Deborah Turns 60

Today is our celebration of Deborah's 60th birthday (Oct 27). It's hard to believe we are reaching this "stage", when I can picture us meeting 34 years ago as if it were yesterday. I guess we were "kids" then - 4 years younger than our own kids are today, merging our happy hippy selves into a wonderful journey that will undoubtedly unfold to the end of our days. People are frequently surprised that we, who divorced over 25 years ago, have this best-friend-ness, but it surprises me that it isn't the norm among those who were married. The things we saw in each other in that blaze of coming together were true. Who better to co-parent with and share my inner self with than one who I respect, admire, and who knows me inside-out? In the scheme of things, our marriage was a chapter in our journey.

This afternoon we'll tell stories. I have so many to choose from. I remember the New Year's Day, when she thought we should mark the day in the way we wanted the year to turn out. She got to work baking delicious and healthy muffins and it was my job to go out distribute them to homeless folks. The fly in the batter was that the Manhattan homeless of 1984 were quite wary of strangers bearing food. One after another turned me down, no matter where I went. We had to bring all the bags full of muffins to a shelter instead.

The rainy day in Seattle when I ran from the car into a store and came back to find Deborah in the back seat and an elderly woman in the passenger seat. She'd been waiting without an umbrella at a bus stop and Deborah offered her a ride. After 45 minutes of looking for her destination, it turned out she thought we were in Manchester, England.

The terrible day that my Mom was killed in a crash with a drunk driver; Deborah and I were living apart and she was traveling in Mexico. I was subletting a farmhouse in Sonoma. We hadn't spoken in a month. I left for St. Louis. Deborah had a weird feeling and called the house that day. It should have just rang and rang in the empty place, but for some unfathomable reason, a friend of the woman I was subletting from had stopped by and picked it up. He had heard from the neighbors what happened. In those days before answering machines and cell phones there was no way for Deborah to reach me from Mexico and nobody would be answering the phone in my Mom's empty apartment. She rode buses, a train, and a plane for two days and walked into the St. Louis funeral home minutes before the service began. Now THAT surprises me, so much more than our enduring bond.

Father's Day Love

On Saturday morning I went out onto the deck and a guy (pictured above) was sitting there in disguise. It was an uncomfortable moment as I bent down and looked at him because I knew it must be some friend that I wasn't able to recognize. When he pulled off his Groucho Marx glasses, nose, and mustache a few seconds later, I was simultaneously mortified that I hadn't instantly known him and dizzy with pleasure that it was my son Alex who had come up from San Diego. It was the furthest thing from my mind that I'd see either of the twins this year. I last saw Alex in December when we went in our unusual family constellation to Mexico - a vacation that was also his and Zac's college graduation present.

Alex has been hard to reach in recent years, his time consumed by the pleasures and routines of his extremely social lifestyle - the many friends, the always sweet and pretty girlfriend-of-the-year, the daily weightlifting, the restaurant work, and until last July - his schoolwork. When I call on the phone, he is always enroute to something or other and has to get off quickly. But he also has the knack of immediately charming his mother or me as soon as we're together with his happy, loving attention.

He definitely made this one of my favorite Father's Days ever. We went on two big hikes, ate great, and went to a zydeco concert at a nearby little nightclub.

The surprise visit was arranged by his mother, Deborah. We ended our marriage over twenty years ago, but found our way into a glorious friendship fueled by mutual admiration for the other's co-parenting skills. We always lived within a couple of miles of each other - sometimes closer - and the boys alternated whose house they went to after school/daycare every other day. (This week Deborah and I are going out to celebrate 30 years of friendship.)

The first day's hike included Alex, me, and Deborah at Hidden Villa where Alex and Zac went to a two week day camp numerous summers. Alex talked about his new job for a fast growing company that rents and sets up huge draping for conventions and concerts. He has quickly risen to a manager position that will begin in a month. He joked about his commitment challenges when it comes to girlfriends and wondered if he's ever really fallen in love. The three of us each took a stab at defining love. Alex's definition was about finding someone who does wonderful things for you. Deborah and I both spoke about how it is just as much about what you want to do for and with your partner – the ways you want to discover them on deeper and deeper levels, care for them, and build a history together. We both acknowleged that for every day that you are fully in touch with those vibrant feelings, there are many when you are just going through motions.

What I forgot to acknowlege was what was right in front of my face, perhaps obscured by its very pervasiveness or because it was camouflaged by the equivalent of a Groucho Marx nose and glasses - but there I was spilling over with more love than I could ever contain with every step along the creek and under the sun as we climbed the formidable hill together.