An Interlude

The Next Great Adventure: A True Story

An Interlude

The months that followed my move to Atlanta in the summer of 1982 were filled with many things - a new job, a new city, a new apartment - but mostly they were filled with missing Cindy. Then, as now, I did a lot of thinking by writing. Unlike now, writing then required a pen and paper, and a postage stamp if you wanted someone else to read it. I wrote many letters to Cindy in those months and she kept them all. I found them the other day and spent a night and a bottle of wine reading through them. They weren't exactly great literature, but they brought back all of those fresh, new love feelings. I could feel it like I was 23 again ... powerful stuff for a grieving husband.

Among the letters was one that I wrote to her much later, in March, 2000. I'm including it here even though it is out of sequence for the story I'm telling because, well, I think it's a good foreshadowing of what this relationship would ultimately become. That, and it's something I feel compelled to share ... maybe it will be helpful to someone.

Here are a few things you need to know before reading the letter, besides the fact that I am not proud of the handwriting.

I wrote this on a Sunday night at the Marriott Hotel in downtown Portland, Oregon. For six weeks my schedule was to fly in Sunday night for an early Monday start on a project at Electric Lightwave. I would then fly home late Friday, which made for very short weekends. Cindy had a knack for filling up my Saturday with things she needed or wanted me to get done. We had just started going back to church so Sunday morning was blocked out. Cindy was working full time and Griffin was in daycare. Normally the who is taking/who is picking up duties were traded off as needed, but it had all been on Cindy for several weeks. Even without the project I traveled probably 50% of the time. It was stressful on everyone, but we were pushing our way through as most everyone does.

Aside from the general situation, I remember the specifics that prompted the letter. Before I left for the airport that Sunday we had a "discussion" about needing to get organized and get some tax related finances squared away, which eventually ended in me agreeing to take a day off to help get it done. I typically booked the latest flight possible on Sunday evening, putting me in Portland about 10PM, midnight in Plano. I always called when I got to the hotel, just to let her know I'd made it safely and to say good night. This particular night the good night call picked up where the earlier "discussion" left off. I was pretty much done talking about it. Cindy obviously wasn't. I wasn't really listening to her and she knew it, prompting her to say "I don't even know why you called if you won't talk to me" and she hung up, leaving me room to rethink my choices, as she knew I would.

Finally, I often re-read things I've written to see if they hold up, to see if they are still "true," if they still have that sort of sincere/meaningful/intentional/"I really meant to say that" thing. This does, which may be why I feel the need to share it.