Gloria was older than I. Eleven years older. When, eventually, she admitted, to a group of friends that she had known since high school, that she was seeing someone, and that he was a younger man, their reaction was, good for you!
When Gloria and I did marry, we figured that the difference in age worked out well. Men don't tend to live as long as women, and we figured that this was a pretty safe estimate, and that we would both die at about the same time. I did not expect to be left alone. But here we are.
In regard to my being left alone, there are a couple of things that I should report. After we got married, Gloria would, sporadically, at random times when we weren't actually talking, ask me what I was thinking. When I could recall what, in fact, I had been thinking about before she interrupted me with a question about what I was thinking, I would tell her. She was generally intrigued by what I was thinking, and, since much of the time it turned on scientific analysis of something that may have been immediately forgoing the query about what I was thinking, she would refer to it as the scientific mind. She tended to say that the scientific mind (that is, mine), was never at rest. And, eventually, she told me that, if I did die before she did, she had my epitaph all picked out: "the scientific mind is finally at rest."
Gloria also said, on numerous occasions, that she had created an order of service, for each of us, in the event of our deaths. This would not be the idle comment that it might be coming from anyone else. Gloria was a planner, an administrator, and an organizer. When Gloria said she had done something, it usually meant that it was, in fact, done: complete, generally with both hard copy and soft copy, and usually with a backup somewhere. (The part about the backup came after she married me, and I got into security. I often tell people that there is one single thing that anybody should know about security: make a backup. A backup will get you out of more security problems than pretty much anything else.)
She also said that she had already written my eulogy. She said that it was based on one of the signature block quotes in my collection, referring to a few technical terms. That quote states:
If it's there and you can see it, it's real.
If it's there and you can't see it, it's transparent.
If it's not there and you can see it, it's virtual.
If it's not there and you can't see it, it's *gone*.
When Gloria died, I went looking for these orders of service. I needed hers, of course. I looked through the hard copy files. I didn't find it. I went through all of the soft copy files in her area of the computer. I didn't find it. I went back and looked again. I looked again. When I finally found it, I realized why I hadn't found it the first three times I looked. What she had provided was simply a set of notes. Rough notes. Handwritten. This wasn't exactly typical of Gloria. It did, however, provide me with what she wanted in the way of wording for some of the standard parts for a memorial order of service, and a quite amazing collection of scriptures that she wanted for her service.
But I didn't find anything about me. There was nothing about my order of service. There was nothing about my obituary or eulogy. So, I guess I never will know what it was that Gloria intended to do about it. I'll bet it would have been amazing.
Another possible candidate for a date, was that shortly after we had our lunch after church, Gloria thought she should repay the hospitality, by inviting me over for the evening. Apparently, I stayed until 3 AM. Lest anyone think that my late departure indicates that hanky-panky was going on, let me hasten to note that Gloria's Number Two Daughter, who was still living at home at the time, attended for the entire evening. Right up until 3 AM. Another heavily chaperoned date.
When you are older, dating doesn't take quite as long. You know yourself better, and you know how to judge other people better. You also know, fairly quickly, whether or not this person has any untoward quirks that are going to annoy you. Not entirely, of course. We were still learning things about each other for the next thirty years. And some of the things that we learned were surprising. But, pretty quickly, we figured out that we could probably get along together. So then, since Gloria was basically an old-fashioned girl, the ball was in my court. I had to propose.
I went for advice to my father. I asked whether I should be marrying this woman who was, after all, older than I was, or was I just making a fool of myself. My father, typically, didn't actually give me advice. But he did give me the best piece of non-advice that he ever gave me. He said that marriage was the best thing that had happened to him.
I don't know whether it was actually the next day, but I did propose to Gloria shortly thereafter. Actually, I was beginning to wonder if she would have me. As noted, I have suffered from cyclical depression for pretty much all my life, certainly all of my adult life. And, at this point, I was starting to go into a depression. One of Gloria's friends had married a depressive, and had had a very difficult time of it. I knew this, and I wondered if, Gloria having seen that I was starting into a depression, and observing the kind of effect it could have on me, would refuse to marry me on that basis.
The proposal could have been more romantic. We were on our way back from the North Shore. We were on our way to a church anniversary, and Gloria had changed when she got home from work. I went over to North Vancouver to pick her up and take her to the church do. We were discussing us, and depression, and Gloria's friend who had married a depressive, and she didn't seem to be panicked. So, as I pulled into the parking garage under my apartment (so that *I* could go and get changed for the church do), into parking spot B2, I asked Gloria if she would marry me.
She didn't say yes. She didn't say no, mind you, but she said that I'd have to give her some time. I was somewhat bemused by this. I figured that if she wasn't going to say no, at least she would have said yes right away. But no. Oh well, I would have to wait.
I didn't have to wait too terribly long as it turned out. I got changed, we got back in the car, we headed for the church do. As we were crossing the Burrard Street Bridge, Gloria turned to me and said yes.
But, she said, we couldn't tell anybody just yet. Her parents were on a trip to Palm Springs, at the time. It would not be fair to her mother to be the last one to know. And this wasn't the type of news that you told somebody over the phone. At least not for Gloria. So we had to wait until her parents got back, and we could tell them. Before we told anybody else.
It didn't quite work out that way. Sulla was definitely not the last to know. But she wasn't the first, either. When we got to the church do, we were "volunteered" to hand out the programs, for the program, as people came in the door, acting as greeters for the event. So the two of us were there, saying hello to people, giving them printed copies of the program, answering questions that we could answer, and talking to each other very quietly when nobody else was around. One of the people who came in was someone who had been to Keats for many years, regarded my parents as surrogate parents, had babysat me when I was very small, and also knew Gloria and, to a certain extent, her parents. She came in, got a program from us, and went into the hall. And then came out. And looked at us very closely. And said, "You're not just together. You're *together*!"
Well, to her we had to admit it. But we did swear her to secrecy. And, as far as I know, she kept her word.
Shortly before Gloria's parents were due to arrive home, my family had a family dinner, at the new home of my baby brother. At one point, later in the evening, my baby brother started pestering Gloria. When was that brother of his going to make an honest woman out of her?
Gloria was secretary, personal assistant, or executive assistant (whichever your preferred term), to CEOs, presidents, and Boards of Directors. Gloria knows how to keep a secret. At Regent College, she was privy to the knowledge that a group of senior faculty was agitating to do away with the alumni group of the day. This would, of course, put paid to my position as the alumni representative to the Senate. Gloria knew how much I loved that position. She didn't tell me a word. When it has to do with company confidential, thumbscrews and hot coals would not get the secret out of Gloria. When it comes to purely personal issues? There was only one time that Gloria actually succeeded in planning a surprise birthday party for me, and on that occasion I accidentally found out anyway.
Well, she said, what made him think I hadn't? "Well?" "Well, what?" "Well, what did you say?" "I said yes." So, the cat was out of the bag there, too. There wasn't any point in swearing my parents to secrecy. While I don't think it would have occurred to my father that he could, or should, have told anyone of this news, my mother is an information miser. She loves gossip. Not necessarily so that she can spread it around indiscriminately, but so that she can prove that she knows more than you do. So, unfortunately, my Mom knew before Gloria's Mum. But it wasn't my fault.
(My baby sister, who is not the most situationally aware of individuals, was not present in the room when Gloria admitted that I had popped the question, and that she'd said yes. Shortly afterwards she came in, while the engagement was being discussed, and, after a while, observed, "Something's going on here. I don't know what it is, but something's going on here.")
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