His Chair Came Between us!

Last night, while watching a rom-com, I realized that couples often sit side-by-side and snuggle on a couch.

Even commercials depict couples that way.

And it dawned on me in the twenty-seven years I was with my husband (seven dating, twenty married) we never, ever shared the couch. Instead, he always chose to sit in his comfy lounge chair.

I never had the comforting opportunity to rest my head on his chest. Hold hands while we watched TV or have him stretched out with his head in my lap.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. However, perhaps in hindsight it’s telling of our relationship. A red-flag that went unnoticed. A small aspect of the larger situation that ultimately resulted in our separation.

Of course, we had intimacy—we had three sons’ together—but as I look back, I’m aware intimate moments outside the bedroom were missing; a glace across a crowded room only we understood. The squeeze of a hand that says “it’ll be okay.” Scheduled time just for us.

Did I ask for any of this? Foolishly, no. Did I offer it? Sadly, no.

We got busy and lazy, and because of life circumstances, survival took precedence over romance.

Eventually, our communication took the form of sarcasm and swipes at each other labeled with “just kidding.”

Our conversations reduced to bullet points, like the synopsis of a meeting. 

Maybe if from the start we’d shared the couch, and he didn’t have his chair, we wouldn’t have fallen apart if!

 

The Man Versus Bear Debate!

For several weeks, I’ve been following the man versus bear conversations on social media.

Most of the dialogue contains intelligent, valid consideration.

However, some of it seems to create an automatic male bashing knee-jerk reaction.

I’ve had my share of encountering arrogant, self-serving men. However, and I don’t take this for granted—I’ve been fortunate never to be with a man whose behavior makes me feel safer to be with a bear.

But I’m not here to gloat or judge. Perhaps the bashers, having experienced trauma at the hands of men, can only express themselves with disgust toward every male.

As a proud mother of three grown sons who embody respect, kindness, observation, and protection towards not just women but all of humanity, it deeply troubles me to witness the apathetic acceptance. The lack of determination to change.

Just saying you feel safer with a wild bear changes nothing.

We must be vigilant in teaching males of all ages appropriate behavior. Instead of ONLY addressing what is, let’s direct that angry energy toward educating men (and women) about being safer than a wild bear. Begin at home, and in schools and at workplaces.

Obviously, unless we become hermits living in the forest, we will be in the presence of men.

Not all of them are wretched creatures. Proof that somehow, somewhere along the way, they acquired the knowledge of how to behave appropriately.

And, apart from mental health issues, we have the ability to teach all males (and females) right from wrong.

Let’s instill in humans appropriate ways to interact with each other. Let’s use the brains and intellect we have to be better than a wildlife creature.

With enough collective effort, we can accomplish change if we choose to do so.

Golden Bachelor/Bachelorette Let’s Get Real!

I’ve never been a fan of ABC’s Bachelor nation. However, being a single female, in the over fifty-five demographic, The Golden Bachelor series caught my interest. 

I honestly had high hopes of seeing people finding love later in life. Despite the episodes becoming more cringy, week after week, and my disappointment in what they consider reality growing exponentially, I stuck with it until the end.

And a gluten for ugh, I watched the wedding.

At first, Bachelor Gerry seemed attractive (I mean okay honestly he is) as well as kind and appealing. But the second he spoke—good grief, the constant emotional breakdowns—and his deep attachment to every woman, like dishwater, his appeal spiraled down the drain. 

And the coifed, affluent women. Yeah, not even close to most of our reality!

If I bet on their fairy tale wedding ending in divorce a few months later, I would have won. Same for betting he’d be out looking for his next conquest minutes later.

So now they’re preparing for the Golden Bachelorette. Out of curiosity I’ll tune in, but odds are I won’t watch until the end. I can’t handle fakery in real life. I’m sure as heck not subjecting myself to it for entertainment.

So here’s what I’d love for the powers in television land to give us. Authentic single men and women in their second half of life finding their forever love. 

I want to see dad bods, crows feet, and thinning hair. ladies with some cellulite and wrinkles. Real people doing real jobs, or enjoying retirement while living on a fixed income. 

I’d gravitate toward watching—and learning—as they navigate dating and romance and intimacy in the somewhat awkwardness that comes with aging. When you’re self-assurance has waned a bit. And life’s ups and downs have made you open to love, while still a bit wary because you’ve learned discovering that special someone isn’t for the faint of heart. 

Most of all, whether they’re fifty or ninety, no matter if its “reality TV” or regular hopeful romantics like me seeking a loving partner to roam through life with, I want to see people who are comfortable in their own skin, just as they are.

Celebrating a life well lived without pretense and facades.

 

Romance literature isn’t just for women!

Recently, I mentioned to a mid-thirties male friend that my debut romance novel, Love Later, was published.

He said “I’d love to read it.” And with a laugh, I added the disclaimer “it’s kind of ‘chic-lit’”

He grimaced. “Don’t disparage it like that. I love all things romance.” 

His statement got me thinking. To my chagrin, I was being sexist. When, in fact, there are men who enjoy romance.

However, somewhere along humanity’s journey, society created an absurd unwritten declaration that real men should enjoy reading nothing related to romance. But, perhaps because they’re insecure or fearful of being bullied, they’re hard-pressed to admit it. 

Unfiltered lust, porn grit and the like are fine. But the gentle romantic gestures that often lead to love. Nope!

And despite how much we’re evolving, in subtle ways, we continue to perpetuate the myth. 

Parents will read about pirates, dragons, superheroes, and cowboys to their little boys, but love, rainbows, and happily ever after, probably not. 

And because boys grow up believing that fluff stuff is for girls, when they reach the age for girls to enter their lives, they have very little clue about what even independent self-sufficient ladies want. 

I’m not talking about men showing brute force prowess, slaying monsters and saving the weak, distressed female.

I am referring to gestures that show they care. And exposes the raw vulnerability of men, highlighting their need for tenderness.

Men are human. Humans have emotions. Let’s normalize males displaying their soft side. Getting caught up in some mushiness, that’s not only about the end-result—a heated roll in the hay! 

It’s another way to teach men aggression, dominance, and ego-driven machoism are not attractive attributes.

I want us to make gentle leading men who bring flowers, write love notes, offer sweet affection, lament a broken heart, as appealing as superheros. 

By encouraging men to read and write romance novels with pride and enjoyment—without the labels chick-lit and women’s literature—we might create more equality, harmony and empathy that bridge the genders. 

Memories of my wedding, marriage, and its end!

Yesterday would have been my 36th wedding anniversary. However, I’m posting today because the husband always joked that if we’d married in a leap year, he’d only have to remember every four years.

He had a quirky sense of humor. I always laughed at the comment. But in hindsight and how we ended, I wonder if there was an underlying truth in the statement.

Perhaps Marriage wasn’t what he really wanted. But because we’d been together for seven years, it just happened, similar to the way we got engaged. It just happened!

February 28, 1988

Having been separated for a dozen years, living 3,000 miles apart, his passing in 2020 didn’t have a devastating effect on my life.

Still, there was sadness for the man I’d shared 27 years with—7 dating, 20 married—and with whom I had three magnificent sons.

And now it’s still strange to bear the title widow. There’s no opportunity for second chances. Or to make amends. Or start over. Did I want that? Honestly no. Logically, I knew it would never happen. Emotionally, I suppose I thought by way of some grand gesture on his part, it might!

As I look back on that day when I was a young bride. Filled with romance and hope for the future, I have some regrets; it takes two to destroy a relationship.

There were several good years. Due to fate over which we had no control, several bad.

I’m grateful for the memories and the lessons learned. And I choose to dwell on the positive, that being our sons, who are my world.

If not for our union, they wouldn’t exist. Because of that, I’d marry him again a million times.

John, I hope you’re resting easy; puffing your pipe and sipping a glass of Grand Marnier. I hope you have good memories. I hope you know I tried. I think we both did, but for us, forever wasn’t meant to be.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, love is in the air…

And, whether you’ve found your one or you’re still searching, it’s the perfect time to curl up with a heart-gripping romance novel—preferably mine. 😉

Discover the power of love, forgiveness, and resilience with Todd and Elaine as they overcome obstacles that may tear them apart or strengthen their bond forever.

Will Todd’s haunting past destroy their chance at happiness? Or will Elaine’s unconditional love be the remedy to heal him?

To find out, get your copy of Love Later—available for Kindle or in paperback—and embark on a journey of hope, transformation, and the possibility of new beginnings later in life.

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Later-Story-Helen-Holdun-ebook/dp/B0CGPLWLCF

How many frogs are you willing to kiss?

As I diligently attempt to fulfill my 2024 goal to meet someone who’ll be my soulmate, my happily ever after and real life Love Later, this old saying comes to mind: “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.”

Unless you’re a Disney Princess, there’s more to knowing you’re with your person than kissing them. In fact, for me, kissing is an intimacy that’s only shared after I’m fairly certain the person I’m locking lips with might be the right one!

Therefore, I’m changing the quote to: you have to meet a lot of frogs before you find the one.

I’m not searching for a prince or a knight in shining armor. I don’t need someone to save me or take care of me. What I desire is for a decent man to share my life with. Someone who’s kind, intelligent, open-minded, communicative, with a sense of humor and goals to pursue. With whom I can share emotions, strength, and resilience in the good times and bad. If he happens to be attractive, it’s a delightful bonus.

I want to fall in love—with all its spine tingling, toe curling magic. But it takes time, and as the years go on, time is of the essence.

Which brings me back to the point. How many chances do you take in search of Mr or Mrs Right?

We all know dating is much different from how it was. For those of us over fifty, organic meeting is the exception, not the norm. Which leaves us with on-line match-ups that can be like walking a daring tightrope. Tempting fate at every swipe right, wondering if the person we’re speaking to is a scamming credent. Add in AI, and we must be tech savvy to determine if the person is real or a bot.

The stranger danger warning from friends, and the frightening possibilities we hear every day, can push us into a despairing corner where we just give up.

However, I am not a quitter and I won’t give up on my dreams!

If we become so ensconced in looking for red flags, we’ll miss the green flags. This is where savvy common sense logic and balance kicks in.

Decades ago, when I met my late husband, an executive where I worked, he was older than me by twenty-two years, divorced with three children. My colleagues warned me he was a “flirt”, a “player who wanted one thing.”

Did I listen? Nope. We traveled a somewhat rocky road. But he never cheated, never went back on his word, nor did I. We dated for seven years, and were married for twenty before circumstances caused our marriage to end.

I have no regrets. Our union blessed me with three amazing sons and beautiful memories that far outweigh the times of strife.

Now as I now dip my toe in the dating pool, I remind myself If I had listened to the warnings all those years ago, I would have missed the life I cherish, the one that makes me who I am.

So with caution, I’ll swipe right on the men who seem plausible. I’ll meet the frogs through calls and video chats (in-person will wait until I’m comfortable) and hopefully one will be the real deal.

If not, at least I’ll know I didn’t allow fear keeping me from what might be my happily ever after. 😍

Christmas Eve, 1987!

I don’t know why I thought of this today, except I suppose Christmas brings back memories. The happy, sad, and ones that make you think hmm?

This falls under hmm?

Christmas Eve 1987… My dad and I had dinner with my BF in Connecticut and visited friends at their house.

Because I wouldn’t see the BF the next day, we exchanged gifts that evening. I never spent holidays with him as he didn’t want to upset his elderly mother and daughters from his previous marriage, by including his girlfriend.

I’d painstakingly spent weeks choosing a gift for him that he loved. However, he gifted me with makeup brushes and a cosmetics case “because you like makeup.”

While the gift I assured myself was thoughtful, after six years of dating, it was bland, like one you’d give a friend or coworker. If I’m honest, I hoped for something not expensive (price never mattered) but one that somehow said you’re my girl forever.

Driving home that night with Dad, deep in thought and a tiny bit heartbroken, I decided after the holidays that was it. If we weren’t moving forward, it was time to move on.

We spent New Year’s Eve together, welcoming in 1988. The weeks went on, and I lost my spunk. I didn’t want to end us, but I didn’t want to waste years in limbo.

Five weeks later on February 7th, 1988, we unceremoniously and unromantically got engaged and married twenty-one days later!

The following Christmas, I was happily six weeks pregnant with our first son.

And the rest of our story is history!

I have no regrets. Our union gave me my three fantastic sons; I’d do everything the same in a heartbeat.

Still, as I look back, I wonder what would have been if I had followed my Christmas Eve plan and broken up with him.

Would he have fought for me or let me walk away, as he did twenty years later?

Of course, I’ll never know, and that’s okay. I believe God has a plan, and how our lives turned out was His plan!

It was a perfect plan because of the joy my boys bring me on Christmas and every day of the year. 😍😍😍

Rainy Day Memories…

Perhaps because the sun is (mostly) always shining in Southern California, I love rainy days. But honestly, I know it’s because days like those remind me of living on the East Coast.

Not my childhood. Gloomy days added to the pervasive pall that, due to circumstances — illness, death, mourning, fear, loneliness — that even in happy times, hung over my family like a dark cloud.

The happy memories I cherish are from when my three kids were growing up. With gray skies came chilly temps. Warm and cozy, safe from the world, we’d play games, watch TV, build hot-wheel tracks and forts around the family room. I say we because despite being the adult, I joined in the. I knew how fast those sweet years would fly by, and I didn’t want to miss a moment.

On crisp Autumn Saturday mornings, no matter the weather, soccer games would be played. We’d come home, light a fire, sip hot cocoa, eat croissants, and relish the warmth.

Of course, I’m realistic enough to remember it wasn’t all perfection. We weren’t living in a sitcom. Three rambunctious boys had their moments. Teasing, arguing, getting in each other’s space, fighting for equal time with me, the computer, and video game choices.

Me begging them to settle down before their father’s booming voice broke through the frey, demanding no matter who was at fault, they all go to their rooms. It was his way of parenting. A combination of generational differences—he was twenty-two years older than me—and the aftereffects of the stroke he suffered when I was five months pregnant with our youngest. Physically, he was fine, but mentally, the frustration from mild aphasia and non-existent patience left me to navigate child-rearing alone. A convoluted situation. It was as if I was a single mom with the presence of another adult who also needed to be coddled.

Now, my sons are on their own. Young men creating their own memories of rainy Autumn days. It’s the sweetness and fun I choose to recall.

When the house was warm, peaceful, and filled with love from the three beautiful gifts I’d been given: my precious boys. Who became my anchors, my purpose, my life.

Would I go back and do it over, the good and the bad? Absolutely, in a heartbeat. But that’s not real life. So, instead of building tracks and playing games, I put my fingers to the keyboard and relive the moments, focusing only on what was as perfect as life can be. All the while creating new memories of what is that will someday be what I recall with love and a smile.

Rainy day memories!

Perhaps because the sun is (mostly) always shining in Southern California, is why I love gray rainy days. But honestly, I know it’s because days like this remind me of living on the East Coast.

Not my childhood. Gloomy days added to the pervasive pall that due to circumstances — illness, death, mourning, fear, loneliness — that even in happy times hung over my family like a dark cloud.

The happy memories I cherish of days like yesterday are from when my three kids were growing up. With gray skies came chilly temps. Warm and cozy, safe from the world, we’d play games, watch TV, build hot-wheels tracks and forts around the family room. I say we, because despite being the adult, I joined in the. I knew how fast those sweet years would fly by, and I didn’t want to miss a moment.

On crisp Autumn Saturday mornings, no matter the weather, soccer games would be played. We’d come home, light a fire, sip hot cocoa, eat croissants and relish the warmth.

Of course I’m realistic enough to remember it wasn’t all perfection, we weren’t living in a sitcom. Three rambunctious boys had their moments. Teasing, arguing, getting in each other’s space, fighting for equal time with me, the computer and video game choices.

Me begging them to settle down, before their father’s booming voice broke through the fray, demanding no matter who was at fault, they all go to their rooms. It was his way of parenting. A combination of generational difference—he was twenty-two years older than me—and the aftereffects of the stroke he suffered when I was five months pregnant with our youngest. Physically, he was fine, but mentally he changed. His frustration from mild aphasia and non-existent patience left me to navigate child-rearing alone. A convoluted situation. It was as if I was a single mom with the presence of another adult, who also needed to be heard and coddled.

Still as I sit alone, rain beating against my window, and my sons are now on their own. Young men creating their own memories of rainy autumn days. It’s the sweetness and fun I choose to recall.

When the house was warm, peaceful, and filled with love from the three beautiful gifts I’d been given; my precious boys. Who became my anchors, my purpose, my life!

Would I go back and do it over, the good and the bad? Absolutely, in a heartbeat. But that’s not real life. So instead of building tracks and playing games, I put fingers to keyboard and relive the moments, focusing only on what was as perfect as life can be. All the while creating new memories of what is, which will someday be, what I recall with love and a smile.