Behind The Book: Merry Acres Widows Waltz
My ever loving husband was the muse for my novel. Not that he knew that, of course.
Warning: Newlyweds and romantics (hopeless and hopeful) skip this. I’m writing to women married for some years and especially those recently introduced to the- husband-at- home-all-day syndrome known as “retirement”. Yeah, he retires, and you have more work than ever. Two might live as cheaply as one, but not as neatly.
Case in point: our breakfast table used to be a swell place for casual dining. Now, it’s a filing cabinet. I can’t put flowers in the centrally located vase. Why? Because a stack of some fifty sheets of paper and various mail order catalogs top the thing. It’s his “in” box. I wonder if anything ever goes “out”. Should I mention week old Wall Street Journals? Or golfing magazines? (Nope, no iPad, yet, so physical copies abound).
Another thing, I bought MDH a rocking chair as a joke (you know, retirement = rocking chair). Turns out the joke’s on me. I cannot get him out it, unless it’s meal time.
We come to Merry Acres’ genesis. One day I mentioned a honey do project. One, that (at the time) took on critical aspects. MDH could not be budged from his chair. The longer he procrastinated, the more I fumed. I considered spousalcide. Reality check. Me at our local police precinct, bad mug shots, a panicked search for a good criminal defense attorney. So, as a writer, I let my characters do the dirty work for me. And, busy writing , I forgot all about the honey-do job. Win-Win.