View From ThE Apple House

I was already annoyed because I didn’t have time to buy a book between my flight from Phoenix to Charlotte, when I realized “Hey! I write books!” So heres my attempt to gather my thoughts for another. These are basically the outline; the bones of the work. There is much more meat to fill in.

As I settled into my seat on the afore mentioned flight, I thought about how much time had flown by since my last book was published. Eight years.

Eight fucking years. So much has happened since then. I got remarried (for the last time) and an ex husband had died unexpectedly. Four new grand babies were born and two more from a niece on my side, a nephew on his. Keep in mind I was done having my children by age 30, so there was a lot of time between now and then. Realistically speaking, it was the only part of my life that I planned.

Life was surely moving on.

I fly a lot more now, and always first class, especially when the destination is more than a hour away. I couldn’t afford it earlier in life, but now I can, so who cares. You can’t take it with you. I like eating a meal during flight and some one to hand me a warmed towel when I’m finished. So sue me.

My four siblings and all but two children live in different states, so there’s no lack of places to visit. We try to get together once a year, but don’t always make it. We’re starting to make it a priority.

The flight captain just informed us there may be some turbulence, as my glass of white wine just spilled all over my white pants. Rushing to hand me a towel, the attendant laughs as we both shrug “oh well.” I rationalize my thoughts about plane crashes this way: if the Good Lord wants to take me, there’s nothing I can do about it, whether I’m in a plane, a car or walking across the parking lot . I have no say in the matter. Beam me up,Scotty. I do wear a crucifix just in case though, so they know what line to point me towards.

My husband worries when I travel, something I can’t quite get used to. He laughs and says he’s like a dog: he gets separation anxiety when I’m away. I don’t know why God made me wait so long for him, but it was worth it.

I’ve been toying around for years the thought of writing about my marriages. I look at it as a discography of the decades. First marriage was at 20, to my high school sweetheart. We eloped to Maryland and thought ourselves grand adventurers. The 70’s were a fun time of disco music, hippies, Rocky Balboa and a newborn son.

The union didn’t last long as we were way too young and didn’t have a clue as to what real marriage was all about. A single mother, I made every attempt to let my son know he was loved and provided the best I could for him. His dad and I are still friends, in fact, his wife refers to me at the “wife-in-law.” Rock on, sister.

The second marriage lasted a lot longer, encompassing the 80’s and 90’s. Inheriting two girls and giving birth to three more one after the other (two boys and a baby girl also known As Irish triplets) the little house was always hopping with friends and neighborhood kids. It was one of the best times of my life, although not the only good time. Ghostbusters, strawberry shortcake, and thunder cats were the viewings of the day with a lot more to come.

The teenage years were just what you think they were, between Metallica, Rocky Horror Show attendings and battles over curfews. we didn’t have to deal with arrests or drug overdoses, an accomplishment of which I am proud. My heart aches for the parents who now have to deal with so much more.

Getting remarried in 2003, I thought this one would stick. A new awakening as to what was possible, unafraid of what laid ahead, it was a different kind of freedom. I still had young adults to look after (one battled cancer and won, another went to war and came back) and newly born grandkids. But we travelled the country , sometimes together, sometimes apart. He had a dream of being a standup comedian while busy with his career at a nuclear plant, and mine was to simply meet the people who bought my books. It was a fun time until it wasn’t. Being apart for longer than a week wrecks havoc on a relationship, and he succumbed to temptation. I went back to him four times, determined not to be the woman who was divorced again. Turns out I was. He passed away during the pandemic, but not until and he apologized for the ways he felt he had failed me. I assured him it takes two to make a marriage. We hung up the phone as friends, and he was gone six months later.

On a Friday evening in 2012, I was sitting at a bar at my favorite restaurant when a mutual friend introduced me to the man who is my forever husband. At that time I had given up. I wondered maybe I wasn’t cut out for marriage since I wasn’t any good at it.

Boy was I wrong. I read on a kitchen towel somewhere “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.” Boy howdy, they ain’t kidding.

The flight attendant just handed me a warm towel and my next connection is minutes away to landing.

NEXT!!! <working title> to be published 2025.

Here’s hoping you give me and my writings another try.