NONFICTION  
Change the banner to complement the story line
"A major transition in our marriage was our move to San Francisco
when we were both in our seventies."
​
                                 Photo by Weebly.com                                    

Remembering Phil
by  Cathy Fiorello

When people learn that my husband Phil and I were married for 65 years, they gasp! How did you do it! I sometimes gasp, too. After giving this question some serious thought, I think I’ve found the key: Laughter. Phil had a great sense of humor. No matter how serious the issue, he could always make me laugh. Still, 65 years in one marital relationship is an almost unfathomable concept in today’s world of in-and-out marriages. But hey, whatever works.  Or doesn’t.
 
It all started when I got a job as a writer at Parents Magazine, where Phil worked as an artist. The writers in my department would bring our work up to the artists for illustration. Soon, the other writers coming back were saying, “Cathy, Phil was asking for you.” My response always was “Phil who?” He made no impression on me at all. And so we were married.
 
But first, we had to go through the ritual of meeting each other’s family. I met his first. He had a mother, father, and two older sisters, all very conservative, all very apprehensive about bringing a girl from Brooklyn into their family. Did I have Mafia connections? I did not. The meeting was welcoming and conducted in a sedate manner. I was in; one hurdle down.
 
Now Phil had to meet my family; a whole different scene. I had two older brothers, two older sisters, a formidable mother, and a very protective father. All my siblings and their spouses were there. Phil walked into a mob scene that Sunday. Everyone came to check out this young man from Peekskill who wanted to marry their sister. Where the hell is Peekskill, anyway? My mother was making her signature dish, eggplant parmigiana, for dinner. I told Phil all he had to do was say he loved it, and he would be in. The meeting went well, everyone was on their best behavior. When Phil was ready to leave, he asked, “How do I get to the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel from here?” There were five macho men in the room, and each had a different set of directions. Each insisted, loudly, that his was the best route. Phil was overwhelmed. I thought, “I’m never gonna see this guy again.” I was wrong. I saw him every day for the next 65 years.
1
A major transition in our marriage was our move to San Francisco when we were both in our seventies. Phil and I had been retired for ten years. He was excited about the move; he had often visited the city on business, and he loved it. I had many reservations about making so great a move so late in life. I was at peace with living out my remaining years in the eastern suburb where we had raised our children. Why would I leave this house, so filled with memories of young children and puppies growing up together? Where 16 people squeezed around a table meant for 12 at Thanksgiving, the sound of laughter filling the air? The house was a safe haven that supported us through all the trials of marriage and parenting, and it was always there when somebody needed to come home. I didn’t know then that I would take my life’s music with me wherever I went. I didn’t know then that taking that risk would give me a future at a time when I thought my life was all about the past. Coming to San Francisco truly was a new beginning for me.
 
Phil, on the other hand, loved his new life from day one. He traded in his New York drivers’ license for a California license soon after we arrived. I clung to mine for months. It was my security blanket. As long as I had it, I could go home again.
 
Adapting to city life after 40 years in a suburb was not easy for me. I would frequently get lost when I went out alone. Phil liked to say, “Whenever Cathy leaves the house, I never know if I will see her again.” He would make maps to my destinations and, being an artist, he illustrated them—a gingko tree on one corner, a Starbucks on another. He also believed there was a special angel in heaven whose only responsibility was taking care of me.
 
That’s why, after a lifetime with Phil by my side, rescuing me when I was in trouble, finding me when I was lost, I am not afraid to go forward alone. I now have two angels in heaven helping me find my way home.
2
Vertical Divider
​​Cathy Fiorello’s passions are food, Paris, and writing. A morning at a farmers’ market is her idea of excitement and visiting Paris is her idea of heaven. And much of her writing is about food and Paris. She worked in publishing in New York, freelanced for magazines during her child-rearing years, then re-entered the work world as an editor. She moved to San Francisco in 2008 and published a memoir, Al Capone Had a Lovely Mother. In 2018, she published a second memoir, Standing at the Edge of the Pool. Cathy has two children and four grandchildren. Her mission is to make foodies and Francophiles of them all.
Vertical Divider

We Welcome Comments
Vistas & Byways Review is the semiannual journal of creative writing and photography by members of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at San Francisco State University​.
Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at San Francisco State University (OLLI at SF State) provides communal and material support to theVistas & Byways  ​volunteer staff.
Vertical Divider