Two chairs

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That tiny crystal pyramid on the shelf? Jose’s Pulitzer!

 

By Caitlin Kelly

They came to us in a sad way, one we think about every time we sit in them.

In our co-op apartment building, we have many older folk — in their 80s and 90s — and some are long-married. One of them, always elegant, always together, went out one Friday afternoon for lunch.

On the drive home they were struck by a drunk driver, a woman. The wife was killed and her husband died later at the hospital.

Their children held an apartment sale to dispose of their belongings — so we went downstairs and found a pair of wing chairs, something Jose had wanted for many years. A good quality wing chair is easily $500-1,500+ so this had remained out of reach.

We got both of these for $450.

The upholstery is not 100 percent my taste, but neutral enough to work with our current color scheme. I’d like to change it to something else, but it will be costly.

Jose and I sit there and talk, sometimes for a long time. There’s something lovely and formal and intentional about sitting side by side in an elegant chair.

We think of that couple. We miss them.

But we cherish their chairs.

 

Another widow

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By Caitlin Kelly

He’d come through heart surgery and we were all relieved.

Then he died.

Sadly, his widow lives very far away from us and we’re not close enough friends that we would fly cross-country.

But our hearts ache for her, a funny and kind woman who helped me through some very tough times, long-distance, in 2014-2015.

This is the sixth woman I know who has been widowed in recent years — all of them younger than 70, many in their 40s or early 50s, with or without children.

Two died of that brute, pancreatic cancer. Two of heart attacks. One was a 40+ year relationship that began in high school, another a happy second marriage.

It’s the moment every happily married woman (and her children) dreads. We think it will happen, hope it will only happen, when we, or they, are old and wrinkled and have enjoyed decades together.

But sometimes we are robbed.

I’ve now been with Jose, my second husband, since we met through an online dating service in March 2000. We married in September 2011.

I cannot imagine my life without him.

Yet one has to.

So he created what we call the “red binder” — which I wrote about this year for the website considerable.com. It describes how to create this binder, which is meant to ease in all practical aspects, what to do after your partner or spouse dies: passwords, PINs, pensions, bank accounts, car leases and loans, mortgage details.

All of it.

Much as I know a lot about our finances and the details of our shared life, like many couples we also divvy some stuff up, so he handles some and I handle some.

Here’s the story.

 

Have you been widowed or become a widower?

How did you cope?

 

30 terrific holiday gifts; 2019 edition

 

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By Caitlin Kelly

Welcome to this annual tradition, my personal selection of 30 gifts for men and women of all ages, except kids and teens.

No tech. No affiliate payments.

Lovely things for home, body, life!

 

Have fun!

 

Here’s a great pair of cufflinks, tiny blue birds, from Liberty of London, one of my favorite stores in the world. $64.74

 

Also from Liberty, this white woven leather handbag is super-chic, minimal, and blessedly free of designer logos. (I have a fairly similar bag in black and get compliments every single time I use it.) Personally, I would have a cobbler add metal studs to the base to help keep it clean. $485.48

 

There are so many ways to donate to charity and all so individual. I have previously here included the Daphne Sheldrick Trust, established in 1977, which works to protect East African wildlife, especially elephants.

 

This is a great French brand, Laguiole. A set of six wooden-handled steak knives, $98.00

 

You can’t beat a short pair of fabulous ankle boots for a hit of style in a long, boring, cold winter. Love these, in three colors, from Anthropologie, (which offers four pages of amazing boot options, short and tall.) $160.

 

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The chic-est winter women I know are those in Montreal and Toronto, and a brightly colored, oversized wrap adds warmth and style to any outerwear. This one comes in five colors, including teal, red and bright yellow. $48

 

I love anything with a patina — the weathering of age and use. This 15-inch-high ceramic vase looks like an amphora dredged up from some Cretan shipwreck, but it’s new. I love its organic simplicity and its scale. $88

 

And these, in two sizes, for candles, look like something from the 18th century with their coppery floral exterior. $18-28.

 

I love, love, love the elegance of UK old-school stationery brand Smythson. How about a tiny, perfect leather notebook marked, in gold script: Small Book, Big Ambition? (So many other great choices here as well.) $60.  Or this jaunty striped 2020 agenda, the perfect size to tuck into a suit pocket. $110

 

A cable-knit crewneck men’s sweater is hardly (as Miranda Priestly might drawl) ground-breaking…but in a cool pale blue? Also in red, from UK brand Boden. $120

 

You’ll love or hate this 8 foot by 11 inch rug — but I love its sharp, graphic black and white stripes. In the right room, it would be terrific. Also in 5 by 7 size for $199. From Ikea. $299

 

This throw, in charcoal gray with caramel stripes, is elegant and simple. It’s polyester, which explains its crazy low price. $4.99

 

This tea towel is so gorgeous I’d even frame it, with fantastic colors, marking an essential piece of American gay history, the June 29, 1969 attack on Manhattan’s Stonewall Inn. $22

 

A splurge, but John Robshaw’s linens are really special. This Japanese-inspired quilt, in crisp blue and white, reversible, is a lovely investment, for full/queen size. $296.25 on sale

 

I recently bought this yummy sandalwood soap from the classic American company Caswell-Massey, (which offers many other products) and am really enjoying it; this one is oversized and soap on a rope. $22

 

A huge fan of transferware, I like these new brown and white bread and butter plates in that style, also perfect for appetizers. $21 each

 

An odd gift, perhaps — but this black oak shelf is minimal and elegant; imagine three or four of them…$135

 

Really lovely and totally useful, a corkscrew that resembles a small bird, from a fantastic museum gift shop, The Morgan Library & Museum in New York City. $14.95

 

Also from the same shop — and do explore their website deeply for a wide array of lovely things — how about a Mad Hatter or Alice in Wonderland tote bag? $24.95

 

Well, you all know how much I love jewelry! But with a very specific aesthetic — not rubies, emeralds, sapphires or diamonds. Not Big Brand Names. This company, which I follow on Instagram, has two shops, in Pennsylvania and Rhode Island, and I want everything! The look is minimal, clean and modern but also very beautiful. Like these oxidized silver pierced earrings in the shape of an ammonite $253.

 

And I’m also a big fan of London-based jeweler Ruby Jack, whose earrings I purchased in 2018 and absolutely love. (These are the ones I bought.) She has much expanded her line, which is sculptural and dramatic, but not weird. She ships internationally (obviously!) and was very helpful. This sculptural silver ring is a knockout. $423.51

 

I love fragrance and wear it daily. Now you can wear the smell of where I live (!) — THVF — That Hudson Valley Fragrance. I smelled it at their Manhattan store and it’s quite lovely, as are their several other options. $110

 

For your favorite tools nerd — the old-fashioned analog kind — this cotton black and white Hermes scarf with an illustration of elementary mechanics is a cool choice; it’s on their men’s site, but anyone could enjoy its graphic simplicity. $200

 

If you’re offended by curses, this is not the site for you — but this terrific red and white hockey jersey is safe-for-work, made by my Canadian pal Aaron Reynolds, inventor of Effin’ Birds, a mini-empire of sweary pins, T-shirts, mugs, sweatshirts, playing cards, posters and more. I love the baseball shirt he gave me, (moi?!) that says “Listen to My Opinions ” — and we laugh so hard every time we play with his playing cards it’s positively distracting. $60

 

Another talented Canadian, another highly creative friend, Ali G-J of Toronto, makes scarves, tote bags, laptop cases, phone skins, phone cases, pillows and more. This gray and white throw pillow with a pattern of tree branches, made from her own watercolor, is simple and lovely. $64

 

Books are such a deeply individual gift, but I’m going to recommend two that I love and own — fascinating and visually beautiful reference books to savor at leisure: A History of the World in 100 Objects, published in 2010 and What Great Paintings Say.  $20

 

Coffee! There are so many ways to make it, but this is terrific — a stoneware French press, in six gorgeous colors. I house-sat a few years ago for someone who had a similar style and it was efficient and perfect for just a few cups — and without fear of the inevitable shattering of the usual glass container. From Williams-Sonoma, in red, orange, light and dark gray, navy blue and white. $95; Not as pretty, but also in stainless steel $55

 

For your favorite Star Wars fanatic, an R2D2 popcorn maker. Yes, really. $99.95

 

 

Shameless self-promotion!

I sell my images from Instagram — CaitlinKellyNYC — and I also coach other writers of journalism and non-fiction; details here.

 

Some things I’m looking forward to

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By Caitlin Kelly

One of the many challenges of working freelance, as my husband I both do, is having basically no structure at all to many of our days. When he works at The New York Times and United States Golf Association (his two anchor  clients), we know what hours and days are committed.

But without setting up planned pleasures for ourselves, we often just end up working too much and even on official holidays.

So for the end of 2019 and heading into 2020 I’m going full steam ahead and making plans for fun, for culture, for travel.

Yes, it’s expensive — but without joyful things to look forward to, it’s just toil and sleep.

Especially after a breast cancer diagnosis, time is more precious to me than ever.

 

December 2019

 

On the 6th, I’m headed to a service of candlelight and carols with a friend, at Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in Manhattan, maybe with dinner beforehand at La Bonne Soupe, a terrific French bistro in business since 1977.

On the 13th, at home in Tarrytown, The Hot Sardines are playing — and I’ve been following them since the very beginning, having met their Canadian-French singer at a dinner party years ago when she was still a journalist. They tour globally and have had huge success.

On the 17th., we’re off to hear the New York Philharmonic play my favorite music — Bach’s six Brandenburg Concertos — the greatest hits of 1721!

In January, a friend and I have tickets to Porgy and Bess at the Met Opera.

A new colleague at the Times is a balletomane as well, so we’re planning to see some ballet with him in 2020.

I keep looking at sites for cottage rentals and just need to commit; I have been dying to spend time in Cornwall after the end of my favorite BBC series, Poldark, set there at the end of the 18th. century. I want to spend two weeks there, a week in London and maybe even another week elsewhere in the English countryside and October 2020 is the only time we can do it.

Thanks to my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, the last six months of 2018 really disappeared into a fog of anxiety, tests, surgery, radiation and fatigue.

In 2020, I’m still tethered to doctor appointments and follow-ups in March and also have to renew my green card (which allows me legal residency in the U.S.), which we are told can take six months, so that also limits any international options until the new one is in my hands.

But the more art and culture I enjoy — whether paintings, drawings, concerts, ballet, opera — the happier I am. It’s why I wanted to live here, close to New York City. Not savoring its cultural riches seems silly to me.

What are some things you’re looking forward to?

 

 

Define “successful”

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I’ll be back for 2020 as well…

 

By Caitlin Kelly

So there I was last Sunday, wearing my black dress and chartreuse silk scarf, all dressed up to attend an annual holiday party in Manhattan at the home of a man I’d met a few times at conferences. He’s had a career studded with highly visible and well-paid success, including becoming the first digital director of the Metropolitan Museum.

The room was packed with people, some of whom have Big Jobs at places like CNN and The New York Times and many teach at local journalism schools.

At one point, when it was a bit quieter, we were all asked to briefly introduce ourselves — like many, when I said “freelance writer” I heard some laughter, (kind? unkind? sympathetic?) as this is where so many talents now work — nowhere.

 

 

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A legendary writer and war correspondent — much of her life was spent frustrated by overwhelming, unfulfilled ambition. Makes me feel better!

 

Thanks to social media, other people’s BIG and quantifiable successes are in my face every hour: a book deal, a TV series created from their book deal, an award, a grant, a fellowship. It can feel completely overwhelming as I work, alone, more slowly and quietly.

I do have a major piece of work that will appear nationally in late January — that I worked on between August and October.

But for now…crickets.

People are fired daily now in my industry, with even well-funded and highly regarded places like the magazine Pacific Standard disappearing overnight.

So when you’re surrounded by people with visible, credible “success”, it can feel stupidly intimidating.

So I mostly, I’m embarrassed to admit, sat in the corner of that party, eavesdropping. I really enjoyed the great Indian food, but didn’t engage in much conversation. I’ve never been a fan of chitchat — and a NYC journalism party can present a heinous pecking order.

I don’t have children or grand-children, the traditional default place to park your pride when work fails.

I’ve been full-time freelance since 2006, when I was laid off from a well-paid job at the New York Daily News. I’ve applied for staff jobs since, rarely even getting an interview. I’ve stopped applying for fellowships and had two grant applications refused this fall.

 

So “success” is a moving target for me, and maybe for some of you as well.

 

By necessity, if not desire, I look beyond work, visible accolades and high payment to my thriving marriage (20 years together, nine married); deep friendships across oceans and generations, a lovely home, generally decent health instead.

 

 

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This was my most recent New York Times story, about a sailing program for New York students

 

I’m already booked to speak in 2020 at two major conferences (unpaid, but smart, interesting audiences, one in the U.S. and one in Canada, where I do hope to find paying clients) and we’re planning (let’s do it this year, dammit!) a three to four week holiday in England.

Thanks to a link on the blog Small Dog Syndrome, I found this powerful insight, from American comedian Jenny Slate — who was hired into the cast of Saturday Night Live (never one of my favorite TV shows but considered the pinnacle of comedy success)then later fired.

Her take:

First, I just felt really, really embarrassed and terrible. … Hardly anyone gets kicked out of a cult, because I guess they want you to stay…But suddenly I just couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting fired. And then I just thought: I have to keep going. And no one can ever take away the dream.

And nothing will ever dim the lights of that experience, which was like: getting the job, leaving 30 Rock, calling my parents and saying “I am going to be on Saturday Night Live“? That is what it is. It’s such a beautiful achievement. And it’s real and I did it…

But what had also happened at the time, and what always happens, is that: Until I eventually croak, I will not die. I truly will not lie down. And you can be kicked out of a place; I definitely believe that. But I also believe the opportunity to find self-love and creative fulfillment is not a hallway with one door guarded by a super-old man. Actually, it’s spherical, and you just have to hold it between your legs. Just look down, find your opportunity.

 

 

Yes, verbal abuse causes PTSD

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By Caitlin Kelly

 

This is a must-read for anyone who has suffered repeated abuse, verbal or physical, from anyone in their life.

 

 

Abuse doesn’t always manifest as a black eye or a bloody wound. The effects of psychological abuse are just as damaging.

I entered counseling and was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, andPTSD. The psychological abuse kept me fearful, the depression and anxiety left me incapable of taking the steps necessary to get out.

Although I initially thought PTSD was a bit extreme, it’s been almost three years and certain noises or situations still trigger difficult memories for me.

When my male boss was angry and yelling at the staff one day, I became physically sick. I felt like I was right back where I was years ago, sitting and cowering on the garage floor, trying to placate the anger of a man towering over me.

 

It sticks.

It creates PTSD — post-traumatic stress disorder.

It’s real and it’s serious and you don’t have to be a combat soldier or get your nose broken by your partner.

Just getting yelled at a lot is quite sufficient.

It’s not “just words.”

 

I know.

For reasons I will never fathom, my father does this…and I’m no longer a child nor have I lived under his roof since I was 19.

In 2013, prompted by what he felt was my rudeness, (failing to clear the breakfast table), I was subjected to yet another volley of vicious verbal abuse — in front of my husband and my father’s partner.

He has money and health and, to my mind, no reason to ever be that angry with me, ever. This pattern has been going on for decades. I still remember, years later, other altercations with his ego.

I shook all day. I shook for a long time after that.

Last summer — six years later — a brat of an editor for a major magazine decided I was out of line when I dared to disagree with her scathing opinion of my story. She refused to let me even finish my sentences.

I hung up on her.

And shook for hours.

A best-selling author recently emailed me to say he’s included some of my USA Today essay about being bullied when I was 15 at my Toronto high school.

That was an unexpected honor.

But it’s why I took the risk of writing it — in a culture of “suck it up, buttercup”, as though being told what a piece of garbage you are is somehow…useful.

People must understand what effects this has, often for life.

 

I’m a confident, successful woman with a great life in most respects.

But the minute someone starts verbally abusing me now, that’s it.

I’m gone.

 

More simple pleasures

 

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Another fab sunset from our balcony

 

By Caitlin Kelly

 

Strong coffee

 

Breakfast in bed on a tray

 

Our favorite radio stations: WKCR (Columbia University), WFUV, (Fordham), WNYC, TSFJazz (Paris) and my latest, channel 163 on Sirius XM, Chansons, all songs in French

 

A long walk with a good friend

 

A long phone chat or Skype with a pal living too far away

 

 

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Tickets for a forthcoming event, (Porgy and Bess at the Met Opera in January)

 

Red-tailed hawks flying low over our balcony

 

A new pair of loafers

 

 

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A cocktail at a gorgeous hotel bar — this is the Royal York, Toronto

 

An all-clear dental exam

 

Fresh pillowcases

 

A long soak in our 21-inch-deep bathtub

 

Baking lemon bread and tomato-leek quiche

 

What are some of yours?

How (fill in nationality) are you?

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I remain a fan of long, long lunches — too French, for sure!

 

By Caitlin Kelly

A typical weekend scene in our home — my American husband, Jose, watching TV football or golf, the other day cheering the Ohio State University marching band, who are pretty amazing; here’s a video, 9:11 minutes long.

I admit it: I have yet to even see a football game live.

I’ve never seen a marching band live and — fellow Canadians, am I wrong? –– I don’t think Canada even has marching bands!

It’s been decades since I moved to the U.S. from Canada and I’m still stunned by some serious cultural/political differences, like the legal right in some states to “conceal carry” or “open carry” — i.e. walk around normal daily life with a handgun on you. (I spoke to 104 men, women and teens for my 2004 book about women and guns, and learned a lot.)

Or tailgating — in which you serve food from the back of a parked vehicle, usually in the parking lot of a sports stadium. What?!

Or words, and concepts, like a Hail Mary or a do-over.

I like the French formality of a cheek kiss or handshake whenever you meet someone. I really prefer the discretion of not blurting out a lot of highly personal detail allatonce the way Americans can do. I find it odd and overwhelming.

 

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A bit of classic Americana on Long Island, NY

 

I do love the directness and speed of New York, and it’s one reason I moved here, as I was always being mistaken for an American anyway — (too fast, too direct, too ambitious!) — in Toronto, my hometown. Canadians, for a variety of reasons, tend to be much more risk-averse and can move at a glacial pace in business, needing months or years to establish a sufficient relationship; New York, anyway, is highly transactional and people here want to do business, and (at a certain level) quickly and decisively.

And being “American” means quite different things in different areas — whether being overtly highly religious or owning a gun, to name only two regional examples.

One of the reasons Jose and I matched so quickly, even between a Canadian and American, an Anglo and a Hispanic, was our shared values, like a quiet sort of modesty, regardless of accomplishment — normal in Santa Fe, NM and for Canadians. Bragging is declassé!

I’ve lived in Canada, Mexico, England, France and the U.S. so my values and attitudes are all a bit of of these.

 

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Love this delivery, in the Marais, Paris

 

I miss Paris, where I lived at 25 — style, elegance,  history.

I miss Mexico, where I lived at 14 — gorgeous countryside, kind people, history and design.

That may sound pretentious, but it’s true.

When you have powerful experiences while living in a distant country your memories are highly specific and often unshared. When you leave that place behind, you carry all those memories, but who can you talk to about them?

They’re called “invisible losses.”

I really value friendship and emotional connection — which take time to nurture, and prefer them to the constant chase for money and power — which is pretty darn un-American. I also work to live, not live to work, also bizarre in a nation addicted to being productive above all.

 

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I always visit St. Lawrence Market in Toronto — and who doesn’t love a Mountie?

 

And yet I’m also very competitive, which works here.

I have friends, like the author of Small Dog Syndrome, who are TCK’s — third culture kids — who have spent much of their lives out of their country of origin. This gives them tremendous global fluency, sometimes multiple languages, and the very useful ability to fit in well almost anywhere. (Barack Obama is one, too.)

The downside?

You can feel forever a bit of a nomad, enjoying many nations, but perhaps loyal to none.

Here’s an interesting TedX talk on life as a TCK — from a white woman born in Nigeria.

 

 

Are you “authentic”?

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Climate change marchers in Montreal.

 

By Caitlin Kelly

It’s a word much used these days.

Being true to oneself.

Being yourself.

It’s an interesting challenge if you grew up in, or married, or married into, a family that’s heavily invested in a certain kind of person — and you’re not really that person at all.

I’ve seen this firsthand with several women I know and it’s extremely painful to hear and see the tremendous stress it creates. Worse, obviously, to be that person and be told constantly what a disappointment you are.

One chose to leave her faith, to the shock and dismay of her parents. Another is living a deeply conventional life, and is simply not that person.

One of my favorite songs, Once in a Lifetime, by one of my favorite bands, Talking Heads:

 

You may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
You may ask yourself
Where does that highway go to?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? Am I wrong?
And you may say yourself
“My God! What have I done?”

We choose our lives from the best place we know how, at that time. So we sometimes choose the wrong partner, university, job, city or friendships. They feel right then, but as we grow and become more intimate with ourselves, we see how poorly these choices now fit, like a suit of armor that once (likely) protected us — and now constricts our movements in every way.

My first husband, a physician, was “perfect on paper”, a handsome, bright, musical, ambitious man. He was, at first, kind and funny. But he was someone unwilling or unable to do the work of marriage with me, and left me barely two years after we took vows, to remarry. I should have had the guts to not marry him, as I knew it wasn’t a good fit. I did, hoping and determined to “make it work.”

But my second marriage allows me to just be who I am: messy, creative, spontaneous.

In the U.S., the workplace is structured in many ways that insist on denying who we are, whether our sexuality, the fact we are pregnant or soon hope to be (again), the fact we have aging or ill parents or relatives or dear friends who need our caregiving. It’s a country predicated on, and dedicated to, profit and productivity — not human connection or kindness. Work til you drop, dammit!

So if your authentic self more deeply values connection, or creativity, or freedom, or less conventional options, you may find yourself — however authentic — isolated, alone and filled with self-doubt and recrimination.

If only I were…not myself.

Be yourself.

 

Be your blessed, unique self.

The week I learned some family secrets

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By Caitlin Kelly

Intimacy isn’t easy.

A new friend — of about a year, someone a decade younger than I but the mother of teenagers — recently told me I had disappointed her. She took the risk I wouldn’t listen or that I would get angry or get defensive. I didn’t. It wasn’t a huge thing (to me) and I apologized for disappointing her and she seemed mollified and relieved we had discussed it calmly.

I am glad she took that risk because a friendship soured by unspoken disappointment can’t last.

But on reflection I wrote her an email to explain why, in some ways, I’ve hurt and disappointed people I care for unintentionally. I’ve done a lot of therapy so at least I have a clearer understanding why.

Intimacy with oneself is often a work in progress.

When you come from a family where everyone’s feelings were routinely ignored or dismissed, taking others’ seriously and responding to them quickly, just isn’t how you behave.

I really hate unpacking my family history, since it’s weird and painful and the polar opposite of the Hallmark card closeness, trust and kindness that is soon about to be celebrated again in the U.S. with Thanksgiving and then Christmas and Hanukah.

 

The very word “family” is used in much American advertising as a proxy for close, loving stability — when for many people it’s just not that at all.

 

A total stranger who writes a blog about crime fiction has been researching my American maternal grandmother, great grand-mother and grandfather — whose marriages were legion and some deemed so scandalous, (thanks to their wealth and social prominence), they made the newspapers.

He recently emailed me to share his findings. They were…enlightening. But also unsettling to read about people I knew as entries in public documents.

My grandfather, an author, who my mother only met twice and I never met, (long since divorced anyway), apparently added a “von” and the letter “H” to create the name von Rhau — which sounds pretty Euro-aristocratic, as he hoped.

He was actually Henry Rau from Staten Island.

I knew none of this until last week.

If of interest, here are his blog posts; first part, second part.

My maternal great-grandmother ended up as the Countess Casagrande on Park Avenue in New York City, (yes, really), while her daughter kept marrying and re-marrying at dizzying speed.

I knew my mother had a very rough emotional childhood, despite plenty of material wealth.

 

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An extraordinary story of survival

 

So when it comes to “normal” behavior, our family is not the place to look for role models or sterling behaviors.

My late paternal grandfather, a self-made millionaire in Vancouver, had an affair with his sister-in-law and kept the boy with his own family; my father has four adult children, two by wives (divorced, dead) and two women he did not marry. I haven’t even met one of them.

Why tell you any of this?

Because when you meet someone new, as my friend did when she met me  — and they might be fun and funny and charming — and I am all of these things, they might also be carrying some tough history as well.

And when you hit those spots,  which I call emotional bone bruises because they’re not visible, it can be difficult to open up or to explain.

No wonder I married a small-city preacher’s kid whose emotional life and financial history could not be any more different than my own.

I also find it ironic that I come from a family that so resolutely avoided discussing our tangled histories — while I have made my living persuading total strangers to share some of their toughest moments with me for my two books and decades of journalism.

Do you carry some difficult stuff from your own family of origin?

Do your intimates know about it?

 

How does it affect you and your life today as an adult?