The story begins, fittingly enough (since this is the “Love Issue”), in February of my sophomore year at American University. I was invited to a play, followed by a fraternity party. I remember my date, but not how we met. (Side note: that date, whom I happened to see last year and was an instrumental part of this story, had no recollection of our having gone out. OK, I’m only a tad insulted!).
But I digress. Back to the story. As said date and I were leaving, he introduced me to a fraternity brother of his. Even these many years later, I still remember that moment, standing at the door on our way out, and the tall, dark-haired young man introduced to me — Larry — and the way he smiled at me.
But he was with a date, I was with a date and I didn’t think any more about it.
Apparently, Larry did think more about it because several weeks later, he called my dorm and asked me out (after having asked his fraternity brother for permission). Our first date was a play in a church basement in Washington, D.C., and as I sat there, I thought to myself, “This is someone I could marry.”
From that night on, we were together. We became engaged our senior year, got married that summer and the next day moved to State College, Pa., where Larry was starting graduate school. The plan was I was to work while he was in school, and then I’d go back to school myself.
As it turned out, there were no jobs to be had for me, so I went to school as well, earning my master’s degree in journalism. After two years in Pennsylvania, Larry accepted a job in Raleigh, N.C., and we moved there.
Raleigh was not a good fit for us. Larry had embarked on his career but as had happened in State College, there were no good jobs for me. It’s hard to remember now what times were like back then, when a husband’s career took precedence, but my constant struggle in trying to make my way in journalism took its toll, especially after it became clear we weren’t going to return to Washington as initially planned.
We were too young, inexperienced and stubborn to figure out how to work out our career choices. So after almost five years of marriage, we separated and ultimately divorced.
End of Act 1 and on to the intermission. Larry remained in Raleigh, went to law school, became a successful corporate attorney, remarried and raised a family. (Larry wants me to add he also became an avid bluewater sailor!) I moved back North, first to Washington, then to Annapolis, then Baltimore, remarrying — and divorcing — along the way and pursuing a career as a freelance journalist and travel writer.
For 20 years, Larry and I didn’t speak but through mutual friends were aware of what each other was doing. On one of his trips to New Jersey to visit his parents, Larry emailed and asked if we could see each other. We went to lunch, talked over old times (the good parts) and caught up with news of our families. We didn’t see each other again until eight years later when I was lying in an intensive care unit. Larry had been on a business trip to Washington and a mutual friend told him how ill I was, and he came to see me. (There’s nothing like being convinced you’re at death’s door and seeing your ex-husband walk in!)
I survived my health scare, resumed my life and we went back to the occasional reports about each other through mutual friends.
Which brings us to Act 2.
Two years ago, I heard that Larry’s wife had died. After North Carolina, they lived in Florida and moved to Portland, Ore., to be closer to their sons. I asked a friend for Larry’s address and sent him a condolence card. Sometime later, he found me on Facebook and asked if he could call. He was coming East to visit family and friends, and asked if we could have dinner.
The following month, just over 50 years since we met for the first time, we had our second “first date.” We spent the next year getting to know one another again on trips to Alaska, Europe, California, Oregon and Florida.
And now, two years later, my postmark also reads Portland, Oregon.
Friends have asked what’s different now? If it didn’t work the first time, why would it now? I tell them what drew us to each other in the beginning still remains, but the issues that caused us problems no longer apply.
Larry calls it “Larry & Carol 2.0,” versus “Larry & Carol 1.0.” We’ve both lived long enough to know what matters, especially at this time of life, and what needs to be set aside. We spent weeks going over the past, tears were shed and ultimately, we agreed the past should remain just that — the past. As Larry likes to remind me, “Those cards have been dealt and played. It’s a new game.”
Is life perfect? Of course not. Adjusting to living together again can sometimes be trying. I’m a night owl, Larry’s an early bird. I’m happy going to Paris every year, Larry’s trying to take me on a safari. (I quashed the idea of Antarctica!)
He watches MSNBC all day; I hate politics. I love cats; he and my Phoebe are not BFFs, to put it mildly. And of course, the pandemic has put a wrench in all the plans we did have, at least for the time being.
But we’ve adjusted to each other in different ways. Instead of competitive Scrabble marathons, we share a nightly word puzzle. I no longer try to be the perfect cook I was never meant to be and gladly cede that responsibility to Larry, who loves to cook. He doesn’t try to fix my foibles, and I laugh at jokes I’ve heard hundreds of times.
The bottom line is that who we are, and who we are together, hasn’t changed significantly in the intervening decades. When we look at each other, we’re still 19. We know what made us who we have become, then and now. As Larry puts it, “We started the beginning of our lives with each other, and we’ll end with each other.”
Moral of the story: contrary to the words of author Thomas Wolfe, sometimes you can go home again.
A former Baltimore resident, Carol Sorgen is a freelance writer living in Portland, Ore.
A Baltimore native and Pikesville resident, Freedman had the distinction of being the longest-serving employee in the history of the State of Maryland.
House Bill 661 is the culmination of a collaborative effort led by Del. Sarah S. Wolek (D-16th), Del. Jared S. Solomon (D-18th) and Sen. Shelly L. Hettleman (D-11th).
More than 100 Broadmead residents and team members recently gathered to celebrate the festival of Passover with a meaningful seder dinner.
For Beth Tfiloh senior Ada Key, earning the Eagle Scout rank is about giving back and paving the way for girls in scouting.