Tag: love

The last man I married

Categories Personal2 Comments on The last man I married

In 1991, I met a man who would be the last man I married. He stood beside me at a business cocktail party as someone introduced us, and an audible click muffled the rest of their words.

If that moment were a movie, Michael Hutchence would be singing about me standing…him being there…and our worlds colliding. Neither of us knew it then.

We became friends instantly, but it would be many years before we became more. We would develop and end separate relationships: a marriage (mine), and an engagement (his), and others. And the song would continue, “They can never tear us apart”.

Except that life did tear us apart. Not before we married, and had children, and adventures, and breathtaking unforgettable moments. But eventually.

Don’t ask why. Marriages are fragile. Some chasm under earth-rending quakes. Others unwind as gradual, unending, blowing bits of sand, dust, and detritus mass between us until we can’t find our way back to each other.

“Uncoupling” is the current term. That could have worked for my first short, childless marriage. It ended with a whimper, an amicable settlement agreement, and a sayonara.

But this man – the last man I married – once we were together I shared my life fully with him, and we were together in one way or another for decades. I lived with him in my life longer than out of it. For much of that time I gave my whole heart with little reservation.

How do you dismantle for parts a life and dreams built together? How is any division of that fair? It demands defining who we are today and want to be tomorrow, and yielding our past for that. Gut-wrenching. For me, there will always be life before him and a different life after him.

He is the last man I married. Not just the previous or most recent man, or a prior man, but really the last I will marry. I did think it was forever, not just that it could work but that it was destined to work. I couldn’t envision a life without him. Everything in the universe had brought us to this, crossed our paths over and over, until winding together they became indistinguishable.

Yet here I am – all these years later – each of us on a separate path again. We can’t even see the other’s path from our own. And that, too, must be fate.

My empty left ring finger became a sad symbol. At first I missed the man, then the flash of diamonds, and the life-long love commitment they had carried. The vacancy highlighted the loss of life shared, of a precious belonging.

It should be no surprise, then, that one day I decided to never feel that way again. I retired that finger. I put a casual $25 sterling Amazon ring on it, sliding it on and off without emotion or expectation, without pledge or promise.

That finger, what a star! But its game days are over. New rings won’t fit in the same way. Among the unknowns ahead stands a certainty: He is the last man I married.

Memories behind the lenses and brush strokes.

Categories Personal5 Comments on Memories behind the lenses and brush strokes.

I love taking pictures…of people taking pictures. Not just anyone. People I know. It’s exciting to capture the moment of experience, the moment when someone finds something so interesting they’d like to keep it. I remember being there with them, and sneaking the pic. My family is used to it by now, so they usually wave me off when they catch me. I remain undeterred. There’s no winning without trying.

This picture taken at Big Fork in Montana is only precious to me now because I remember the people in it, and being part of that group and experiencing it together. The view attracted us to the spot, but the memories aren’t about the water, the trees, the sun, or the rocks. They’re about the people.

Big Fork, Montana.

I also don’t need entire bodies in my pictures, as you can see from the Hollywood Star in this post. Seeing our sneakers instantly reminds me of huddling together to get our feet in the pic, the giggles, jostling, and c’mon’s that accompanied our “star” photos that day. Remembering where we were, how we felt, and what we were doing, is the best part of photos.

It’s rare, but every so often, even if we’re not in the picture I remember and appreciate it. Like when we’d spent a few days trying – and failing – to see the Hollywood sign through the fog and smog from every go-to lookout point known to man. Then my husband had the now-legendary idea of just getting in a cab and asking the driver to take us to a spot to see it, and did that ever work! We were ecstatic when it came into view. It was the hard-won victory, as much as the breathtaking scene.

One great idea and $22 or $32 later…We saw Hollywood despite the fog!

I’ve had the reverse emotional experience with artwork, where I’ve arrived at a place I’d seen only in pictures. It seems surreal to be there, in it, to smell and hear and feel the wind, and know the place better. The Square of Saint Mark’s, Venice, by Canaletto was a popular work in the 1970’s. I grew up seeing reproductions of it. Standing in St. Mark’s Square on our honeymoon years later, I welled with tears, realizing that I now knew what was on the other side of that pink building if you walked to the water, knew what was on the other sides of the square, and knew how it felt to walk on the stones and dance there with a man I loved.

Canaletto’s The Square of St. Mark’s

The pandemic offered opportunities for many amazing photographers to take pictures of what the New York Times called “The Great Empty”, allowing us to see normally crowded but now empty spaces. The pictures are at once beautiful and heartbreaking, as we see a new view of the bones of the places, but we also know the fear, grief, and anguish that forced people to stay away long enough for photographers to capture these photos.

Monastiraki Square, Athens, Greece (photo by Savvas Karmaniolas)

I wonder what people will think of these empty scenes when they look back years from now. Though we are all changed forever as a result of what’s behind the photos, I hope that many will recall finding the strength they didn’t know they had, finding community in unexpected places, and helping each other through to better times. And eventually, I hope they make and remember new memories of dancing in the many squares of our world.

Paris, France, May 2021. Dancing Argentine couples tango at Tracadero square (photo by Krzysztof Pazdalski)

Holding on to hugs and little hands.

Categories Personal6 Comments on Holding on to hugs and little hands.

I love seeing parents holding small children, guiding them across a parking lot with a hand on a shoulder or back, or holding a soft, tiny hand. My “boys”, while still teenagers, now look less like boys than men. As many moms warned, the years went quickly. Witnessing these families reminds me of the best everyday pleasures I used to experience with my own some years ago.

One of the best rituals was the greeting I’d get from my older son when I picked him up from daycare. He’d had a great time there, but would run from wherever he was in the room, arms wide to give a huge hug. He was so joyful, and his hugs so heartfelt. It was the best end to every work day. Even now, he gives the best hugs. Several months ago, he hugged me goodbye as I left for surgery. There was so much love and strength in it. You couldn’t mistake how he felt with a hug like that.

When he moved to elementary school, I found another favorite ritual, this time at the beginning of the day with my younger son. Taking him alone to daycare was one of the rare times in a day when I did not have both boys with me, and could focus entirely on one. Each day, as we held hands from car to building door to keep him safe, I would embrace how grateful I was to be holding that little hand. I knew that someday his hand would be bigger than mine. I felt honored to have this time to guide him. His hands are bigger than mine now, and he uses them to help me in all sorts of wonderful ways. But I will never forget how it felt to be there – for him and with him – in those early years.

When I talk to mothers who have small children, they say the days are so long. I remember that. They wonder if they’ll ever make it to the teenage years with their sanity intact. I remember that, too. It is true that the days are long, but the years are so short. My wish for all parents is that we appreciate the precious gems hidden in our everyday actions. Their comfort never goes away.

“The days are long, but the years are short.”

Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project (2009)
https://gretchenrubin.com/books/the-happiness-project/about-the-book/

We put great efforts into holidays and big celebrations, as if those special days hold something more meaningful than others. Still, if I could go back in time to any day, I would pick an ordinary day. There would be no department store Santa or wee St. Patrick’s Day celebration, no graduation or birthday. It would be an Everyday.

Instead of sweat beading on my upper lip as I raced to get everyone ready, I would cherish picking out clothes for the day, and putting a sock gently on a tiny foot unlined by miles of walking and years of running. I would trace my finger along toes and smile at the tickled giggles. We would play with bath toys and bubbles until the water turned cold.

I wouldn’t be so worried about getting to work on time. The worrying never got me there quicker. I would be slow about breakfast, unconcerned with whether someone ate everything. I would cut apples sitting at the table with my children and hand them out as I sliced, instead of taking them out of packages and frantically plating them like a short-order cook. It would take the same amount of time, but we would experience it together. And my cellphone wouldn’t be on the table.

I would not pretend that I could work an 11-hour day during work hours, come home and take care of my family, and then return to checking emails and working for another few hours without giving up something. There’s actually not enough time in the day for that. I would make more informed choices. From experience I can say that my kids and my husband didn’t get the best of me, and neither did I.

When I started my own business in 2019, I realized that I lived my best life if I guarded against distractions equally in work and personal activities. We all won when I focused my time and spent less of it on work, not more. Clients got more value from me, I was far less stressed, and I was able to have a conversation with my kids when they came home from school. My quality of life soared. Better late than never, I guess!

We sacrifice so much in an effort to “get” time, and to “spend” it efficiently. The only way to get time is to pay attention to it in moments, instead of letting it slip away.