Where do I begin?

I’m sorry to have been away but we have been dealing with private personal matter that I have wished would go away for years, and it finally has.

I would have preferred a beagle, or better yet a collie.

My ex-husband Ardmore R. Stearns has died.

You are now saying to yourself “But this cannot be!” and “Martha Smith-Standish has a skeleton in the family closet?” and of course, “The same Martha Smith-Standish who is a pillar of society, the Same Mrs. Smith-Standish who has been married to Edwin Smith-Standish and has one the most successful marriages in all of Shaker Heights was previously married?”

Shockingly, tis true. 

And what is the point of hiding it.   When the statement appears in the Cleveland Plain Dealer obituary for Ardmore “…Also survived by former wife and caregiver Mrs. Martha (Edwin) Smith Standish of Shaker Heights and his beloved Rottweiler, Gunther Van Blassenburg of Marlboro…” people are bound to talk. I would prefer that they murmur, of course, but tongues will wag, I’m sure.  

It isn’t every day that a doyenne of society gets top billing over a Rottweiler. 

Ardmore and I met when I was at Miss Porters.  He was a prep from Groton and a handsome devil, while I was the popular but level headed president of my class.   After my third year at Mount Holyoke, and his at Yale, he drove up to Wellesley to see me.  My father, a Harvard man, and my step mother were not amused or as entertained by him as I was.  Ardy asked if he could take me to a movie, and they approved, but my father admonished him and told him that “you had better have my daughter home before the late night news.” 

We could have seen Peyton Place at the movies, but we decided to create it on our own.

When we returned, the following day, I was Mrs. Ardmore R. Stearns, and Ardy’s parents were having coffee with my father and step mother.  Needless to say, the tension was so thick in the air that it was dreadfully civilized. 

Without going into details, my father asked me if we removed the love and passion from the moment, “do you respect your husband? And do you think that your husband respects you?”

I couldn’t say that I knew that answer.  So I did what anyone level headed young woman who has regained her sense of self would do: I asked for an annulment.

One can easily fall out of love in a marriage, but as long as there is respect, there one will find a successful marriage.  Anyway, after verifying that I was not with child, the annulment came through.  I moved to Cleveland, started my career in art restoration and soon after was introduced to Mr. Edwin Smith-Standish.  Once mutual respect was established, we warmed to each other and became engaged, and then married, and well you have an idea of what happened from there.

As for Ardmore, he too drifted to Cleveland and went to live with his grandfather – an heir to the B.F. Stearns fortune.  He also started going by his middle name of Richard, so I had no idea that "Richard Stearns" was my ex-husband Ardmore, and since he had never known that Edwin and I were married, then he had no idea that “Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish” who was so often involved with meaninful and importnat social charities was at one time his bride of a day and a night.

About twenty years ago, the whole house of cards came crashing down when we bumped into one and other at the wedding of his cousin's daughter Felecia to Edwin’s second cousin, Edwin Smith Standish IV (they of the non-hyphenating branch of the family).   To say I was shocked was an understatement.  My Edwin knew I had been married, of course, but evidently everyone in the Stearns family had only known of me by the nickname of “That Ball Busting Bitch, my first wife”.

Our reunion at that moment went something like this:

"Ardmore? What a surprise," I said.

"Martha? What are you doing here?" said he.

Of course everyone around us sensed the drama playing out before them.  So before things became to uncontrollable, Ardy and I agreed to meet later and we talk out our differences.  I told him about my life, and he told me about his.  His wife had left him saying that she had fallen out of love with him.  His grandfather’s fortune was almost depleted, and his sugar was up.  And he was angry at me for being correct all those years ago. 

Now, Reader, I am going to paraphrase what he said and went something like this: “You were right Martha, the type of love we had dims with age, but I never respected my wife and look where it got me. I should have followed your advice Martha.  I should have listened to you.”

"Well, you had your chance," I replied.  But let's look forward, not backward, I advised.  

"We can't let this get out because people will talk,"said Ardy.  "Not that I have anything to hide from anyone but the IRS.  But you know how people like Bonita Dixon love to gossip."

I was stunned.  "Bonita? Not South Woodland Bonita Dixon? How do you know Bonita Dixon of all people?"

"She was my my third wife," said Ardy, "After you it was Arlene Davenport, then Bonita and finally Phyllis Fleischman."

Thank God in heaven that I came before Bonita Dixon, once again.

I can’t say that Ardy and I became friends, because we never really were friends. That rush of hormones we felt that led us on a path to the bedroom, did not a friendship forge.  Still we greeted one and other as acquaintances when our paths crossed at social functions.  Is there anything to be gained by avoidance?  

Ardy really started to annoy me with his affable nature. 

One thing I did discover about Ardy was his annoying habit of being "sunny" all of the time.  Or he would drop over, unannounced, with a box of Entemanns and want to have coffee.  He also started sending me emails with online cards. This was all happening when Bruce and Chip were still at home summers during college recess and Bruce in particularly needled me about Ardy's attentions. Edwin took it all in stride on the facade but went out of his way to avoid golfing with Ardy, which we both agreed was inappropriate. It was this "sunniness" that would have driven me crazy had we been married, and then divorced, I'm sure.

Comparatively,  what was different with Edwin was that he and I became friends, and that led to respect and that to love for each other.  And one of the things that I love about my husband is that he has always given it the old college try with me – be it helping with a project, or picking up the dry cleaners, or knowing when sexual congress is in order.  That is the type of respect that brings true love, and earth shattering orgasms on occasion.

Anyway, over the years as Ardmore’s health failed, Edwin and I have “helped” with his care.  Even his family began to call me by my first name, which was the proper thing to do as I quickly tired of being referred to as Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish, Ball Baster" and the like.  Changing the diaper of one's ex-husband can earn one many "brownie" points with the patients children as they don't have to change the diaper themselves.

I was there when Ardy died on Sunday last and I will give the eulogy at his funeral, looking Bonita Dixon square in the eyes the entire time.

Still I find myself tinged with a bit a feeling for Ardy.  They say that one never forgets their first love, and I think that it’s true.  But moreover, it is at times like this makes one certain that they did the right thing and made a correct decision in life; that is one place that seldom few know that they have arrived at in their own lives as I have in mine.

Well if you will excuse me, I have to interview new owners for Gunther Van Blassenburg of Marlboro as he will not be staying with us for very long.

Very truly yours,

Mrs. Edwin Smith Standish