Jan's Story Read Online Free Page B

colors,” she explained to me, the person who did not study art history in college.
    And “all about color” was why she painted the walls her favorite color … a pale pink.
    â€œThey use this color in mental institutions,” she explained one day, which caught me by surprise. “It helps calm people. Don't you feel calmer?”
    Well, of course.
    Nothing escaped our attention, not even the hardwood floors, which we had refinished and polished to a bright sheen.
    So when our day was over and the fog poured down our street, we would sit on the sofa in our (calm) little house and light a fire. We dimmed the lights and opened a bottle of champagne because life was good, and another day together was more than enough reason for a celebration.
    Jan got part time work at the local NBC-TV affiliate, as a reporter and occasional anchor. One day she did a story on an urban Boy Scout troop having a summer campout on the rooftop of a San Francisco skyscraper, and the next day I found myself doing exactly the same story for the CBS Evening News.
    That was a good night by the fireplace.
    We were the Darling-Darling couple, because that's what we called each other. At Christmas, our presents to each other would be “From Darling, To Darling.”
    When I called and she heard my voice, it was always: “Darling!” She was always happy to hear from me, whether I was calling from somewhere else in the world where I was on assignment, or from the office to chat about dinner.
    Her parents (mine were long since gone) teased us because we always kissed. “That will end when the honeymoon wears off,” they said confidently.
    But it didn't.
    I am the child of a rocky marriage and a mother who struggled with the twin demons of alcoholism and chronic depression so serious she needed electro-shock therapy. Her struggles made for a difficult childhood and made me shy, reticent, and often suspicious of the world. Not Jan. If we passed someone begging on the street, and she felt the person was truly in need, she gave money. If she had none, she would give me that look and I dug into my pockets and put money into the cup or glass or hat.
    Jan developed her taste for exploring the world early because her father was a globe-trotting vice president for Boeing, selling jetliners in China and Singapore and across Asia. It seemed normal to her that Dad would be gone for weeks and come home from places that, once she learned about them, were worthy of her curiosity and fueled her desire to visit.
    She was the oldest of five and grew up taking care of brothers and sisters. They all grew up in the same house that was forever being remodeled as they got bigger and their needs changed. Summers as a kid meant out the door in the morning to the pool or to play with friends and then race back for meals. College was the University of Washington across town.
    While in college, she scrimped and saved so she could travel around Europe one summer with friends. She loved it. They had no itinerary—when they got tired of one place they would take a train to somewhere else. It was the kind of trip that only those open to adventure could experience.
    Adventure and travel may have been part of my appeal to her. Our life together was always about me coming and going on stories, or us coming and going on trips.
    We came together because of our sureness about being a couple. There was no anticipation of adventure outside of the good things that happened when we were together.
    But adventure came calling and we couldn't wait to see what was coming next. But adventure is like a coin – it can have two sides, one good, one devastating. For us, it would be both.

Walking Into Oblivion: Stage Two
      Individuals may feel as if they have memory lapses, especially in forgetting familiar words or names or the location of keys, eyeglasses or other everyday objects. But these problems are not evident during a medical