August 1, 1998………………………Meeting The Fiddle Player
It was August 1, 1998. I remember the exact date, as it was the wedding anniversary I used to celebrate with my first husband. When you have an anniversary for 15 years, you rarely forget it.
I decided to celebrate my memories and take a break from my packing and go for a walking meditation. I had forgiven the ex-husband and was thankful for the lessons I’d learned from my relationship with him not to mention the thankfulness I felt from the blessings of my 2 wonderful sons.
It was Sunday and I knew there was live music less than a half a mile away at Plantation Yacht Harbor. I’d already biked to work all week as my old Ford Van still wouldn’t start, even after I changed the starter. Walking sounded like the perfect mode of transportation for my break from packing. I grabbed my bottle of water and headed towards some good music, some fun and a completely unexpected turn of events.
I crossed US 1 in Islamorada, about mile marker 88 and headed for the Tiki Hut at Plantation Yacht Harbor. PYH isn’t there anymore, but in its day, it was THE gathering place on the weekends. People came from miles around, on boats, by car, by foot and by bicycle. The music started about noon and the party lasted till late in the evening. Anyone who has spent time in the Florida Keys knows where there is music, especially GOOD music, there’s a party.
Before the Founders of Islamorada tore our oasis on the bay down, the locals, and a few lucky tourists who stumbled in, would sit under the Tiki and listen to bands like Roach Thompson, The Sauce Boss (before Jimmy Buffet wrote a song about him, Dave Feder, Built for Comfort Band and scores of other great, down-to-earth-love-to-have-a-good-time musicians.
This particular Sunday, my youngest son, Jason, 17 years old at the time, was supposed to play saxophone with a local band. He worked at a resort in their water sports rental shop every summer and played his saxophone every chance he got. He was going to go to college for music, but, because of life's changes, is now doing grad work in science education at Cornell University instead. Thank goodness for those life changes.
The band this Sunday was one my son had been playing with whenever possible for the past 4 years. I think the only thing better than listening to great music is listening to great music when someone you love is on stage.
I was walking onto the property towards the Florida Bay, the music and the party, when Jason beeped me from his work. Yeah, remember when everyone beepers instead of cell phones?
I stopped at the pay phone, which was known to work intermittently, and attempted to call him at work. On the third try I finally got through to hear him tell me he couldn’t make it. I contained my disappointment, thanked him for letting me know, and told him I’d see him later.
I carefully sat down on a bench at one of the picnic tables under the dilapidated Tiki. Hurricanes had truly taken their toll on the structure and the seats. You always had to be careful when sitting down on their weather-worn benches. Many of them had splinters so big they could do some serious damage.
This was going to be fun. The crowd was enjoying the band and there was a guy playing fiddle. Little did I know exactly how much fun it was going to be, and how this fiddle player was going to change my life.
They sounded great but it was one of those unbearably hot-humid-no-wind-days on the bay in the Keys and the musicians were miserably overheated. When they went on their first break I approached the lead singer and told him I had some rotating fans back at the trailer. Would he like to run over and get them?
He eagerly answered, “That would be great, we‘ll take my truck.” He started to head toward his vehicle and I watched the fiddle player to see if he was interested in going along for the ride.
He wasn’t following and I thought he was rather cute and seemed like he had so much fun on stage he’d probably be a lot of fun off stage too. I turned to him, introduced myself and asked, “Aren’t you coming? We’re going to get you guys some real fans; the kind to help you stay cool on stage.”
He laughed, put down his beer, told me his name was Red and that it looked like it might be crowded in the front seat of the pick up truck. I smiled and asked if he minded if I sat in his lap and he said, “No Ma’am, I’m just a lonely boy from northern Georgia. I’d love for you to sit on my lap.”
I think that was the moment Cupid hit us both between the eyes, smack dab on the heartstrings, or wherever else that little angel hits to make two people go weak in the knees.
We visited at my trailer for a few minutes while Red longingly watched the bonefish rolling on the flats. “I’d love to throw a line out there,” he laughed. I told him the fish were there nearly all the time. He grinned from ear to ear. I told him I wasn’t sure whether I wanted anyone to stick a hook in my fishes’ mouths, but he was welcome to come watch them with me, anytime.
We loaded the fans in the back of the truck and headed back across the street. They got on stage and it felt like Red played just for me the rest of the afternoon. We exchanged winks and smiles and grinned for hours. We talked during his breaks and I found out there was a tremendous attraction between us. The chemistry was something I had never felt before with anyone.
He came back to my trailer after the gig, to watch the bonefish and we found Jason watching TV. We hung out for a while with him, sitting on the ocean. I told Red stories about the storms I’d watched from my couch. The water was calm today but there was definitely something brewing.
Red smiled at me and asked if I would like to go back to the band house and help him get his stuff together and I agreed instantly. He looked at Jason and asked, “Would you mind if I borrowed your mother for a few hours?” I melted at his southern accent and his gentlemanly manners.
Well, a few hours looked like it was going to turn into much longer, so I called Jason to let him know I would be home in the morning.
We spent the next 3 days together, never leaving each other’s side. We watched bonefish doing their thing…while we did ours and then it was time for him to head to Key West to play at Sloppy Joes. When he was ready to leave he said, “I don’t know if you are feeling what I am feeling, but it is scaring me.”
I told him I didn’t want to talk about my feelings either, they were much too strong, too soon. So we kissed goodbye and as he left, he drove around the circle in front of my trailer 3 times, waving and laughing each time he went by my doorstep.
He had said he would call but I wasn’t so sure he would, and quite honestly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted him too. I was on my way to an ashram and my life plans did not include a man. Of course, you know the best way to make God laugh don’t you? Make some plans!
Later that afternoon he did call. He told me he missed me and wanted to spend more time with me before he left the Keys. I told him I would love to see him again. He offered to drive the 90 miles back up the Keys and pick me up, either after his gig that night or the next day. He had 5 more days to work in Key West.
I told him he didn’t need to drive back up; it was such a waste of gas. I wouldn’t mind riding the bus down the following day, after I ran errands in the morning. Red laughed and told me nobody had ever ridden a bus to see him before… I laughed and told him I wasn’t just anybody and I would love to be the first to ride a bus to see him.
I checked the bus schedule as soon as we hung up and packed a small bag for the following
day. I had some sweet dreams about my fiddle player that night.
The next morning I awoke excited about spending time with Red in Key West. The little voice inside my head asked, “Diane, what are you thinking?” I didn’t answer but another voice said, “Live in the now.” I liked that voice better. Ok, voices, let’s just see where it goes.
After I’d taken care of business I walked out to the main highway, flagged down the bus and climbed aboard. I had ridden the bus often and the bus driver said hello and asked if I was headed for some more fun in Key West?
I told him I wouldn’t be riding all the way to the Key West bus station this trip. I’d be getting off on Summerland Key at Murray’s Grocery Store.
When I got to Murray’s Market Red was there waiting with open arms. I learned to love those arms, that smile and those warm and loving greetings.
For the next few days I acted as his roadie and his number one fan. He grinned and had more fun on stage than any musician I had ever watched before… I was hooked, and fortunately, so was he.
At the end of the week we drove back up the Keys together and he stayed a couple more nights with me at my trailer. He and my son got along famously and I overheard Jason telling his older brother he wouldn’t mind having this guy as a stepfather. Hmmm, I hadn’t considered marriage again, but that was nice to hear. I was glad when my sons approved of the people I shared my time with; I’d have to see what happened next. I still wanted to go to the ashram but I sure felt like I was falling in love. Our souls seem so connected and everything else fit pretty good too.
I watched Red as he packed his bag to head out on the road. He would be working for his dad for a couple of months and then would be back in the Keys again to play music sometime in October. Little did I know I would spend a lot of time over the next 9 years watching him pack his bags to go off on the road.
He had just purchased a piece of property north of Atlanta and we talked about my coming up and checking out the area. I said we’d see how things went, and if I did make it there and I did like it, we could talk about the price I would charge to build a house for him.
I was slightly saddened, by his leaving, but knew it would give us both a chance to sort out our feelings. By now he realized I was an early riser and when he hugged me to say goodbye, he asked me if I would call him every morning and be his “wake up call” so he didn’t have to use his alarm. I readily agreed.
I stood in the doorway of my trailer by the sea to wave goodbye to this wonderful man who’d entered my life. He started his truck and drove around in a circle, waving and laughing…and for the next 9 years, nearly every time he left to go play on a gig, he would drive around in a circle, waving and laughing, making me happier then I ever thought I could be.
I called him the following morning to wake him at 7:30am. We never spoke for long in the early morning conversations. I would say, “Good morning, this is your wake up call,” he would say thank you and call me back after his 2 cups of coffee and his newspaper. For the next 4 weeks we would talk for hours learning everything you could possibly learn about another person over the phone.
He wanted me to fly to Atlanta and spend a few nights with him in the mountains and then drive with me to Maine so he could meet my folks. This had never happened to me before. This man was sure he loved me and wanted me to build him a house so we could live happily ever after.
I wanted to follow my heart but I was confused. I decided to consult a book for my answer. Often, when I am unsure what to do I find if I pick up a book and silently ask a question of Spirit I will open and read the answer to my question.
I picked up a book and asked The Universe what to do. I opened the book to a chapter on love and marriage and the first words I read were, “When God gives you a partner, take them into your life and consider them a blessed gift.” OK, got it!
So, Red booked a flight for me, met me at the airport in Atlanta, I loved the property, we drove to Maine, and spent the next 9 years together in marital bliss-well, most of the time it was blissful.
9/98-10/07………………………Nearly Nine Years Together
We’ll fast forward through the 9 years we were together by saying, when it was good it was very, very, VERY good, and it when it was bad…well, I try not to think about it. If I write another book, it’ll be about the crazy life we had together. I have the pictures, intermittent journals and such wonderful memories.
In the beginning I traveled everywhere with him, mostly sitting in the suburban while he went into pawn shops to buy musical instruments to have repaired and to resell to music stores around the southeast. Of course, I learned that “buying” instruments meant LOTS of talking with pawnshop owners. I would sit for hours and dream and meditate and read and practice being very patient.
We’d stay in motels and drink wine and laugh and love each other.
We decided on May 5, 1999 to get married on the following Saturday, 3 days away. We’d purchased wedding rings in a pawn shop back in September of 1998, a month after we met, and had the owner of the pawn shop perform a ceremony. He pronounced us man and wife when we put rings on each others fingers, but now Red wanted more and so did I.
We got the marriage certificate in Tavernier and headed for Key Largo to shop for the party. I spent $113 on vegetables, dip, cheese, crackers and two heart shaped cakes. I took the “I Love Mom” decorations off of the cakes; it was Mother’s Day weekend. We went out on a sailboat, The Calypso Poet, with about a dozen friends. Captain Lance, my long-time friend, performed the ceremony at sunset.
We laughed and figured May 8, when said quickly May-ate, would be an easy date for Red to remember, as he’d said he wasn’t good at remembering anniversaries. We even had a best iguana attending the ceremony.
We worked on designing the perfect house to fit the foundation he already owned. The lumber I calculated we needed with plans for my second A-frame home was delivered on my birthday, May 25, 1999. We always joked he was going to hire me to build him a house but decided it was cheaper to marry me instead. Besides, then I would be around when he needed repairs or another house built. Here I was building house number three with husband number three. Seemed fitting.
I encouraged him to get back into playing music full time because not only was he the most talented musician I had ever seen on stage, he was SO happy when he was playing music for a crowd. He could play any kind of music with anyone and he always made whomever he was playing with sound so much better while he humbly stole the show. He would laugh and say he was a true side-man, fulfilling his namesake-Seidman (pronounced Side-man:)
As the years flew by, I began to realize why he had taken the break from the “jukebox scene” of a traveling musician and acted as a cowboy the couple of years before I met him. Life on the road, and on the stage, takes its toll, not only on relationships but on one’s health; especially when one does not want to say, “No, thank you. I have already had 14 shots of tequila. I don’t really need another one.”
It was like living on a roller coaster. When it was at the top it was so exciting sparks flew when we were together.
When it started on the downhill part of the ride it was painful, so painful, I would leave him on the road, go back to the house and build something and ask God what I was supposed to do.
In addition to the difficulties alcohol was causing we were creating a tremendous amount of debt. Red loved expensive things and he loved to travel. Each time he insisted we go to the islands sailing or on vacation somewhere I would say, “Honey, the credit cards.”
He would say sternly, “I’m not going to live forever,” and I would give in to another fun-filled-debt-producing trip. In hind sight, I am so glad I never said no.
Every few months or so I would have a talk with him, explain to him, HE couldn’t go on like this, WE couldn’t go on like this. I understood how hard it was to say “No, thank you,” to the offers of drinks all night long, but it was killing him and us.
The debt was adding so much stress to our lives I decided to take a full time job for a couple of years, despite his desire to have me with him on the road.
He did his best to control his alcohol intake and his anger and things were wonderful for awhile. He would drink a few Heinekens and refuse the shots, well, at least most of them. He would leave the bar when he was done with work, call me on his way back to the band house and laughingly say, “I have escaped.”
We’d talk several times each day of how much we missed each other and how someday we wouldn’t have to spend so much time apart.
We were so in love and it felt so right. We were always faithful despite the weeks we would have to spend apart. It was a story- book-long-distance love affair so much of the time.
In May of 2007, I left my full time job and went back to home improvement work which I could do anywhere, anytime, and began to travel with him again. We were able to spend more time together and things were very, very, very good for awhile.
Then, predictably, the bottom fell out again. He was more stressed than ever and I couldn’t be around him when he was in that state. I came back to northern Florida, to live in the little rental house I had purchased while I had the full time job.
I was doing home improvements and helping promote natural healthcare at “The Center” in Chiefland. I put together a yoga program and realized I was doing what I loved to do most; helping people by teaching them yoga, Qi gong and nutrition, healing the earth one person at a time.
October 6, 2007……………………………………………..The End?
Saturday morning, October 6th, he called and he was at his ugliest. He started the verbal abuse his intense hangovers brought on and said for the umpteenth time, “Diane, we have to stop doing this to each other.” I am not sure what we were arguing about, it didn’t matter, it was the same script. We had rehearsed it over and over and over and I was in tears.
But this time, I changed my line. Instead of saying, “Honey, we can work it out,” I found myself saying, “Red, you are right. We can’t keep doing this to each other. I am 51 years old and I don’t want to fight with you the rest of my life. I am going to pick up the papers and file for a divorce.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
I continued, “Why don’t I pick you up at the airport in Atlanta on Monday as we planned and we can spend one last wonderful week at the mountain and figure out how to divide everything up.”
I swallowed and couldn’t believe my ears. Did that come out of my mouth? I was accustomed to hearing things come out of my mouth unexpectedly, but these words shocked me as much as they must have shocked him.
The silence was broken by his gruff, angry, “Fine, we’ll talk about it later.”
He called later, expecting everything to be ok and back to normal. He told me he had taken a nice bike ride and was ready to go to work. Either he was pretending the morning’s conversation had never happened or he didn’t remember it.
I told him to have a good night at work and how I was looking forward to being at the mountain home with him one last time.
He said, “You aren’t serious about this divorce-stuff are you?” and I said, “Yes, Red, you aren’t going to change and we can’t keep this up.”
“You are right. I am not going to change for you or anyone else. Have a good day. Maybe I will call you tomorrow,” he hung up angrily and most likely in disbelief. I used to call the state he was while in the Keys his “alcohol fog” because when one drinks day after day after day, there is no reality. I have been there. I understand what it feels like. You drink to cover up the pain, to forget, and then you just drink because that is what you do.
When he called on Sunday, he was a bit more humble and asked if I still felt the same way. I remember thinking, well, at least he remembers, and I assured him I thought it was the only way. He got angry again.
How could I do this to him when he was on his way to work? I had heard him say that a hundred times. He was always on his way to work. When things were unpleasant between us he would call on his way to work so he wouldn’t have to talk to me for very long. He knew I was one of those people who had to communicate and he wasn’t. Pretend everything is ok and it will be.
I tried to calm him down, but it was a waste of my breath. He hung up on me and I went back to packing my bags. I was planning on driving north to spend the night in Atlanta so I could pick him up at the airport in the morning.
After he was done with his Sunday afternoon gig in Islamorada, he called me while he was driving to where our motor home was parked. He was finally realizing I was serious and he was furious. He blamed me for the way he felt and he couldn’t stay in the motor home any more, it was parked in the yard where three of my best friends lived.
He couldn’t stay anywhere. He didn’t belong anywhere. He didn’t belong with anyone. He was going to get into his car and just drive. He would let me know whether or not I should pick him up at the airport on Monday. He didn’t know what to do.
I drove the six hours to Atlanta and stayed with my girlfriend wondering what would happen next and knowing I had to do exactly what I was doing.
When I got up in the morning and turned on my phone there was a message from him. He had canceled his plane ticket and was driving to Georgia. I rushed up to the mountain home to get some of my belongings and get out of there as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to be at the house with him in person. I was afraid he would try to talk me into staying with him, which would have been easy because I loved him so very much. I also had a little fear I might stand my ground and really leave him, and that would make him mad, fighting mad.
There had only been one occasion of physical violence during our entire relationship, and that was a long time ago, when I was drinking too much along with him. This was different. I had never told him I was REALLY leaving him before. I wasn’t going to take any chances with my safety.
I drove through the 2 creeks and up the hill and quickly packed my truck. I breathlessly headed down the mountain knowing I would meet him on the way out, actually hoping I would, because I did love him so very much and I wanted to see him here in Talking Rock one last time.
We met at the bottom of the hill. He screeched on his brakes and I stopped my truck. We spoke for a couple of minutes, while sitting in our vehicles and he kept saying, “I can’t believe you are doing this…” and then he was at a loss for words.
I asked him if there were any tools he needed, so he could work on the guitar he was building and he said if I could spare the drill he he’d like to use it while at the mountain and would return it on his way south.
I climbed up in the back of my pick up truck and got the drill out of my tool box. As I was handing it to him I noticed he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. I took mine off and gave it to him and asked him to pawn them and split the money with me. He’d purchased them in a pawnshop a month after we had met and it seemed only fitting they go back from whence they came.
He said no, he wasn’t going to pawn them. He’d throw them in the creek. I said, “Then give it back to me,” and he did. He said his was in the ashtray for now and he would try to figure out what to do with it later.
I told him we could work through this. We could split everything up while we were still speaking. I told him he was my best friend and quite honestly, financially speaking, this was the stupidest time for me to break up with him. With my help his career was flourishing and mine was just starting to be profitable. There isn’t a lot of money in healing the earth and home improvement is hard work. I would figure out what else I had to do to make ends meet.
He reached in to his car and gave me an apple and asked me to come up to the house. As I write this I wonder how things would have changed if I had gone with him but I don’t wonder for long. It was always the same; a happy beginning, a rocky road and then the bottom would drop out and then we would make up. Making up was fun but the rocky roads were not.
He spent the next few days alone at the mountain home calling me often and writing loving emails to me, “Please, won’t you reconsider. I really am a lonely boy in northern Georgia now and I don’t want us to end this way.”
He visited with his friends in northern Georgia and had as much fun as a broken-hearted man could have. He talked things over with his old friends and they all said the same thing, “If you love her and want to be with her you know what you have to do. You have to do what she is asking you to do. Cut back on the booze.”
Nope, nobody was going to make him do that.
For the next four weeks he was the kindest, most loving man he could be for someone going through a divorce. I picked up the paperwork at the courthouse and began filling in the blanks while he wrote long, loving emails every day. He never took the time to write to me while we were together. He was too busy with his hangovers and his fans.
He stopped on his way back to Key West to drop off the drill and we sat at our kitchen table in Dixie County and wrote the first draft of how to split everything up. I wrote an email to all our fans letting them know we were going to have the first public, friendly divorce ever. He always joked that I needed my own fan club and I told him we could just share all of our friends/fans. We could even stay friends ourselves, if we tried hard enough.
His emails began to tell me a lot more. He began to open up and admit he was SO angry with himself and what he did to his body. He told me how sorry he was he had directed all that anger towards me. He explained he was feeling better about himself. He was cutting back on his alcohol consumption, riding his bike and feeling better. He was changing for himself. He thanked me for making him see what he needed to do.
He never gave up trying to convince me we could work it out.
I never stopped loving him and wanting it to work out.
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