Happy Birthday! To
me, that is. Sixty-seven and
counting. Counting with great interest,
as will happen when one reaches one’s late sixties.
The early sixties are the hump. Insurance actuaries tell us that if we make
it past the early sixties our life expectancy jumps by about ten years. For example (not actual figures), if your
life expectancy at age 59 is 77, by age 67 it jumps to 86. Because you made it over the hump.
My birthday is more famous for deaths than births. Elvis died on my birthday in 1977. Robert Johnson, considered by many to be our
greatest bluesman, also died on my birthday (1929?). Bela Lugosi, my birthday. The great Babe Ruth not only died on my
birthday, he died on the very same day, in the same city, just a half-hour
before I was born.
I’m still alive, but I’ll admit that at this point I only
feel about 75% alive. I’m down to
twenty-three teeth, but you wouldn’t know it.
All of the gone teeth were in the back, so my smile, such as it is, is
intact. I had a major checkup last week
and all of the results were fine. Some
minor complaints, but all typical of people my age. Blood pressure issues, cholesterol a bit
high, “moderately” enlarged prostate.
Typical for guys who smoke, drink and use bad language anyway. (All in moderation, and usually not in mixed
company.) Oh, and I have a
gallstone. A one centimeter gallstone if
the report is to be believed. Good to
know. If I get the pain, I won’t have to
worry what it is. Just go to the
hospital. If they’re right about the one
centimeter thing, it’ll be an operation for sure, that thing ain’t going
through no duct. If I had duct-work like
that, my blood pressure would be lower. But I feel good; I get around okay; all
of the objective signs are good.
Subjectively though, I feel like an old photograph that is
fading in the sunlight. It’s a lucky
thing that I have a new life that I enjoy, because in my old life I am fading
from memory as though I were already dead.
“My old life,” he said.
If you live long enough, events will overtake you. An event that overtakes many of us is
divorce. This is increasingly happening
after thirty, forty and fifty year marriages.
(Forty plus in my case.) Examples
are everywhere, even poor Al isn’t married to Tipper anymore. Has anyone noticed that most of the
negativity surrounding divorce is usually attributed to the husbands? This usually happens on a hunch. I reserve judgment on other people’s
divorces. As I have said herein: the one thing that is certainly true of any
married couple is that only the two of them have a hope in hell of
understanding what is happening to them.
That’s if even they know. Most of
us are strangers to ourselves. But I
wouldn’t be so quick to blame the husbands.
I can guarantee you that many divorces are driven by the distaff side.
Here’s some free advice (worth every penny):
If you see a divorce on your horizon, begin damage control
right away. Formulate a flattering
narrative and begin furious lobbying immediately. Or sooner.
This narrative can be a mix of the totally true, the vigorously spun,
and the plausibly deniable. Elements
that are actually untrue will be counterproductive and should be left out. If you can afford it, hire a professional PR
firm to represent you. Only good PR,
done by you or by an agent, can prevent you from being demonized by your
soon-to-be ex-spouse and cut off by your family. It’s bad enough that you will lose your
spouse in the divorce. Don’t lose your entire family in the process if you can possibly avoid it.
You want to be nice about it? Good for you!
It’s nice to be nice (to the nice).
Be as nice as you want, but watch your ass too. I’m not suggesting that anyone should be mean
or underhanded in any way, not at all.
Be nice, be fair, but make damn good and sure that your family, your
relatives, your neighbors and your friends are not being sold a bill of goods by
the soon-to-be ex. It’s probably true in
all circumstances: a competing narrative
is imperative.
Follow this advice and you will thank me. Fail to follow this advice and you may end up
like me. That would be 1) demonized; 2)
slandered; and 3) ostracized. If the
worst happens to you, I hope that you have a Plan B available to you that is as
felicitous as mine.
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