I dated infrequently after I divorced. My life was two
children to raise and a house to pay for. My girls were teenagers before I felt
on solid ground, earned enough money to look over my shoulder and not see
something gaining. I did become involved with photography, bought a pretty
little Minolta when I could afford it, mastered f-stops and exposure,
composition, the basics.
I didn't meet Bernie, Bernie met me. The Cleveland Art
Museum had a show of photography; I was inspecting a lot of fine work, making
notes in a little spiral notebook. There was a constant presence off my left
shoulder. When I finally turned to confront it, a man put out his hand. “Hello.
I’m Bernie Andersen.”
Bernie was a sturdy man, not much taller than I, back when I
was several inches taller. He had a well trimmed beard and mustache, dark hair going salt and pepper, and a flattened nose I never did like. It was
toward the end of a rather long exhibition, and later I wondered if Bernie had
hung out at the museum for a long time, hoping.
Bernie had a life, too, but he didn't know it. He had a
house, three lovely children and an ex-spouse. His oldest son was a naval
officer, youngest daughter an anthropology student at Cornell and his middle
son a delightful ne’er-do-well bunking with his dad when I met Bernie. Bernie’s
children had old Norwegian names, and when I met him, the middle son fancied
himself “Eric,” not whatever he was named.
Bernie cooked every meal we ate in, which should have made
him a keeper. He started preparation in the morning, and dinner might be
presented at eight. What pan, what knife, what seasoning, what plates……………Argh!
On the other hand, the men I worked with liked him; Bernie was an engineer, too,
and I always knew what knot of people to find him in when it was time to leave
the party.
Photography was one common
interest, outdoors another. We took several short trips together. I drove,
Bernie plotted the route. We were lost for an entire day on a short trail on
White Rag Mountain in the Shenandoah’s. Well, the map was twenty years old,
from when his children were young.
One summer Bernie suggested we take a week and visit some petroglyphs at a park in Canada. We drove north. “Not much further,” from the man
with the map. Eight bone weary hours later I pulled into the parking lot of a rustic
resort. We were seated by the fire. Elbows propped on the linen, eyes drooping,
I tried to take in the quaintness. Did I hear that? “This is where Catherine (I
made that up; I don’t remember her name) and I honeymooned.”
No idea where we stayed that night. We were back on the road
south at first light. Not one word was exchanged. Even when I was pulled over,
no word from the passenger seat as I went back to the cruiser and got my
lecture and ticket.
Some years later Jan and I were unpacking our fledgling
weaving business in our new studio, and chatting with a weaving friend. Marilyn
had an interesting threading on her loom, but didn't want to waste “good”
thread on it. An unfinished sock fell into my hand, and I tossed it over. “Here’s
a sock I never finished for Bernie.”
Bernie's Sock |
That's sad. I hope some good came out of the relationship. Did it help prepare you to be with someone else and to know what you wanted and didn't want?
ReplyDeleteLove,
Janie
Well I hope "Bernie" learned his lesson.
ReplyDeleteWell, Bernie's sock made a lovely wall hanging.... I always figure things work out the way they're supposed to, so while you don't know what "could" have been, you know what is, and that's pretty darn good.
ReplyDeleteSometimes good just isn't good enough.
ReplyDeleteBut, my goodness, you know how to tell a story, Joanne!
Do you know what happened to sockless Bernie? Probably not.
ReplyDeleteIn fact, a friend saw him once, with a person we could only assume was "Catherine." As he only wanted his old life back, probably the best outcome for him.
DeleteHow sad - for Bernie. I don't know about you I can't imagine wanting my 'old life back'. Fresh fields for me every time.
ReplyDeleteAnd jenny_o is right (again). You do tell a wonderful tale.
Poor Bernie maybe he never got over what's her name or was he just tackless.
ReplyDeleteMerle.............
Did he die from foot in mouth disease?
ReplyDeleteJane x
Wow that was a major error on the field by Bernie. Funny but I'm sure it was not then.
ReplyDeleteA man that cooks every meal sounds divine except for his "little" slip of the tongue. I think I would have done the same thing you did.
ReplyDeletebetty
I love your story...and you're photos.
ReplyDeleteYou are such a good story teller.
ReplyDeleteYou know how one hears stories and play's out them in their head, seeing it through their own experiences? Well, here's my interp. of Bernie......
ReplyDeleteDating you was a new step for him, who knows how he choose you....anyway in attempting this new adventure, relationship he wanted to plan something, be involved. He knew a place he liked, an area, and with typical male thinking assumed because he liked it you would too. You get there, propped before the fire. Did you have drinks in hand, did he? Perhaps, lost in the memory of the place, and a glass of wine behind him, he said what was on his mind.
People do dumb things, perhaps one is what Bernie did......assume because something, for whatever reason, make them feel good or comforted, it will be the same for others. The logic of it, that it was something that someone else might not feel the same about, doesn't seem to apply. We all like to think that what makes us feel good will do the same for others.
Or....I'm rationalizing this guy's behaviour.
I had a couple of boyfriends like that years ago, when they started comparing me to their old girlfriends it was time to go for sure.
ReplyDeleteOh ouch! What a shame. Bernie was still living in the past without much of a clue.
ReplyDeleteIt would make a good name for a tune that - I can somehow envisage Gerry Mulligan playing it.
ReplyDeleteWell it was romance, but not as we know it...
ReplyDeleteHari OM
ReplyDeleteBest place for that memory (or him). Hanging on the wall. Made a brilliant post though!! YAM xx
It's too bad it didn't work out.
ReplyDeleteWhat a guy!
ReplyDeleteBaggage....some people never learn to leave it on the side of the road and not look back.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness, how bad is it when they are not even a "for now".
ReplyDeleteOh dear. What was he thinking? I suppose he was not thinking of you at all. A shame.
ReplyDeleteSad...one really poor judgment changed it all. Did he never know.
ReplyDeleteHe took you to his honeymoon place????
ReplyDeleteI wouldn't have waited for first light, I'd have left immediately and probably without him.
Sad to hear about the judgement. We need to be careful all the time.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful piece of weaving came from Bernie's unfinished sock.
ReplyDeleteJoanne you pull me right into your world with your stories x
An interesting post.
ReplyDeleteThank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
So much I could say about Bernie but I will hold my fingers -- you write your story so well -- barbara
ReplyDeleteDear Joanne, the world turns on such simple sentences, doesn't it? And we never know when they may be uttered, by ourselves or someone else. In a moment life shifts and hopefully we go on and enter a new part of the journey. Peace.
ReplyDeleteWell - sometimes it might be the shape of a nose that, together with an insensible remark that might lead to the insight that a good cook who can also photograph is wonderful, but not for oneself. Following one's intuition is most often the right thing.
ReplyDeleteI absolutely ADORED this post. It was a lot like I see you: concise, practical, but with a bit of a pirate's heart. I started reading, nodding, kept going and then....wow. Left with one really unfortunate remark and then...a sock. I loved this!
ReplyDelete“This is where Catherine (I made that up; I don’t remember her name) and I honeymooned.”
ReplyDeleteYou forgot to note that he also had loyalty going for him.
I daresay you missed out with Bernie; the two of you could have knit whole pairs of socks together for the long-departed Catherine. And talked out her favorite foods. Maybe go back to where they met.
So much togetherness you missed out on there.