Why would I be so emotional driving by Glen Isle on my recent trip down 285? Was it sadness, resentment, hostility, longing, freedom, gladness? 34 years earlier Pete and I had spent that snowy night of our wedding day at Glen Isle. We had been married in Evergreen, and the post-nuptial ride from Witter Gulch to Bailey was treacherous. The week before our wedding it had snowed almost three feet in our little valley. Then we had some midweek melting. Then it proceeded to snow a foot or so on the day we said our I do's. April 28th, 1984.
Not even 1/3 into my drive from South Suburban Denver to Montrose I was driving by the abandoned, possibly decrepit Glen Isle. It is for sale for the first time since 1924. I knew that few months back because the power of the internet is infinite (read: sarcastic) and the news came across my feed somewhere. I actually copied the link and sent it to my wusband, because why not? Why not share the warm fuzziness of nostalgia. It has always been a dream of Pete's to buy a B & B, or a dude ranch. So I thought why not feed his bygone vision or at least torture his soul with this update.
What surprised me was that the lodge had no cars when I drove by and an enormous For Sale sign on that strip of land that divides the lodge from the highway. But tears?? So not like me. (can I really say that if I was on the verge of crying?) For heaven sake, I am driving - straighten up and pull yourself together, I admonish myself. Put dry eyes on the road, not teary, sentimental, tissue needing orbs.
What emotion am I feeling? Am I as happily divorced as I proclaim? Yes! Do I miss Pete? Occasionally. Am I sad about the way I perceive his relationship with our three grown children? Yes, that might be a clue. Sometimes I do miss being a part of. Part of a marriage. Part of a family. Part of a household.
Ah, but there is plenty I do not miss. Yelling. That is being yelled at, and also being the one to open my mouth. I don't miss the lack on equanimity, feeling as though the loads I carried; kids, financial, household were greater than those of my supposed partner. Pete did a few things quite well. He was a proficient woodworker and could hide away in his shop for hours or whole weekends working on a project or two. Our lawn and garden were impeccable. He managed the checkbook and paying the bills.
But he also spent a lot of money. His money, my money, our money. When he exited our marital home and took everything he said he needed or wanted there was enough camping gear left behind to outfit an entire scout troop. The man was a quasi-hoarder of sorts. If one cookbook on pasta was good, three was better. If a flannel shirt looked nice in green, why not buy the blue, orange and red at the same time. Speaking of flannel - I married Paul Bunyan and divorced a metro-sexual.
This burly (almost) Denver native who camped, hiked, cooked, gardened, chopped wood, changed the oil in our vehicles, wore that aforementioned flannel shirt, bear of a man with a mustache and beard and work boots and a down vest turned into a soft, fake-bake, highlighted hair kind of urban dude. Not quite a hipster, that word wasn't popularized yet. Not androgynous, but not a beefcake anymore. Sometimes it shocks me to see him. Where did my mountain man disappear to?
Reexamining the emotions I listed in the first paragraph - I am going to choose one and stick to it. I pick sadness. I was positive that when I said "I Do", I would. I would stay married. I would honor those long recited vows; sickness, health, better, worse, rich, poor... I would always be communicative, I would never go to bed angry. I remember it was just like that for a few years. The part I think we both missed was the respect, love and cherishing. I pick sadness because I am sad that my kids have divorced parents. I am sad that after almost twenty-five years we called it quits. I am sad my ex-husband quickly remarried. Was I that easy to replace? Though much to his credit, she is not a younger, newer version.
I am also really happy. Happy that I only need to worry about my own happiness, nutrition, bedtime, vacation plans, daily routine. This list is infinite. I am also really joyous. For many years, I felt a thumbprint pressing upon my heart. Divorce was a release of joy. I am always being told I am radiant, and at 58, that is most certainly an inside job. I am also really free. That is probably the best part. Practically a reincarnation of my teenage self.
Au Revoir Glen Isle. May your next iteration by happy, joyous and free.
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