Divorce in the Age of Social Media
“It really makes you struggle, to hope for them, and know there is nothing you can explain,” my mother said in passing as the family gathering was now pressing the boundaries of the house itself.
She was referring to my cousin Angela and her husband Tariq, as well as Kaylee and Omar O’Malley. The two couples were talking animatedly in the way that only those who are in love with life and with their partner can. Life’s rich tapestry is a glorious and beautiful thing, its unfolding path an adventure rather than a soul-destroying nightmare through which larger parts of your heart are rendered asunder… (more…)
Image By: virtualphotographystudio
(Excerpt From Facebook Ate My Marriage. Republished with permission from Hell Bent Press and the Author)
With my certificate in and a general sense of agitation regarding the time issue, I did something I normally would not do: I called my attorney’s assistant. “Did you get the certificate?” I asked, like the kindergartener who wants to see his mommy hang up his finger painting on the refrigerator. (more…)
Image by: by dvsChapter 35: The Epic Story of Harry and Jillian McDade
(Excerpt From Facebook Ate My Marriage. Republished with permission from Hell Bent Press and the Author)
Walking along with my cigars, a clipper, lighter and Gertrude in tow, I made my way to settle down in what I have now designated as my smoking room. I took care to wave at the neighbors across the way – again using all five fingers, and noted that Mr. Hershaw’s lawn had not been clipped. I also saw a brown patch forming in his side yard.
Ignoring this, I settled in to smoke, spit and ask questions of my mother. I will relay to you here the fairly unexpurgated version of the story of my great-grand-parents, as several matters of family history and various apocryphal accounts (which were kinder than the reality) needed to be addressed. (more…)
There are few things like a new crisis to distract you from your present crisis. So the Facebook dust up (that now included casual acquaintances who gathered to monitor the live Internet theater production and a Ph.D. candidate who was doing her thesis on the corrosive nature of social network media) was in some ways a welcome break from the tedium of the larger life crisis that was looming. It is also a time when you can reflect upon the sources from which you draw your inspiration and strength during life’s tribulations: family.
To understand the Lynns and the MacDhubhshiths, you must understand that family is, if properly constructed, largely matrilineal; the most relevant family traits are in the female line. As our family (that is, my parents generation and earlier) is a matriarchy, the men tend to gravitate towards women who are strong willed, independent and intelligent. This generally works. The MacDhubhshith and Lynn families are known for their humor, work ethic and burying their own. Both families, being matrilineal in nature, also practice a peculiar religion that I will discuss later, as it is an issue unto itself. (more…)
To chart Facebook’s role in DeeAnn’s planning is difficult, as the process of divorce is one of discovery. That there was a plan is clear, that I was not participating in it as expected is equally clear.
In March, the day before we were to travel to Nashville, Tennessee, on what was to be my first vacation in two years, DeeAnn had an “Episode.” I mark it as an “Episode” in distinction from the numerous fits, rages and generally bad moods which had become part of daily life. What marked this one out as distinct was that she had called me at the clinic to scream about her psychiatrist’s receptionist, the misplacement of a credit card, and the poor quality of coffee on offer at fast food restaurants in the state of Florida. Her disgust with the state she punctuated by throwing the phone across the van (information that would be later related to me by our middle daughter, Heather). (more…)
Image by Genista
This morning a rabid possum was standing at my front door, circling listlessly and seemed to be breathing its last. Given my experience with Mr. Bunns, the Ubber rabbits and the death of Frank Towbridge, it might seem to you that I would on this occasion, let nature run its course. Under most circumstances that would be true. But you have not read my most recent mail. Mrs. Audrey Towbridge, unrestrained by a small dog to watch crap or a husband to kill, has given full vent to her spleen in a series of letters, memorandums and notices that have covered the entirety of our neighborhood. (more…)
There are few four letter words in the English language that bring as much joy to the human heart as the word “FREE.” (more…)
If you think that the Thanksgiving gathering was a somber affair, of reflecting upon the horrors of the decimation of my domestic life with wringing hands and the worried faces of extended relatives, you would be wrong. It was, as are all our tribal gatherings, a raucous reconnection of the extended family, with humor, food, stories, and games. I was not in the center of this, but that was part of the evolution of family gatherings. You are in the center of them only when you are a kid. When you are a teenager, you hang petulantly on the fringe, with a surly contempt – until a cousin who is equally surly and contemptuous cracks a joke and soon you are in the mix of things. (more…)
One of the features that the day offered was the certainty that it would be spent entirely away from home. The attraction of this is self-evident as it was a Saturday which was normally when the younger Lynns would have their sports activities, an integral part of my weekends. So Saturday was always a difficult day to get through – as was Sunday, and just about any of the days. But I digress (frequently).
Arising as my normal workweek schedule did demand, I went through my usual preparations, saw Gertrude through his morning walk, fed the Raptors and Gildy, unloaded, loaded and ran the dishes. Then, before departing, rapped upon the door of the eldest and increasingly nocturnal Lynn child, and shouted, “I am leaving now!”
Bryce gave a salutatory grunt to the information conveyed and lapsed back into his state of insensible unconsciousness. In principle, I believe I give him these notices of my whereabouts to be a good father and roommate. Yet there is a part of me that remembers 11 years of fists hammering on my door at all hours of the morning, bedroom door locks being picked for mid-coital (more…)
