The Autumn of my life: A reflection. #threetunetuesday

I have been a hivian now for close to 4 year, and apart from the initial “this is me blog”, I haven’t said much about myself. I am not that important would anyone be interested? Hey here is my story, with music. Three tunes that bring it home.

Now, as I am like the golden leaves, on the trees waiting to float on the wind I am in the Autumn of my life. I think I have had a good life, an interesting life, living by the motto: “Go to your grave regretting the things you have done rather than rueing the things you have missed”

There has been much joy and laughter in my life, sadness too, married three times, widowed three times. Funny how this journey from cradle to grave develops, nothing is simple. “ A long and winding road” indeed.

My first marriage, I married young, childhood sweethearts and all that, sadly ended less than a year after the knot was tied. It was sudden, it was unexpected, it was tragic. One moment we were at the dining table, Christine enjoying a mushroom risotto I had prepared for her supper, me a simple tomato and basil pasta. The next thing she had collapsed and was lying on the floor lifeless. RIP my beloved.

’Tis funny how grief brings people closer together, it was at her cremation I felt a comforting arm around my shoulder as I tried to hold it together. You know “real men don’t cry” and all that. That touch has stayed with me, it was like an electric shock, or maybe it was just me being over sensitive at the time.

I had never really embraced Christine’s friends, not my sort of people if the truth be told, but now, looking at the face of my comforter, Susan, I realised she had eyes that could melt ice.

Is it so wrong to fall in love so easily?

It happened, a whirlwind romance of sorts, based I guess if I am being honest on pure lust, Susan was insatiable, not that I was complaining. At times it was hard to keep up with her demands her needs and wants, but I am happy to say I rose to the occasion. I guess it was her uncontrollable desire that led to us becoming swingers, travelling the length and breadth of the country to hook up with like minded people. Our wedding reception was a real “Love shack baby yeah”!

I shall say no more.

I did enjoy spoiling her, I remember even now her 25th birthday, “a milestone” so she hinted.

The single solitaire sapphire necklace that matched her eyes would do the trick. I knew I would place it around her neck when her little black dress slowly fell from her body after we had enjoyed the celebratory meal I had prepared; her favourite, mushroom biryani. Too mild for me I enjoyed a chicken vindaloo.

My time in the kitchen was appreciated, I slipped into the drawing room to retrieve the gift, smiling in anticipation of seeing it adorn a slender neck.

I was gone minutes, only minutes, Susan head on the table fast asleep or so it seemed, well we had downed a couple of bottles of Argentinian Malbec. One doesn’t sleep with one’s eyes wide open, Oh dear god alive! Why me? why? RIP my love.

Like an empty crisp packet in the wind I floated aimlessly for what seemed like years. I was inconsolable, although welcomed with open arms, the swingers clubs seemed to offer no consolation for my loss.

It was when I was attending a group therapy session for my increasing dependence on vodka “ Hi, I am Stephen I am an alcoholic, it has been 412 days sober”.

— “Welcome Stephen” a chorus of responses,— one voice in particular seemed to hit me and hit me hard, in a good way. Laura, a kindred soul.

I never knew I would ever be attracted to an older woman, Laura was twenty years my senior, a widow, but she was what I needed in my life I guess.

Maybe just maybe she needed a younger man to entertain and amuse her. Six months later my house is on the rental market and we were man and wife in her rather palatial country pad.

Three floors of beauty, but why would we ever need six bedrooms? I must be honest I had skirted around the idea of it becoming a venue for, you know, my old swinging habits, but alas Laura was a one man kind of woman. Ho hum.

Although I love cooking I guess the one pain in the ass of being married to a vegetarian is the nuisance of always having to prepare different meals; breakfast though is a no brainer, an easy peasy mealtime at weekends. Me the full english with extra fried bread. Usually dishing up Laura a simple mushroom omelette.

I was ravenous and we had a long Saturday ahead, wolfed it down. Laura left hers untouched, no worries, it can go in the bin; she just sipped on her cappuccino, before we both climbed the wooden hill to get dressed for the day.

She looked quite snazzy I have to say in some wide flared denim jeans and a tight fitting tie dyed blouse, I was in one of those “what do I wear” moods and as she had some phone calls to make I told her I would see her downstairs in half an hour or so.

Oh no, the blood was freely flowing onto the parquet flooring from her head, I must have missed the sounds of the stumble and fall down the stairs, maybe the music I had playing on the walkman drowned them out. One of my favourite tracks. RIP my sweet.

Now the years have passed and I am sitting in my wingback arm chair reflecting.

Why did she fall downstairs?

The answer really is quite simple, and stays with me to the grave.

She wouldn’t eat the fucking mushrooms