After 32 years (today), she still can change my heartbeat with a smile.
It is true that Blue Eyes and I never married, nor even lived together. That seemed to be ordained. We found our separate houses in the same week. Truth be told, my house (repossessed FMHA) was found on the bulletin board outside her office. The house went through auction and she suggested I follow up on it. We bought our separate houses in the same week. Then, we moved into our separate houses in the same week. Someone had it all planned out, someone who knew how different we were, how extreme opposites attract.
I did ask her to marry me once, at a Tenants Harbor restaurant the day after Bill Buckner dropped that very famous baseball. (I was distraught.)
The very next night we walked into a party at Cobb Manor. All of our friends were there. I announced proudly, “I asked Susan to marry me.” A mighty roar arose. When it died down, I announced, “She said no!” An even mightier roar arose. Frank Renew, who once billed himself as “The Smartest Man in New England,” said, “Two great decisions in one night.”
My God, we have had some great times. She even forgave me when I had a panic attack on a plane readying for a flight to Florida, then pushed my way off the plane past a very pregnant stewardess. I was sitting in the terminal in a cold sweat when she coolly walked to the ticket counter and got our money back. Today, I would have been shot dead by 45 TSA agents. Our suitcases went to Florida. We did not.
We did get to Florida later when she agreed to drive, instead of flying. We did fly to Ireland once. She noted that I was reading Tip O’Neill’s biography … and never turned a page all the way to Dublin. We went to New York City aboard the Schooner Bowdoin for the celebration of the Statue of Liberty. Naturally the car was burglarized and I lost all my dirty laundry. We always planned to go to Gettysburg together. I made it several times, but she was always too busy at work. She managed to save a Gettysburg nest egg, which we eventually blew on a single night at the Ritz in Boston.
No one is perfect. Blue Eyes is much too neat. Leaving the cabinet door open in her house is a major felony. She insists on doing the supper dishes before she leaves the kitchen. My pots and pans pile up in the sink until there are none available. She vacuums her house every single day. I vacuum Cobb Manor every season. I am surprised she even sets foot in the door. She has a perfect ballerina’s body. Even my close friends call me “Fat Boy.”
She would rather work in the yard instead of drinking beer in front of a televised baseball, football or basketball game. Strange. I once strained my back while painting her picket fence. She continued painting while I stretched out on the grass when her mother and father drove up. “Look busy,” she said hopefully.
The late Walter Griffin, who handed out praise quite sparingly, once said that Blue Eyes was “a fabulous girlfriend.” I had to sit down after that one. When I introduced Blue Eyes to my favorite brother-in-law, Mike, about 32 years ago, he didn’t say hello. He said “Why?” He later expanded the comment to “Why are you with this doofus?” It is a comment I have heard repeatedly. She has heard it even more.
She is a strict vegetarian. My idea of a good time is the cheeseburger basket at the Helm in Rockport. She has three glasses of wine each year. I have more.
She scrimps and saves like she was taught. I live in fear that I might drop dead on the sidewalk with a dollar in my pocket. I like to spend it all before sundown. Of course it makes economic sense to live together or maybe even discuss the “M word,” then split the maintenance costs of life. When she gets too serious, I always say, “You mean if we get married, I get to play with YOUR money?” That usually concludes that discussion.
Remember, we bought our houses in the same week for almost the same amount. Thirty years later, her house is paid for. I owe six times what I paid for Cobb Manor. I can’t explain it. It just kind of happened.
So we will celebrate our 32nd anniversary at Chase’s Daily this very day. There might be more talk about moving in together. Or at least moving a little closer.
Happy anniversary, Blue Eyes. I love you, madly.
One more year. That’s all I ask.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.