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 Category:  Biographical Non-Fiction
  Posted: January 31, 2014      Views: 879
Prologue 1 2 3 4... 

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Baby Boomer pondering how past affects the present and future. "A writer come-lately" loaded with life experience:pioneer of surrogacy and mother to smallest preemie born 27 years ago.

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Prologue of the book My Almost Cashmere Life
Divorce brings about change, tinged with relief and sadness.
"Oh, Say Can You See" by maggieadams

As I climb nude into the soothing, churning water of my hot tub, I glimpse the torn and tattered American flag waving at a ninety-degree angle. The flag is split in half due to the arctic winter storm and ensuing cold winds. The stars and stripes are still attached by a slender thread, allowing Old Glory to wave in unison.

As I slide my backside down into the rhythmic jets, I marvel at the familiar setting. Above me hovers the nightly constellation of stars. I sink deeper into the blue-lit water and glance across the Willamette River at the houses that have completed my landscape for nearly thirty years. Many houses have been remodeled, adding lit pathways down to the river, yet one house directly across the narrow channel remains the same. The static house has a small television that remains aglow for twenty-four hours, so I find myself staring across the river nightly just to know that life does have does have some stability.

The calendar year has moved to 2009, and my life has taken a giant step forward with a final divorce decree, signed on January 6. I meet this monumental phase in my life with a mixture of relief and sadness: relief that this dance of two strangers has finally ended, and the melancholy music with the angry refrain has been turned down, but sadness, that two lives wasted so much time figuring out the delicate dance of two partners. We needed not only lessons and practice, but also chemistry; the music needed to be more joyful---more harmonious.

For years, I had ridden an endless dark roller coaster of resentment, not braced for the bumpy ride. I clung steadfastly to denial and grabbed desperately at half-truths. At the end of the ride, I reached feverishly for revenge but, as I staggered out into the light of day, I began to seek forgiveness.

Diving deeper into the swirling water, I want to blame everything on my ex-husband, but that would be grossly unfair. As I come up for air, I acknowledge that I was frozen inside, driven by fear and unable to speak the truth. My desire to stay in a loveless marriage enabled my husband to trample all over me. Vast loneliness enveloped and consumed me--and went untouched because it remained undisclosed. He had been as conflicted as I, and we walked on 'eggshells' for years.

How I wish I had stood up to him and demanded honesty instead of running off to play tennis. How I wish I had demanded we seek help, instead of opening yet another bottle of red. How I wish I had spoken truths, instead of stifling and stuffing my feelings deep inside.

Convenient and trite rationale kept me trapped. I knew no other role than wife and mother; my parents were married for sixty years, so I assumed that marriage was forever, no matter what transpired...blah, blah, blah...

After thirteen miscarriages...

And the surrogate adoption of my oldest daughter and the birth of the smallest preemie ever to survive--both of which complicated and blessed our lives--I stayed.

And stayed...

And stayed.

The "whys" still haunt me.

September, 2013

As I sit dangling my feet in my new hot tub, I glimpse the crescent moon in the pitch black sky. A new American flag now hangs at a 45-degree angle, fluttering peacefully in the front yard facing my cul-de-sac.

Four years removed from the fog of divorce, I ponder. I twirl my toes in the warm comforting water surrounded by a well-manicured courtyard and an almost doll-like house. There are my two cats in the yard; life is not nearly so hard, so why in "Hell" do I have a need to walk into this writing class? Why can't I leave, as they say, "Well enough alone?"

Maybe it is because we are all connected by the human condition of fate and we hold a nagging need to share our stories in order to know we have lived? I believe life must be lived in forward motion, but life must also be understood from the rearview mirror. I have locked some drawers in my mind, but unlocking these drawers and digging through old files has now become my arduous task.

As the Pulitzer-prizewinning-author, my writing instructor, stood before us, he encouraged: "If you don't share or tell your story, it will be buried with you and in several generations, it will be forgotten."

That resonated and gave me the courage.

I am ready to climb nude into the churning waters of my new hot tub.

A New Me! contest entry


The book continues with The Deal. We will provide a link to it when you review this below.

Author Notes
I have been away from Fan Story for nearly a year; I miss the connection. I am re-posting my book after having it professionally edited. In my opinion, there are no better critics and helpful writers than on this site, so I hope to engross 'new' Fanstorians and engage with my 'old' Fanstorians. Can't wait to reconnect.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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