A Merry Widow's Toss of a Coin

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 Forty two years ago today, in twelve inches of snow, I finished my greatest accomplishment, tricking Linda into marrying me. I had to act fast before it became obvious that I was out of my depth with her, though it turned out her generosity of spirit would make allowances for me. I asked her to marry me just three weeks after our first date or to be accurate, I told her that we would be married, and she agreed. She never actually said "yes". Through the high and low tides of circumstance, she was constant. I said a thousand times in my head "within the walls of my house, all is well".


On this happy occasion, I'll tell a story that became a hallmark of things to come.


On our first anniversary, my last boss before I hung up my shingle gave us a gift of a weekend stay in the top floor suite of "The Merry Widow" in Cape May. The entire town of Cape May is a National Historic Landmark and a treasure trove of Victorian beachside homes that time and modernization passed by for a number of curious reasons. Our firm had renovated the grand old building, a Victorian gem in the beach block of Jackson Street, all turreted and painted bright turquoise. If you know Cape May, you surely know this grand old structure.  We had structurally hollowed out the turrets on the top floor so that they are now marvelous octagonally vaulted on the inside. The bathroom has a soaring spire with a chandelier centered over an antique tub in the bathroom, with a second vaulted turreted room as well. It was an impossible reservation to get so it was a grand gift indeed.


The Merry Widow

When we checked in, a group of middle-aged women showed up at the same time, insisting THEY had the top floor reserved. In the days before the internet and cell phones, the owner who had booked the reservations couldn't be reached, and the ladies were dour and vexed in their frumpy implacability, and would not be convinced to let the honeymooners prevail.

I suggested a solution: we'd flip a coin for it. The immovable matrons would not even agree to that, sourly glowering at my offer of a resolution. But I was insistent as well. The woman checking us in decided that was the only way, though the dowagers were not happy with any solution other than that they should prevail. I produced a coin from my pocket and flipped it in the air and they called "heads". The coin hung in the air for an eternity before dropping into my hand. I caught it, flipped it with a resounding smack onto the back of my hand and let the moment linger.   A Superbowl-deciding field goal or a sling-shot stone hurled toward a towering Goliath could not evince any more fevered expectation than the fate of that simple heads-or-tails call. 


The outcome?  


There were many coin tosses in our years together, many an uncertain outcome. Neither force of will nor prayer could turn some wrinkles of destiny in our favor but none ever beat us completely nor turned us from each other, an extraordinary gift from God.   Some I can explain, some I can’t.  Losing Linda to cancer despite our prayers and the prayers of so many who cared deeply for her, and the flood of all the potions that modern medicine could concoct, still etches the contours of my faith to a burnished patina.    


But I do know this for certain: on a first anniversary full of promises that would be fulfilled, oh did Linda truly enjoy an extra long bath in that marvelously vaulted, chandeliered, claw-foot tub with a frosted view of a perfect December ocean sunrise.   


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