(Rip Van Winkle’s Wife Would Like a Reconsideration)

Let me see if I understand this correctly.

My husband disappears for twenty years…

And somehow, I’m the difficult one?

The Official Version

Now, if you’ve heard the story, and Lord knows everybody has, you’ve likely been told that Rip was a gentle soul.

Kind.

Easygoin’.

Beloved by children.

Friend to animals.

A pleasant fellow unjustly burdened with a naggin’ wife.

That’s the official version.

The official version was most likely wrote by ol’ Rip, hisself, and I’ll tell you that for nothin’.

The Man

Now don’t misunderstand me.

Rip was pleasant.

Exceptionally pleasant.

Possibly the most pleasant bone-idle man in the Hudson Valley.

If there was a fence needin’ mendin’, Rip could be found fishin’.

If there was wood needin’ cuttin’, Rip was helpin’ somebody else avoid their chores.

If there was work to be done at home…

Well.

The mountains suddenly became very interestin’.

His Reputation

Folks loved Rip.

Of course, they did.

He was endlessly available.

You know why?

Because he weren’t tendin’ to his own responsibilities.

It’s easy to be everybody’s favorite neighbor when your wife is secretly carryin’ your half of the load.

The Complaint

Now history says I nagged.

I prefer the term:

“Provided project management.”

Somebody had to.

Them chickens didn’t feed themselves.

The roof didn’t repair itself.

Them children didn’t raise themselves.

And contrary to popular folklore, goodwill ain’t a recognized form of currency nowhere around here that I know of.

The Disappearance

Then one day he wandered off into the mountains.

Again.

At the time, I weren’t particularly alarmed.

Rip wandered off all the time.

That was one of his hobbies.

I expected him home by supper.

Then breakfast.

Then next week.

Then next month.

The Search

People looked.

Naturally.

Questions was asked.

The dog came back.

Rip didn’t.

Now let me tell you somethin’.

When a man’s dog returns without him, your imagination starts conductin’ independent investigations.

The Twenty Years

And then life happened.

Because that’s what life does.

The crops still needed tendin’.

The seasons kept passin’.

Children grew up.

Neighbors moved on.

Governments changed.

The world turned.

Without needin’ my permission.

An Observation

Do you know what nobody says about those twenty years?

Nobody says:

“Mrs. Van Winkle managed remarkably well under difficult circumstances.”

No sir.

The story skips directly from:

“Rip disappeared”

to

“Rip woke up.”

As though the intervenin’ decades didn’t amount to a hill o’ beans..

The Return

Then one afternoon, here he comes.

Old.

Confused.

Beard halfway to Albany.

Actin’ like he’s suffered a great inconvenience.

Friend…

I had twenty years of inconvenience.

The Public Reaction

And what do people say?

Do they ask how the family survived?

Do they ask who carried the burden?

Do they inquire about sacrifice?

No.

They say:

“What an adventure!”

Adventure?

He slept through it.

I lived through it and believe you me, it weren’t no adventure!

The Reputation

Now, over the years, I’ve become the villain.

The nag.

The shrew.

The woman who failed to appreciate a dreamer.

Well, allow me to offer a different perspective.

Dreamers are wonderful.

In moderation.

But eventually somebody has to wake up and pay for the dream.

The Truth

The truth is, I never wanted Rip to become somebody else.

I simply wanted him to become present.

There’s a difference.

A big difference.

Closing Observation

So, if you’re tellin’ this story to your children, I ask only one favor.

When you reach the part where Rip wakes up after twenty years…

Pause a moment.

And spare a thought for the woman who didn’t get to.

Final Statement

Because while Rip Van Winkle slept through history…

I was busy keepin’ it fed.

And that, as near as I can tell it, is how my husband took a twenty-year nap…

And I somehow ended up with the spoilt reputation.