Follow the adventures of Connie Stetson, candidate’s wife, as she heads out on the campaign trail, once again…
Hi there. The lovely Mrs. Stetson here, and just returned from an event in one of our more charming off-the-beaten-path communities, El Portal. It was the annual Spring Fling in EP. A day of music, BBQ, beer, crafts, flea market, activists of all stripes, (GO No-Way Subway!!!), and the usual round-up of old friends, neighbors, conservationists, kids and dogs, and of course, the opportunity for a little campaigning, glad-handing, and baby kissing. Yes, dear readers, Lee is running for office again and I just can’t wait to dust off my pillbox hat and pearl button gloves.
A couple of weeks ago we had the dubious honor of attending the Republican Central Committee’s “Meet the Candidate Night” where we were regaled with each conservative candidate’s personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Why bother to call yourselves Republicans anymore? How about re-branding you as Christi-cans, or Republica-mentalists? It was fascinating, in a “can’t take your eyes off a train wreck” sort of way, to watch as each candidate for the Republican nomination for the 19th congressional seat vied for the title of the most conservative conservative, or the original conservative, or the most racist conservative, or the biggest sexual deviant freak conservative. Read more
After 15 years of marriage, and too many misplaced items to count, Prudence Baird insists her husband consider a new approach.
When I say I married a loser, I don’t mean that kind of loser. I’m talking about the kind of loser who loses things. Like keys, hats, sunglasses, cell phones, parking lot tickets, wedding rings—and most of all, wallets.
Like the clueless wife who finds that her husband has a gambling problem only after the repo man takes away the family Volvo, I found out that (let’s call him “Tim”) was a misplacer (nicer word, huh?) after we married. The first time it happened, I had no idea that this was merely Point A in an ever-lengthening trajectory that would arc across the time grid of our marriage.
I was in my home office churning out press releases when I heard the front door slam and heavy, frantic steps on the staircase. I emerged to see a man I didn’t recognize—a red-faced man, his salt-and-pepper askew; a man who hollered in my face: “My wallet is gone!” Read more
Towards the end of September, my husband Lee and I are off to New York City to celebrate his participation as John Muir in Ken Burns’ new documentary series on PBS, The National Parks: America’s Best Idea. We are thrilled of course, to hobnob in the Big Apple with celebs, attend galas and attend as honorees, a huge concert in Central Park to kick off this amazing documentary. I simply cannot wait to get all dressed up, wear pretty shoes, put some makeup on my puss and transform myself into “the lovely Mrs. Stetson.”
My single most important function of this task, (that I’ve now performed hundreds of times) it seems, is to stand near my actor husband, smile, nod, beam, shake hands and occasionally mutter niceties like, “Yes, how interesting” or “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” For all occasions I’ve learned that the phrases, “How about that?” and “Isn’t that something”, can be inserted anywhere—even when you are concertedly not listening. Read more
Keep falling in and out of love
In search for what I’m dreaming of…
sing Diana Ross and the Supremes
The older I get the more often I find wisdom in song lyrics, and because I’m looking at 60, I find them on the oldies station. But I’m actually writing about being married.
My husband and I have been together now for more than twenty years. I am his third wife, and he is my first husband. We lived together for three years before we wed and were middle-aged (he was 51 and I was 40). We are very well-suited to each other and are deeply married. That being said, I find marriage peculiar. Read more