Upon hearing M. and my romantic story, an artiste of modest but deserved celebrity remarked that he, too, had remained in love with his ex-wife long after their divorce and even after her death.
Curious, I did some research and found that his ex-wife had perished in tragic and well-known accident with her very famous then-boyfriend.
I then opened a book my acquaintance wrote several years later and found he had dedicated it to his former wife’s memory.
That he chose to share this personal bit of information (even with a complete stranger) isn’t that significant. His ongoing love for his late wife appears frequently in a memoir; (she was clearly the “love of his life,” a term he used in the book but disdained) nearing 86, he holds on to that love as if it gives him life. Perhaps it does.
The connection to another story, the story of the household-name (at least for our generation) impresario who died in that famous accident, was a surprise.
I haven’t often brushed up against our generation’s history in just this way. But it happens.
A few years ago I met one of the founders of a famous surf band at Big Sur. He’d made his fortune as proprietor of a well-known Carmel restaurant and was living well with his wife on the central Coast. (Really well.) We had a great discussion over coffees and he serenaded a girlfriend and me with the accordion he keeps in his car.
He, like the artiste, was what I call a real person. Someone who open to conversation, even with strangers. And who indulged my curious questions.
It is entirely possible to have these kinds of unsolicited encounters anywhere, and I have.
In the 1970s I once sat next to the late CIA director, William Colby on a plane and talked to him for an hour without knowing who he was. I kept saying “Gee, you look so familiar…”
And I had a very odd encounter around that same time with the writer, John LeCarre in an airport. He was drunk as a skunk and said that he had just been let out of jail for threatening to assassinate the Pope, who was in town that week. He pulled out a piece of his writing (on hegemony, I remember) and showed it to me.
But it’s been a long time since I’ve brushed up against history and I like the offbeat flavor of these California encounters.
In my youth I was curious. I’d look around in an airport or talk to a seatmate. These days, I’m so into my head that I don’t notice what’s going on around me. I’ve been in so many airports and on so many planes these last 25 years I’ve probably lost many opportunities by just not being “present” in the moment.
Now that I have more time to be present, it’s good to remember to pay more attention to those moments.
I looked at the one poster you chose for this post, and it brought back a close encounter. In the late 80s and early 90s we lived in Newport Beach. I worked directly on Newport Island at an interior design office, on one of the funky back streets near the harbor. The neighborhood was full of eccentrics. Directly across from us lived an aging Mamie Van Doren with her much younger beau and her birds. She was very nice, talked to us every day, hung out on her terrace with big hair and a sexy robe. I had no idea who she was until someone told me. Newport Beach still had a lot of old Hollywood types – people that had bought property down there before there was a 405 freeway.
Here you’ll find my blog, some of my essays, published writing, and my solo performances. There’s also a link to my Etsy shop for healing and grief tools offered through A Healing Spirit.
I love comments, so if something resonates with you in any way, don’t hesitate to leave a comment on my blog. Thank you for stopping by–oh, and why not subscribe so you don’t miss a single post?
Upon hearing M. and my romantic story, an artiste of modest but deserved celebrity remarked that he, too, had remained in love with his ex-wife long after their divorce and even after her death.
A few years ago I met one of the founders of a famous surf band at Big Sur. He’d made his fortune as proprietor of a well-known Carmel restaurant and was living well with his wife on the central Coast. (Really well.) We had a great discussion over coffees and he serenaded a girlfriend and me with the accordion he keeps in his car.
I looked at the one poster you chose for this post, and it brought back a close encounter. In the late 80s and early 90s we lived in Newport Beach. I worked directly on Newport Island at an interior design office, on one of the funky back streets near the harbor. The neighborhood was full of eccentrics. Directly across from us lived an aging Mamie Van Doren with her much younger beau and her birds. She was very nice, talked to us every day, hung out on her terrace with big hair and a sexy robe. I had no idea who she was until someone told me. Newport Beach still had a lot of old Hollywood types – people that had bought property down there before there was a 405 freeway.