| “I still feel pangs of remorse over an insidious habit I’ve had since I was a teenager. About three times a week, I attend estate auctions and make insulting, low-ball bids for prized heirlooms until I’m asked to leave.” (Dennis Miller)
Last night, the major Denver news channels ran stories about an auction scheduled this weekend. A special one. To liquidate “The Merriman Estate.” There was plenty of video detailing the numerous and varied items that are for sale. It was strange to see things I had once (sort of) possessed featured in the media and slated for the auction block. Someone asked me how it felt. I’m not sure it feels anything but right; it certainly doesn’t make me sad. Maybe because I never considered most of it “mine,” and I definitely never thought of it that way after the truth behind the purchases was revealed! And although I never knew a Ponzi scheme was taking place behind my back, and despite the fact I had no involvement in my former spouse’s crimes, I am happy that there are things that can be sold and that there will be some proceeds that can be used to pay restitution to the victims of Shawn Merriman’s Ponzi scheme. I’m just sorry there won’t be more money to give them. In fact, to anyone out there who has missed hearing me say it, I’m sorry any investment scam ever took place. Especially one any family member of mine, former or otherwise, perpetrated! Truth be told, and anyone who knows me can verify this, it stressed me out. All of that “stuff” added stress to my world. Here are just a few reasons why: 1. I was embarrassed to have so much “stuff.” 2. I didn’t really know everything we had–but it seemed like there was too much “stuff.” 3. I worried about the effect all of that stuff might have on my children. I was trying to raise down to earth, hard working, good children with good values who focused on the right things and material stuff, to some degree, contradicted my parenting objectives. For that reason, my children didn’t get allowance (but had to do chores around the house without pay); they didn’t get to have birthday parties very often; and they had to ride the school bus, and walk the half-mile to the bus stop. (I gave them as much “hardship” as I possibly could in the hopes they would develop character.) 4. I hardly bought any of the stuff. ( I purchased clothes for myself and my children, groceries, gas for my car, and household items…but I didn’t really buy much beyond that–the motorhome just showed up one day, as did the Astin Martin, art, ATVs, and many, many other items. I don’t think I had a clue that most of Shawn Merriman’s purchases even took place, I was focused on my family and the home I lived in, NOT stuff. ) 5. It has been my experience that the more you possess, or own, the more responsibility you have to take care of it; the more space you need; the more of your time you have to spend maintaining what you have. (And in my opinion, what a waste of precious hours and minutes of each day when you have to focus on a bunch of stuff!) Just a few of the reasons I’m not sad to see any of it go. Best wishes to those who purchase things at the auction. I hope it makes you happy and that you enjoy it. But for me, it’s more like this: “People always say congratulations. When you’re a successful bidder it means you’re willing to spend more money than anyone else. I’m not sure if that’s congratulations or condolences.” (Eli Broad) Congratulations! Or, my condolences… |
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Congratulations…or Condolences?
Pirates
“The divorced person is like a man with a black patch over one eye. He looks rather dashing but the fact is that he has been through a maiming experience.” (Jo Coudert)
And then, ”Suddenly you’re like a pirate–you’re 65 years old and you’ve got an earring.” (Fred Willard)
Or in my case, not quite 42.
But here’s what I’ve learned courtesy of my unexpected life and the divorce that came along with it; after living through one myself and meeting many, many people who have been similarly maimed. I’d say it’s an apt description. It’s much more traumatic and scarring than I’d ever imagined; in many ways, it IS like death–only harder in some ways because the other person isn’t gone for good, they continue to resurface and impact you and your family, including times that it’s not always convenient, special occasions and holidays. Divorce definitely leaves a hole.
When I got divorced, I had only known a handful of people to endure the tragic demise of their marriages. I felt very alone, but now realize I wasn’t as alone as I felt. There were MANY other people, right there with me, enduring their own divorces. Maybe it’s because of the circles I’m forced to socialize in as a single woman, but divorce is a lot more common than I’d realized before it happened to me. (Sort of how you don’t notice a car until you drive one yourself, and then you see your car everywhere!)
Let’s just say the singles scene is a Star Trek Convention of maimed (aka. divorced) pirates, black patches and peg legs!
But I’ve seen for myself that you can heal from even from the worst things, the ultimate betrayals and the hardest experiences, including crime, if you choose to. The hole left by your unexpected horror begins to fill in and scar over. (And you have to let it heal, don’t keep picking at it.) Then, eventually, life is pretty good again.
Life can be good, even post-divorce.
Life WILL be good again.
There’s something to be said for pirates!
“Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all.” (Johnny Depp)
Just pick yourself up after each sword fight and every cannon ball shot your direction and get back in the hunt for the booty. Trust that eventually you’ll find your treasure. And when you do, you’ll know the hunt and everything that led you to the “X,” was worth it. That’s how I feel. Every aspect of my experience, every detour my treasure map took, every battle, and every scar is absolutely worth it because it got me to where I am today.
“I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king; I’ve been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing: Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.”
Because that’s what pirates do. Especially those unexpected ones. Like me. Like all of us.
Ahoy, Matie!
Oh. And just in case #5 ever decides to read this blog (he abandoned it when it headed into the Bachelors), this one’s for him:
Q: What is a pirate’s favorite fast food restaurant?
A: Arrrrby’s!
No Such Word
“Coincidence is like a rubber band. Stretch it too far and it snaps.” (Roger Zelazny)
This may be a stretch, but consider this odd development from the history of my past.
I was visiting with an old friend recently and she asked me about a former mutual friend–she babysat him while he was growing up; I dated him in the 1980s. She said, “Hey, what is he up to? Do you keep in touch?”
I haven’t kept in touch with him. I mean, when someone tells you he loves you and you respond by telling him he doesn’t–because he is too young to feel that way (we were 19 years old), it makes things slightly less conducive to keeping in touch for awhile! But I figured enough time had passed for him to forget a little thing like that, so I promised to check on him and report back.
How do you find someone you haven’t spoken to for…22 years? In my world, Facebook. I’ve had some pretty good luck with it. (To date, finding my biological mother. I wish someone would sponsor a contest: “How Facebook Has Changed My Life.” I’d enter to win.) He had been a social guy, had played professional baseball, so I figured he’d be easy to find.
Wrong. No sign of him.
“That’s odd,” I thought. So I googled him. And I couldn’t believe what I saw.
What are the odds that you marry a man who perpetrates a Ponzi scheme, and at the same time he’s being prosecuted for his crime…a former boyfriend is ALSO being prosecuted for an investment scam?
“Who knows one person who commits a Ponzi scheme?” I wondered. “Much less, TWO people who perpetrate investment fraud?” Apparently, I do. What a strange and unexpected life mine is sometimes.
I was talking with my cousin shortly after that, laughing about the strangeness of the most recent development. She said, “Wait. I remember him. He was the really, really good looking baseball player, wasn’t he?”
“Yep, that’s the one, although he isn’t so good looking any more,” I replied.
“What?” she asked. “How do you know that?”
“I saw his mug shot,” I replied.
Note to anyone thinking of heading down that path: it’s not an attractive course to pursue in any way, shape or form. What crime is, the harm you inflict, going to prison, the toll it takes on your appearance, and everything else connected to breaking the law leaves nothing to be desired! (Not to mention the fact that dishonesty, and crime, is just plain wrong!)
“Martha Stewart showed up at Manhattan FBI Headquarters to have her finger prints taken and pose for a mug shot. Then Martha explained how to get ink off your fingers using seltzer water and lemon juice.” (Conan O’Brien)
M-U-G S-H-O-T.
Mug shots and men. Ponzi schemes and the past. Coincidence or just plain bad luck? I only know it is VERY unexpected! And that, “If there were no such thing as coincidence, there would be no such word.” (Heron Carvic)
Begin Again
“Rock bottom is good solid ground, and a dead end street is just a place to turn around.” (Buddy Buie and J.R. Cobb, “Rock Bottom”)
That’s where the unexpected life begins, in my opinion.
Rock bottom. A dead end street.
Although it’s not always a Ponzi scheme that puts you there. Sometimes it’s divorce. Unemployment. Addiction. Sickness. Death of a loved one. Any number of things that are life, any thing that can happen in the life of anyone.
I think what we forget, in the initial moments that try our souls, is that rock bottom IS good, solid ground. A dead end street really IS a good place to turn around. And begin again. Rebuild. Press forward. Carry on.
Never give up.
Start over.
“If one dream should fall and break into a thousand pieces, never be afraid to pick one of those pieces up and begin again.” (Flavia Weedn)
A piece is good. It’s enough. And that’s all you need for an unexpected life!
I Want A Man
“I want a man who’s kind and understanding. Is that too much to ask of a millionaire?” (Zsa Zsa Gabor)
As a teenager, I compiled a list of everything I wanted in a man. I found that list after my divorce…and laughed. In many ways, it was a bit, as #5 would call it, “Twilight-esque.” (In other words, unrealistic and total, imaginary romanticism that exists in the fictional world of vampires and werewolves, Edward and Bella. Ah, the emotional depth of teenage girls!) Here are a few important qualities from the early 1980s: tall, brown hair, tan skin, hard working, handsome, good at sports, funny, nice, good dancer, smart, good singer, polite, straight white teeth, opens doors for me, rich, writes romantic things to me, fun, spiritual, honest, hairless chest, sends me flowers, loves me more than anything, romantic, wears good cologne, stylish…let’s see, did I leave ANYTHING out?
When I grew up, I was self-aware enough to know looks and athletics alone might be fine for some women, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough to keep me “in love” for the rest of my life and into eternity so I decided long term (what I would most appreciate as a married woman in my 40s) was a smart man who treated me well. I married the first guy I felt was smarter than me. And boy, did he turn out to be smart! A lot smarter, more clever and cunning, than I’d ever imagined, in fact! I was happy and in love, until I found out our 20-year marriage had been built on 14+years of deception and lies. (Ironic, isn’t it, that I based my choice on what I’d want 40-something, and that’s when it all ended and I was alone and single anyway?)
It was the personal loss that caused me the most pain. My childrens’ loss of their dad, their childhood, their innocence, their life, their family, everything as they knew it, was the worst; followed closely by my loss. I had lost the man I had loved, relied on and built a life with; the man who should have been loyal to me and my biggest protector. I just knew I was destined to be alone the rest of my life. I felt those losses powerfully.
I remember standing in my Colorado kitchen one day, my heart literally breaking over those losses. And mother that I am, this is why I cried that time: “Even if someday when I’m 80 years old and some man takes pity on me and marries me because his wife died and he needs a housekeeper, I’ll never have a whole and complete family. Even if a one-in-a-billion miracle happens and a man ever loves me again, no one will love my children. My kids will never again run into my room, jump on my bed, and wrestle with a dad.” (It may sound crazy, but out of everything I had lost that was a big one for me.)
I began dating less than 3 months after my divorce, and I realize now, I entered into it without a lot of thought. I was reeling from the shock of what had transpired in a matter of months; I didn’t know what I was doing because everything related to singles and socializing had changed so drastically since the 1980s (it was sort of like entering the playing field without a game plan.) I was lonely. However, after meeting my first single man, it didn’t take long to list the things I couldn’t live without: spiritual depth, integrity, emotional stability, family-oriented focus, employed, a good father to my kids, a man who loves ME. Oh, and good credit. (The crimes of my husband and his incarceration destroyed MY credit. I didn’t need a man with money because I’ve never needed money to be happy, but I had to have a man who could at least qualify for a rental lease, a home loan, or a car loan because I can’t–and I can’t ask friends and family to do that for me for the rest of my life! The Catch-22 is that what man with good credit would want me and my financial disaster? But that’s a blog for another day…)
Cut to the other night.
Mr. Awesome (aka. #5/Agent M) and I were sitting on my bed talking. The door was locked. (With a small house and many children around, it’s what we’ve occasionally had to resort to when we need to discuss something important.) In the middle of it, my youngest knocked on the door. I didn’t open it, but told him I’d be with him as soon as my discussion was over. He went away for awhile and then knocked again. I repeated my instruction, he went away for awhile and then knocked on the door again. The third time he knocked, #5 looked at me and asked, “Do you think we should open the door and let him in now? I like it when he runs in and jumps on the bed. I love his hugs. And it’s fun to wrestle him.”
He opened the door and their wrestling match began. Pillows were flying, tickles were traded (along with a few karate chops) and all I could do was remember that moment I stood in my Colorado kitchen, sure that my youngest would never know what it was to have a dad, much less wrestle with a dad.
Can you believe it? Dreams really can come true.
Every single one of them.
“I tell people I’m too stupid to know what’s impossible. I have ridiculously large dreams, and half the time they come true.” (Debi Thomas)
What Women Want
“Women don’t want to hear what you think. Women want to hear what THEY think, in a deeper voice.” (Bill Cosby)
I had the privilege of seeing Bill Cosby, live, years ago and I’ve appreciated his wisdom ever since. Sometimes I think he’s slightly right. But that’s not what I want most from a man.
“After about 20 years of marriage, I’m finally starting to scratch the surface of that one [what women want.] And I think the answer lies somewhere between conversation and chocolate.” (Mel Gibson)
Nope, that’s not what I want most from a man either.
I want a man who can wrestle.
“I had to weave and play around with a honey bear, you know, and I could wrestle with him a little bit, but there’s no way you can even wrestle a honey bear, let alone a grizzly bear that’s standing ten feet to eleven feet tall! Can you imagine? But it was fascinating to work that close to that kind of animal.” (Leslie Nielsen)
Seriously.
Their Phone Never Stopped Ringing
“I refused David Letterman’s proposal of marriage for obvious reasons, but thanks for asking.” (Teri Garr)
Nana’s youngest son, my dad, utilized the telephone as an integral part of his first marriage proposal to my mom, Sandra Jorgensen. (Although my parents had dated, fallen in love and decided to get married “someday” when they were only 15 years old, they both fell in and out of love with several other people before finally marrying each other at 25 years old.) One night, as my mom was entertaining a date at her home my dad called.
He had been drafted into the Army during the Berlin call-up and was undergoing his basic training in what he always referred to as “the armpit of America,” Fort Ord. Apparently, my dad was calling to propose marriage to my mom! And she had a date waiting for her in the living room.
When she asked if they could talk about it later, my dad asked, “What’s the matter? You don’t have a date do you?” My mom admitted that she had a date waiting for her and that she probably shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer. My parents weren’t dating exclusively, but my dad said, “Well, forget I asked!” and hung up on her!
“But I felt all the more bound to make this proposal, because it at once turns to a reproach.” (Ferdinand Lassalle)
I’m not sure how he eventually proposed marriage and my mom agreed to marry him, but he did. And they were very happy (and busy) their entire marriage. They raised 5 children…and I can vouch for the fact that their phone never stopped ringing!
“My phone has been ringing off the hook. I have like 17 cell phones and pagers.” (Steven Cojocaru)
My parents’ oldest daughter is an entirely different matter. Me. My phone. My experiences. ”A woman is a person who reaches for a chair when she answers the telephone.” (Milton Wright) I do that. I guess I’m all woman.
If The Phone Doesn’t Ring
“If The Phone Doesn’t Ring, It’s Me.” (song title by Jimmy Buffet)
Telephones.
Let’s just say I’m not addicted to them. Never have been. Probably never will be. But last night I realized what an impact the phone has had on the love lives of the women in my family, so I have to share.
The Henrie-Jorgensen-Christensen women have a history with…the phone.
My Nana, Vonda Henrie, (born in 1903) worked as a telephone operator when she was a teenager. She was the old-fashioned kind of telephone operator, the kind featured in black and white movies or tv shows, the woman wearing a headset that you called and asked to be connected to a certain phone number—and she’d connect your line to another one by hand.
One important rule for operators was the one about never listening in on the conversations of other people. I think my Nana was obedient to that rule, too, until the night a boy she had been dating called during her shift and asked to be connected to another girl!
Can anyone blame her for breaking the rule that night? Of course she listened in! And even at age 90, as she recalled it, she shook her head in disgust at the “lovey-dovey” things she overheard her boyfriend say to the other girl. I asked, “Oh, Nana! What did you do?” She gave me a satisfied smirk, a wink, and a smile as she said, “Oh, nothing much…except disconnected them when I’d had enough of his nonsense!”
“There is something about saying ‘Ok’ and hanging up the receiver with a bang that kids a man into feeling that he has just pulled off a big deal, even if he has only called the telephone company to find out the correct time.” (Robert Benchley)
And then Nana had a son.
My dad.
“No, sir. The Americans have need of the telephone — but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.” (England’s chief engineer of the post office, when asked whether the new ‘Yankee invention,’ the telephone, would be of any practical value)
