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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • FRIDAY, AUGUST 10, 2018
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Muriel and Ronald
Jensen on their first
wedding anniversary.
Contributed photos by Muriel Jensen
Ron
The story of a long,
loving marriage
Muriel and Ronald Jensen celebrating Ron’s last
birthday, March 20.
being on a broad sidewalk in the middle of the sky.
Then diabetic neuropathy took its toll on his body. No
longer able to hold on to or manipulate a brush, he even-
tually gave up painting. Walking grew difficult.
He complained very little, though everything became
an ordeal. Sometimes he was grumpy, which made me
grumpy.
Something that frustrated both of us and became an
inside joke was his need for “one more thing.” Toward the
end, he could do very little for himself. I tried not to leave
him for too long, so he would save every need for the
next time I passed through the room. “Could you plug in
my Kindle? Clean my glasses? Bring me some coffee?”
I would provide all those things, then he’d say, “Oh, and
one more thing …”
By 11 at night, that one more thing could make me
crazy. We snarled at one another occasionally but under-
stood, I think, that we were just doing the best we could
in a tough situation.
He seemed to have such endurance, I thought he would
live forever.
ber (this was October) before they would go to contract.
I worked full-time in a Hallmark shop with Christmas
around the corner.
The “few changes” were a complete rewrite. I was
almost hysterical, but Ron had it handled. He cooked, did
dishes, cleaned house, shopped and rode herd on the chil-
dren so that all I had to do was write.
When I sold the book, he finally had time to paint.
Boats and historic homes were his favorite subjects, and
he did well enough to support a small studio above what
is now Carruthers.
My favorite memories of our time as empty-nesters
are road trips to writers’ conferences and art shows. We
talked and laughed, nibbled on sinful snacks and enjoyed
the intimate bubble surrounding two people in a car on
the open road.
We were in that magic circle in a relationship where
the more love you give, the more you get back. The more
you get back, the more you want to return. And on and
on. It was both miraculous and comfortingly stable, like
I have no regrets, and I don’t think he had either, which
makes it hard to be sad. His spirit lingers in the house and
on the porch, where we often sat on sunny days.
I was going through cards and letters I’ve saved and
found a card he gave me on our 42nd anniversary. He
wrote, “I have loved you for 42 years. I will love you
when it’s 50 years. I will love you beyond that. I will love
you always. Here’s to love, romance, and fun.” He signed
it with a sketch of a heart and clinking champagne glasses.
So I guess this is still a story about how great it is to
have the love of a long marriage. What I didn’t know
before is how well that love can sustain you when you’re
forced to go on alone. But what I wouldn’t give now to
hear him say, “Oh, Honey? One more thing …”
Jensen wrote for Harlequin from 1984 until her retire-
ment last year. She’s published 93 books in the American
Romance line, Superromance and Harlequin Historicals.
She lives in Astoria with a Westie mix named Claire and a
pair of Tabby cats. She has three children, nine grandchil-
dren, and the great-grands are still coming.
By MURIEL JENSEN
For The Daily Astorian
Y
ou may have read that my husband, Ron,
passed away on Memorial Day. We had his
Celebration of Life service today, Aug. 10,
on what would have been our 50th wedding
anniversary.
I planned this column about how cool it is to have a
lifelong relationship back in April when I still had it. But
I feel as though it continues, so that everything I had in
mind to tell you still applies.
Ron and I met while working together at the Los Ange-
les Times. I was a receptionist on the editorial floor, and
he passed my desk several times a day. He was smart and
funny and wanted to be an artist. We became friends. We
had lunch together a few times then he asked me to din-
ner. Over brochette, he proposed.
I had big dreams to move to Italy, write the great Amer-
ican novel and take in homeless children. (I know. How
did I think I was going to do all that at the same time? Big
dreams, short on plans. But that’s me.) I said no.
He launched a campaign to make himself indispens-
able. A single rose was delivered to my desk every day. A
cup of tea would appear when I returned from an errand.
I found little gifts in my file drawer. Once a very realistic
plush white mouse made me scream so loudly that secu-
rity came running from all directions.
Then Ron disappeared for several days on a sudden,
unannounced vacation. Life at my desk was grim; no
flowers, no mice, no jokes. No tea! When he returned the
following Monday, I proposed to him.
We lived in McMinnville, where he was editor of
the News-Register, and where we adopted our children;
Boise, Idaho, a nice city, but we all missed the water; then
came to Astoria in 1976 to buy the Columbia Press. We
lost our shirts, but we’d found our home. Ron got a job
selling cars, painted on the side, I worked in retail, and
life went on.
Life together
In 1983, Harlequin expressed interest in a romance
novel I’d submitted. It required a few changes by Decem-
‘I will love you always’