These last few days have brought frequent thoughts
of my first husband and our time together back in the sixties. There's
been flashes of memories, images of us lying together in bed and
comparing our tans, working together in the field on a hot July morning,  riding side by side through a field or forest, just looking
over at each other and smiling in contentment.

It feels to me like he is reaching out and attempting to take my hand,
I can feel the desperation and sadness in him, his loss of so many
relatives over the years, the emptiness in his life, all his failed dreams,
it took so little to make him happy, in that respect he was like me.

My mom used to tell me how easy I was to please. Well he was like
that, and here I find myself writing as if he's already gone........
I remember him crying out in pain when he was hospitalized for his
seizures and they ended up doing a spinal tap.
I can hear his voice when he would feel himself going into a seizure
and he'd call out to me in a soft voice, saying my name and asking me
to please help him. It was so hard to not cry, so hard to be strong for
him, I wanted to cry with him, but I didn't. I'd talk to him, telling him
I was still there. I'd cradle his head until he felt strong enought to
stand up, then he'd want to go to bed and sleep awhile.

He wasn't the most graceful polka dancer, but he kept perfect time,
and had an infectious happiness while dancing, also a mild case of
macho attitude, nothing bad, just the proud, puffing out of chest,
'she's with me" smile and look around to make sure everyone saw
who "she" was with kind of smile....

There was the first autumn we had together as a couple, just months
before our wedding.
I had gone to a hotel in my hometown where they had a beauty
shop in the basement and had my long, thick, golden brown hair
curled and put in lovelocks on top of my head.  At the Three Sisters
clothing store I bought a blue velvet dress, three quarter lenght
sleeves, scoop neckline, and full skirt. It was dark blue velvet with
tiny lavender flowers.

At home, I was still living with my parents after graduation, I packed
a suitcase and caught the first greyhound bus out of Chippewa Falls.
The bus rolled into the sleepy, dusty little town of Mondovi, Wi. and stopped at at a Hotel that was built back in the 1800's. I'd love to
see an old Hotel like this now..
I rented a single room, and trundled upstairs to my musty little
room for one. There was a dozen signs pasted on the back of the
door, and a fantastic old basin and pitcher for washing up in on the
ancient dresser. Even then at the tender age of 18 I knew that room and it's amenities were truly old and special.

The bed was extrememly creaky, had an iron headboard and footboard
and the sheets were bleached stark white and starched and ironed
flawlessly. They were also scratchy as all get out.

My boyfriend, husband to be, picked me up (with his best friend driving) and took me out to his friend's farm to get ready for the dance.
I was so excited, my hair was beautiful and I felt like Cinderella in my
new velvet dress.
Those feelings were dashed when my boyfriend came out of the bathroom, dressed in a womans's dress, blond wig, highheels, and was carrying a pair of overalls, workboots, and a man's hat for me to
wear to the "costume" Halloween dance. I thought it was just a dance......
I tried my best to have a swell time, and I did really, it was just after
wards that I felt letdown about the hairdo geting ruined and my new
dress just hanging in the bathroom of a farmhouse that smelled like
a barn....
Now I'd give up a tooth for a date with him, especially a
"costume party" Halloween dance....
I hope he's ok, there's so many more memories of those tender years, even though the good ones didn't last long. I can hang onto
the good ones and while I never forget the notsogood stuff, I don't
wallow in it.