Living Happily Ever After
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A Table, A Chair, A Bowl of Fruit and a Violin

Date: February 6, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“The woman gets the ring–unless it’s an heirloom.” (Vanessa Lloyd Platt)

Or in my case, in the aftermath of a Ponzi scheme. You don’t get to keep your wedding ring if it’s an upgrade–and paid for with tainted (ie. stolen) money. Oh well. I only wished I could have had it to sell for cash to provide for my children anyway. But like I said, I did get to keep my violin.

Paid for in 1982 by Dr. Andrew H. and Sandra Christensen, a Colorado orthodontist and his wife, my parents, with money legally acquired straightening crooked teeth and turning them into beautiful smiles. They purchased my violin from a very well-known master violin maker named Peter Paul Prier, originally from Germany but living and operating a store and violin making school in Utah.

I had begun taking piano lessons when I was 7 years old and in 6th grade, at 11 years old, I began playing the violin. I tried it because all of the neighbor girls older than me were in orchestra and it seemed to be the thing to do, at a certain age, in Grand Jct., CO. Plus, it didn’t look that hard. I took to the violin pretty well. In my last year of junior high, I was asked to walk to the high school from my school and participate in their orchestra class and play with them. By high school, when every serious violinist seemed to be upgrading their violin for a better one, that seemed like the thing for me to do too. I mentioned it to my parents. And true to form, just like everything else in my life, they came through for me.

They checked around, learned Peter Paul Prier was THE place to get the best violins, and without telling me flew to Utah, made a purchase, returned home one evening and surprised me with my new violin! They told me it was a very good violin, that I needed to take care of it–and that if for some reason I ever needed to sell it someday I should return to Peter Paul Prier and sell it back to him. That’s what Mr. Prier had told them.

What my parents didn’t tell me, was that they’d paid $2000 for my violin.

I enjoyed playing my new violin. Things went without a hitch until the weekend the band room at my high school caught fire or was robbed (I can’t remember which) and I happened to admit, “Oh no! My violin was in there!” My parents almost had a heart attack. I got a lecture about taking care of valuable things, which I completely deserved, and I was on pins and needles all weekend and into Monday morning until I could get in to the school and discover that my violin was ok.

I grew up, went to college, got married, had children and eventually played my violin only on very rare occasions. But I held onto it for sentimental reasons and in case any of my children chose to develop that talent. And when my former husband’s Ponzi scheme was revealed, my violin was one of a few “valuable” items I was allowed to walk away with–thanks to my generous parents and their support of the development of my talents.

“A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?” (Albert Einstein)

After entering my unexpected life, my mom’s words from 1982 haunted me: “Mr. Prier told me to tell you that someday, if you ever need to sell your violin, take it back to him and he’ll buy it from you. It’s a good violin.”

I just NEVER imagined a day like that would come.

The Real Measure of Wealth

Date: February 4, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?” (Princess Diana)

I’ve been what some might consider “rich” once or twice in my life, and I’ve been poor a few times too. But I’ve never held with defining “rich” in terms of money.

“The real measure of your wealth is how much you’d be worth if you lost all your money.” (Unknown)

Most people never get to learn how much they’re ACTUALLY worth. Lucky me, I guess. And I have a Ponzi scheme and my unexpected life to thank because although they served up my financial devastation on a platter of crime, they reminded me of something I’ve always known: I’m rich.

“There are people who have money and people who are rich.” (Coco Chanel)

I don’t have money.

But I’m rich.

If you want to feel rich, just count the things you have that money can’t buy. And you’ll realize you’re rich, too.

Keep Going

Date: January 31, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I wish I would have a real tragic love affair and get so bummed out that I’d just quit my job and become a bum for a few years, because I was thinking about doing that anyway.” (Jack Handy)

Funny, but when my love affair (called my 20-year marriage) ended, I didn’t have the luxury of quitting my job and becoming a bum. In the midst of life loss, divorce and everything else, I had to GET A JOB as well. Believe me, I wanted to lay down and die on more than one occasion, but I couldn’t. I had four children to provide for.

Not only did I have four children to feed, I had to set an example for them. I had to show them what to do when adversity strikes. Because hard times come to everyone, and it isn’t so much what happens to you, but what you do with it that counts. Quitting isn’t an option. (Even my five-year-old knows that. He runs around the house, cape flying behind him, chanting, “Never give up! Never surrender!” from, I’m told, the movie, “Galaxy Quest.” Pretty motivating if you think about it.)

I, personally, couldn’t give up because I had been raised to carry on no matter what. And then in approximately 1997, I had read a story about a pioneer woman and her husband traveling across the plains to Utah with a handcart that inspired me. Their trek was intense: long days, no comforts, no food, no shoes, just hardship; a complete and physical nightmare. The husband reached his breaking point. He lay down on the ground, told his wife he couldn’t go any further and he quit–prepared to die. But the wife didn’t quit. She didn’t even leave her husband. She put him in the handcart and she pulled him to Utah.

I hoped I would be like that woman. Although I lived in a different day and age and my hardships were different, I determined then and there to be a woman like that. I just never imagined I’d get my chance to prove it.

After all, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” (Winston Churchill) So that’s what I’ve done since my unexpected life began.

And at some point, you’ll look around and realize the scenery has changed. Your unexpected life may not be heaven (yet); it may not have metamorphosed into your paradise. But things will have improved just the same. All because you kept going. In your unexpected life.

Easy To Speak

Date: January 30, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman
When I was a girl, my dad had the irritating habit of bursting into song when we weren’t being kind.  ”Let us oft’ speak kind words to each other, at home or where’ere we may be…” he sang–in his best opera voice. 

It did the trick. I absolutely hated that song and how he sang it. I changed my behavior ASAP just to get him to stop singing. His message was clear: my parents expected us to choose kindness, no matter what.

I had no idea what was in store for me, in my life, when I was a girl. I’ve lived through horrific shock; unimaginable loss; personal devastation; grief. I’ve been falsely accused and wrongly judged by people who know me (and thus should have known better) and by random strangers (who don’t know me at all) a few times. Sometimes it seemed like my situation couldn’t have gotten much worse. But I’m thankful I was taught to be kind, because I firmly believe and I’ve seen for myself that the only thing that can make a bad situation worse is anger, contention, venom, hatred, rudeness, hostility, vilification, an unwillingness to forgive…in other words, a lack of kindness and charity.

Regardless of what happens to us, I strongly believe our reaction to every situation, unexpected or otherwise, continues to be a choice and, “Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.” (Samuel Johnson) I’ve seen for myself that, “Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.” (Mother Teresa) I’m reminded of that each day when someone chooses to act or speak with kindness toward me. I was reminded of that even today when a stranger named Mark offered a kind comment on my blog. And when my former spouse was sentenced and a Ponzi scheme victim I don’t know offered a kind word on my blog. I have been uplifted by the kindness of strangers countless times in my life, especially in my unexpected one.

Now I sing that song, my dad’s song, to my own kids. In an opera voice, too. And I’m pleased to report it’s working just as well for the next generation of my family. We’re not perfect, but we’re trying to be kind. Always. And we’re singing about it.

Just a little something in addition to the dance moves we’ve developed…in our unexpected life.

“While I dance I cannot judge, I cannot hate, I cannot separate myself from life. I can only be joyful and whole. That is why I dance.” (Hans Bos)

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Date: January 28, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

I remember when I thought I knew it all. It was also around the time I first used the word “mature.”

I was a teenager who thought she knew almost everything. If I remember right, I was trying to persuade my mom using the best verbal arguments I could muster, that that was indeed the case. So I threw that word out there: mature.

I pronounced it, “mah-chure.”

That was my first mistake. My former schoolteacher mother caught it right away. “You mean, ‘mah-tour,’” she corrected. “And you probably shouldn’t use the word if you aren’t mature enough to know how to say mature.”

She had a point.

It has been almost 30 years since that conversation.  My parents are both gone. I’ve learned, experienced and matured in ways I never expected. I thought it might finally be time to evaluate my maturity. (Hopefully with better results, this time!)

“Maturity: Be able to stick with a job until it is finished. Be able to bear an injustice without having to get even. Be able to carry money without spending it. Do your duty without being supervised.” (Ann Landers)

Check. Check. Check. And check. I guess I have finally developed the proper maturity. And as usual, I owe it all to my unexpected life.

Don’t we all?

So thanks, my unexpected life. Maturity is yet one more thing I never expected from you.

“I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.”  (William Shakespeare)

The unexpected life.

The gift that keeps on giving.

Pirates

Date: January 26, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“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!

Begin Again

Date: January 24, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“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

Date: January 23, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“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

Date: January 22, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“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.

Junk Vs. Joan

Date: January 21, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Buy, buy, says the sign in the shop window; Why, why, says the junk in the yard.” (Paul McCartney)

My life, my focus, has never been about “things.” In fact, if I’ve ever been consumed by a quest to acquire anything, it’s memories. Making good memories with my loved ones. Because I’ve never believed you can take “it” with you. I believe the only thing I’ll leave this life with is my spirit–some would call it my soul, my memories, my intelligence, the things I have learned and the knowledge I’ve acquired.

However, I was married to a man who looked at “things” differently than I did. He talked all the right talk, of course. He would nod his head and look sorrowful (I thought, in agreement with me) when we’d talk about how sad it was that some people chose to sell their soul for things. He was generous with his means (although now I know he was generous with what was never actually his.) And he acquired a lot of “stuff” in the process, though I never actually knew exactly what, or how much, because he stored it all in the building behind our home, where his “office” was, and I rarely went back there. It was his “manspace;” really cluttered and filled with all manner of junk and disorganized chaos, not the way I lived or operated, so I stayed out of it!

When my unexpected life began, there were things that needed serious purging. Namely, contents of a household that was downsizing. As featured on news reports about the Ponzi scheme my former husband perpetrated, I had ties to some material things. (I don’t know if those broadcasts are still around, but feel free to check them out if you’re curious: watch the motor home driving away towing the boat; see the “mansion” nestled in the trees; hear about the cabin in Idaho and the fine art; learn about the trailer loads of “things” that were hauled away over several days when the asset seizure began.)

In criminal/fraud situations, the government seizes everything of value from the criminal (my former husband) so victims can receive some compensation for their losses, which is all as it should be. The hard part, however, is what to do with everything that has no value. Everything the government doesn’t want.

Like the 9 crockpots–four from my home and four  my cabin (we frequently hosted large group gatherings) and one from the motorhome.

A yard sale wasn’t an option. I had seen my home and property featured on the news enough; my neighbors were stalking us with cameras as my children and I came and went, when we were outside, if we left the garage door open, and through the un-curtained windows of our home. Our neighbors gathered in front of our home to talk and trade notes of what was going on, what they had seen or heard, and they sometimes made it difficult to get to my home if they weren’t in the mood to allow anyone to pass their human barricade.

Case in point. One day a pastor attempted to go to our home to retrieve a set of scriptures from inside. Our neighbors were standing in the cul-de-sac we lived on, our driveway and all around the property and refused to let the pastor through. He explained who he was and the one simple thing he wanted from the house but they wouldn’t let him pass. Their crowd mentality, their hostily and venom, made him apprehensive so he called another neighbor, a mutual friend of his and the neighborhood crowd, and asked that friend to vouch for him so the neighbors would let him pass. The friend refused.

Those were crazy times, but a reason why a yard sale wasn’t an option–I didn’t think neighbors would allow anyone to participate in a yard sale at my home, IF anyone even tried to show up or buy anything!

So the crockpots met me in Utah and now sit on a shelf in my garage awaiting the someday I host a large group gathering again (if that day ever comes) or, alas, finally part with them in a yard sale!

Junk, leftover from my previous life, taking up space in my unexpected new one.

I’m hoping it’s true that, “Junk is the ideal product… the ultimate merchandise. No sales talk necessary. The client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy.” (William S. Burroughs) Someday.

Or maybe I’ll become an inventor. “To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.” (Thomas A. Edison) If that’s the case, I may qualify for a patent yet.

Regardless, I try not to worry about it too much. (A key to living an unexpected life: don’t worry, be happy.) Because, “You sometimes see a woman who would have made a Joan of Arc in another century and climate, threshing herself to pieces over all the mean worry of housekeeping.” (Rudyard Kipling)

Junk vs. Joan.

I’m going with Joan.