First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

What If Marriage Makes You Lonelier?

Vanishing Point
by Freya Manfred

The moment arrives when you say,
“I don’t dislike this man,
but how did I marry him?”
Something about his wintry voice,
the way he can’t or won’t show his face,
and how small and alone you feel
out here on earth’s curve,
driving day and night,
never reaching a destination,
until you realize you’re running parallel to him,
and you’ll never meet.

from Swimming with a Hundred Year Old Snapping Turtle. © Red Dragonfly Press, 2008.

(Image: Vertigo, Magic Staircase by Belgian artist, Leon Spilliaert, 1908)

The Wedding Vow

Sharon Olds, described as one of America’s greatest living poets, is 67 years old today. In 2005, Olds declined the invitation by First Lady Laura Bush, to read from her work and attend festivities at the White House. Depending on my mood, I respond differently to Olds’ poem, The Wedding Vow. Sometimes reading it makes me sad that I’ve never had the altar experience, but more often, I’m grateful to momentarily wrap myself in the love and commitment she beautifully describes.

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What Are Friends For?

During the Clinton years, I learned to drink Manhattans at the 500 Club, a Mission district bar in San Francisco. I no longer remember how the custom got started, but for years, like clockwork, every Monday at 6:30, John, Doris, Fred and I would grab a cozy booth by the door and order cocktails. These seasoned drinkers would laugh as I slurped my Bloody Mary, a beverage they considered strictly brunch material. It took some coaching to acquire the grownup taste for Makers Mark Manhattans, but I’ve never looked back.

Our foursome set a few ground rules. No mates. No dates. No excuses. One by one, we would go around the table, and share our latest triumphs and defeats. It was comforting to begin the week with a standing date, timed just long enough to make us hungry for the next installment. I always left the 500 Club happy, and a little drunk, then grabbed a nearby burrito and went home.

When Can We Trust Love at First Sight?

Here’s my one incident of genuine love at first sight. Genuine in the sense that decades after the first moment when our eyes locked, which was accompanied by an abiding sense of calm, we still feel the same way about each other.

Alas. My story is not about romantic love, but even so, there was an unusual certainty when I met William (my dearest friend who happens to be gay). One look and an exchange of hellos, and we were bonded for life.

Since then, I’ve locked eyes with many men, and breathlessly wondered (most recently in June), is this my true love at first sight? But not one has stood the test of time. Not one except William. And I’ve decided that it counts.

Do you still believe in it?

You Will Marry the First Person Who Tells You Your Eyes Are Like Scrambled Eggs

The title of today’s post is from Frank O’Hara poem, Lines For the Fortune Cookies. (I’m resentful of fortune cookies, but I have one shredding in my wallet from years ago, which reads: The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.) MADMEN fanatics will remember the opening episode of Season 2 when Don Draper notices a man at a bar reading from O’Hara’s 1956 collection, Meditations in an Emergency. On the right are images of the poet by the artist Alex Katz, whose painting The Black Dress was such an inspiration as I was developing this site, that I decided to use it as my “emblem.”

LINES FOR THE FORTUNE COOKIES by Frank O’Hara

I think you’re wonderful and so does everyone else.
Just as Jackie Kennedy has a baby boy, so will you–even bigger.
You will meet a tall beautiful blonde stranger, and you will not say hello.
You will take a long trip and you will be very happy, though alone.
You will marry the first person who tells you your eyes are like scrambled eggs.
In the beginning there was YOU–there will always be YOU, I guess.
You will write a great play and it will run for three performances.
Please phone The Village Voice immediately: they want to interview you.
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10 Quotes That Get Me Through a Single Day

1.  In tribute to the great artist, Nancy Spero, who died this week at 83, I’m starting with this image from her 1979 work, Notes in Time, which is housed in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

2.  I know nothing about sex because I was always married.
- Zsa Zsa Gabor

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Signing On to Marriage

This Sunday afternoon, I’ll be attending a wedding in a Malibu vineyard. Before the ceremony begins, the bride and groom will sign a marriage contract (ketubah) and they have asked me to be the witness. I was touched by their request to share this intimate moment. I still believe in the power of weddings, even though I haven’t had one, and even if it’s fertile ground to feel sorry for myself. The way around a pity party was making sure, well in advance, that I had something beautiful to wear. Dress. Shoes. Purse. Wrap. I’m ready.

Where do I sign?

Here’s to Glee

My Jewish New Year’s resolution for 5770 is a lot more optimism and joy (and while I’m at it, more love and sex.) I found this happy photo on the site, Gazpachot, an inspiring spot for beautiful visual images and deep thought. Check it out!

When Words Make a Difference

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

These 27 words give me courage, and I come back to them on a regular basis. They’re written by the great poet, Mary Oliver, seen here reading to her dog Percy (who looks an awful lot like my Rose). Mary Oliver is 74 today.

Playing the Name Game

In the seventh grade, I learned a game, “Love, Marriage, Friendship, Hate,” which could predict whether a boy I had an insatiable crush on, would end up as my husband. I believed in it. Here’s how it worked. On a sheet of paper, I’d write down my first and last name in block letters (middle names were used only if I wasn’t happy with the outcome.) Underneath this, I’d write down the first and last name of that dreamy classmate I couldn’t get out of my head. Feel free to try it now, and test it out for yourself. For example:

WENDY BRAITMAN
JOHNNY DEPP

Cross out each letter you and your potential beloved share in common (in my case, I would begin by crossing out the “E” in WENDY and DEPP). Here’s what is left:

WBRAITMA
JOHPP

For each letter that remains, recite in order, one of these words: “Love. Marriage. Friendship. Hate.” (w – love,        b – marriage, r – friendship, a – hate, i – love) and so on, until you’ve cycled through both names. At the last letter of the last name, whichever noun you end up with, is how the relationship will fare. So in this example, Johnny Depp and I are destined for “love.” (See what I mean. It really works!)

But here’s the embarrassing part. As recently as a few months ago, I resurrected this silly game, because of a man I liked. Outcome: marriage. And to my surprise and disappointment, for the first time, it was wrong.