It is president’s day 2011…and I feel present to the rumor dispelled yesterday. My ex-husband Gregory now lives with his elderly parents in their home in Oxford, NY. Gregory had been angry with me for leaving in 1998, after he dropped out of therapy.
By 2006, Gregory had felt my continued love sent out thru a couple cards or birthday calls each year, finally granting me a divorce, becoming my friend, being very appreciative of me. Still, he told me that his parents did not like me, and I was not welcome to visit them, and he was even afraid to tell them of our renewed loveship. (Isn’t this a kind of relationship? ) Were these rumors or roomers?
I’d like to think that this CRYBABE-license-plate-therapist could have a sense of humor! Even when she caught her dance heel in her partner’s shoelace last Saturday night, and fell on her bum, thumb and sprained her 4th right hand finger…she continued to dance with partner’s who agreed to use her wrist, instead of her right-partner-hand. Even with her two fingers wrapped in white tape, held in the air like a surrender flag.
The next morning, my hand was swollen and sore to the touch, so I knew I would have to leave Sunday’s day of dancing at the Dance Flurry held one-weekend a year in Saratoga Springs, where over a dozen different kinds of dancing happens simultaneously in various huge rooms, each with LIVE music! Although I was disappointed, I left with a rumor in my heart that this sunny day would provide something special, like a spontaneous visit to Gregory who lived only 12 miles off my route home to Ithaca. I left two voice mails without reply; knowing then I might meet up with his parents, whom I had not seen in 15 years, with an uninvited rumor in my head. I keep thinking of a roomer I had in my last home, who left unexpectedly, because I insisted she dump the week’s compost (and other shared-chores) as she had agreed to. Was I going to dump my plans to visit unexpectedly because of Gregory’s rumor? Not a chance!
I parked next door to the Race’s home, walked to the front door, rang the doorbell, not knowing what to expect. I was surprised my heart was calm, the roomer of fear leaving because I wanted love to move back in. Gregory had told me that his mother was experiencing some dementia these days. Yet, when she opened the door, she redily said, “Come in.” In the entrance hallway is a table with framed photos and a dozen red roses; they had just celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. Mrs. Race showed me their wedding photo, adding stories of their beginnings and her own mother and aunt. I asked about her three other children. Mr. Race finally shuffled down the hallway to talk with me, saying he was putting a family history together for generations to come. He had given me away at our wedding, so I was more than pleased (does that mean enthusiastic?) that I felt welcome, in my coat, standing in the hallway for close to a half hour, Mom Race hugging me goodbye, adding “I’ll tell Gregory you were here.”