Miss Havisham

"Sad news," said B's daughter yesterday.  "So-and-so died."  Who?  This was a man who hadn't spoken to B in 35 years, since B and his daughter's mother were divorced.  In fact, this was a man B hadn't really liked, so why B was even informed and expected to "care" beats me?  Yep, B left many phony friends behind when he split, most of whom lived in Rockcliffe -- an enclave in which wealthy matriarchs continue to reign over poor, gelded husbands.  The hypocrisy is breathtaking.      

Some people live in the past.  Actually, many must because Dickens wrote about the "Miss Havisham's" of this world 155 years ago -- she of the crumbled wedding dress, decayed cake and suffocating cobwebs.  My wonderful grade eight teacher, Miss Anderson, set aside an hour every Friday afternoon to read to us; in my year it was 'Great Expectations'.  Loved the book, but little did I think I would actually be living it when I married B.

Fast forward 155 years from 'Great Expectaions' and 35 from B's divorce and we still have to silently endure tales from the crypt about all the people who haven't spoken to him in 35 years.  (And it's not as if we have an unlisted number or a common name.)  We have had such a rich and wonderful life with our four great children, their husbands and our grandchildren, but every now and then "Miss Havisham" and her ghost pop up.  A couple of Christmases ago we had to endure presentations by his daughter of books the ex had stood in line to have signed by yet more people who hadn't spoken to him for 35 years.  Annoyingly, B had to pretend he appreciated the spectacle. 

"So-and-so sends his regards," B's son used to say.  Who?  Another who hadn't spoken to him for 35 years.  Happily, this no longer happens because the son hasn't spoken to his mother in seven...or is it eight?.....years. 

I am glad we live in Calgary.  Socially, Ottawa is an ingrown toenail.