This is not really a story, it is a series of vignettes.
I shall begin at the end and then jump to a long time ago.
The End
On April 4, 2017, my wife, Carolyn, died from leukemia. We had been married for over 53 years.
That is all I have to say on that subject; I do not choose to immerse myself in grief. I choose to think of happier times that give me a chuckle.
The First Encounter
I saw a woman at a party. She was rather attractive. After some shrewd manipulation, I managed to sit next to her on a couch and introduce myself. She told me her name was Carolyn.
We started talking.
It was wonderful, an attractive woman who could actually engage in an intelligent conversation. She could talk on different subjects and she had a rather impressive vocabulary.
We started dating.
Things started getting more and more serious. I mean, real serious. What I am telling you is that I was 24, she was 21, and we decided to walk down the aisle.
I had known Carolyn for two months when we married.
By the way, I was going to college and had a part-time job.
The Wedding
Our wedding was very cleverly scheduled, Friday, December 13, 1963.
I picked Carolyn up and drove her to the church.
We were married at 6:30 p.m.
In case you don’t know, all three of those things are bad luck.
So, as you can readily see, luck was with us.
We had a very nice but small church wedding.
The Typist
When I was 30, I knew I had to complete my college degree. Long story. Won’t go into it except to say cash became a concern.
Carolyn and I had a traditional marriage but it came to a point where Carolyn needed to find a part-time job.
Before we married and for our first year of marriage, Carolyn had been a secretary and she could type pretty well.
Keep in mind here that Carolyn had a fairly keen sense of humor.
Anyway, here is the story.
Carolyn interviewed for a part-time job working for a Presbyterian minister.
When the minister asked, “Which typing method do you use?”
Carolyn replied, “The Biblical method.”
“What is that?”
“Seek and also shall ye find.”
I don’t know how, but Carolyn got the job.
The Concert
Somewhere around 1972, Carolyn and I, along with our next-door neighbors, went to a concert.
It was a great concert, Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons. For my day, they were the best.
But this story is not about the concert.
This story is about the seating.
It’s like this.
The concert was held in the building where NC State used to play their basketball games. In other words, it was tiered bench seating on all four walls. Ane the tiers went up pretty high.
We bought our tickets late. In other words, we had top tier tickets.
At the bottom of the steps, Carolyn looked up and said, “I can’t get up there.”
After a short conversation, Jack, my neighbor, and I held Carolyn by her arms and slowly walked her up to our seats.
During intermission, Carolyn opted to stay put.
Then it came. The concert was over.
Carolyn looked down and said, “I can’t get down.”
I said, “Honey, Jack and I will help you down.”
That didn’t work. Up is one thing and down is another.
We sat there until the crowd had somewhat dispersed.
Carolyn didn’t budge.
I said, “Honey, we have to get down.”
Carolyn scooted as close as she could to the steps.
With me helping to balance her, Carolyn slowly scooted off of the bench. Then, without standing, she managed to plop herself down to the next bench below.
And that’s the way it went, all the way down.
Scoot, plop, scoot, plop, scoot, plop, …
It took a while, but we did get home before daybreak.
The Animal Kingdom
Quick buildup. We took a trip to Florida. My sister and her husband were also vacationing in Florida. They were crazy about our girls. In brief, my sister took our children for a week, and Carolyn and I had a child-free week.
I don’t know about now, but in the 1970s, many of the restaurants in Florida advertised that breakfast was served with a “rasher of bacon”. That’s sometimes three slices, most times two.
Well, one morning after having our rasher of bacon, I looked over at Carolyn and said, “A rasher of bacon.”
She said, “A flock of sheep.”
I said, “A covey of quail.”
She said, “A shiver of sharks.”
I said, “A drove of donkeys.”
She said, “A streak of tigers.”
I said, “A sloth of bears.”
It went on like that for quite a while.
About the only thing you can make out of this story is that Carolyn and I were well-suited for each other. Not to mention a bit nuts.
The Baby Crib
When my younger daughter, Laura, had her first child, Carolyn wanted to buy her a crib.
I had no objection. I mean, baby’s crib couldn’t cost much.
I looked at our most recent purchase when it arrived.
I said, “Looks like a pretty nice one.”
I heard, “It’s for our granddaughter.”
I said, “Those blankets and pillows look expensive.”
I heard, “It’s for our granddaughter.”
I said, “Why are the four bedposts so high?”
I heard, “It’s for our granddaughter.”
I started thinking and said, “What is for our granddaughter?”
I heard, “The canopy, of course.”
I said, “Canopy? Why do you need a canopy? This is a short-term investment.”
I heard, “How can you be so mean spirited?”
I said, “What are you talking about?”
I heard, “Don’t you want our granddaughter to have a comfortable and beautiful place to sleep?”
That was not as much of a loaded question as it was a loaded revolver pointed at me.
I knew I had lost, so I gave up. I said, “How much?”
I heard, “Mumble, mumble.”
“Please repeat that.”
“Only six fifty.”
I may have turned purple. As calmly as possible, I said, “Six hundred and fifty bucks plus tax? That’s almost seven hundred bucks!”
I heard, “It’s for our granddaughter.”
When you lose, you lose.
Oh, yes, this is 2022; a buck was worth a lot more over 30 years ago.
The Short Weekend
Over the years, Carolyn and I would take a three- or four-day get-away weekend trip.
The only problem was that Carolyn never quite understood the difference between three days and three weeks.
We had a very interesting conversation.
It is Thursday evening.
“Carolyn, why are you taking such formal clothes?”
“You never can tell.”
“Carolyn, why are you packing a suit and tie for me?”
“You never can tell.”
“Carolyn, we’re going to a little place in the mountains for a relaxing four-day weekend.”
“Oh, be quiet, men don’t know anything.”
It was time for a clever remark, so I said, “Well, don’t forget my coonskin cap. I’ll need it in the mountains.”
I received “the look”. If you have never been married, feel free to translate “the look” to “Shut the hell up.”
It is Friday morning at 9:00 a.m.
“Carolyn, let’s get going. I’ll put the bags in the car.”
“Not yet, I need more time.”
I said nothing; it would just delay us more.
It is Friday morning at 11:30 a.m.
Carolyn, all smiles, said, “I’m ready, Dear, not really late at all.”
Safely out of earshot, I mumbled to myself, “We’ll have to stop for lunch when we’re three miles out of town.”
I looked down at the luggage I was going to load into the car.
I said, “Carolyn, Dear, you packed four suitcases.”
“I know what I packed.”
“We will be there three nights and we have four suitcases.”
I received “the look”.
I shut the hell up, lugged the luggage, and drove to the mountains.
I wondered if my tuxedo was making the trip.
The Map Reader
When I was with IBM and living in Poughkeepsie, New York, we took our family vacations in Huntington, West Virginia. I was new with IBM and not flowing over with cash. Besides, both of our parents lived in Huntington.
To put this bluntly, I hated driving the Pennsylvania Turnpike. So I looked at the map and saw there is a four-lane divided highway skirting across northern Pennsylvania. And it intersected with a highway heading for Pittsburgh.
So, off we went, tooting across northern Pennsylvania.
As we were getting close to where we were to turn south, I said, “Carolyn, how far away is our turn?”
I asked Carolyn because I had, quite foolishly, asked her to be the map reader.
Anyway, Carolyn said, “It’s the next exit. Take the off-ramp and turn right.”
I said, “What? We are heading west, to go south we need to turn left.”
“No, Dear, it’s right here on the map, turn right.”
I thought, Maybe it’s a traffic loop.
So, I took the turn to the right. Well, what I was on was not a traffic loop, it was a highway. We were heading right back to New York.
I pulled over first chance I had and said, “Show me.”
Carolyn very smugly showed the map to me and said, “You see, exactly as I told you.”
Very calmly, I said, “Carolyn, Darling, you have the damned map upside down.”
The Other End of Life
After I retired, Carolyn and I would, on occasion, sit and talk about old and harder times, and then talk about how we ended up.
Those conversations evoked smiles.
We had a comfortable retirement: two paid-for cars, a paid-for home, a fairly decent income, and no debt.
Carolyn and I did all right considering from where we started. Fifty bucks and a crummy apartment.
Living With Carolyn by H.D. Ingles | Copyright © 2022
