Catching the Gold Ring


We have long implored my father to write his memoirs.  His life is a truly amazing story, and one we all know would entertain the masses.  Selfishly I want it written down, in his hand.  Want to remember every morsel for the rest of time.  It is not to be believed.

When he was about to turn 85, my dad appeased us for the time being with an outline.  He composed short chapters touching on each phase of his incredible life.  Tonight, on the forty-sixth anniversary of his wedding to my mother, I wanted to share the chapter he wrote about her.  Theirs was a big, big love.

Catching the Gold Ring

I’ve always referred to meeting and marrying my wife, Eva, as ‘catching the gold ring.”  I was a jaded thirty-nine year old bachelor; really tired of all the retreads I was meeting in my post-stewardess days and despaired of ever finding the fresh, young, beautiful woman I had pictured in my twenties.  Miraculously, I did meet her (through her sister, Lena), on a blind date.  A year and a half later, I visited with her in Sweden, her home country to which she had returned following the sudden death of her father.

Soon after the visit, I proposed to Eva by phone from the Bahamas and following her acceptance, mailed the engagement ring to her.  We were married in a 900 year old church near her home in Sweden, on May 14, 1968.  Following the ceremony and reception there, we flew to New York and had a second reception here for all my friends and relatives at the Huntington Town House on Long Island.

It was during the Swedish bachelor party that I was introduced to Schnapps the hard way, causing my mother to inquire the next morning as to whom the loud drunks were singing at two in the morning in front of the hotel.  I never revealed to her that it was our group.  There was a Swedish pre-wedding custom whereby for three Sundays preceding the ceremony, the bridal couple received guests at the bride’s mother’s home.  We condensed this to one Sunday and with each guest’s arrival, we had to drink a toast.  I almost fell over before I learned to sip, not drink!

My wife was amazing.  She was beautiful, spoke five languages, was an expert in all needle crafts, a fantastic chef, extremely intelligent, vivacious, and charming.  She was a combination of a down to earth amazingly skillful, unbelievably knowledgable, homemaker and mother and a sophisticated cosmopolitan world traveler.

I felt I was the luckiest forty-one year old ex-bachelor in the world.


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