MY WIFE HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR - AND IF SHE DIDN'T…….I'D BE LOOKING FOR ANOTHER PARTNER
I REMEMBERED OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
MY MOTHER USED TO TELL ME OVER AND OVER; "TED CURRIE YOU'RE A BUM!" SORRY, THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID TO MY FATHER. WE HAD THE SAME NAME. MERLE TOLD ME, "YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO FIND A NICE GIRL TO MARRY." I WONDERED IF THAT MEANT I COULD MARRY AN "AWFUL GIRL." SHE ASSUMED YOU SEE, THAT BECAUSE MY HOCKEY EQUIPMENT SMELLED, AND I DIDN'T ALWAYS LIFT THE TOILET SEAT, THAT I WAS DESTINED TO BE A BACHELOR, ALONE IN A FILTHY APARTMENT……WITH A BUNCH OF NO GOOD BUMS HANGING AROUND. IT'S NOT THAT MY MOTHER DIDN'T HAVE FAITH IN ME, TO ONE DAY SETTLE DOWN AND HAVE A FAMILY. SHE JUST LIKED TO EMPHASIZE THINGS. MAKE IT APPEAR A DIRE SITUATION, WHEN IT WAS JUST A BLIP ON THE RADAR. SHE MEANT WELL. TRUTH IS, I DID HAVE A LOT OF HOCKEY PLAYERS AND REPORTERS HANGING AROUND MY APARTMENT, SOME BECAUSE THEY WERE SINGLE LIKE ME, OTHERS BECAUSE THEY WERE HIDING FROM THEIR ANGRY WIVES. MY BRACEBRIDGE APARTMENT BECAME KIND OF A HALF WAY HOUSE FOR THE LOST AND LONELY. THEY WERE HUNGRY TOO. AFTER A HOCKEY GAME ONE NIGHT, THEY DRANK MY MAPLE SYRUP WITH RYE, AND ONE OF THE CLOWNS ATE AN ENTIRE CHRISTMAS CAKE THAT HAD BEEN IN MY FRIDGE FOR TWO YEARS. IT EVEN LOOKED GREEN WITH THE FRIDGE LIGHT. HE HAD TO EXPLAIN TO HIS WIFE, THAT HIS MANY JAUNTS TO THE TOILET, HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE FOOD CURRIE WAS SERVING AS SEASONAL FARE.
IT'S TRUE I HAD A FAIR NUMBER OF GIRLFRIENDS WHO TOLERATED THE HOCKEY EQUIPMENT, JUST NOT THE COMPANY I KEPT. FOR SOME REASON, THEY DIDN'T THINK IT WAS COOL TO HAVE A REPORTER'S ENTOURAGE GO WITH US ON DATES. HEY, THEY DIDN'T HAVE ANY PLACE ELSE TO GO. SUZANNE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD HANDLE THE EXCESSES OF MY PROFESSION, AND SWEEP OUT THE HANGERS-ON WHEN THEY STARTED TO SMELL…..OR BELCH SOMEWHERE BEHIND THE SOFA, OR SLEEPING IT OFF IN THE BROOM CLOSET. SHE WAS SWEET WHEN SHE TOLD ME AND THEM, TO SMARTEN UP OR ELSE, AND AFTER WE WERE MARRIED, THE FREE LUNCH WAS OVER. THEY COULD COME OVER DURING THE EARLY EVENING HOURS, AND SIT FOR A CHAT. YEA, WELL, THAT WAS THE END OF THAT OLD GANG OF MINE. I WAS FORCED TO MATURE, SOBER UP, AND TAKE SOME MEASURES TO IMPROVE MY LIVING HABITS. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? SHE MADE ME LEAVE MY HOCKEY EQUIPMENT ON THE PORCH. AND A CAT BEGAN LIVING IN IT! TOMMY. WE LET HIM INTO THE HOUSE BUT THE HOCKEY EQUIPMENT HAD TO STAY OUTDOORS.
IT WASN'T THE BIGGEST OR MOST LAVISH WEDDING IN TOWN, BUT IT WAS KIND OF A CELEBRITY EVENT. THAT KIND OF THING HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE THE EDITOR OF THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER, AND IMBEDDED IN THE LOCAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY (AND THE NEW TOWN MUSEUM). I'M NOT BRAGGING, BUT WE DID HAVE SOME INTERESTING FOLKS SPEAKING FOR US AT THE RECEPTION, INCLUDING A PROFESSIONAL GOLFER, A FORMER TORONTO ARGONAUT, A NEWSPAPER PUBLISHER, A MUSIC DIRECTOR, SEVERAL BUSINESS MAGNATES, AND A BUNCH OF MY WRITING CRONIES WHO TOASTED US, BUT MOSTLY TOASTED THEMSELVES. SUZANNE WATCHED THEM OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE, EXPECTING AT LEAST ONE OF THEM TO FALL INTO THE PUNCH BOWL.
ON SUZANNE'S SIDE, THERE WERE SOME SIGNIFICANT MEMBERS OF THE LAKE ROSSEAU COTTAGE COMMUNITY, SUPPORTING THE STRIPP FAMILY, KNOWN FOR THEIR OPERATION OF THE WINDERMERE MARINA AND "THE SKIPPER" CAFE (ABOVE THE MARINA), AND THEIR CONNECTION TO THE OLD WOODEN BOATS OF MUSKOKA. I WAS YOU SEE, MARRYING INTO A FAMILY KNOWN FOR THEIR CRAFTSMANSHIP AROUND THESE OLD BOATS, SUCH AS THE "SHIRL-EVON," ONE OF THE LARGEST DITCHBURNS EVER BUILT, THAT SUZANNE'S FATHER, NORMAN, USED AS A LIVERY BOAT, TAKING COTTAGERS BACK AND FORTH TO THEIR RESIDENCES ON TOBIN'S ISLAND. EVEN OUR ENGAGEMENT PARTY WAS A MINOR MEDIA-EVENT, HELD AT THE MAGNIFICENT LAKE ROSSEAU COTTAGE, OWNED BY OUR FAMILY FRIENDS, SYLVIA AND ERNIE DUVERNET. THEIR SON TIM, OUR STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER, AND LONG TIME FRIEND, WAS IN MY WEDDING PARTY. AT THE ENGAGEMENT EVENT, WE WERE SURPRISED OUT OF OUR WITS, WHEN THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR OF ONTARIO SHOWED UP, THE HONORABLE JOHN BLACK AIRD. WE HAD ARRIVED IN NORM'S WOODEN LAUNCH, AND I'VE GOT TO TELL YOU……I WAS WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE. I THINK I WAS WEARING SNEAKERS. SUZANNE'S MOTHER JUST KEPT GIVING ME THE EVIL EYE, AND SHAKING HER HEAD, WONDERING WHAT HER DAUGHTER WAS GETTING INTO….HER FATHER DIDN'T HAVE TO SHAKE HIS HEAD. HE JUST KNEW. I WAS GOING TO BE THE SON-IN-LAW HE NEVER WANTED……BUT WAS TOO DARN NICE TO ADMIT IT, IN ORDER TO SPARE MY FEELINGS. NOPE. HIS DAUGHTER'S.
THE DUVERNET FAMILY THREW US AN AMAZING SUMMER PARTY ON THE LAKE, AND YES IT WAS THE WHO'S WHO OF THE LAKESHORE COMMUNITY. WELL KNOWN MUSKOKA HISTORIAN ROBERT J. BOYER WAS THERE AS WELL. SUZANNE'S COUSIN DOUG BILLINGSLEY HAD MARRIED BOB'S DAUGHTER, VICTORIA, SO NOT ONLY WAS HE ONE OF MY BOSSES, HE WAS ALSO ONE OF THE EXTENDED FAMILY. IN FACT, SON ROBERT WAS NAMED AFTER MR. BOYER, WHICH SEEMED TO PLEASE HIM. IT DIDN'T MEAN HE GAVE ME ANY LESS WORK AT THE OFFICE…..OR ANY SPECIAL PRIVILEGES OUR CONNECTIONS MIGHT HAVE INFLUENCED. WHICH WHEN MARRYING INTO THE SHEA AND VEITCH FAMILIES, AS WELL, MEANT WITH THE FIRST KISS AFTER OUR VOWS, THAT I BECAME A MUSKOKAN BY MARRIAGE. THAT WAS NICE, CONSIDERING I'D BEEN AN OUTSIDER FROM 1966 TO 1983.
SUZANNE GREW UP IN THE VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE. THE FAMILY HOME WAS OPPOSITE THE BALDWIN'S RESORT, NOT FAR FROM THE WINDERMERE GOLF AND COUNTRY CLUB, AND WINDERMERE HOUSE. NORM AND HIS WIFE HARRIET (SHEA), PURCHASED THE LAKESHORE HOMESTEAD THAT HAD BEEN BUILT BY HIS FATHER, SAM STRIPP, OPPOSITE THE CHANNEL BETWEEN FLORENCE AND WELLSLEY ISLANDS. I USED TO GET A KICK OUT OF THIS, BECAUSE THE HOUSE AND THE COTTAGE WERE LESS THAN TWO MILES APART. WHEN THEY RAN THE MARINA, IT WAS A KIND OF TRIANGULAR RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN HOME, WORK AND RECREATION. OF COURSE, AS SUZANNE TELLS THE STORY, IT WASN'T THE CASE THEY WERE WEALTHY, BECAUSE WHEN THE SUMMER ROLLED AROUND, SHE WOULD MOVE WITH HER PARENTS TO THE SMALL APARTMENT AT THE MARINA, WHERE HER PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT WAS A FEW FEET OUT THE DOOR, TO THE SKIPPER KITCHEN. THE HOUSE WOULD BE RENTED OUT, AS WOULD THE COTTAGE AND THE GUEST COTTAGE UNTIL THE AUTUMN. LIKE MANY MUSKOKANS, SHE AND HER FAMILY WORKED FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET TO MAKE ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY THE BILLS, TAKE A MODEST WAGE, AND HOPEFULLY HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO WEATHER THE WINTER, AS THEY SAY.
I MARRIED INTO LOCAL HISTORY…..AND OF THIS, I'M SO VERY PLEASED
I'd met Suzanne while both of us were students at Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School. It was in Brian Smith's geography class in fact. We hit it off well. She was a good student, who answered a lot of questions posed by Mr. Smith, and got decent grades. I stared out the window, hated school, wanted to be in a canoe on some Muskoka lake, and thought about writing a novel, profiling a student who becomes accidentally enchanted, becomes an author, who gets a nickel-an-hour-job working for the community press. Geez, what a stunted imagination I had back then.
At graduation, I went off to York University with my three chums, and by that point, I'd gone through a fair number of girlfriends, who eventually found out this "writing" obsession, made me a distant partner, more concerned about walks in the woods, to compose chapters, than to steal a romantic kiss beneath a shade tree. Romance has never been my strong suit. I even refuse to hold hands, but that's more of a claustrophobia thing. I was given the proverbial heave-ho, by a long time girlfriend, for roughly the same thing as the others. So I went through a five year hiatus of dates here and there, and each ended as predictably as the others. I was asked to join Women Haters Anonymous, as their poster guy. It seems that being romantically involved with a reporter / columnist / historian was slightly lacking, and then of course there was the over consumption of booze. When Suzanne and I did meet up again, it was through two of my teacher friends at the time, and the event that put us together, strangely enough, was the Muskoka Winter Carnival. I was there loosely covering an indoor event at the Bracebridge Centennial Centre, and Suzanne came along with the girls to dance with Skokie the winter weasel.
I often read the memorials written by writing colleagues, for their journalism mates who have, for a number of reasons involving excess, succumbed to poor health. Some are the result of old age. Many are the result of lives lived too hard, for too long. Young writers who became old before their time. I sometimes wonder what will be said of me, when the last of my writing colleagues shovel earth upon my coffin; the testimonials of those writer-kind and historical types who knew me in life? I' pretty sure it will be like a roast, and the wake will be a dandy. My old buds will show up with a pole and dancers, I'm sure of it! Gads, how morbid is this? My point is, as relates to my bride, is that I'd really like my tribute to read as follows;
"Ted Currie, writer, historian, (mild pain in the ass) and antique dealer, passed away the result of accidentally falling off his high horse. He is survived by his two musician sons, Andrew and Robert Currie, and his life-partner Suzanne, who is credited, with saving her late husband's life on many occasions, when he worked too long for his own good, was threatened with death by angry readers, who may have imbibed more than he should have, and who defended his honor with unyielding resolve, that somewhere under that thick, thorny exterior, was a decent Muskoka-loving man."
Monday was our wedding anniversary. It was back in 1983 when Dave Whiteside, a teaching colleague, and former Toronto Argonaut, toasted our new married life, as did mentors in our lives, such as John Rutherford, the music man, and Jim McLeod, pro of the Windermere Golf and Country Club. We were honored that day by many who knew us from our respective former lives, who frankly had some doubts, whether Mr. Currie could ever settle down and be a good husband, and father. Their trust however, meant a lot to us, and it should make them feel some pride, that the blessing they gave us then, has served us in good stead ever since. I even became a Mr. Mom, for both boys, over a lot of years, and believe me, it was the transition you usually read about in the pages of Ripleys "Believe it or Not."
As it relates to my obituary, or memorial editorials one day, I would like to pre-write a section, of quotes they can borrow. Instead of recognizing me, for my writing accomplishments…..there have been a few good ones, I would like to throw a final bouquet to my wife, for having put up with my eccentricities for all these years, allowing me to pursue my writing ambitions, and never once, throwing the towel in on a husband, who can be obstinate, moody, childish and standoffish, at the same moment in time. God love her for sticking with me, through a lot more thick than thin. She deserves the credit for my accomplishments…..mores than me. Honestly.
I have had a good married life, and I can only hope my wife feels the same. We are kindred spirits. Even as polar opposites, we both come together like two peas in a pod, when family values are involved. Even before we had children, Suzanne and I made a pact. That we would never, ever use a non-family member as a babysitter. We were true to our promise. Those who know us, will appreciate how close we all are, and when new brides come along for the boys, well, we have a harvest table at Birch Hollow that sits six comfortably. I might call her the "old ball and chain," as she calls me, with unspecified affection, "the old bugger who wanders aimlessly around here," but when it comes down to the final kiss at bedtime, we are still the same good friends who made a marital promise, way back when…..to challenge every obstacle as a pair, laughing and crying, hoping and praying……but never giving up on the other, no matter what the consequence. I hope we made our respective parents proud, that the marriage they may have had doubts about, has lasted all these years…..with only a few little tiffs now and again.
I didn't forget our anniversary even though she expected I would……like last year and the year before. Deep down, she knows I'm hers for ever, and I guess…..by the fact she's still here beside me now, we've got a few years left to go of loving and sparring in the long tradition of a happy marriage.
No comments:
Post a Comment