again laid eyes on him. We had very different value systems.
I met an ex-Priest who remains my friend to this day. Will is brilliant, funny and a bit lascivious. I love his wit- and the fact that it was best that he left the church, he seems to have a healthy sexual appetite- not with me, thank you!! He was not my type but he is a great friend and I adore him.
There was the Playboy I was crazy about. I really felt as though he were “the one.” It worked well for a while. On the first date he asked me to make reservations for Vegas so he could show it to me from his perspective. Fear not. I am smarter than the average bear- when he gave me HIS credit card, I would make reservations. I waited to see if he really meant it……. He likely did but he could never quite make or keep a commitment for time.
Oh- he had money….RIGHT.
Here is how it all started….
I saw his profile on Match, sent a quick note and his daughters picked me for him- cute.
It was that same week that my son- Mr. Intervention Guy- asked if I was ever going to really date or was I just screwing around- not literally- to appease everyone. I replied that I did have a real date. He asked for a name- I gave it to him.
His response?  “THE   La- --  C- - - -na???? “
“I don’t know, I replied somewhat irritated “A   La---  C----na.”
“Do you know who he is?” he demanded.
“No, should I?”
“He only owns half of the county and businesses all over the world.”
Uh oh. This date was over.
So, when Mr. Owns the World called to confirm, I asked if he was THE La---- C----na who owned the world. He replied that “maybe he was” him…….
I told him I was sorry but I would have to cancel our date. He was incredulous.
“Why?” He asked.
I told him that it had always been my experience that men with money were more interested in that then anything else- and they were usually players. (I am nothing, if not honest.)
I will never forget his response. To this day, I have it down verbatim…….
“Honey, he said, If you have to fall for a fish, it may as well be a whale!”
Okay, seriously, if you can make me laugh, you own me!! He had me at whale!!
We met, had a fabulous time, and he proclaimed on that date that he could easily fall in love with me…..
 Yes, ladies, that was two years of broken promises and missed dates. When I had his attention, I had all of him. Getting his attention was a chore. Too much effort and not enough payoff; I moved on- one last time.
I never needed his money- I could make my own. What I needed was his time, the one thing he could not give. Too bad.
On a Sunday in October of 2005, I had had enough of the dating business- I hated it. I am not a dater. I am a marrier. (Ohhhh I think I just invented a new word!!)  I have married all of the men I should have dated and discarded. Most women break up- I divorce.
I was giving it one last shot. I sat down and looked at all of the men that met my criteria….teeth, wit, good spelling skills and grammar, intelligence and a job that appeared to have an income.  The teeth thing is a long story….another time.
I emailed 3 or 4 men with no expectations. If they did not respond, I was shutting my site down. For the record, my site had no picture, I did not want to be chosen like I was in a meat market, I wanted to choose. If I chose a guy, I would offer to send them a picture if they were interested.  On that Sunday I was going to move on to my happy life of not dating, which I had loved, if no one responded!!
Jim came into my life that day……
His profile was smart, funny, heartfelt, poetic and engaging. I wish I had kept it- I am not forward thinking that way- and I never dreamed I would write a book someday and want to include it. His picture wasn’t hard on my eyes either….. Yes, I can be shallow- it’s the Alpha male in me
He phoned that evening and we spoke for 6 hours. He said he would marry me. I chuckled and replied that, no, that would not be happening. Nothing personal, he sounded like a really nice guy but I suck at marriage. He felt that maybe it was not marriage which challenged me it was my choices…..
Women always tell me that that conversation would have freaked them out. That makes me laugh.
You do realize I had the right to say, “No.”?
I was leaving on a business trip the next morning- at 3 a.m. We talked until 2 a.m. and I left for CA. I phoned him from my layover; we talked another 6 hours that night. We did that every night for 3 weeks while I traveled.
It was finally time for me to come home for 7 hours on a layover. Jim said he would pick me up. I told him it was not necessary, my son would pick me up. He insisted. I declined. At the last moment, I relented. He then asked what I would be wearing. I told him if he could not spot me, I would phone my son and he would come and get me.
Yes, I was being a ball buster. I was not mad; I was suspicious of the nice guy.
The first time I laid eyes on Jim he was on the phone- with his mother! She had called while he waited and wanted to know who he was picking up…..
I saw him as I came down the escalator to baggage claim but made no move or acknowledgement. He grabbed my hand and started walking with me.
We talked all that night until I had to shower and leave for the airport.
I told him I was “in love” with Mr. Owns the World, he was patient. He said he would be there when he didn’t show.
Jim patiently out-waited Mr. OTW.
He called me in the middle of an afternoon and asked what I would like for breakfast on our 50th wedding anniversary, knowing full well I had told him that morning I was not getting married. I laughed and said to have the nursing home puree my strawberries and champagne so I could sip it from a straw.
He sent emails of diamond rings and notes that said to pick one and he would marry me….
He was truly hilarious- and persistent. I could count on him and he let me know it in a 1000 ways.
Mr. OTW did not show a lot….in fact for the year Jim and I dated before marrying, Mr. OTW did not even know- he cancelled that often.
His brother told me later that he adored me- how? From afar? Said he talked about me at every family dinner and that he was definitely crazy about me…..allow me to use my daughter’s verbiage….WHATEVER.
I announced that I was married in an email I sent out to all of my friends and family the day after we were married. It was a surprise wedding- not to us but to everyone we invited. They thought they were coming to a Labor Day picnic. If you did not come to the picnic, you did not know you had missed our wedding.
It took him by surprise. He kept in contact for a year after with occasional phone calls and emails- always referring to our marriage as my new relationship.  Of course in between and before Jim and I married, I had heard rumors that he was- you guessed it- playing around with someone else!!! NOOOOooo…….LOL 
In our last conversation I referred to the fact that he had had someone else and he said that since I was married he was thinking of, I kid you not, “Upgrading her…” to girlfriend or fiancé or whatever the hell he said.
Hmmmmm......Apparently money buys that too.

        

I always appreciate your comments. While most are uplifting and fun to read, occasionally someone will write something that keeps me humble. Last week’s blog provoked such commentary.
A High School friend- for the second time- said she found my blogs tedious and boring- her exact words were, “a yawn.” I responded with a note indicating that I was not for everyone and she should not feel obligated to continue trying to read them, it was okay not to like what I have to say.
Let’s face it, I am really putting myself “out there” when I write and show ...<< MORE >>

The truth is that for all of its trials and tribulations, I have led a pretty privileged life.

My days have been filled with laughter. Sure there have been tears, many, many tears however they were frequently rooted in laughter.

My children have brought me enormous joy and so much laughter that I have found my cheeks hurting, my stomach muscles screaming and of course, tears coursing down my cheeks. My kids are flipping hilarious.

Last Saturday night we had a “Thank God it is Spring” party that just happened to coincide with my 51st birthday. 50 or so friends joined us and celebrated the evening, some never knowing that it was in fact my birthday. Just as well. I am not a holiday gal. No Christmas Clauses, Easter Bunnies or Thanksgiving Pilgrims for me. My perfect Christmas would be a day spent in jammies, drinking mimosas and watching cheesy Christmas movies……..Nirvana. I smile just thinking of it. Oh…and drinking Mexican coffees laced with Tequila and Kahlua- thereby leading to long luxurious naps……okay now I am REALLY smiling.

Anyway, two of our six children and their partners were home last weekend, pampering and showering me with love.

Matt and Nick arrived on Friday to take me for a pedicure and manicure. When Jim found out that they were getting them too, he revolted and we had to change the appointment to include him. My possy (better known as the boys) and I showed up for an evening of fun and relaxation; a perfect way to end a day that had started with 10 hours of cleaning and scrubbing. I used to love cleaning, now not so much. I prefer to hire it out but hate spending the money….yes, my last Facebook survey did say I was not neurotic…..

Anyway, recognizing my own plight, I phoned a friend to ask if she could just come and talk to me while I cleaned, to keep my mind occupied. I know. I have issues. She actually came and helped scrub bathrooms and floors, dust…the whole gamut; true friendship. I always like to think I am a good friend but I seriously think that had she phoned me, I would have been tempted to slip her $50 to pay someone else to do it and taken her for drinks. Actually the more I think about it, seriously, who is the sick one in this scenario? Right

I have digressed…as usual.

After our pedis and manis, and after Matt and Nick had given me a Coach purse for my birthday (every mother should have at least one gay son, it is beautiful), the boys took Jim and I to dinner at a favorite Italian restaurant. I have no clue what we talked about but I remember laughing until my cheeks hurt, which beats the other bodily functions I must now be aware of and control while laughing.

On Saturday Mindy and Andre arrived and jumped right in to the foray. Andre is fun, Mindy is funny.

Once guests started arriving Mindy made it her job to mingle on my behalf. Of course that was not before she systematically helped me discard half of my closet as, “too frumpy, too clownish, too tight….I don’t know……” 

I arrived downstairs fifteen minutes before my party to a group of 12 friends laughing and toasting my health. As the night progressed it became evident that I would be the main event- in more ways then one!! Friends kept stopping me and telling me how much they loved my children, “they are so funny.”

Uh oh, that could be bad……..I tuned in to find Mindy regaling the crowd with “Mom” stories.

She told about the time we were on our way out the door to her Middle School choir concert. As we were leaving she mentioned that her bangs were too long. No problem!! I know how to cut bangs!! And, recognizing that Mindy has VERY curly hair I even allowed for shortage, which is probably why they did not go completely up to her scalp when they shrunk. OH MY GOSH!! LOL I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Of course being ever sensitive and tuned in to my children’s feelings, the madder she got the funnier I found the situation. All during the concert when we made eye contact across the gym I would point to her bangs and give her a thumbs up, a sure sign of encouragement……

There are those who know me privately that have referred to my need for cleanliness and order as OCD. Somewhere between Monk and Felix Unger is where my reality lies. Mindy once told me that my very dirty was someone else’s really clean. THAT did not go well for her. In fact it went about as well as the time she told me to “talk to the hand because the ears weren’t listening.”

Spewing steam, I replied that if the hand ever went up in that fashion again, the arm would return without it. I think made myself clear….and I am pretty sure I used a few more words.

Back to the cleanliness; it is my normal. Having explained, it was no big deal to me, pregnant with Mindy, to go to the clinic (I had private health care but loved the friendliness of the clinic) for my normal weekly appointment and be told by the doctor, “Okay, looks like we are ready for your new arrival. Let’s set you up for delivery.”

“Excellent!!” I replied, “When?”

“Now,” he said, smiling.

“Oh no. Not today. I am busy today. I have to clean house, wash floors; bathrooms. How does tomorrow look? Can we do it then?”

And that is why Mindy was born on January 22nd versus the 21st. I was good with it so it was shocking that she took it so hard when she found it out in a casual conversation she overheard a few years ago. If you ever want ten solid minutes on how her life began, just ask when her birthday is!

She says that only she could have a mother that was too busy to give birth. I say I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect so that when we got home, we could just chill.

You would think she would appreciate that I drove us to the hospital and drove us both back home. Gratitude. It is all but dead.

She also shared the story of how I once (emphasis on once) helped her do her Homecoming makeup. Mindy is a natural beauty so it was not hard to enhance her look. It was going really well…until……

Not unlike a lot of women, Mindy has uneven lips. I was merely trying to help when I kept trying to “even out” her lips with liner. Did I mention it was red?

After several failed attempts, I had to give it up. She looked like a deranged clown. However not before falling to the floor, laughing until….you guessed it, I cried.

My children have every reason to be in therapy. I find the world a funny place. I find life funny and these moments in time, funny.

Now when it happens I just think they are asking for it. You know, one of those learned behaviors psychologists so frequently speak of.

For instance last week Mindy had to have a colonoscopy. If you have never had one, UGH!!

Jim had one in December and someone almost died- him. I was going to kill him. Not feeding my husband anything but clear liquids for two days while cleaning out all remaining food particles for the past 52 years was not delightful, to put it mildly.

Grumpy? Oh no, he was not grumpy. He was irritable, cranky, cantankerous, grouchy, complaining, ill tempered, testy and HUNGRY. He eats like a bear going into hibernation on a slow day so this was not pleasant. And guess who was there for him to pick on??

By the time my normally cheerful husband arrived at the doctor’s office he was closer to death than he knew.

God love the sweet little receptionist who was given the task of explaining to him that although the medical procedure had been approved by his insurer, if there were any issues while they were “in there” they would take care of them and he would be responsible for the billing.

OH GOOD LORD.

He proceeded to tell her- and not in his indoor voice- that he was not going to give them an open checkbook while he was under anesthesia and unable to make decisions and he was not going to sign anything and they could just take him off the list he was not getting anything done today and they could just stuff their tests and he was going home……..

And in my best calling the children for the 10th time to dinner voice with measured tones, I said, “S I G N T H E P A P E R W O R K because I am not going through this with you again. You are getting it done so you may as well sign it or I will.”

One thing I love about my husband. When faced with reality he is reasonable. He signed.

So as Mindy was preparing for her journey into nowhere, she began texting me…….

It started with “Let the games begin….”

It continued from there with funny banter back and forth- her indicating I was not sympathetic, me indicating that I had no idea of what she spoke.

Last night I was cleaning out my texted messages- sent and received when I came across perhaps the most telling exchange of that evening.

Mindy to Mom, “You r the devil.”

Mom to Mindy, “And you are her daughter.”

        

I try not to make it a practice to worry about what others think of me but the truth be told, I worry.

My two most recent blogs are meant to be pokes at myself; at life, not at the sanctity of marriage or relationships.

My marriages failed for some really obvious reasons that were not terribly obvious to me at the time I took my vows. In short, and for the following reasons, my marriages failed because:

Marriage #1- we were too young, it never would have worked, he was very abusive toward me.

Marriage #2- he was an alcoholic. NO ONE should stay in that kind of marriage, especially if it is volatile, and mine was.

Marriage #3- He was lazy and worked really hard at really stupid stuff. I worked 60-80 hours a week and at the end of the day, I was supporting him and his lifestyle with no return on my investment. You may have gathered that from an earlier blog.

By the way, my 4th and current marriage has been a joy in all ways.

While I do not believe that anything is 100% and that I surely played some part in the failure, those men can write their own blog.

I did however rather love the “statement” made by my last husband.

While I slaved away in Arizona supporting our home and his lifestyle, he stayed in Ohio entertaining the boys. That statement raises many questions but I must leave it at that.

The home to which I returned in Ohio, after leaving Scottsdale, was in complete disrepair. Apparently working around the house was not on husband #3’s list of things to do either. The roof was leaking and coming down near the front, windows were broken, shutters were either off or falling, the yard was a disaster, there was cat feces in a bedroom and the oven took 2 cans of cleaner and three hours to clean. You get the picture. I spent countless hours cleaning and painting and trying to make it habitable, a true embarrassment since we lived in a pretty nice neighborhood.

When I reached the room that is my current guest room I found a sign, rolled up and in a corner- NO Girlz AllOWED…… a remnant of the “Our Gang” days. God love Spanky and Buckwheat.

That sign said a great deal. It reminded me that I had never had a place in this man’s life.  For all of the years we had been together or were married, I had remained on the outside of the fun- invited in only for financial sustenance.

My ex-husband had vacationed with his male friends- never once vacationing with me unless I had a business trip and he came along for free.  It was always the guys- and truly, no wives allowed. Perhaps there were girls but they were not related to these footloose men.

In fact I can remember the exact time the marriage finally, painfully ended. I had gone home at Thanksgiving and told him about an upcoming convention in Florida that I was attending and where I would be speaking. I asked if we could spend a few extra days together after it was over and head down to the Keys- one of my favorite places on earth. Since we were courting a long distance marriage at the time, me in Arizona and he in the home in Ohio I had purchased before leaving, I thought the time alone would do us good and help to keep our marriage healthy. He lamented that he could not leave the “business” that long. Being a business woman myself I understood, although I was extremely disappointed.

A month went by and during a phone conversation one afternoon in December we solidified our plans to meet in Florida. It was at that time that he said that after he left me in Ft. Lauderdale, he was going to continue down to Key West to meet his friend Bill for a few more days.

In a voice laced with ice, I asked if they were the same 4 days he could not leave his business to spend time with me.

Taken by surprise by my very good memory, he replied that he was not aware that they were the same 4 days. All together now……BULL#%!T.

I let it go, hung up the phone, turned to the person next to me and said, “He is going to live to regret this day. Mark my words.”

It took me two more years- I was in no hurry, I was not interested in anything more than male friendship- no romance……but finally, I divorced him.

Finding the sign defined a lot. Rather than destroy it, I kept it for the appropriate time. I knew he would want it back as a lost memento.

On the day of our divorce, anger gone, relief flooding me, we walked toward our cars. As I neared mine I said that I had something to give him. It seemed terribly appropriate that he had created a life where in fact there were, NO Girlz AllOWED.

All of life is about choices- you can laugh or you can cry. Frequently if you don’t laugh, you will cry. Frankly, I’d rather laugh.

I am not blaming my ex-husbands for the failure of our respective unions. I made the decision to marry them; they can’t help it they are/were lacking. They did not change, I did. I grew as a woman. I fell in love with myself as a person and realized I had value.

Although this isn’t what is on my mind today, I wanted to make sure I took the time to clarify those points before going forward. I am not a male basher- I love men- I marry them frequently!! 

        

There was quite a response to last week’s blog!

I received a lot of emails asking if it was true. Seriously, I am good but I am not that creative! It was all very true, right down to the funeral wreath. However in retrospect that may have been for standing me up for a date, not for lying about marital status.

The truth is that that divorce- as well as the many others- has helped mold and shape me into the person I have become. And like an old shoe, or in my case, 127 pairs of designer shoes, I am comfortable with that woman. Sure I could lose weight and yes, I need to be more physically active but essentially, I am a good person who hates her wrinkles as much as the next woman.

 Don’t write- I could be exaggerating on the number of shoes- it may be more.

I was never a wild child. I was the good child. Although I suppose my mother might view it differently, this is my blog and therefore my story and I get to tell it my way. 

I got straight A’s in school, was a member of the Drama Club (behind the scenes), Class President, a member of the National Honor Society and just about as common senseless as it gets.

I went through puberty like everyone else- with one horrible exception, I was a fat, ugly teenager. In fact if memory serves me, I went through the ugly duckling stage for 12 solid years. I appeared fated to live life “scaring small children with my looks” and then “poof,” I blossomed.

Unfortunately, by the time I blossomed I had married husband number one, big mistake.

Some things are doomed right from the start; in my life, this would be one of them.

I graduated 6th in my class- he was illiterate. I loved theater and Opera; he thought dressing up meant a new Harley T-shirt. I loved to cook; he loved to eat…..Okay one out of three but it was not looking good and unfortunately, I knew it almost immediately. Our world views and ability to grow into something more were severely strained from the beginning.

Like a lot of young women, I just wanted to get out of my parents’ home and he was the ticket. He was my college education. No amount of chatting, crying, pleading or coercing would have convinced me of my idiocy. I was head strong and determined. I was a pain in the butt.

We got married 6 days after I turned 18 and 6 months later, I was pregnant.

Remember that I was not worldly and backward would have been a direction to me- not a way of life. My pregnancy would be my first time to see an OB-GYN. He seemed like a nice guy and came highly recommended. Unfortunately, my husband did not like the doctor at all and we had quite the irritating conversation over my impending visit- because he would be examining me! No amount of arguing convinced him that this man had zero interest in me other than the fact that I pay his bill! I can clearly remember thinking at that moment that if he could read and reason it would be a very good thing, a thought that I would have over and again in the ensuing years.

My first visit to the doctor was interesting- and the beginning of the end of my dignity. I joked that it would be fun to have twins and just get it all over with at one time. Ever the overachiever, it sounded like a plan to me.

I should have known that something was up. My first week of pregnancy I was so sick that I lost 10#. Brushing my teeth made me ill….the smell of food made me ill……eating food made me even more ill. I looked like death and felt worse.

Then I began to grow. My mom teased me when I said that I could not button my pants by the 2nd week. In the 4th month when I walked into a restaurant people would move and offer me chairs. I was huge. Not big, huge. I was as wide as I was tall.

That was the month the doctor offered me prophetic advice as he performed the first of many sonograms, “Young lady, you are going to have twins. If I was you, from now on I would be careful what I wished for.” Those words have haunted me many times since- but that is another day and another blog.

Since there were no twins in our backgrounds that I was aware of, the news was quite a surprise- to say the least.

There was a lot to do in preparation for the birth of our sons and although I remember very little of it, certainly a home was at the top of the list. A one bedroom apartment was not going to work. We found a small Cape Cod home in a neighboring city and prepared it for the homecoming of our sons.

I had the obligatory, and kid yourself not, I was grateful, baby shower where I received many lovely twin items. My Aunt Lil bought me a case of Pampers. To this day, 32 years later, I still give that as a gift to new parents. Yes, if I lived in Oregon I would use a diaper service of some sort but I live in the Midwest where we have fewer trees to hug and are not nearly as savvy about saving the environment. Okay, we are selfish.

As the weeks flew by and I grew…and grew…and grew, I tried to keep as normal a pace as possible. I loved cooking and experimenting in the kitchen and became pretty adept. It was my passion, my creative outlet. I loved to entertain friends and family and to show off my skills. The one and only momentous thing I remember during that time- besides vomiting- took place the night before my sons were born.

June 25th was my (ex) husband’s birthday and even though I was 7 and a half months pregnant, I had planned a large gathering of friends to celebrate the occasion.

That morning I went to the butcher- yes, I am that old- and bought two large chickens which I proceeded to bake sitting up, back to back. At the time it was not trendy, it was just darned funny to see. Like two wrinkled old men, the chickens baked while I prepared fresh pineapple, homemade rice pilaf and an array of desserts and accouterments, all from scratch.

The real challenge came when I was trying to get dressed. I have always been fussy about my appearance. I may only be wearing sweats but I need to look pulled together. In 1977, it was unspeakable to run around without stockings under your dress- and besides I hated my legs, my very swollen, gigantic legs. Putting on pantyhose was my last shred of control over my body. Huge and uncomfortable, I struggled for a half hour to get my legs into the hose. By then I was exhausted and sweating. No worries, I looked good- sort of. Fat, I looked fat. That Saturday was the first time I had actually seen all of me in a window. Oh, Lord! I was very, very big. My daughter would say ginormous- gigantic and enormous. 

The evening went really well and everyone was having a great time when it was suggested that we drive up to Cedar Point, an amusement park over 50 miles from our home, and spend the night. My maid of honor was adamant that I phone the hospitals in the area before I left.

Tired and flabbergasted, I asked, “To do what?  To let them know I am in town? What on earth are they going to do? I am pregnant not dying.”

God love Sheryl- she was relentless. So, in an effort that was more to shut her up than anything else, we compromised and I phoned my own doctor to let him know I would be taking a road trip and to ask if phoning the area hospitals was necessary. He asked why it would be a concern, did I feel well?

“I feel great!” I replied. “It is just that my legs are really swollen and my knees are like softballs- I can barely bend them.”

Okay. That put an end to that. In a voice that held no nonsense, he said that he was sure I had Toxemia Poisoning and demanded that I go immediately to the hospital. In fact, I was to phone an ambulance.

They say that ignorance is bliss, I was indeed blissful. I did not phone an ambulance- seriously, what was all of this fuss over being pregnant? I did however put an end to the merry making, telling everyone that I had to go to the hospital right away.

We arrived at the emergency room where they immediately loaded me into a wheelchair and started whipping me up to the Maternity Ward, all while I protested “I am not in labor!!”

Upon my arrival I was given a not so spacious bed where I lay on my back and counted ceiling tiles- for hours. I was bored, irritated and less than happy. I was wasting my time.

Many hours later and after answering what seemed like a 100 questions regarding how I felt, a nurse asked if I was sure that I was not in labor to which I replied, “I am pretty sure but since I have never been in labor before, what would it feel like?”

She stressed that I would definitely know because there would be pain across my lower back and a tightening.

“Nope,” I replied. “I don’t think I am in labor.”

And so it went, hour after hour, no pain.

Finally three or so hours into my boredom when she asked if I was sure, I said, “You know, it is probably nothing but every once in a while there is a very slight twinge however it is so minor that it could be my weight or boredom, or just pressure from having to lie on my back. I wouldn’t even notice if I weren’t lying here doing nothing.”

“Well,” she replied, “Let’s just hook you up to the fetal monitor and take a look.”

Two minutes later she incredulously asked if I was sure I had no pain because I was in full blown labor and the monitor was going from one end of the screen to the other. Then she said it was likely I felt no pain because I was to big to feel it; the babies had no way to move and there was no room for pain.

Hey, whatever works.

Time progressed but I did not so a C-Section was scheduled since one baby was transfixed and one was breach.

It was all good- no pain and well, no pain.

They showed me my first son, Mathew, and I said he was lovely and then they showed me my second son, Jason, and according to those in attendance I said, “Oh no!” and conked out.

Jason had the biggest nose I have ever seen on a baby. It was huge. He was this little tiny head and a HUGE nose…….

All I could think was, “What have I done?”

That was Sunday.
 
On Friday I was released from the hospital, sans babies who would join us 3 weeks later, and on Saturday I returned to the butcher shop to buy meat.

As I stood there making choices I was somewhat surprised by the lack of familiarity from the butcher’s wife. We normally chatted away.

And then, she started screaming, “Oh my God!! It’s you!”

Everyone looked around as though I had been spotted from a Wanted Poster. Embarrassed, I replied that it was in fact, me.

That would be, me 43 lbs lighter than the previous Saturday. I weighed 163# when I checked into the hospital on Sunday and 120# when I checked out Friday.

Water weight, I wasn’t fat. At that moment life was good.

P.S. It is critical to note that Jason did eventually grow into his nose. Today he is the handsome father of four beautiful children and married to Tracy.

        

Four Husbands and a Family Tree resembling a Weeping Willow- who better to give advice on life and marriage and parenting???

I often think that God put me on earth to make other people feel better about their lives.

If the truth would be told, I have lived a life that would make soap operas cry; a life that movie goers would deem too farfetched to be real.  For the same reason I could never run for public office- they would have me for lunch.

A couple of days ago I was chatting with a friend who did not know me at the time of my last divorce. As I was sharing some of the high and low lights of that experience, we happened upon the actual proceedings of the divorce.

It should be noted that I have never had to go to court for much- except these dratted, failed marriages- and I have an aversion to being on a stand where I am swearing to tell the truth. It’s not the truth that bothers me it is my need to explain it that kills me. You see I was the happiest Catholic Girl of all when the church decided that we no longer had to go into the dreaded black box and confess our sins; we had the option of going face to face.

There are those who would have found that daunting but I found it exhilarating to be able to not only confess my sins but, to explain why I had done what I had done. 

For instance, “Bless me Father for I have sinned……….I caused another human being embarrassment. I sent a man I was dating a funeral wreath of dead flowers to his place of employment” ….and then the explanation……“ He lied about being married and divorced. I sent the wreath because I wanted him to know that from that moment on, he was dead to me.” Or, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. I embarrassed another human being. But he had it coming. We were at a wedding and he kept going on and on about how lovely a friend of mine was. It was Cindy this and Cindy that and I’ll bet Cindy….. Finally, I had had enough. I told him that if I heard one more word about Cindy I would be tempted to pour my drink over his head. He replied that I would not dare…..”

“Aren’t 20 Hail Mary’s a bit steep, Father?”

Sure I did bad things but usually not without provocation. I know you might not see it that way and there is a good chance God might not either. However if things go south it is likely I will be very popular when I reach my destination after death!

I am not sure but I think this is the reason my best friend from high school- my first real boyfriend- remains my friend 35 years later. I am quoting him when I say, “I am your friend because I am too afraid not to be.” A little gratitude would go a long way with him- he could have been in the marriage line-up.

ANYWAY- I have digressed.

Going to court just scares me. The people there are rarely on your side for one reason or another- I usually address those people as ex-husbands- and the whole idea of being judged never bodes well for me.

Upon the occasion of the last divorce, before I get to the courtroom scene, I should probably tell you about the deposition.

If you have never been deposed it is critical to note that this process is supposed to be a fact finding mission by both sides to be used against each other during the actual trial.

All was going well as my ex-husband’s attorney pulled out his litany of tricks…err….questions….until he tried one of those sly, “Do you still beat your wife questions,” a question that if answered has no correct response and you are screwed.

If memory serves me, he was insinuating that I had hidden money by closing my bank accounts. His allusions were not only untrue and insulting, they really ticked me off considering that I had come home from Arizona to find an empty house, with no cars in my two car garage and all of the valuable antiques, “I did not need and only had purchased to impress” according to Mr. Let Me Take Everything Off Your Hands, were gone. In fact, at 43 years old, I was completely and totally wiped out.

As if the week had not been enough fun, I had been corporately downsized 3 days before as VP of Sales Training from a $63 billion company- fancy terminology for “You’re fired!” A move that was so incomprehensible I kept waiting for my boss to laugh and tell me it was a joke…..

Consequently, I was in no mood for Mr. Sleazy’s attorney trickery. I quietly responded that I did not appreciate the tone or implication of his question, would he please rephrase it for me, an offer he had made when he had started the questioning. He refused and asked the question in the exact same fashion, changing nothing. I once again, politely, asked him to reshape the inquiry. He refused.

Now God did not make me a redhead for no good reason. My hair comes complete with a temper and I was quickly losing grasp on mine.

So, in a tone I reserve strictly for 3 year olds who are naughty and for idiots, I very succinctly told Mr. Sleazy that unless he rephrased his question, I would not answer it so he needed to move on to something else. He refused. He indicated that I would answer the question or he would report me to the judge.

Okay….you started it, game on!! Even my ex-husband started to laugh.

I replied in my best, you really are an idiot voice- (by the way, the beauty of transcripts is that if you keep your words lovely they will never show your tone of voice- which coupled with body language, is 93% of all communication) that if he did not rephrase, the deposition was over and they could all have a good day. I then stood up and said, “Gentlemen?”

It should be noted that all during this exchange my wonderful, grandpa cute, attorney never even looked up. In fact he appeared to be fiercely studying his notes as though they meant life and death.

At that point Mr. Sleazy became irate- sputtering and stuttering and pretty much sounding foolish. He appealed to my attorney, “Bruce?”

“You heard her, Richard,” he replied. Rephrase the question and she will answer you.”

At that point Mr. Sleazy decided to show me who was boss- remember this is all being transcribed J- and dialed the courthouse.

This is what we heard from our end-

“Yes, this is attorney Richard Sleazy phoning. I am in a deposition with attorney Bruce Grandpa and his client, Mrs. Walker and she is refusing to answer my (stupid) questions. Okay, thank you.”

And then the MasterCard moment-

When he hung up the phone my attorney quietly asked, “Did you speak with someone?”

“Yes.”

“Whom?”

Very quietly Mr. Sleazy replied, “The answering machine.”

Needless to say, Mr. Sleazy had it stricken from the record. Rats….

So here we were at the courthouse and although I had back up- my two wonderful friends who have been through thick and thin and most of my divorces- I was nauseated by the idea of going on the stand. All indications were that they were going to try and make me out to be awful. The first judge had had to excuse herself because we had been neighbors and pseudo friends. They had brought in a retired judge from Cleveland.

This dread was not helped by the fact that my attorney sternly told me I would behave and not say things like, “This is still America, right?”  A mantra I had adopted because my ex-husband who had never held a real job in our 6 years of marriage, was suing for alimony because he had given up his career to “raise my daughter.”  Oh please. Since when is washing dishes because you are too lazy to work a career move?

It all started out well enough and he got to go first.

I sat fascinated as he consistently told his attorney when asked, “Who bought this item?” that everything from our marriage was a gift from me to him. EVERYTHING….right down the line. I am obviously one fine catch- and generous, too!

Equally interesting was his response to my attorney when he was asked if he had closed down the business I had fronted for him so that I would receive no money from it.

He and his attorney must have used the same MasterCard.

In a voice dripping with indignation he responded that he had NOT sold the business off piece by piece so I that would not get anything. He had sold the business off because it was something, “You know…… you have to work at every day.”

And folks another village has lost its idiot.

Then it was my turn- great. Scared to death, I stayed completely focused on my attorney and answered all of his questions with my good manners- all while keeping an eye on my nemesis, Mr. Sleazy.

And then it was Sleazy’s turn to cross examine me. The questions were going rather well I thought, and I managed to keep in check my allusions to living in America.

Then Mr. Sleazy went for the ONE. The one question that would make me look like a harlot and a heathen all at once.

With a voice dripping in righteousness he asked, “…..And Mrs. Walker, is it true that you never married your daughter’s father and that in fact you had her out of wedlock?”

To which I instantly and without hesitation, replied, “Yes, sir. That is one mistake I did not make.”

He smiled as did my attorney while I could hear the judge behind me laughing.

There was a lot of trauma attached to being divorced from Mr. Walker and I wondered if anyone truly believed that I was telling the truth.

Years later I met the judge who had excused herself at a charity auction. We chatted for a while and caught up. She then made my day, year, month and life when she ended by saying, “you were the talk of the courthouse for a long time during your divorce.”

“Great, I thought, “Everyone laughing at me behind my back.”

“Yes, she continued, “Judge R said he met his first real Gigolo when he met your ex-husband!”

Wooohooo!! Who knew what created the commentary- he believed me!!

Of course, it might have been the fact that a month AFTER I had received my final decree in the mail, my attorney phoned me to tell me that my ex-husband was contesting the divorce. He apparently did not like the fact that his meal ticket had been abruptly abated and he was challenging the judge’s ruling leaving him no more than what he had already taken- which equated to everything.

My California business trip was interrupted with a phone call that went something like this, “Good Morning Christine!”

“Good Morning, Bruce!”

“Yes it is and those are the last nice words we are going to share this morning.”

I was confused- I had paid my bill!!

And then he laid the bombshell on me.

“Mr. Walker is contesting the divorce over money.”

“Bruce, I replied. “You will see me in jail before I ever pay another dime to that man. He has everything and I will give him no more. So if we lose you have my word, I will never work again. This is still America, right?”

 

        

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My first thought upon being given my location was, "God, I wanted to serve, I never mentioned dying."

        

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