A Visit From The Past

From late 1974 until sometime around April or May of 1978, I was in a relationship with the same girl. When the relationship began, she was barely 20, and I was 23. This was the first full, loving, adult relationship either of us had been in. I’m referring to the kind of relationship where you eventually find that you are relaxed and comfortable around each other, and the sexual fires that once raged have become the less intense but long-lasting, glowing embers.

She was slender and pretty. She could be silly, kindhearted, and there was not a hint of cynicism in her anywhere. She was smart but probably not a genius. And she was a little bit ditzy too. One day she decided to write her memoirs, that is, until she realized that she was 22 years old and had no memoirs to write. I thought she was wonderful. Her name was Ellen. It’s still Ellen.

About two weeks ago I received a message through my Facebook account. It was her, Ellen. Her last name had changed, but I knew it was her. For about a minute I just sat there and stared at this notification of a message from my long-ago girlfriend. Finally I read it. I could simply tell you what it said, but I think I’d rather describe to you its effect on me.

Ellen stated that she is now a 59 year-old grandmother of 2, the oldest grandchild being 10 years old. For me, this was genuinely traumatic. The last time I laid my eyes on her she was this slightly daffy girl not yet 24 years old, now she is a 59 year-old grandmother. Anyone can do the math and figure that the 24 year-old girl I last knew over 35 years ago would be a 59 year-old woman today, but through all of those years I remembered her as a young, sparkly-eyed woman. For me, the revelation was truly traumatic. It has been a few weeks and I am still not over it, hence this blog entry.

On Ellen’s Facebook page is a single photo of what I would assume is her and her husband, but the photo is very tiny and the subjects were sitting a distance from the camera, so I can discern no detail. Another words; I do not know what the 59 year-old Ellen looks like.

We have exchanged a few other messages since the first one. It might come down eventually where we might meet for coffee or something. To be forthright, I’m not sure how I feel about such an encounter. I would like to know that Ellen has lived an enjoyable life, on the other hand, if none of the lighthearted Ellen of long-ago exists, I don’t want to know it. I want her to remain a bit daffy and thoroughly good-natured, if only in my memory.

Here’s an odd thought I had just yesterday, born from another memory. In late January 1978, Ohio was hit by one of the biggest weather events in the history of the state. It is called simply The Ohio Blizzard. I remember it well. There were howling winds, and a blinding snow storm mixed with lightning and thunder. Later that day I drove across the icy streets and through the snowdrifts to Ellen’s tiny apartment a few miles away from mine. As usual, Ellen did not have much to eat in her cupboards and refrigerator, so we drove off in search of an opened restaurant. A mile or so down the road we found one.

I remember that the parking lot was all but empty and we were just about the only people in the restaurant. But we had a good time sitting there having dinner hours after a massive blizzard. It seems almost unimaginable that before the end of that year Ellen would be married, and she would be married to someone other than me. Someone promised her things I could not, things that she wanted, and she slipped away from me. Our lives went in different directions. It might be best for me psychologically that they stay that way.          

An Ordinary Guy's Daydream (By guest blogger Sherman Langston)

Over the last twenty-five years or so I have occasionally encountered the attractive woman in my travels. This woman, whoever she may be, is of course lovely, friendly, and vivacious, as these are the very ingredients that make her attractive. Sometimes this beguiling creature is so attractive, so alluring, that I have at times become smitten by her charms. Unfortunately I am ordinary, and she is not, and so she has been out of reach. But though I am ordinary, I have always been capable of a daydream.

Sherman Langston

Often these flights of fancy begin by my saying to the woman something like, “I am playing at an outdoor concert tonight. Why don’t you come by? It’s free.”

Of course she would be surprised by my revelation and quickly reply, “You play a musical instrument?”

I would nod and modestly, humorously say, “Yes. I’ll be the guy playing the violin.” In these daydreams I am generally playing either the violin or the guitar. Sometimes I will play the guitar and then later in the concert play the violin, or vice versa. Of course in reality I can play neither. This is, after all, a daydream. Still flabbergasted by my disclosure, the alluring woman slowly nods and manages to murmur, “Maybe I’ll drop by.”

Later that night I am playing the violin beautifully. In my hands the instrument’s strings sing out in a heavenly refrain. Then, between songs, I gaze out into the small but attentive audience and I see her sitting by herself. Of course she is not only there, but also there alone, after all, what kind of daydream would it be if the lady were a no-show, or there with a man? I step up to the microphone and calmly announce, “This next piece is for a friend of mine who took time out of her evening to accept an invitation.” I then commence playing a song so tender, so entrancing, that the lady cannot hold in her tears. To her, I am ordinary no longer.

Some daydreaming guys will envision themselves rescuing the damsel from evil-doers. Instead of playing the violin, they will have infinite bravery and know karate. And there are other guys who will imagine themselves as brilliant doctors, miraculously saving the beautiful woman from some deadly disease. But for me, musical talent is my imagined weapon against real-life commonality.   

Oddly, the daydream has never gotten beyond that concert. There has never been a second chapter that has her with me afterwards. I’m not sure why I stop the daydream there. It could be that the first chapter of the daydream is all I really want and nothing else is necessary. It could be simply a matter of being beyond ordinary to a captivating lady, if only in a daydream. Yes, I think that's probably it. 

Lessons From Sea Hunt

There is a regular program on a nostalgia channel. It is Sea Hunt. Sea Hunt was around from about 1958 to the early 60s sometime. It featured Lloyd Bridges as Mike Nelson, the show’s main character. He was a scuba diver for hire. Every week he had some great undersea adventure. I tuned into an episode earlier today. Wow, did I learn some stuff, stuff such as; I can still think like a kid, even at 62.

The episode’s plot featured Lloyd’s own son, Jeff Bridges, as the mischievous skin-diving kid, Kelley, who along with a scuba-equipped pal, Joey, swiped some loose dynamite out of a box that was sitting unattended along a rocky shore. Attached to the TNT was an ordinary mechanical timer. High explosives and a timer; how much luck can two boys have?

Anyway, like any two lads, Kelley dared Joey to turn the dial on the timer. Naturally Joey took the dare and turned on the timer. Who wouldn’t? I mean; it was a dare, right? The timer immediately began ticking. Then the two boys put on their air tanks and dove down into the ocean depths with dynamite in hand, its timer running. Joey decided to explore an underwater cave while holding the dynamite. Why not? It was a really neat cave. Unfortunately Joey promptly got his leg stuck under a fallen rock there inside the cave.

Aside from the problem with the rock, the boys had not done anything that I would not have done at that age, assuming I had skin-diving equipment. I mean, there isn’t a boy alive who doesn’t want to get his hands on some dynamite. Generally the best a kid can do is score some fireworks, and even then the lad might well get yelled at by an over-protective parent or some needlessly concerned adult. When it comes to that type of destructive fare, I think the only thing I would have wanted more than a half dozen sticks of dynamite would have been a bazooka and the accompanying ammo, that is; if I were a kid. I was going to say that I would have wanted a fully equipped army tank but at age 11 I would not have been tall enough to reach the pedals. And as for the skin-diving; the undersea world would be like a boy-heaven.

Anyhow, it took the heroics of the adult Mike Nelson to defuse the dynamite and then rescue the pinned kid from his underwater predicament. Afterwards, up on the boat, for some reason Mike felt compelled to give the two kids a lecture on the dangers of explosives, as well as the hazards of scuba-diving without adult supervision. I can just imagine myself in the place of Joey during those torturous moments, I’d be looking at Mike as he yapped away, and be thinking to myself; How long are you going to keep talking, you old fuddy-duddy? I’ve got a Pee Wee football game in an hour and the field is a half hour away by bicycle.

Anyway, just to shut Mike up, the guys politely answered, “Yes sir” at the end of the boring lecture when asked if they understood their mistake… yeah, as if there were a mistake. Kelley and Joey probably had their fingers crossed anyway. Everyone knows that’s how a kid can say something untruthful without it counting as a lie.

Obviously the show was not particularly realistic. I mean, how many kids are going to be lucky enough to find a box of forgotten dynamite?