Boots Anson, soon to be Boots Anson Rodrigo, was right to go public about her second-time-around romance. She thought we could all use a reminder of the idyllic spot called “Camelot” at a time when so many things seem to be going tragically wrong for us as a people and a place.
Camelot’s “happily-ever-aftering” has come again for Boots and King, six years after she lost her Pete and he his Olga. I wish them all the best.
Boots happens to be a cousin by affinity to my own first cousin Ninit. I’ve known her for many years through this connection, although I seldom saw her, and Pete even more seldom. But I have now and then bumped into her in her widowhood, usually at gatherings arranged by or for common friends.
King, on the other hand, is a friend from our innocent teen world of square dancing, among other safe excitements arranged by parents. He married his teenaged sweetheart, Olga, and lived happily until her death—despite considerable odds, mainly, apart from their youth, martial law, of which his own political father, Soc, was a prisoner. King and Olga themselves escaped to the United States and survived on modest livelihoods until King got his American license to practice law.
They returned when Cory Aquino came to power.
Certainly, this year’s Christmas, amid the chaos of devastation and the stench of death from tragedies striking toward yearend, can use a little help from the romantic refuge of Camelot, where everything goes just right. And Boot’s announcement is as welcome as the child born in the ruins of Supertyphoon “Yolanda”—another chance, and not just for widows and widowers.
It would seem, indeed, that 2013 has been welcoming to second-chance romantics. In June my adopted brother Lito, 50, a widower with two grown children, brought his sweetheart to meet us, and to ask me and Vergel to be sponsors at their wedding in October.
We were only so delighted that Lito had found himself a single, beautiful, accomplished, young (two years shy of 40) lady. On Dec. 7, when I texted birthday greetings to his wife, Ann, he replied to announce that she was exactly six weeks and five days pregnant, sounding like one eager father-to-be again.
Joyride
A second marriage is not always peaches and cream, as Vergel and I know only too well. It is a courageous and conscious undertaking. We ourselves waited 20 years before making it legal. But it turned out to be the best thing we’ve ever done for ourselves.
To be sure, there will be bumps in any Camelot, but none that can derail a second joyride for well-taught, well-scarred repeaters.
For me, the major bump this time around is in dealing, first, with ex-spouses who, though no longer part of our lives, remain part of our history, forever linked by children; and, second, with each other’s set of children and grandchildren in potential competition with the ex-spouses.
At this grandparental stage, when we find all children delightful and easy to love, loving them comes rather naturally and expectations of being loved back are out of the question. With exes, however, there’s always further work to be done.
At any rate, fearless thoughts of happily-ever-aftering have inspired older couples to take affirmative action this year. I got an e-mail from the US the other day from Maribel, a younger cousin, our family’s very own Elizabeth Taylor, about as gorgeous and controversial. After about a decade of togetherness, she and Jerry tied the knot on Thanksgiving Day.
Tito Pipo, her father, may well hold the record of walking the same daughter, his eldest, down the altar a fifth time. Although already 91, Pipo, one of Dad’s four surviving brothers, is as sharp-witted as ever, not to mention quite fit to walk the length of an entire church aisle unaided.
I last saw Maribel when she visited in time for her St. Theresa’s high school homecoming last year, and we’ve since kept in touch. If my first collection of essays makes it to the bestseller list, it will be thanks to her. It was her hello, goodbye and thank-you gift to friends, classmates and hostesses during her stay here. My favorite marriage survivor, Maribel, has all my best wishes.
Not that we’ve been caught by surprise, but love is in the air right in our own backyard, too. My eldest son, Rob, never married at 50, and his younger girlfriend, Deyson, have just made it official. They’re spending the holidays in her home province, Mindoro, with Billie, her 9-year-old daughter from a previous marriage, and the rest of her folks. We welcome Rob’s new family with all our hearts.
Oh yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus—someone, however else you call him, we can always count on in the direst of situations to bring us cheer, love and hope.
For people both starting over and still on course, I leave you with Christmas thoughts from Camelot.
