A/C ready to fire up this evening.
I think I mentioned that Whatsisname, The Father of My Children, died last fall. His widow (aka That Woman) send a box of family pictures to DS. He went through them, took out two pictures, one of his grandfather and one of his father, and gave the rest to me to pass along to DD. After going through them, I wish I'd just told DS to throw them out.
DD told me months ago that she didn't want to even look at them because she wanted no reminders of That Woman. I've just gone through them all, pitched everything having anything to do with That Woman, including pictures taken when the kids were visiting, and kept only an old, old album of pix of their grandmother and grandfather and Whatsisname and his brother when they were kids. Also found an album of pix of them when we lived out West, long before That Woman came along, and kept that one to ask if DD wants them. If not, they'll get pitched.
Looking through all those photos has reminded me of Whittier's poem Maud Muller: "For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'." and how different the kids' lives would have/should have been and would be now if they'd had a dad who hadn't opted out. We didn't get a divorce, he divorced all of us in favor of a long-legged, hard-bodied, blonde and much younger California girl from a well-known family. That woman didn't like kids and called them screaming meemies, hated when they were there visiting, hated it most of all when one or the other of the boys lived with them for short periods. And made it known.
It's so true that a result of divorces is that the wife lives far less well than when the couple was together, and the husband lives far more well than when married, most especially when there are kids.
Okay. Enough gloom and doom and ruminating about the past. It's done and has been for 50 years.