my diane keaton

Her name was Linda.

And she was the center of my life.  For several years in the 80s.

Like most relationships.  This one started a bit lop-sided.  Rather than the hunter, I was the pursued.

And, as a change of pace, the role reversal was somewhat exhilarating.  But, as is true with most things in life, prelude can be its own omen.  That goals easily won have shallow roots.  But neither of us noticed -- or cared -- at the time.

It was love.  And love needs no reason.  In fact, it helps if reason is tucked away under the bed.

I thought of her this week while watching one of my favorite films -- Radio Days.  Woody Allen's paean to the golden days of radio. 

For 88 minutes Woody Allen does what he does best.  Serves up compelling tales of the human condition wrapped in nostalgia without resorting to bathos.

Near the end of the film, Diane Keaton makes a cameo appearance as a night club singer. 

As I watched her low key performance, I realized she reminded me of Linda.  That is a bit odd because I first saw the film with her (Linda, that is) in 1987.  And I do not remember making the connection then.

But, in my head, it was Linda up there on the screen singing -- bringing back a Niagara of memories.

Embarrassing her 12-year old daughter by spontaneously dancing at a restaurant.  Joining up in the evening to share a plate of pot stickers.  Attending opening nights in Portland along with the rest of The Blob.  Laughing hysterically in the car at malapropisms.  Acting out assigned roles when visiting with each other's friends.

It was several years of pure joy.  She quickly became one of the women I should have married.  Especially when I lost an election, turned 40, and suffered a law partner breakup -- all within three months.  She alone can take the credit for me being here tapping out this bit of my past.

At least, my perception of that past.

Because for all of the Dick Van Dyke Show scenarios, it was not a perfect relationship.  Not by far.

I was far too self-centered -- to the point where it seemed as if there was only one person in the relationship at times.  She was too combative.  And there were other issues.  Issues that could not be resolved and will not help the rhythm of this tale by discussing them in detail.

The last time I saw her was when we returned from a trip to San Francisco.  She had made the sacrifice of giving up Thanksgiving with her family to meet my English friend Bob and his girl friend.

What could have been more romantic circumstances?  And we played our roles well.  Seeming to be the happy couple.  But it was far more Who's Afraid of Virgina Woolf?  than High Society.  By the time we flew to Portland on Sunday, it was over.

Dead relationships are like zombies.  Even when the spark is gone, they keep stumbling along.

When I decided to bury it, I took the option that men learn in Cad 101.  I moved away.  No notice.  No discussion.  No closure -- in the contemporary jargon.

What was the point?  It was over.

About ten years later, I got together for desert in Sellwood with her two daughters.  It was an Nora Ephron moment.  Plenty of laughs.  Lots of thanks.  A tear or two.  They were very kind to me.  All things considered.  You could almost hear the wistful soundtrack.

And then came the bombshell.  They wanted to know if I would be willing to talk with their mother.  If they could convince her to meet.

I agreed.  But it never happened.  Linda was not interested.

That is probably just as well.  Old romances do not rekindle well.  Even disguised as friendship.  Not when the emotional rifts are deep.

But what I have is memories.  And, even if I have burnished them past reality, they are part of who I am.  For better or worse.

Maybe that is why the closing lines in Radio Days made me smile.  Ruefully.

I never forgot that New Year's Eve...
when Aunt Bea awakened me to watch 1944 come in.
And I've never forgotten any of those people...
or any of the voices we used to hear on the radio.
Although the truth is...
with the passing of each New Year's Eve...
those voices do seem to grow dimmer and dimmer.

Share a moment with me and the marvelous Diane Keaton.

Here's to Linda.