He felt content within his surroundings and didn’t like straying far from home. He found solace in the comfortable blue chair in the living room, the one that twirled around and faced “the seven windows of creation.” He created those words to describe the view. The west hills of Portland energized him and provided comfort and clarity. I was the fly that couldn’t find a good place to land. I move and still do rapidly and erratically. Many times, I’m not sure of the destination but know it will be one hell of a ride.

He spoke with the voice of a baritone, a strong, self-assured voice that resonated but in a good way. When people heard him speak, they were immediately engaged. He was constantly asking me to speak up I tend to have a voice that’s low and muffled. This came from years of never wanting to be heard amidst the chaos and shouting that was home.

He had a terrible sense of direction but wouldn’t admit it. I remember walking around Venice for several hours one evening as we searched for our hotel. Every turn produced another turn and another. He refused to stop and ask directions. I wondered how anyone could be so stubborn and pigheaded. The lights were getting darker and darker inside people’s homes and there were few if any streetlights. Finally, he stopped at a hotel to get help. Of course, he couldn’t retain all the information and I ended up remembering for both of us.

I don’t know why we gelled so well. Encouraging each other, working together harmoniously, being protective of one another, and finding humor in the day-to-day.

I’m very tidy and he was a slob. A slob who came by it honestly. He was the harbinger of everything you could pick up off the ground. Bits of paper, rubber bands, paper clips, coins, ticket stubs, etc. He hoarded paper and books. We paid a hefty sum each month for a storage locker. That way, the books wouldn’t overtake our condominium. I enjoy having some semblance of order. The clothes in my closet are hung according to season and type. All the pants go together; all the blouses go together…Even the hangers face the same direction.

His temperament was even and predictable. When he raged it was like a small blip on the radar scale. My rages were fitful and eruptive like a volcano. I had to disappear for a while for fear someone might think I was certifiable. He wanted me to talk things over and I wanted to become a recluse. Leave me to my own devices and eventually this anger and hostility would pass.

I always cried when I was really unhappy, and would say that I was more emotional than him. Although there were many moments throughout our marriage where he’d show his emotions. He was not embarrassed or afraid to reveal that vulnerable side.

When he was a much younger man in his forties, he was slim, handsome, and finely built; he had a moustache and a lot more hair than he did later in life. He reminded me of the cartoon character Ziggy. A broad smile, bald head and a round nose. Ziggy only wears a shirt and he typically has on no pants or shorts. Mel was far more stylish in a suit or while wearing a sweater and nice pants. 

He detested traveling. Eventually, he’d experience the wonder of a new place but would be cantankerous and anxious while walking through the airport, while seated at the gate area, and on board the aircraft. This made me crazy and agitated. Not an enjoyable experience. I still hear his loud voice lingering in my ears: “Linda, where are the passports, Linda where is the money, Linda, where are the boarding passes, and why are we not seated together?”

He liked meatloaf, spaghetti and meatballs, fried eggs, and popcorn. Even to this day, I like experimenting with food and never settle for something simple and plain. I would much rather have the crème brulé, salmon niçoise, and steak tartare.

He liked to take his time and was thorough and exact. He’d always tell me to “drill down” and pay attention to the smaller details. I do everything swiftly and without much forethought. 

The love that held us together was strong, like a deeply rooted oak.