BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Part 1 of 12…

What’s a nice girl like you… Doin’ married to that guy?

We’ll get to that in a minute. Right now I just have to say that I absolutely loved that bit from The Princess Bride.

“Mahwage…Mahwage is what bwings usth togethwerrrr …tooooo-dayyyyyy.”

Of course, I actually got a huge kick out of the whole movie. I even own the DVD… But, like usual, I didn’t come here to talk to you about a 1987 comedy. Well, not one that spent time on the big screen, anyway…

The reality is this: I get asked, more often than you can imagine, how it is that E K and I met up, “lell in fuhve”, and came to be hitched. I fully suspect that there is a kind of interest there born of circus sideshows. You know, the train wreck awe of seeing “Timmy the ape boy” or “Lulu the tattooed lady”. What I mean is, my guess would be what’s really going through their minds at the time is, “How in the hell did a troll like you end up with a hot babe like her?” But, in the end that is really just my own self-deprecating insecurity showing through.

I usually tell myself to ignore what my off-kilter grey matter “thinks” they are asking and simply answer the query with an abbreviated rendition of the  true and bizarre tale. You know, just enough to tell them what time it is in at least four geographical zones, but not quite enough to explain exactly how to build a clock. However there is an inherent problem with that approach, because more often than not it just ends up begging a few more questions. And then a few more… And then a few more…  Until finally, the entire story has been told, albeit in a roundabout and somewhat disjointed fashion – and as always, leaving out something or even some things entirely, simply because the discombobulated sequence has confused me and I forgot.

The truth is, the full span of our story is semi-complicated. I say semi because it isn’t really fraught with major complexities – just a few bumps, a couple of dips, a hill or two, a small mountain, and a handful of incidents that read like a script for an episode of a sitcom. All in all, no different than anyone else’s “love story”, other than the fact that it’s our story, and not their story. Know what I mean?

Because it truly is a FAQ when I am on the road, and even in email from interested fans, I had this bright idea that maybe I should blog about it.  Get the story out in the open and in a chronological, coherent fashion so that the next time I am asked I can say,  “Here’s the thumbnail sketch, but if you want the whole story, then you should read my blog…” I mean, how’s that for a segue to my website, eh? (no, not the mall cop electric two wheeler thingy – I’m talking about the  actual meaning of the word and all that).

Besides, when you get right down to it there is also that whole dying brain cell factor to consider. I mean, since I’m getting old and stuff like that, it might be  time to think about recording these important memories for posterity (or, posterior as the case may be) before I lose them for good. I mean, hey, my kid might need something to laugh at in her later years when I am in Depends^TM, drooling all over myself, and being a burden on her. (You see, I think E K will probably still be a hot babe and most likely have run off with “Ricardo the Pool Boy” at that point… I’m pretty sure I’m her picture in the attic so to speak. As the years go by, I just keep getting greyer and she keeps getting prettier…)

Well, moving on, I think we all know how bright ideas can turn out to be really intense Xenon flashes with no diffusion filter fired directly into your face, or in some cases just a really dim flashlight with almost dead batteries. It all just goes back to perspective, I suppose. At any rate, I think maybe  this particular stroke of brilliance is kind of like a whole row of  bulbs in one of those fancy, flashy signs, winking on and off in a taunting fashion. Why? Well, allow me to explain… You see, when I sat down to compose this blog, I gave it a bit of thought. First I had the initial question to answer, and then there were the often forwarded followups…

Yeah, you guessed it… Dominos began to fall, and before I knew it I realized that this “little ditty ’bout E K and Murv” was in no way something Mister Mellenkamp would be able to condense into 4 or 5 verses over  approximately 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 minutes. I mean, he’s good…real good, in my opinion. I am actually a fan… Loved Scarecrow. Great CD…

But, I really shouldn’t go off on that tangent…

You see, the thing is this story has legs – and, I mean besides those shapely gams belonging to E K herself – yet another tangent that could keep me occupied for hours, but we won’t go there in public... The simple fact of the matter is that it will take more than one song, or even music video, to do the story justice. Well… maybe if it was a music video… Hrrrmmmmm… Well, let’s just not go there either…

Seriously… it became painfully clear to me that this tale really and truly has a life of its own. One that I wasn’t going to be able to condense into one blog. Therefore, I set about the task of figuring out just what it was going to take to do it justice. Well, the answer surprised even me. All I can tell you is this – it’s way bigger than a breadbox.

And, so begins a series of blog entries. An interconnected web of how E K and I came to be a couple joined together in wedded bliss (or so they say, whoever “they” are), and moreover the insanity punctuating it all. At this stage, I have sketched outlines for 7 separate entries to tell this story. Some long, some not so long. But, in any case, 7 separate incidents throughout the process, each of which deserves its own title and place in history. Some of them are funny,  some of them are simply Hallmark Channel^TM sappy, and others are just plain “WTF” moments. But, in the end, the real point is they are all 100% true, with witnesses and everything…

And, just so we are clear, I’m not going to guarantee that the number of entries involved here won’t grow to 10, or even 12 before everything is said and done… it could happen. I am, after all, a “writer of books”, and the process kind of does that fluctuating thing at times. But, right now, I can almost assure you that there will be a minimum of 7 over and above this introduction.

So, what I would like to do now is start you off with a picture.  A picture from the first page of our wedding album (note: we did not hire a professional photographer for the basic reason that we couldn’t afford it, therefore all of our pictures in the album are candid and amateur… but, we feel that captures the moment even better than if they were truly posed.) When E K reads this blog she just might beat me about the head and shoulders for showing this pic to the world, what with it not being the most flattering of them, for either of us. But, I think it sets a tone that you will come to understand as this blog series progresses… (Note – throughout this series you will see my dear and lovely referred to as E K as I do now, as well as Kathy, her given name, and even Kat, her preferred moniker… E K has become her tongue-in-cheek persona over the years, so it is just one of those things. Suffice it to say, the three names are interchangeable and refer to the same person, just in case it seems a bit confusing…)

By way of explanation, the photo below was taken in the kitchen of our  recently purchased (recent as in 1987 when the photo was taken) “Handyman’s Fixer Upper” of a house (read between the lines here – “needs to be totally gutted and completely redone”).

That would be my young and gorgeous bride on the left, running about with a container of sugar and her mouth hanging open. The guy in orange with his back to the camera would be me.  (see, I told you it wasn’t exactly flattering.) As you can see, the house needed more than just fixing up. It needed life support, which we were both willing to provide. Unfortunately, we had just purchased the money pit less than 30 days prior to this photo being taken, and had already been spending every waking hour  when not at work, refinishing hardwood floors, patching plaster walls, rewiring, and all manner of other things involved in rehabbing a house.

Oh, and the MOST IMPORTANT point. This photo was taken a mere handful of hours prior to our actual wedding ceremony and reception, all of  which took place in our partially remodeled living room, October 31st, 1987.

But, before we can get to that, we have to back up a bit and start at the beginning… A beginning which, unfortunately was a very dark day for our country and space program. And, an even more horrible day for 7 astronauts.

January 28, 1986… The day of the Challenger disaster.

I know, I know… It seems a morbid way to start a blog series about love, romance, and marriage, but certain events in our lives are impressed upon us like technicolor still frames, individual in a sense, but interconnected by a thin thread that ties everything together and makes us whole…

More to come…

Murv

… NEXT: Mahwage: Love At First Sight…

…Or, Erma Bombeck revisited. Take your pick…

“At Wit’s End” was the title of Ms. Bombeck’s column. Or, at least, one incarnation of it. When I first started reading it in syndication it was simply titled “Erma Bombeck”.

If you are unfamiliar with this woman and her legacy, she was a humorist and writer who, to my great sadness, left us back in 1996. However, I will spare you a recounting of all the details of her career, because you can get them simply by clicking on her name since I linked it to the ErmaMuseum, which is a site celebrating her life and prose.

So, why do I bring up a long dead humorist? Well, primarily because of all those dominos I’ve been going on about as of late. You see, their sharp edges keep generating more and more leaks in my brainpan. In a recent blog, “BBC – Bureau of Blog Content” (Sunday, Jan 18, 2009) Ms. Bombeck’s name came up in relation to my rambling.

Well, as it happens, I was an avid fan of her writing. (I still am, because I haven’t yet read it all). I could easily relate to her dry humor, her take on life, and her general perspective on all that was. In short, her columns, books, and prose spoke to me.

I never had the opportunity to meet the woman, nor did anyone in my family. At least not that I am aware. And, when they were each asked about it, the reply from all was that not a one had ever so much as contacted her, much less met her.

So, why would I ask such an odd question as that? Trust me, there’s a reason I interrogated my family about Ms. Bombeck.

It all started because of another little something in her column that made me a fan. Actually, it was something contained in a particular column, and I first saw it in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch back in 1976.

Yes, 1976. The bicentennial. Fancy quarters. Red, white, and blue. Biggest 4th of July celebration to date. Yes, that 1976…

The thing that stuck out about this column were the names – not ALL of them – but those of the two major players in the story. I will let you see for yourself. There are two jpg’s of the column below. One is in its original state, as I found it when going through my father’s personal effects after his death. The other is brightened, contrasted, and enhanced via my old pal Photoshop, in hopes that it will make it easier to read after all the years it spent tucked away in a wallet.

Original

Enhanced

Notes:

1. In the left hand column, the sentence below the one that ends “…four weeks to” reads: get it fixed. You just can’t get people to…
2. In the right hand column, the sentence below the one that ends “Is the ceiling a…” reads: composition? I’ve always suspected the

(I did the above as notes because I didn’t want to risk trying to flatten out the folds in this extremely brittle piece of paper)

Now, I certainly realize the humor is dry, acerbic, and even a bit morose in some respects. But, it is still funny. On top of that, I am also well aware that the humor is somewhat dated. When I showed it to EK, though she found it amusing, her initial comment was something to the effect of, “You can certainly tell it was from a different era. She’s having a drink before she takes him to the hospital.“

While that little tidbit is certainly part of the humor, it also speaks to an era where DUI’s weren’t feared as they are today (and rightly so)…

I suspect that by now you have all picked up on at least part of what struck me with this particular column. Of course, it is the surname of the two primary characters in this story, that being Sellars. Sellars with an A, not with an E. The lesser common spelling. Sellars just like M. R. Sellars.

Now, some of you may be well aware of my full name – Murvel Russell Sellars, Jr.  When I was a kid everyone called me Rusty. I’ve mentioned that in other blogs. And, my father was known as Russell. Just like, Russell in the column.

But, if that isn’t enough by itself, the real kicker is the “primary” primary character, his wife. Yes, Virginia, believe it or not, my mother’s name was Sonja.

Sonja with a J. Not with a Y, not with an I.

It was spelled with a J, just like the Sonja in the column.

I’m dead serious. I can prove it too, though I’m not going to post copies of birth and death certificates to this blog…

In any event, Sonja and Russell Sellars, my parents, were unwittingly the stars of an Erma Bombeck column.

For the record, my father never fell through the ceiling. I do seem to recall, however, that he put his foot through a rotten spot on the roof when it was being re-shingled.

I guess that was close enough for Erma, even if it was fiction that mirrored a tidbit of truth…

Oh, and BTW, today would have been my mother’s 67th birthday. Sadly, she left us in 1987, well before Erma. Still, I like to think they managed to hook up for a drink over there on the other side, and have a laugh about it all…

More to come…

Murv