The Colonel and the Queen

This is all about me and changes over time, as recognized by another. That ‘other’ is my husband of 33 years, Paul. In the early years of our relationship, he often referred to me (hopefully, jokingly) as ‘the colonel.’ Yes, I was bossy and, evidently, expected to be obeyed. I never contradicted him, sensing the truth of it, though I certainly felt dinged by this label.

Recently, he has stopped referring to me as ‘the colonel,’ replacing that label with ‘the queen,’ which has a completely different vibe. I definitely enjoy this title more than the previous one! I’m not going to pick apart the words and the implications of their use. Rather, I’m going to give an example of changes in me that may explain the change of words. Now comes an apparent change of subject, however, they are related.

Yesterday, I attended an extraordinary memorial service for Bud Murphy, aged 73, who was my manager during the 80’s and 90’s at Price Waterhouse, when we were each in our 30’s. What made it extraordinary was the range of people present who clearly loved him deeply during his life, though at different stages. With all of us gathered and sharing stories of him, Bud became a whole person, instead of the bits and pieces that we each knew independently. Hosted by David, his husband and partner of twenty years, also present were an earlier partner, arrived from Germany; another friend, who described Bud’s younger and wilder days; plus his older sister; a musician who had hired Bud for opera performances, other friends from San Francisco, his most recent home, and more.

We told many stories, quite different from each other, each reflecting the deep love Bud had summoned from each of us, love that he had returned. My story was this: shortly after I’d begun to work for him, I learned that the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey circus was coming to town. People were invited to nominate someone, in fifty words or less, to be clown-for-a-day. I carefully put together my fifty words, trying to capture the big heart and giant laugh of this loving man. To my surprise, I was notified that he was chosen and that six of us would receive free circus entry when he was costumed and decorated to be a clown for the audience.

Here’s where my hesitation became apparent. I had not yet told him about my nomination. How would he feel about it? Would he think I was making fun of him? Finally, I told him what he had won. To my relief, he was delighted! We all had a wonderful day at the circus. And yesterday at his memorial, I saw on the poster board a picture of him as a clown taken that day nearly forty years ago. It was so important to him that he had kept it, all these years.

Back to my opening thoughts: while present at Bud’s memorial and taking in the many phases of his life, previously unknown to me, I also became more present to past phases of my life in a new way. All of these phases are connected, though not always seen or recognized. What is the difference between a colonel and a queen? I may be challenged to describe the difference in words, but I recognize the difference in my heart.

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