She stayed with him, knowing she could not have him to herself. He married her, knowing he would lose her. As Golde sang in Fiddler On the Roof “If that’s not love, what is?”
Lovely story, Rona. After both of us divorced (me first, them my only sibling 10 years later) my brother and I talked about how we both found humility and acceptance of how couples found a way to be together that worked for them.
In grappling with the hardest things, we come to understand why the effort matters. The hard stuff is an opportunity. I try to think in terms of getting to do it, not having to do it.
I try to see hard things as an opportunity as well, though when I was 6 years old, in sleep away camp for 8 weeks and begging to go home, a counselor said to me: “You don’t have to be here; you get to be here,” and I have had an aversion to that construction ever since. But I know what you mean, and agree (within reason).
A beautiful story, Rona - thank you. How easy it would have been for your mother (and you!) to shut the door on Sydney and his thumping knocker -- but then so much love and delight would have been left out in the cold. Your story reminds us to embrace life and love in all their messy complexity!
This story just brings me joy. It’s warm, tender, loving and beautifully written. First thing I read this morning. I’m going to take it with me into my week. Thank you, Rona.❤️
You don’t know what you’ll do for love until you get there. I kept seeing my husband for 5 years after we separated and later divorced, even though he was living with the woman he’d left me for. I went from wife and mother to mistress. Had you asked me before, I’d have said: he cheats, he’s out! I didn’t know what I’d do until I was confronted with it. It’s like that with everything in life. You may have an idea of what you’ll want to do but you have absolutely no clue until life gets you there.
My mother would have loved that story. She’d have asked you lots of questions while pouring tea. And because she was so interested and insightful, you’d have answered.
Oh yes I would have! Opening up about your own stories opens others up. I have had such great exchanges with other women AND men about love, cheating, what is right or wrong in certain situations (there is neither), learned so much about love, relationships, my ex-husband and myself in the process.
Rona! I loved this piece so much. It’s a lesson, I think, in love and wisdom and a new way of thinking about compromise.
It was hard to pick a favorite line. But this one was pure delight: “The Basket Millionaire, as we called him, was on his way to Fortress Fredelle like a wayward sexagenarian prince, about to thump the brass knocker.” I guffawed out loud when I heard it.
To have this intimate knowledge of your mother as a woman and as an adult daughter to write about this so tenderly cracks my heart open wider. He seduced me as much as your mother. But I regret she took no solace in the fact the cleaning woman was the one paid for sex with him by the labor of housecleaning. I don't think this is how sex with the cleaning lady usually works, is it? Not that I'd know personally. Ha. What a great story. She drew the line!
OMG Rona, I remember reading something of this in your memoir about your mom (and now I'm too lazy to get up and go look at it) but wow—this piece! There are so many unforgettable lines. The one that jumped right out at me was "His confidence enveloped them both, like a shell that by some miracle is home to two snails." And did he gaslight her by bringing her to Chicago so his friend could convince her that the relationship with the cleaning lady was appropriate, or was he opening her mind to let her see that the world is not full of absolutes, and if you're happy and nobody is being hurt, then why not live by your own rules? (Or was she being hurt?) Hmmmmm. You're right. There's much to discuss here. I loved this essay!
You've picked up on an ambiguity that troubled me a bit at a time. He was very self-involved and, as we say now, entitled, the king of his own little world. But he made my mother his queen, and in distant times the king had a mistress or two. I think Carl Rakosi was right: It all comes down to how you feel with the one you loved. I'd have a lot of trouble making the accommodation my mother made, but it worked for her. In this reworking of an old Facebook post, I wanted to show how daughterly protectiveness was not doing my mother any good. It can be hard for adult children not to judge their parents.
It’s so easy to apply other people’s perceptions and filters and clip away at our own experiences until they’re diminished or seem lacking. When I catch myself doing that and essentially ask myself the question Carl asked your mother--“how do *I* feel in this experience/dynamic/connection?”--I get an answer that shakes the rest off like dust. Beautiful story and lovingly told. Thank you for this taking us on this deep sea tour of a life you so closely observed and loved.
Love this, Rona! I can relate to a second time around 😉...sans lots of money! What a beautiful family story told with great tribute and respect. What treasures you have in your mom’s books, old photos and memories! 😊🫶💕
Fascinating story, Rona. Thank you. You were right to call attention to mary g.'s question, of course. In the unknowns of what your mother did or didn't think about Virginia afterwards, whole other story possibilities lie. I wonder if you think your mother's willingness to make her concession derived from all that she had missed with your father, and whether, that relationship having been different but still ended, she still would have made it. I wonder if Sydney, had your mother been willing to end their relationship over Virginia, would have indeed let it end. What was Virginia to him -- just some extra sex, or was there an emotional attachment? Sydney's marrying your mother before her death is a genuine act of love, I think. Yet as fits his personality, he couldn't stay alone for long. He is a compelling personality I recognize. There are modern versions of him, to be sure, but that he walked 20 minutes each morning, as you reveal in the comments, to read the newspaper in "his favorite hotel" bespeaks the world of his age and a particular businessman's life. It's an evocative detail. The story itself is rich with them.
What interesting questions you pose, Jay. Had my mother felt loved and desired by my father, Sydney would not have disarmed her as he did. Her formidable presence--uproarious anecdotes, barbed critiques, flights of canonical poetry quoted at full voice--concealed deep wounds. Gender, compounded by Jewishness, had denied her the academic career she deserved; then came her subordination of self to my father. Sydney also presented as invincibly powerful, but carried the pain of a disastrous marriage. Two snails in one shell: it fits. Maybe my mother could have kept Sydney while vetoing Virginia, but I think she wanted to lay down her arms. Among the many poems she wove into everyday conversation was "Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop." She was done being "proud and stiff." She understood in her bones where love has pitched his mansion.
Thank you for this story! So much to take in, but overall I felt happiness for your mom to have found someone who adored her after missing out on such a thing for so long. (I can relate.) One thing (among a few) that I wondered about. When you said your mother never gave the cleaning lady another thought, how do you know that? Is it possible your mother did think of Virginia but didn't want anyone to know? Hard to imagine your mom, home alone while her love is loving another woman, and not thinking about it. I love that when she finally finds herself a Jewish man, his name is Bacon.
Mary! Knowing your eye for literary detail, I am not surprised you asked, "How do you know that?" You're right. I don't. She was proud and would not have let on if she thought about Virginia. Next time I polish this essay, I will reword. It's safe to say she wasn't bothered. With her many publications and doctorate from Radcliffe, she felt not only loved but far superior to Virginia. What did trouble her was Sydney's determination not to marry. What an odd duck he was.
Being loved is often worth the oddness of one's duck! I'm glad he married her in the end. Do we get to know what became of Sydney? (I'll understand if you don't reply.) Also, it's beautiful that you can be so happy for your mother and her "blossoming." I know my kids are happy for me, but they'd rather not know the details....
After she died, he mourned hard for a short time and then took up with a much younger friend of hers (he was then 79). God forbid another woman should die on him. Well into his 90s, he walked 20 minutes from his apartment every morning to to read the NYT in his favorite hotel. He talked his way into the hospital room of a revered, dying philanthropist (female) on the no-visitors list. Although she didn't know him, he thought he should have an audience. He gave readings of his favorite short stories, including "The Lady with the Dog," never knowing he had no gift for reading. He died at 105, fully himself.
She stayed with him, knowing she could not have him to herself. He married her, knowing he would lose her. As Golde sang in Fiddler On the Roof “If that’s not love, what is?”
She would love this comment. Wish I could share it with her. Thanks, Carol.
Oh Carol, that is so astute and beautiful.
Lovely story, Rona. After both of us divorced (me first, them my only sibling 10 years later) my brother and I talked about how we both found humility and acceptance of how couples found a way to be together that worked for them.
If we knew the bargain other couples have made, we couldn’t imagine how it works for them.
I absolutely understand what you mean. It’s so hard.
In grappling with the hardest things, we come to understand why the effort matters. The hard stuff is an opportunity. I try to think in terms of getting to do it, not having to do it.
I try to see hard things as an opportunity as well, though when I was 6 years old, in sleep away camp for 8 weeks and begging to go home, a counselor said to me: “You don’t have to be here; you get to be here,” and I have had an aversion to that construction ever since. But I know what you mean, and agree (within reason).
A beautiful story, Rona - thank you. How easy it would have been for your mother (and you!) to shut the door on Sydney and his thumping knocker -- but then so much love and delight would have been left out in the cold. Your story reminds us to embrace life and love in all their messy complexity!
Oh, you bet it would have been easy!
This story just brings me joy. It’s warm, tender, loving and beautifully written. First thing I read this morning. I’m going to take it with me into my week. Thank you, Rona.❤️
How lovely. I am honored.
What a story, and how beautifully told!
Thank you, Elizabeth!
I love every nuance. Love is a many splendored thing. You have told the story with much dignity and respect.
Thank you, dear Gail.
You don’t know what you’ll do for love until you get there. I kept seeing my husband for 5 years after we separated and later divorced, even though he was living with the woman he’d left me for. I went from wife and mother to mistress. Had you asked me before, I’d have said: he cheats, he’s out! I didn’t know what I’d do until I was confronted with it. It’s like that with everything in life. You may have an idea of what you’ll want to do but you have absolutely no clue until life gets you there.
My mother would have loved that story. She’d have asked you lots of questions while pouring tea. And because she was so interested and insightful, you’d have answered.
Oh yes I would have! Opening up about your own stories opens others up. I have had such great exchanges with other women AND men about love, cheating, what is right or wrong in certain situations (there is neither), learned so much about love, relationships, my ex-husband and myself in the process.
Thank you (and your mom) for sharing the story!
Rona! I loved this piece so much. It’s a lesson, I think, in love and wisdom and a new way of thinking about compromise.
It was hard to pick a favorite line. But this one was pure delight: “The Basket Millionaire, as we called him, was on his way to Fortress Fredelle like a wayward sexagenarian prince, about to thump the brass knocker.” I guffawed out loud when I heard it.
I was hoping you'd enjoy this one, Holly.
To have this intimate knowledge of your mother as a woman and as an adult daughter to write about this so tenderly cracks my heart open wider. He seduced me as much as your mother. But I regret she took no solace in the fact the cleaning woman was the one paid for sex with him by the labor of housecleaning. I don't think this is how sex with the cleaning lady usually works, is it? Not that I'd know personally. Ha. What a great story. She drew the line!
Thanks, Jill. Would anyone with knowledge of sex with the cleaning woman please weigh in?
I was hung up on that part of the story as well!
An entirely reasonable reaction. I like exploring situations that are not clear-cut.
OMG Rona, I remember reading something of this in your memoir about your mom (and now I'm too lazy to get up and go look at it) but wow—this piece! There are so many unforgettable lines. The one that jumped right out at me was "His confidence enveloped them both, like a shell that by some miracle is home to two snails." And did he gaslight her by bringing her to Chicago so his friend could convince her that the relationship with the cleaning lady was appropriate, or was he opening her mind to let her see that the world is not full of absolutes, and if you're happy and nobody is being hurt, then why not live by your own rules? (Or was she being hurt?) Hmmmmm. You're right. There's much to discuss here. I loved this essay!
You've picked up on an ambiguity that troubled me a bit at a time. He was very self-involved and, as we say now, entitled, the king of his own little world. But he made my mother his queen, and in distant times the king had a mistress or two. I think Carl Rakosi was right: It all comes down to how you feel with the one you loved. I'd have a lot of trouble making the accommodation my mother made, but it worked for her. In this reworking of an old Facebook post, I wanted to show how daughterly protectiveness was not doing my mother any good. It can be hard for adult children not to judge their parents.
It’s so easy to apply other people’s perceptions and filters and clip away at our own experiences until they’re diminished or seem lacking. When I catch myself doing that and essentially ask myself the question Carl asked your mother--“how do *I* feel in this experience/dynamic/connection?”--I get an answer that shakes the rest off like dust. Beautiful story and lovingly told. Thank you for this taking us on this deep sea tour of a life you so closely observed and loved.
"Lovingy" is how I aspire to tell stories. Glad I hit the mark. Thank you, Esther.
Love this, Rona! I can relate to a second time around 😉...sans lots of money! What a beautiful family story told with great tribute and respect. What treasures you have in your mom’s books, old photos and memories! 😊🫶💕
Well, the money is a bonus. Here’s to your second time around.
Ha! 😅thanks!
Fascinating story, Rona. Thank you. You were right to call attention to mary g.'s question, of course. In the unknowns of what your mother did or didn't think about Virginia afterwards, whole other story possibilities lie. I wonder if you think your mother's willingness to make her concession derived from all that she had missed with your father, and whether, that relationship having been different but still ended, she still would have made it. I wonder if Sydney, had your mother been willing to end their relationship over Virginia, would have indeed let it end. What was Virginia to him -- just some extra sex, or was there an emotional attachment? Sydney's marrying your mother before her death is a genuine act of love, I think. Yet as fits his personality, he couldn't stay alone for long. He is a compelling personality I recognize. There are modern versions of him, to be sure, but that he walked 20 minutes each morning, as you reveal in the comments, to read the newspaper in "his favorite hotel" bespeaks the world of his age and a particular businessman's life. It's an evocative detail. The story itself is rich with them.
What interesting questions you pose, Jay. Had my mother felt loved and desired by my father, Sydney would not have disarmed her as he did. Her formidable presence--uproarious anecdotes, barbed critiques, flights of canonical poetry quoted at full voice--concealed deep wounds. Gender, compounded by Jewishness, had denied her the academic career she deserved; then came her subordination of self to my father. Sydney also presented as invincibly powerful, but carried the pain of a disastrous marriage. Two snails in one shell: it fits. Maybe my mother could have kept Sydney while vetoing Virginia, but I think she wanted to lay down her arms. Among the many poems she wove into everyday conversation was "Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop." She was done being "proud and stiff." She understood in her bones where love has pitched his mansion.
Well observed. More insight into Sydney -- and "she wanted to lay down her arms." Nice.
Thank you for this story! So much to take in, but overall I felt happiness for your mom to have found someone who adored her after missing out on such a thing for so long. (I can relate.) One thing (among a few) that I wondered about. When you said your mother never gave the cleaning lady another thought, how do you know that? Is it possible your mother did think of Virginia but didn't want anyone to know? Hard to imagine your mom, home alone while her love is loving another woman, and not thinking about it. I love that when she finally finds herself a Jewish man, his name is Bacon.
Mary! Knowing your eye for literary detail, I am not surprised you asked, "How do you know that?" You're right. I don't. She was proud and would not have let on if she thought about Virginia. Next time I polish this essay, I will reword. It's safe to say she wasn't bothered. With her many publications and doctorate from Radcliffe, she felt not only loved but far superior to Virginia. What did trouble her was Sydney's determination not to marry. What an odd duck he was.
Being loved is often worth the oddness of one's duck! I'm glad he married her in the end. Do we get to know what became of Sydney? (I'll understand if you don't reply.) Also, it's beautiful that you can be so happy for your mother and her "blossoming." I know my kids are happy for me, but they'd rather not know the details....
After she died, he mourned hard for a short time and then took up with a much younger friend of hers (he was then 79). God forbid another woman should die on him. Well into his 90s, he walked 20 minutes from his apartment every morning to to read the NYT in his favorite hotel. He talked his way into the hospital room of a revered, dying philanthropist (female) on the no-visitors list. Although she didn't know him, he thought he should have an audience. He gave readings of his favorite short stories, including "The Lady with the Dog," never knowing he had no gift for reading. He died at 105, fully himself.
Fantastic!!!
What a wonderful story. Yay for your mother and for Sydney. I think bargains are a primary ingredient of relationships.
Is there a relationship without one? It's usually not clear to outsiders what the bargain is.
Beautiful! I think everyone’s version of love looks and feels different. Thank you for sharing.