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In 1989 I went to a movie theater to see a movie called When Harry Met Sally. I thought it was Woody Allen-witty thanks to Nora Ephron's writing, Rob Reiner's directing, and the acting by the two stars, Billy Crystal as Harry and Meg Ryan as Sally, so I decided to name this post When Harry Met Sally, but then I realized no one would know who the hell I was talking about or would think it was just another one of my usually crappy movie reviews, and since my name isn’t Harry and Martha’s isn’t Sally it would have been dumb to call us Harry and Sally anyway, so I changed the title of this post to When Charlie Met Martha, inserting my name for Harry and Martha for Sally so everyone will know The Way We Were in 1974, starring Babs Streisand and Robert Redford . . .
Please know that our story will not include any of the following wittiness, either real or pretend. There is no way I would ever attempt to duplicate or sully Meg Ryan’s classic performance.
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When Charlie Met Martha
In January 1974, I met Martha in a bar.
You’re sitting there at your computer screen, you’ve just read the first line, and you’re disgusted as all get out. Instead of all the romantic places to meet—halfway up (or down) Mt. Fuji, floating in the Dead Sea while still alive, Ed’s Hot Dog Cart outside the New York Public Library with onions, sauerkraut, and a gallon of mustard to slop around in—we met in a filthy bar that reeked of ten-year-old beer, smoke that was thicker than the Great Chinese Whorehouse fire of 1847, and floors that stuck to the bottom of shoes like super glue. I didn't care that the place was a pigsty; I was lurking around, trying to impress one of the female bar stool beasts into faking one of Meg Ryan's organism things for me.
You know, of course, that sometimes I'm full of shitness; that last paragraph is an excellent example of how I exaggerate, embellish, and embroider. I’ll start over with the real story.
When Charlie Met Martha, Take 2
In January 1974, I met Martha in a bar in Pueblo West, Colorado, a dusty, planned community scattered with mobile homes and tumbleweeds just a few miles west of Pueblo, Colorado (and hence the name, I suppose). We were both as sober as Mormons. I wasn't dressed like a lounge lizard, and Martha looked just as cute as a butterfly's lips.
I’d driven 110 miles south from Denver to Pueblo West (just west of Pueblo) to visit my old boss’s new restaurant. His vision was to bring fine dining, banquet facilities, and Budweiser on tap to Little Restaurant on the Dirt. I was behind the bar, assessing its layout and the fact that the speed rack was one slot short, while two girls waited patiently near the kitchen. One girl was Martha, who was applying for a banquet server position, and the other was her sister, who’d already secured a spot in the world of slinging rubber chicken.
I’m hazy on this part, but somewhere through the grapevine, someone told me that Martha thought I was handsome. I’d been called many things in my life, but handsome wasn’t one of them. And I thought Martha was just as cute as butterfly lips.
Once Martha got the job, I invited her to have a cocktail with me. To this day, I don't know what a cocktail is, so we agreed to have a beer together. We talked and laughed for a couple hours, and the rest is history.
THE ROMANTIC PART
There must be a romantic part, Callahan, and yes, folks, there is.
It was a Saturday, it was snowing in Denver, and the southbound interstate was open, then closed, then open, and then closed because of blizzard conditions. I kept changing my mind with the weather reports: I’m going, I’m not going, I’m going, I’m not going . . .
I went because something was urging me to go. I white-knuckled my way southward behind a big tractor trailer truck, his lights my only guide in the sideways-blowing blizzard. Once we got to north Colorado Springs there was no snow, and it was clear sailing the rest of the way to meet . . . Martha.
For the next several months, I conducted a commuter courtship. Off at work at 5, drive 2 hours south, visit with Martha for an hour or two, neck for another hour or two, drive 2 hours north, and arrive home anywhere between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. I was pooped, but I didn’t care because I was in love.
And I still am, thirty-six-and-a-half years later.
_________
Dedicated to Pat, a modern-day Jane Austen Romantic.
25 comments:
Your last line is the most romantic of all. Good for the two of you!
And I will never look at butterflies quite the same again. :)
YES! YES! OH YES!YES! AAAAAAAH! AT LAST!
There now that wasn't too difficult was it?
Thanks Charlie. That was worth waiting for:)
You are amazing, Charlie. And Martha is a very fortunate woman!
Glad you (I'm assuming here) didn't wreck the hospital. I was in one myself last week and I can't really recommend it for a good time.
Romantic AND funny! What a soppy lad you are eh?
So good to hear from you Charles! :¬)
And here we are, Charlie, like ants to a picnic! Saw the link on Murr's page, rubbed my eyes a couple of times and thought, what the heck, click on it. Zoom! Plop! Well I'll be darned! A post...on Charlie's blog...from him!
You just hug that main squeeze of yours, all these years later, and give a hallelujah for those 37 wonderful years.
I kept clicking on the falsely published link but had to wait until now to get the real story! Glad you are back home, and thank you for sharing your Harry met Sally story. I, for one, know both movies you mentioned here, having seen them both numerous times. When either comes on tv and I'm parked in front of it, I'll gladly watch again.
Nothing beats a good love story, Charlie... especially the ones that are real! ♥
Aww Charlie. A lovely mix of funny and loving - just what I've come to expect from you.
Hope the hospital didn't give you too hard a time (nor you it).
I'm so glad you and Martha have had all those years together and still are together.
Take care of yourselves. x
A fine read of true life romance. I think she lucked out by spreading the word that she thought you were handsome.
i believe in love.
and this is a beautiful tale of love, charlie. my best to you and martha. xoxoxoxo
I'm sure I had some friendly, yet witty remark to make, but was completely thrown by Pat having a Meg-Ryan in your comments, and now I can't think straight...
I met Nancy through a telephone dating service. She was one of 67 women who responded to my ad. After plowing through the other 66 we had our first date on Valentines Day 1985, I think. I had known her only a few days. On the 10th day I asked her if she wanted to marry me. That was 25 years ago.
Valentines day is my favorite holiday.
Hubby and I watched the movie When Harry Met Sally yesterday. We had watched it together before but it is so much fun we decided to enjoy it again. Your story of how you and Martha met is fun to read. Hearing you speak of the special time of you getting to know each other and how you are still in love so many years later is awesome. You will have another Valentines Day together tomorrow. Hugs to you both.
I love that you're counting half-years.
Oops! Just noticed the dedication. Thank you Charlie dear.
This is probably not my place to ask, but dammit, I'm curious. Was that organism real or fake?
I felt like wrecking the hospital: I had a big argument with a nurse, then with my doctor, and I hated the fucking place (whine). I hope your experience was somewhat better.
Good to hear from you too, Map.
She was unsettling, wasn't she.
You've asked for the story two or three times, so it was natural to dedicate it to you.
Awwwww
Halves have to be counted:I do things half-baked and half-assed, not fully-baked or fully-assed.
You drove 4 hours a day to meet up with Martha? I am gobsmacked, sir! Now that is love!
I enjoyed this.
'Cute as butterfly lips' -- great simile. And a lovely story.
I'm ashamed not to have commented earlier. Apologies for that, Charlie.
My only excuse is the pert, grumpy, cheeky-faced lump of pulchritude sat next to me. Unlike yourself, we've spent a large part of the year asking each other: "How the hell did this happen?" in between being bloody glad it did.
You take care now.
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