Living Happily Ever After

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Danger

“You can’t talk of the dangers of snake poisoning and not mention snakes.” (C. Everett Koop)

I learned something else from the MSNBC episode of “American Greed” that featured the crimes of Shawn Merriman: there is danger associated with crime. Real danger. I see that now, thanks to the show that aired June 20, 2012. But back then, living the nightmare, I scoffed at the very thought of it.

From the moment my former husband revealed his crimes to me and to his victims (those who thought they were “investing” with him) authorities checked with me often regarding my safety and the safety of my children. They encouraged me to find some place else to go, to exist in (I can’t use the word “live” because we really weren’t “living” in those terrible months we were simply trying to survive them) in the months it took to investigate my former husband’s crimes, to build a federal case against him, to seize our assets and worldly possessions deemed of value and to accomplish every other task associated with the revelation of a Ponzi scheme. Besides, I didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. My parents were dead, I had children in school and I had no money. Where was I going to go?

So the authorities looked out for me. They called me frequently to ask, “How are you doing? Do you feel safe? Has anyone threatened you?” and other similar questions.

I always answered their questions by insisting that I was safe, that while my neighbors weren’t treating me or my children kindly (or even civilly) and were angry (rightfully so) about their losses, they were had always been good people and would never harm us physically…Yes, they broke into our house when they thought no one was home and inadvertently terrorized my teenage daughter who actually was there and heard them walking around, talking, looking in cupboards, trying to get any information about us they could including opening boxes I had packed to move and doing who knows what else—as my daughter hid in a dark corner of the room and prayed they would leave before they found her during their invasion of our property and privacy. And yes, three years later my youngest child is STILL afraid— of the dark, to brush his teeth alone, to be alone in a room without the light and white noise on or  to go anywhere without a light on because he’s terrified “bad people might be in our house.” But I never believed I needed to fear for our safety.

I was wrong.

Almost, but thankfully not, dead wrong. Which I only recently discovered while watching ”American Greed” and learned of at least one close call we avoided because a hostile victim came to his senses in time to prevent an additional tragedy. Lets just stay a loaded gun was apparently involved and leave it at that, shall we?

Moral of the story: I guess there are lots of them, but certainly one of them now includes the lesson that not only does crime NOT pay, but it brings with it danger, too. Dangers you can’t see. I now know I should have been less stubborn and more trusting of the authorities and their concerns (experts who were fearful for a very good reason.)

And thankfully, we’re safe—despite a very bad idea one angry man was able to repress and my prideful, stubborn streak that refused to run when I had nowhere to go.

 

You’ve Got To Smell A Lot Of Manure Before…

“You got to have smelt a lot of mule manure before you can sing like a hillbilly.” (Hank Williams)

Bachelor #5 is a self-described oldest child and a “planner.” So am I, although sometimes Bachelor #5 makes me look like a disorganized, fly-by-the-seat-of-my pants hippie compared to him.

Nowhere was this more evident than the time we shared our first “intense discussion.” Although it wasn’t a fight, it was probably the closest thing we’ve ever come to fighting about anything. It was over the dumbest thing, especially for this age and stage of our lives, but isn’t that how most “intense discussions” are? Over silly things?

It must be our oldest child, “planning” natures…because our discussion was regarding death, funerals, and where to be buried–even though we’re both healthy forty-somethings who SO don’t need to worry about that right now. Ridiculous!

But who says every courtship conversation has to be sensible? If that’s in the rules of dating, Bachelor #5 and I both missed it.

It began one night while driving to see a play. Somehow the topic of where to buried after we died came up. We had very different ideas about it. And for some reason, like mules, we both dug our heels in. I can’t think of another time we’ve done that, but like I said, it was an intense conversation. Let the braying begin!

Some highlights. Just to reinforce my mule status (and Bachelor #5′s, too.) Not in any order…

He (patiently) said it was a good thing we didn’t have to make a decision about that now. I said it was a good thing it came up before we got engaged, or married, because it was a total deal breaker for me. He looked at me, in shock, and asked, “You seriously wouldn’t marry me over a difference of opinion on where to be buried?” Like a mule, I said, “Oh, yes. Absolutely!” (Round one went to me. Hee-haw!)

He said it was a second marriage, so who dictated we had to be buried together? He said we could each do what we wanted. That hurt my feelings and made me feel as though he thought a remarriage wasn’t as important as a first marriage. And I couldn’t believe he’d want to be buried somewhere other than beside me! (I declare Bachelor #5 the winner/mule of round two. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!)

Ironically, in the debate I was holding out for tiny Ephraim, Utah, where my parents and ancestors are buried as my final resting place–even though I have never even lived there! For some reason, I was kicking against the pricks for all I was worth. (I have to give myself additional mule points for that.)

We discontinued the discussion, sort of agreed to disagree, and enjoyed the remainder of the evening. But I couldn’t believe how stubborn I’d been about something so silly. The more I thought about it, the more embarrassed I became about my stubbornness. What had I been thinking?

When I saw Bachelor #5 the next night, I brought it up again to apologize, and as soon as I opened my mouth, Bachelor #5 did the same thing: I told him I didn’t know why I made such a big deal about that and was so stubborn about a place I’ve never even lived, I just wanted to be with him; Bachelor #5 said he didn’t care where he was buried, he just wanted to be with me–but also added he had been trying to show me that other families, besides the Christensen family, love their traditions and are as steeped in their heritage as I am in mine!

However, I recently discovered that issue is not completely over. Last week the subject of funerals came up. Don’t ask me how. We really do talk about many other things that are not death-related. In fact, to my recollection, we’ve only had two death-related discussions ever–and I’m blogging about both of them.

Bachelor #5 felt very strongly about some things, of which I feel strongly in exactly the opposite direction, and I could sense another hillbilly conversation coming. So could Bachelor #5, because he said, “I can be flexible on where to be buried, do whatever you want, but I will not negotiate on THIS.”

To which I jokingly asked if a disclaimer could be printed on his funeral program stating I had nothing to do with, and no control over, the program! We both laughed. And knowing Bachelor #5…he has probably already written the disclaimer and filed it away for future reference.

Hee-haw! Hee-haw!

Apparently, you’ve got to smell a lot of mule manure before you can sing like a hillbilly or…before you get an engagement ring.