Tuesday, November 5, 1996 email from RB

From: R
Date: Tue, 5 Nov 1996 22:10:37 -0500
To: rgardner@charon.MIT.EDU
Subject: Hi and Bye

Hi Richard,

This is a short note to let you know I'll be travelling with my old
laptop sans modem for the next couple of months to do genealogy.  I
was supposed to leave yesterday and the day before and the week before
and the week before that.  I.e., I'm late leaving as usual.  I'm
packing all my possessions here to cart them back to my storage locker
in Illinois.  That way when I return around Christmas, I will be able
to focus strictly on painting the house to prepare it for sale and
debugging (still !!) the genealogy program.

I've not written earlier because I've spent the entire year depressed.
 Hopefully this forthcoming trip will cure that.  I've even stopped
exercising and gained 25 pounds.  It is so easy.  Indicative of the
depression - - I just REALLY don't care.  Don't worry.  It isn't
serious.  I'm only depressed because I'm stuck in Kansas.  That will
soon be over.

Here's my latest missive.  Sorry it took so long to get it into the
mail.

I'm tardy again.  Marsha and I made a trip to New Mexico in August.
Most memorable is the cow that ate the campfire.  No kidding !!
Marsha, Dan, Paul and I hiked into the Pecos Wilderness on July 29.
We parked just outside the mountain town of Penasco and hiked for five
miles along the Santa Barbara River to our campsite.  Paul and Marsha
like camp fires, so we made one the second evening.  At bedtime, we
heaped the live coals into a glowing mound about 18 inches in
diameter.  In the middle of the night Marsha whispered, "There's a cow
in our camp."  This had been a recurring problem as a herd of twenty
cows shared this "wilderness" valley.  As I upzipped the tent, the cow
ambled off, preceeded by a large glowing coal attached to its muzzle
somehow.  Very strange .. Rudolph perhaps?

In the morning we discovered that our campfire was entirely gone,
swept clean and flat.  Usually a mound of coals that size will leave a
pile of ash a couple of inches deep covering several live coals which
are ideal for starting the fire to brew the coffee.  We had nothing.
That cow ate the whole thing .. or snorted it or whatever.  Strange.

In many respects this was our best camping trip.  Dan and Paul were
good company.  We were (are) all out of shape, so we took it easy and
didn't exhaust anybody.  We had nice day hikes and a warm solar shower
every day.  Tuesday Paul and I hiked to the top of Chimayosos for
excellent views of the entire area and of gathering storm clouds.
Storms in the mountains are always accompanied by lightning, so we
didn't dally on top.

Wednesday our whole party hiked up the trail that Marsha and I helped
to build five years ago when we first met.  This trail is as steep as
those in the Grand Canyon.  The views of Truchas Peak from the
ridgetop are stupendous.

Thursday, Dan and I arose early and hiked up to No Fish Lake to see
what attracted the several fishermen we had seen on previous days.
There are three lakes up there, each smaller and more disappointing
than the previous one.  That afternoon we packed up camp and hiked
out, intending to camp near the trailhead.  However the thought of
another New Mexican meal was very motivating, so we continued to the
car and to Michael's Diner in Taos for dinner .. and on to the adobe
church in Rancho de Taos .. and to the saloon next door for a beer.

I've been telling Marsha for years that the National Forests allow
camping nearly anywhere.  She has been skeptical.  This time we did
it.  We left Taos just at sunset and turned onto a randomly selected
road into the Carson National Forest, turned again onto a smaller road
and later into a small clearing.  The clearing looked little used, so
I declared it home.  Marsha's exact words are "It was so beautiful
there."  She felt that it was the prettiest place we've camped because
it had a expansive view across the desert to Taos and the mountains.
We pitched our tent in a rush because a huge, black, windy storm front
was rapidly approaching.  Dan & Paul chose to sleep in the van.  We
enjoyed thunder and lightning but it didn't rain.

Another advantage to this great location is that we were able to have
breakfast at Michael's Diner.  We took the river road back to Santa
Fe.  It shares the Rio Grande River gorge for many miles.  The most
interesting artifacts are two of houses built of round river rock.

Marsha reminded me that I lost the rental car keys Sunday afternoon.
I ran errands with Janie and we loaded books for donation to the
library out of the back of Janie's "Bronco".  I had set the keys down
and must have brushed them to the ground.  By the time we missed them
the library was closed.  I waited for the locksmith for two hours.  It
took him two minutes to make the key.  After four days of camping I
retrieved the original key from the library's lost & found.  Marsha,
Dan and Paul were spared this tedium because they had gone to the
Plaza and Spanish Market.  When I finally returned to the Buchser's,
they were having a showdown in the street with water bazookas.

Marsha reminded me that I insisted that we all arise in Santa Fe at
the first light so that we could get to the trail and start hiking
early.  We arose early enough, but went to Tia Sophia's for breakfast,
then took the scenic tour and arrived at the trailhead around noon. We
all carried light packs and a minimum of food since we were in no
condition to carry heavy loads.  After we set up camp, I returned to
the car and carried a second load, mostly food.  Fortunately I was
fast enough to make all the stream crossings before dark.
Unfortunately I did have to walk a couple of miles in the dark,
exhausted.

Easterners would call the Santa Barbara River a stream .. but then
Westerners call the Appalachian Mountains hills.  Regardless, the
Santa Barbara is very pretty, full of sparkling, rushing fresh water
and surrounded by green and rugged scenery.  We camped Monday through
Friday and saw very few other people until Thursday when a Boy Scout
troop camped at the other end of our meadow (a mile away.)

Two weeks after we returned, Marsha's back went into spasms.  We blame
the camp chair where she sat reading for two hours one afternoon.
After a trip to the emergency room, a couple of days in the hospital,
physical therapy and chiropractic treatments, she is recovering nicely
from a bulged disk and sciatica.  She still moves with caution, says
"ouch" when getting out of the car and walks with a list to the right.
Nov 5th update: the operation to trim the herniated disc went very
well.  The doctor's prognosis is that she should regain complete
function after taking it easy for three months.

We bought Marsha's RV, the one she started calling hers a year ago,
just one week after the previous owners first bought it.  She left a
note in their mailbox saying that she wanted to buy it if they ever
decided to sell.  Last week they called because they had happened onto
a great deal that they couldn't pass up for a bigger RV.  The next day
we drove Marsha's twenty foot Mobile Traveler home.  It has heat and
air conditioning and appliances that run on electricity or propane.
The engine is a Dodge 360 similar to my van's.  Marsha is estatic.  We
drove it to Davey, Nebraska a couple of weeks ago to look for Marsha's
ancestors.  We spent the night in the cemetery with them.  Sunset and
sunrise were beautiful.

I have to sign off now and resume packing.  I will not leave until
after Marsha comes home from the hospital tomorrow.  An immediate
e-mail could still reach me.  I know I should buy a modem for the
laptop, but I hate to waste the money when we will be buying a new
laptop with modem before the BIG trip after Marsha's retirement early
next year.

Love from Ron B

missive number 2: I may have sent you this earlier, but cannot
remember since I spent the year depressed and disorganized.

                                           Sept 23, 1996

You may not want to read about my miserable, depressing life.  Please
feel free to pitch this letter unread into the trash.  I don't really
want to burden you with my unhappiness, but I feel compelled to
explain why I haven't written ... and as usual will describe it all in
too much detail.  Besides, I'm much better now as witnessed by the
fact that I've written you this letter.

DON'T READ ANY FURTHER IF DEPRESSING STORIES BOTHER YOU.  Besides, it
is history.  I'll soon be happy again.

My problems (in the nutshell) started in early May with the first hot
& humid day of summer.  Basically I hate being indoors during warm
weather.  However all my critical projects to prepare for Marhsa's
forthcoming retirement are paperwork.  Once the humidity hit I
couldn't even take the papers outdoors for I'd sweat copiously and get
everything wet.  Instead I had to sit in the house which seems dim as
a dungeon to me during bright weather.  Very depressing.

Also Marsha adamantly, consistantly refuses to consider a trip
eastward - ever.  Further she refused to allow me to be absent any
longer than three weeks.  I've tried the three week trips in several
forms over the last couple of years and find them totally
unacceptable.  I'm always on a schedule, rushing, cutting visits
short, leaving research unsatisfactorily unfinished, etc.  This summer
I decided to forget about going anywhere since it is no fun under
those conditions.

Which means that besides being cooped up during pretty sunshine I had
nothing fun to do.  Further, under Marsha's restrictions, I could
never, ever satisfactorily pursue my hobby, my genealogy obsession.
As the summer wore on, the normal depression cycle established itself.
I have lots of WORK to do, but none of it is fun.  I struggle to get
things done, but progress is never satisfactory and every setback is
crushing.  The weather LOOKS pretty, but every time I step outside I
sweat like a pig and cannot work on the paperwork.

I continued exercising by running after midnight.  I also sleep
outside because I don't like house noises and because I usually wake
up sweaty when I sleep inside Marsha's house (something about the air
conditioner cycles.)  When the humidity gets high and the evening lows
climb into the seventies, I become chronically tired - I just don't
rest well even if I sleep enough hours.

Marsha cannot do much to help me from my depression because she is
overworked and stressed out by her job.  She gives her all to Hallmark
which means that there is nothing left for me.  She comes home EVERY
evening exhausted or frustrated or furiously angry.  Her unfailing
routine EVERY evening is to feed the dog, smoke a couple of
cigarettes, drink a beer, watch TV and read books in bed.  She NEVER
has interest or energy to do ANYTHING else.  Often she doesn't want to
eat and won't walk the dog.  Weekends she shops, cooks, runs errands
and watches TV.  In a good week we'll enjoy ONE good day.

I imagine you have the picture.  As the summer wore on, I wore out.  I
wasn't getting my work done.  I wasn't having fun.  The only thing I
was doing was preserving the relationship with Marsha.  The current
relationship is merely a hollow shell.  After her retirement our real
relationship can resume.

Finally we went on vacation to New Mexico.  We had a good time.  I'm
sending you the usual travelog above.

On our camping trips Marsha usually comes unglued about the third day.
She has a fit, complete with furious, raving anger.  A day later the
volcanic eruption is quiescent, calm has returned and Marsha is
delightful company.  Usually the calm lasts the remainder of the
vacation and for the next week back at work.  During the second week
of work after a camping trip, her reaction to the work day job
stresses changes from bemusement to resentment.

Unfortunately this trip did not fit that mold.  The fit of anger never
arrived.  Nor was there a calm, bemused work week after the trip.  I
was planning to thoroughly enjoy Marsha's company for that week after
the trip.  Instead I got the usual hollow shell.

August twelveth I drove the van to Illinois to take Marsha's favorite
big wing back chair to a friend to reupholster.  (He's a
professional.)  At the end of that week, Friday at midnight, my mother
received a distressed call from Marsha because she had back spasms,
was in great pain and wanted me there immediately to take care of her.
I was sleeping in the van, so I didn't get the message until I arrived
Saturday at nine A.M. to take Mom to my sister's for a family picnic.

I called but got no answer, so I assumed that Marsha was better, with
a friend or in the hospital.  There was a slim chance that she was at
home in deep trouble, but the neighbors were minutes away and I was
five hours away, so I went picnicking.  I called again from my
sister's and worried a little more when there was still no answer.

Mom and I returned to her place around six and Marsha still didn't
answer the phone, so called her neighbors.  They could only tell me
that they hadn't seen Marsha all day, but the dog sitter did come to
walk Dewey.  The dog sitter knew Marsha's phone number in the hospital
and that she was on morphine for her back.  I called her but she was
kinda dopey so I picked up my things and hit the road just after dark.

Perhaps this is a good time to bring you up to date on the mechanical
condition of the van.  After the trip to Florida I put in a new
steering gear.  The steering was much improved and seemed acceptable
until I made this trip to Illinois.  Replacing the control arm
bushings seemed like the next improvement, but no one suggested that I
attempt that myself, so I had the front end work done in Belleville at
a shop recommended by my nephew, a professional mechanic.  $500 later
I was the proud owner of two new ball joints, new control arm bushings
and a new drag link.  The steering is nearly good.  There is still a
bit of play in the wheel and it pulls to the right.  Now it seems like
a new set of tires will be the next improvement.

You may remember that I replaced an alternator in Florida.  Apparently
the new belts stretched during the return trip so they squeeked every
time I started the engine.  While the squeal was brief I ignored it.
It grew bolder on the trip with the chair, so I tightened the belts
before I took Mom to my sister's.  I didn't want problems with Mom in
the car .. nor did I have any .. but I did notice a rattling noise
from that vicinity.  My nephew was at the picnic and told me that my
rebuilt alternator was junk.  The rattling was the brushes bouncing
against the case implying that the armature was out of round.  To
amelioriate the problem I loosened the belts and drove Mom home.

I bet you know what this is leading up to as the rain started to fall
and I entered, after dark, the notorious city of East St. Louis.  The
rain made me nervous not only because the steering still has some
play, but also because the front tires are tread challenged.  I
worried incorrectly.  The windshield wiper linkage broke.  I was on
the Interstate and immediately pulled over to the shoulder.  A quick
examination showed that I wasn't going to fix this quickly, so I
decided to drive the short distance to the next exit.  When I started
the van to make that hop the alternator belts squealed like a stuck
pig.  The alternator was frozen up and not spinning.

This is not a pretty picture, stuck in a bad part of a bad city on a
rainy night.  I reconnoitered and decided to stay put and sleep in the
van for the night.  Most of the cars using this exit ramp seemed nice
(or at least better than the van.)  The exit ramp itself was between
the expressway and another overpass (for an expressway-to-be??) so it
wasn't in plain sight for any passers by, not that there were many on
this rainy night.  I did remove the alternator belts in preparation
for the drive to Kansas City in the morning.

After daybreak I waited a couple of hours for the rain to lessen.
Then I started the van and drove all 250 miles to Kansas City without
stopping and without any more problems.  I hooked up the battery
charger immediately after calling Marsha in the hospital.

She had already stopped the morphine because of the unpleasant side
effects.  Her scorn for the emergency room care seems well earned.
The first doctor gave her a couple of drugs, a prescription and told
her to call a friend to come pick her up.  He just never seemed to
hear her when she told him that she obviously couldn't leave when she
couldn't move without intense pain.  She couldn't sit up or roll over,
much less stand up or walk.  She stayed in limbo until the shift
changed and the incoming doctor asked why she was there.  Her yo-yo
first doctor's comment was, "Oh, I didn't realize she was in that much
pain."  It will be a great advance in medicine when a gadget is
created to enable doctors to truly experience a patient's pain.  Maybe
then they will develop more compassion and empathy.

Marsha's Friday had been stressful and walking had been painful.  She
went to sleep early but woke up at midnight with back spasms.  After
she called my mom (expecting to reach me there), she took an ice pack
back to bed.  At 3:30 her back spasms again woke her out of a sound
sleep.  This time she couldn't even get out of bed.  She eventually
managed to crawl into the kitchen and used a ball bat to knock the
phone to the floor in order to call an ambulance.

When she arrived at the emergency room, she knew that ice would help
her back and asked for an ice bag.  They don't have them.  A nurse
brought her a few chips of ice in a paper towel.  They gave her an
information sheet for back pain sufferers.  The first instruction is
"apply ice."  She now has complete contempt for the medical
community's knowledge and treatment of back pain.  Go to a
chiropractor.  They know what they are doing.  They get results and
give relief.  Unfortunately there is no chiropractic emergency room.

Monday I took Marsha home and made the mistake of trying to give her
good advice about dealing with a bad back.  She told me to shut up in
no uncertain terms.  I've have a bad back for twenty years.  I injured
it playing basketball in college.  Since then I've changed my
behaviors and habits to avoid chronic pain.  I'm quite successful.  I
have to do sit ups and side stretches daily to keep my back from being
painful.  That was the nature of the advice I was giving Marsha.

After we got home I collapsed into a complete and total depression.  I
did nearly nothing at all for the next two days but read old
newspapers and sleep.  Marsha found my depression irritating and told
me that I was doing her no good by being depressed so severely and
that she wanted me to go on a trip.  I refused, saying that the trips
aren't any fun when I have to be back in three weeks.  After a few
more days she told me to go as long as I needed.  She has repeated
that several more times and I do plan a long trip east and to
Philadelphia this Fall.  I've promised to be back by Christmas.

However, I cannot leave yet because I promised the dog sitter to sit
his dog during his vacation and because my brother and family are
arriving in Kansas City from Japan in early October.  We are having a
family get together in Illinois the second week in October.

In the past Marsha has told me that I'd better pack all my stuff and
get it out of her house if I ever go away for a long trip.  When I'm
gone longer than three weeks Marsha misses me.  Then she "divorces"
me, withdraws her attachment and becomes hostile.  I fully expect that
to happen this time, so I need to move everything back to my storage
locker in Illinois.

I started packing the day after Marsha told me I could go on an
extended trip.  Even this activity hasn't ended my depression.  For
one thing, I'm afraid that if I look too happy to be leaving, Marsha
will get pissed off.  On the other hand, if my depression lifts,
Marsha will enjoy my company again and may say I can't be gone long;
that she needs me to lift her spirits.  Regardless, if her back spasms
recur, she will need me and require me to return abruptly.

Consequently all the earlier reasons for depression are unabated.  The
real cause of the deeper depression is Marsha's attitude concerning
this bad back.  Her approach is to say, "Why me?" and to curse the
pain.  She doesn't like change and she hates to be forced, so she
tries to resume her life unchanged.  She refuses to examine her
behaviors to discover what habits allowed her back to get weak enough
to break.  She likes her habits and intends to keep them ALL.

I'm still very depressed.  I know Marsha will inflict a lot of pain on
herself before she finally gives in to the inevitable and changes her
life to avoid her back pain.  She needs to refuse to stress herself
about her job.  That will never happen, but she retires next February.
She needs to lose weight and exercise cautiously several times daily
until she builds muscles strong enough to hold her back in place
effortlessly.  Neither of those will happen as long as she is working
and stressed.  It might help to give up caffine and nicotine but that
won't happen while she is working either.

Years ago Marsha told me that our plans for the future are too
different.  She wants to travel in the West to find a new place to
settle down.  I want to travel endlessly.  I used to believe that she
would change her mind when she discovered the joys of unfettered
travel as I have.  In the last two years I've come to agree with her
and to believe that our paths will diverge within a year following her
retirement.  That means that I'm wasting my time pursuing a doomed
relationship.  That is the biggest reason behind my continuing
depression.

I'm going to stay with Marsha until that divergence because she is the
best match I've found since college.  That sounds strange unless
you've seen how sweet and pleasant and smart she is when the job
stress is removed.  I've experienced that delightful Marsha on those
earlier camping trips.

By now I'm sure you understand that my depression is not going to go
away spontaneously.  Usually my active athletics provides endomorphine
rushes to clear away the blues.  However I haven't run once since
Marsha got out of the hospital.  Running had been growing increasingly
more difficult this summer after the trip to New Mexico.  I really
struggled to run while I was in Illinois but could only manage to walk
more than I ran.  After getting Marsha from the hospital I just gave
up.

I've been living on ice cream, chocolates and Coca Cola.  I seldom eat
anything else.  I eat compulsively (i.e. I eat if I don't feel full.)
I've gained twenty pounds in the last month.  I usually feel stuffed.
I'm having chest pains, perhaps precursors to a heart attack.  I'm
eating nothing containing vitamins and minerals.  I'm sleeping less
than six hours a night.  I know that these are practically suicidal
behaviors, but I really don't care.

I decided to indulge myself and do only what I want to do.  I entirely
ignored my agenda and the outstanding projects.  Instead I spent
inordinate amounts of time playing with my stamp and coin collections.
These behaviors practically insure that I stay depressed.  I really
don't care.

These extreme indulgences don't make me happy, but then I wasn't happy
before I started indulging.  I've come to the conclusion that I am not
going to be happy until I'm traveling.  I'm never going to be happy
living in Kansas.  I'm not going to be happy living in a house with
Marsha.  If I'm not going to be happy, I'm going to enjoy being
depressed and self destructive and I really just don't care.

In a sick way, I'm trying to teach Marsha by example.  She wants to
deny that she is responsible for her job stress and her back pain.
She refuses to see that her habits and behaviors contribute to her
problems.  I'm providing a blatant example of garbage in, garbage out.
I indulge myself, exercise no self disipline and don't do anything
unless I feel like doing it.  I'm ignoring any facts or advice I don't
want to hear.  Despite all that I'm stressed; I'm tired; I'm unhappy
and I'm often irritable.  My excuse is that I'm depressed.  I hope she
sees that her excuse is very similar: she hates her job.

Good grief !!  Four pages of bitching.  I'm sorry.  I won't do it
again.


Wednesday, November 6, 1996, email to connection@wbur.bu.edu

First, my compliments to you for your always interesting hundreds
of hours about so many aspects of human life. I have come to see
you as somewhat of a scientist/artist who investigates and makes
life more visible, more transparent.

Second, about this political money thingy...

Your guest today, Mitt Romney, seems to me to be someone who can't
be taken seriously on the subject of campaign money reform.  I say
this because he made two serious mistakes.  The first was the 
"Richard Jewell"ing of John Huang, which I think he accomplished
with the code word "foreign", and union contributions. Neither of
these two parties has been charged/convicted of anything. His 2nd
mistake was to ignore the Massachusetts businessman who has been
convicted of illegal campaign contributions.

By the way, which party received those illegal contributions? And,
before I forget, is Mitt Romney associated with any political party?
You will have to excuse me for my lack of attention to these
details.

I look forward to a future guest from the other side of the political
spectrum and an opportunity to fashion an equally sharp stick for the
eye issuing similar one-sided accusations.

And there is a lot of the problem. May I suggest that you require such
partisan guests, before they spit on the other side, to fess up to
the same sins?

How can a thinking person take any of these calls for campaign money
reform seriously  in light of this nearly universal blindness on the
part of the people involved? You only have to hear who they accuse
of wickedness to KNOW what party they belong to!

Here's a complaint: you are too nice! Do a Ronald Reagan and take
these people out behind the woodshed.  I've been there. Its not so
bad. It will do them good.


November 29, 1996 a friend's letter to her dad...

Dear Dad,

When Mom told me you were in pain, having trouble sleeping, walking, a
wave of panic struck me. First I desperately want to help, to relieve
your pain.  I think marijuana, as I mentioned to you on the phone, can
help. I've read in many articles and in statements by cancer patients
that it is the only thing when things got really bad, that relieved
the pain. I never used it myself (only tried it once, that incident I
told you about when P--- and I were at a party in the 70's). It is
safer than alcohol. I can get you some and send it to you. Don't want
to risk taking through the airport. With the tight security and drug
sniffing dogs. The usual way to use it is to roll it (it looks and
smells a bit like oregano) in a cigarette paper and smoke it-inhaling
deeply. Let me know if you are willing to give this a shot. It would
make me feel better if I knew I did something that made you feel
better.

My panic also comes from the fear that I might not see you again. Fear
that you are dying and we haven't had the chance to talk, really talk
about your life. I want to know about the experiences or feelings that
we on some level shared. I have written many letters to you in my
mind. Perhaps you have done the same to me.

Mom told me about your revealing your long and long-lost love affair
with a woman doctor. She told me how she cried and cried and wanted to
leave you-at the ripe old age of 73. She also told me (she seemed
incredulous) that you told her you loved her too. I don't think she
believed you. She has not experienced loving more than one person at
the same time (at least I don't think she has). Mom played by the
rules. She likes control. She had an image in her mind of the right
and correct way to live ( kind of like the Republican "family values",
back to the 50's thing). On the outside people try to live up to that
image for appearances.  I knew, on the inside, in our family and in
every other family I ever had the opportunity to know, reality is just
not that way.  I'm not going to replay here the horror scenes from my
childhood because now I know, by comparison to most, they were quite
"normal"-not so horrible at all. I spent a good part of my life, as
you and mom both know, trying to figure out who was more to blame for
my imperfect childhood, you or mom. Some days I blamed you more, made
her the victim and the angel, some days I blamed her more. We were all
victims of an impossible system, a set up-we were duped. I didn't buy
in.  Mom bought the package.  You figured out a way around it. Love
and sex and freedom. I am a very lucky person. It is some quirk of
fate. My brain is wired to always seek freedom. I knew it as a kid,
when mom tried to control me and demanded that you help her do it-I
rebelled. I remember the thrill the rush of a sense of freedom when
mom tried to hide the cookies from me and I realized I could push a
chair to the counter, climb up, get the cookies, eat the cookies, in
spite of her. Later on I foiled her attempt again by becoming bulemic
and anorexic. I would control what went in my body and out of
it-nobody else-freedom from outside control again. I entered art
school freely, became an artist, freely, married freely and left it
freely. Loved lots of people. I know it is possible to love and have
sexual relationships with more than one person at a time. Three was
always the best number for me, especially when I was younger and could
attract a larger audience. Like you, I kept my multiple relationships
hidden (takes a lot of finagling, caused me intense stress) until I
met R------. He is the only man I have ever known who values freedom
and a kind of brutal honesty, above all else.  It is this brutal
honesty that lets you know where you stand with a person, gives you
confidence in knowing who that person is, and in the end leads to an
emotionally based trust, a building block of love beyond passion.
R------ is not perfect. Money and making it is his weak point-but he
has never been dishonest or lied to me about this weakness. I've known
it, tried to deny it, tried to change him, gave up, and accepted the
parts of him that I need and love.

Was your revelation to mom of your long term love affair an attempt to
free yourself of this hidden life and to see if she could actually
love the real you? It was a hell of a risk at this stage of the
game-but what's to loose?  I confess I always wondered if you had a
secret life. I felt I was only seeing a front, like in the old cowboy
movies of a cardboard town and if you peaked behind you saw that it
was an illusion.  You are so handsome, I was in love with your looks
even as a little girl. It has been very nice to have a handsome father
to show off in photos to friends. I'm still proud of that, my good
looking father although I never did find or love a man who looked like
you. But in a way it's been a little like the movie set because I know
very little of your real life. Mom says you've had other women, not
only the doctor, not only the woman I remember when your mom died, but
other women. Has it been many women? I'm fascinated. All these years
we could've talked about our relationships, we would've known who we
both really were. But this I think is taboo for fathers and daughters.
In our society these things are meant to be hidden. If the society is
built around the nuclear family we have to live behind smoke and
mirrors. It went against my grain from the beginning. That's why the
Friedrichshof experiment in the art of living had such an appeal. Here
were people living together where all of this was out in the open.
Freedom from leading a hidden life.  You should not feel bad because I
lost my house and all my worldly possessions back then.  It was my
choice. I took a risk and the life experience I got in exchange can
not be measured in a material way.  My Friedrichshof experience
stretched my brain and my body.  I learned how hard I could work and
what I could accomplish. I impressed myself. I gained lots of
confidence (not that I was lacking in self-confidence before) based on
actual results-survival. I learned a language. Started my own business
in a foreign land. Traveled all over Europe on my own, went to
Thailand.  WOW! I know I've lived a life-it's still is damned
interesting thanks to my current job and the help I've gotten from
R------ in understanding this technology revolution that is changing
the world. Without his knowledge in this area and his willingness to
share everything he knows about it with me to help me be more
effective in my work, my life would be far less interesting. We are a
good team. I am successful in some degree due to him and I know it.
Knowing I can tell him about other men (I'm always looking, can't help
it) and he doesn't demand fidelity is a tremendous relief. It's the
freedom thing again. R------ is very clever, of course he knows I will
always choose to live with him because he is the one who makes freedom
possible with in the framework of love. I have done the same with him.
It is not always a piece of cake. Younger women, prettier women-but I
know I have the trump card-freedom-there has never been another woman
who can beat me at that game. That is why I could manage R----, B---
and R------ at the same time. They had their freedom and so did I. It
works. But I think it is not a good idea to live like this when you
want to have children or have young children. I think it is too
difficult when the rest of society demands the myth of "family".  I
don't feel I suffered any more or less because you and mom stuck it
out. It was just one way to go. If you and mom had divorced-things
would've been different for sure but who knows if it would've been
better or worse.

This letter is turning out to be mostly about me. I wanted to write
about you, but you will have to do that if you want to. If you don't I
wont hold that against you. I will fantasize about your secret sex
life. Based on my own sexual escapades I might imagine the intensity
of those experiences.  My desire to create the romantic image of my
father, the movie-star handsome B-17 pilot, the guy who would gently
scratch my back when I was little, laying in bed trying to fall asleep
(when did you stop scratching my back?), the guy who took me out with
him on all his boats, we had adventures, dangerous situations, it was
exciting and scary and we lived to tell about it, the guy who drove
all the way up to Maine to get me out of that art school when I was
having a difficult time, the guy who took me out for a private little
drink and some straight talk about the dangers of marrying a divorced
man (maybe at that moment we were getting close to telling each other
the real truth but we didn't), the guy who let me bring the string of
characters home and now I know better why. I love you in spite of the
gloom of alcohol that has hung over your life. It had an impact but
much more on you than on me. I accept it as part of you like I accept
R------s difficulty in making money as being part of him. It's just
who we are. If you love someone it doesn't matter. I'm sure mom loved
you-still does is my guess. She also is bitter. She feels cheated.
Being duped is no fun.  She is a difficult case.  I love her too but
she is not soft. She has made herself hard. This is how she has coped.
She was always hard as nails. No mercy.  She is so demanding of
herself and others. Her worst trait is this know-it-all attitude which
protected her but ironically prevented her from really knowing much
about anything, not about you, me or the rest of the world. It is her
burden. She doesn't know it.  I must accept her anyway.  We always
hoped you would stop drinking, we always hoped mom would learn to
listen to us. It's not gonna happen. Maybe you always hoped I would
learn to be a "good" girl. It's not gonna happen.  Maybe we want E----
to be sensitive and respectful. It's not gonna happen.  We are all
still together because we love each other anyway. It's hard-that's
life. I want to hug you, and snuggle with you and comfort you.  You
are my Dad. The only one I've got and I want you to stick around as
long as possible.

Love,

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