I received the bad news about my brother Gene and his wife Carolyn splitting up a couple of days ago. I've been mulling over what it is about the Rogers' boys through a couple of generations that seems to make it difficult to stay with just one wife. I'm the outlier here, and sometimes it worries me, and makes me take stock of the condition of my marriage. I think that's a good thing for every marriage now and then, kind of like rebooting the computer to get a fresh start.
Speaking of computers, as I was perusing my Document folder I ran across this love letter I wrote to my Carolyn about seven years ago. Sometimes as we get older we forget that the younger generation needs to know from us what makes for a happy life and what makes for a happy marriage. We can't just keep silent and hope they can figure it out for themselves.
Since I'm writing to adults here, hopefully, I'm not going to edit this old letter, and I'll follow up with some clarification, since I was writing to someone who remembered all the places and events I mentioned.
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A Letter to my Lover,
Without any legal guarantee, you chose to be with me for life, as I offered the same promise to you.
You went with me to Woodland, taking on two young boys who needed a home, and although we had tough times, we also had memorable days exploring mountains and forests together.
You followed me to Silver Springs, to live in a drafty block house, with a shocking electrical system, a balky water pump, and winds that could tear doors off of the pump house and car. Food was scarce, but remember how good that Mexican pizza was, and hot dogs roasted in a cave?
For a short while, we went back to California, to Santa Ana. I don't remember any good times there. Fear, depression, and betrayal by my best friend come to mind. The bright spot was when you chose to follow me away, anywhere, no matter where, as long as we were together.
For nearly a month, we camped in a tent by the river in Snelling, where the mosquitoes tried to carry us away. We camped at the top of Sonora Pass, and nearly lost our food and sleeping bags when they fell out of the back of the car on a huge bump. We camped on top of Grand Mesa, and we camped on Dallas Divide, where you got sick on Vienna sausages. We camped on top of Uncompagre Ridge, and spent a night near Slumgullion Pass. We were poor, but we were together.
Wes was born nine months later in Nucla, where we made a home for our family for nine years. You followed me into quicksand in Bull Canyon and rode with me down Black Bear Road, not to mention threading our way through avalanches on Red Mountain Pass.
You followed me to a job interview at Tempiute tungsten mine, and breathed a sigh of relief when I turned it down. But I knew you would have gone if I had taken the job. You are tougher than anyone I know.
When I took the job at Winnemucca, you moved out on thirty acres of sand, sagebrush, and rattlesnakes. We've fought floods, gnats, mosquitoes, Mormon crickets, and cat catching coyotes. We've overcome forty below zero winters, clueless and deceptive school administrators, and long lonely power plant outages every spring.
As we look forward to a spring together, planting trees and flowers, hoping to go on walks and rides together, I know how lucky I am to live and love with you. No one could ask for a better wife and partner. I'll love you always.
Don Jan 25, 2008
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My sentiments haven't changed at all--only grown deeper.
In the paragraph on the places we camped, that was one month in June when I quit work in California and bought a double sleeping bag and pup tent, bought some food and camped out in national forest campgrounds and parks as I looked for work anywhere but California. It was the poorest we ever were, and the happiest we had ever been. "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose!"
When we ran out of money, I had a good line on a job in Colorado, but the start was several weeks away, so we drove to Oklahoma and stayed with Carolyn's brother Larry and his family for a couple of weeks. I will never forget the Oklahoma hospitality we received there.
The job at Tempiute mine was a first attempt to leave Colorado when it was becoming obvious that the obsolete electric station there was going to be closed. Tempiute was a lonely mine near Rachel, NV, now located on the Extraterrestrial Highway. It was fifty miles away from the nearest post office and school, and although the wages were great, we just couldn't quite make the leap to that much isolation.
We do love isolation, though. I don't know how a couple can keep the spark going in an apartment building in the city. The whole object of hiking into the woods and four wheeling into the desert wilderness is to find solitude to be exploited for love. You have not known real honest sex unless you have felt the sun and breeze on your butt. You don't know what a thrill is unless you have looked up while standing in an isolated creek enjoying sex and realizing there is a bobcat peering down from the bank above you, curious what all the commotion is about.
Sex is an integral part of any happy marriage, and too many people see it as a way to make babies, and not as a way of connecting two people together intimately and completely. As Carolyn and I get older, we have slowed down some, but we haven't given up yet.
I remember at a retirement party for one of my fellow employees in Colorado, somebody (who probably had a couple of beers too many) asked him how sex was at his age. He grinned and said, "When I was younger I could go all night. Now that I'm older it takes all night, but it's just as much fun!"
This Easter, after our own version of fertility rites, I asked her how she felt. She said, "I'm happy. Even my hair's happy!" I told her I knew just how she felt, because my toenails were still grinning. "And my moustache smells so good I'm not washing my face tomorrow!"
Boredom has never been a part of this marriage!
