New Beginnings: The Carolina Chapters

This morning I awoke to the insistent melodic trill of a territorial Carolina Warbler in the Japanese maple tree outside my bedroom window. Yes, I’m now in Carolina. Aiken, South Carolina to be exact. Yes, it’s been awhile since I’ve been here on this blog. A lot has happened and nothing at all. The big thing is that I began to play polo again. After twenty five long years, with nothing but stunt-like and WAY too out of shape episodes on a fox hunt with the Palm Beach Hounds and Stag hunting with the Devon and Somerset in England, I finally began to apply myself to the thing that redefined me to myself; that is, to be a rider. And even more challenging; to play polo once again. I’ll not go into rhapsodic detail about my passion for the sport, but I will state that it has made me feel proud of my age. (That and the occasional  fillers and Botox that are applied to my persona in key areas of my face… Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone! )I hear I don’t look my age. Because of polo, I definitely don’t feel it.

At Palm City Polo, a private club on a dirt road, across Rt 441 from the northern reaches of  the Everglades, I discovered a setting and Joey Casey, a polo professional that helped me get back my riders legs  and try to learn to hit the ball again. In doing so I rediscovered a key place of happiness within me: My natural state. As the only girl member in a pack of competitive, athletic brothers, being “one of the boys”  is my interior psyche’s natural Modus Operandi. I enjoy being one of the  boys. And I rediscovered that playing rough and tumble games, galloping shoulder to shoulder with opponents, racing to possess the ball, challenging my fears, and laughing so hard at my own ineptness, that my sides hurt, gives me great happiness. Afterwards, there’s an enjoyable afterglow as the adrenalin dissipates over a beer either in regret at the missed  opportunities or savoring the success of a particular shot.  Playing polo gave me a sense of belonging I haven’t felt in a very long time. Of all things that I am, I am proud to say once again, “I am a polo player.”

But I left Florida… rather suddenly. After six years in Palm Beach,  living in charming cottages, and even a swanky penthouse on the water, I decided it was just time to go. Being “solo” I can make decisions without consultation. I decided I have “been there, done that”. I made many new friends, who have become old friends. I’ve loved the weather, even in summer (when it’s empty and feels like a true beach town). I know every bartender, and valet attendant in town, not because I drink, but because I refuse to stay home alone, even if I don’t have someone to go out with. I’m unapologetically social.  I tried to start a new media biz with a great concept, but it was grossly under-capitalized. At least tried, it’s still a great concept, and I’m proud of my product. I love Palm Beach, but it was time.

The greatest thing Palm Beach has given me is: stories and characters. Lots of them. The good, the bad, the botoxed and botched, the liars and cons, the cheating husbands, the gold digging, hustling women and men. The famous, the infamous, in a small town bordered by the most stunning blue, green clear ocean waves that endlessly roll onto that sandy strip of island beach. I love Palm Beach, and I have come away to write about it. Sometimes the right distance offers the perspective to see clearly. I have come to Aiken, South Carolina, under a canopy of live oaks and Southern Pines to write and ride in a place that has been home, for a hundred years to the full range of equestrian sport. Fox hunting, polo, steeplechase, racing, trotters; its all right here in this small southern town. I hope the view looking back at Palm Beach will be clear, witty, fun and honest. It’s the two books I need to finish that have brought me here to a  quiet place where there are few excuses to not do a writers work.

So my friends,(and there have been over 20,000 views of this blog) I am writing again.  Read on. Sign on (as a follower). And please, pass it on. Your reading eyes are the ears I tell my stories to.

I’ll be be  back. Stay tuned.

Marianne

Thrills n Spills. A Facebook Romance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He parachuted  into my life here in Palm Beach from a place back in time. When I had last saw him, my arms were wrapped around him, holding tight. I was on the  back of his mini bike, and he was doing Evil Kineivel like jumps flying high into the air as we launched up and over the big dirt mounds, “catching air” back behind the rail road tracks of our suburban houses in Fort Washington. It was fun, because it was dangerous and thrilling. He was thirteen and  my junior high girlfriends’ little brother. I was fifteen and the only interest I had in him then was piloting that bike and not getting me killed as we flew into the air, with only him to clutch onto…not even a peg to rest my sneakered feet on. Just Thomas and his dirt bike and me clinging onto him hard. I survived those thrilling rides with Tom forty-five years ago without getting hurt. This time I flew with him again but I wasn’t so lucky.

His sister and I reconnected through Facebook a couple of years ago. As  kids we  had lived four houses away from each other, were junior high girlfriends, and did the typical 1969 teen stuff. Suzie was the first person I smoked pot with, having bought a nickel bag and a drug store pipe, that we later  hid in a tree. I think it was oregano we were smoking, for I don’t recall feeling any effects of that first time. We were in eighth grade and it was 1969. (Everyone I have ever known who smoked pot, all first started that same year. It didn’t matter if you were in college, or in eighth grade it all started in 1969.)

On Suzie’s Facebook page, I checked out her brothers. She had three as I did. In fact our youngest brothers were friends. And there was Thomas. He looked like he aged very well. Like me, he had also sadly lost his spouse, and interestingly to me, he lived on the west coast of  Florida which I wanted to explore. Perfect! Maybe I could now have a friend to go have a drink with if I took a break over on that side of Florida.  We began a friendly warm dialog via Facebook Messenger. It was  nice having him as a friend. We talked about getting together. But then he vanished after sending  me a surprising short text, saying he had a girlfriend now, and wouldn’t be communicating with me anymore.

“I can’t call you, it will make my girlfriend upset.”

That was fast for a new widower! I thought, but consoled myself by thinking “Good guys don’t last long.” And I was beginning to think Tommy was a good guy. Once when I was sad, getting over a bruising relationship that ended badly, he and I had a text conversation that was sweet and consoling. He made me feel better. He said he’d always be there if  I needed him. It was nice knowing he was on the other end. But  that terse short note about a girl friend  was a surprise. I was sad for me, but happy for him.

A month later, I got a message.  “Marianne, I owe you an apology”. He claimed his jealous girlfriend got on his phone and sent me the message and not him.

I was incredulous, wondering what kind of person does that?   “She sent me a text from your phone? Seriously?? That’s outrageous. That’s crazy woman stuff.  That kind of woman, ends of boiling your bunny.”

“Marianne, you have no idea.”

She was difficult, with anger issues. They broke up dramatically and now he was reaching out to me. I was happy we were engaging again. We resumed our cozy texting, and agreed to meet. I was excited about it. I had recovered from the bruising ending and was happily in the midst of  a dating spree. I was happy again. I felt solid and secure having finished my book.  I had it all together without having to have a man in my life. I’d just have them when it suited me. So I thought. Thomas could come over and stay with me in the  guest room. I thought the lonely widower needed some coaching to pick better women. I’d help him…..

Yeah… right. That’s what I should have done.  When we first saw each other forty five years were vanquished as he stood to greet me with a smile as wide as mine. It was obvious we were both delighted to be very attracted to each other. We happily hugged, and neither of us stopped smiling for three perfect days and nights. They were the most fun, easy-going comfortable days I’ve had with a man since Rupert had died. We talked and thoughtfully listened to each other’s stories.  I sympathized with  his loneliness and vulnerability after losing a wife of thirty years. He just had made a bad choice with that first relationship.

Being with him was the most natural thing in the world. It was just a matter of not wanting to be apart, even to sleep. It just felt right, good, and comfortable… like it was meant to be. We came home after dinner Saturday night, and put on music so he could show me how to two-step to country. I laughed as he led. He was so good at leading me… no easy thing.  And when we slow danced out the under the stars, just the two of us, I was perfectly happy. Joy is the word, which isn’t often felt as we get older. I felt it being in his arms.  He was happy too, and stopped dancing for a  minute looking into my eyes.

“Can I ask you something, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way…”

“Yes?”

“Would you get married again?”

I carefully considered what he was asking as it applied to me.

“To the right man, I would… I loved being married, but it’s not something I feel driven to do” We danced more and kissed. And when we made love we kept our eyes wide open like we meant it. Like it was real and it was felt.It was intense. He left on Monday with a promise to stay in touch and come back to see me soon. I  believed him.

At first I was concerned that he wanted to get too involved with me too quickly, after I felt I had just finally hit my stride being solo and independent. I was happy and content on my own again and didn’t want to be involved again and get hurt. But a week later I found myself thinking about him more than I expected. It was the way we were together intimately. It was the intimacy that set the hook in me. It was eyes opened making love. It felt like it was meant to be. I was disappointed when he didn’t call me, but he did respond to my text saying he  missed me “very much”. But he was focused on opening a restaurant that he bought and I knew he would be busy.

When a  month passed and he still had never called, only occasionally texting on messenger,  I suspected he was hiding what he didn’t want to be discovered on his phone. Yesterday I took a look at his Facebook page; A charity event he had attended had posted a public photo of Tom.

He had a beaming smile, the same smile he had with me. His arm was wrapped tightly around a plain faced woman; the old girlfriend. He looked very happy. The date of the photo was a few days after he wrote to me that he “missed me” and hoped to see me soon. I wish he had just told me. I’d be dissapointed, but I would have understood.

It hurt like hell. I got angry… not with him, but with myself, for  letting myself have “hope” again. I should have known better. I really had thought it felt so naturally good between us that maybe it could have “just worked”. I  let my hopes soar, and fly high, and actually began to think that maybe he was “the one”. I feel like a fool now, for thinking that. Had we not been intimate, I could now playfully chide him about his fickleness.

But there won’t be any “chiding”. Disappointed, I reacted and wrote him a sharp note on messenger wishing him happiness and  success  in his new venture and I hope he stays happy.  He responded by blocking me on Facebook. Ouch. Cold.

When we were kids, I took my chances for a thrill, by trusting  him to keep us safe.This time, forty five years later, I took my chances on him again, but I couldn’t hang on and got very hurt. But its my fault. When you chose to take risks, sometimes you just hit  the ground hard.

Summer School

I’m back after a long hiatus!  I‘ve learned a lot this summer. It’s been very interesting. I have checked out of the man hunting mode…. for good. Truly. I am not hunting anymore. I prefer to be hunted. The search of the last few years has been a clear attempt to replace what was lost, but you can’t replace one love with another love. Each love is as unique as the two people who are engaged in it. But I’ve only been able to let go of that drive as I have grown more into my own unique, solo oriented life.

This November it will be six whole years since I came home to find that Rupert, my husband had hung himself in our garage barn. It hardly seems that  long ago, at the same  time it feels  like two life times ago. It was two life times ago, actually, three lives ago. The first being our life as a couple together, then as the shocked, numb, woman running hard and fast, trying to move forward while processing the unspeakable horror of that night and staggering through the profound, complicated debris field left behind.  Now I feel comfortable as  I have grown into this most recent phase of life. It’s a quiet awareness of my place in the greater scheme of life, as well as what is left of  my own  time  on earth. I am no longer panicked by time, age or loss. Lovers have come and gone, false starts have been made in an occupation. New friendships have been made and old ones rediscovered, and the false friends revealed and cast off. My voice as a writer has strengthened, and my confidence has grown as I  have learned the value of what I have to say, and how to say it. All the   while I have learned the value of “me”. I am an unusual one. Confident, intellectually curious, outgoing and social and yet, loving to be alone and independent.

As scared and worried as I am financially, I am lucky to have  old friends that remind me that I have had  my back up against the wall more than once, and have come out on top and successful. I have decided that worry does not suit me. I am much better as the confident person I naturally am, to believe in myself, and just do what I need to do, to be where I want yet to be. I am fortunate to have been born brave and bold. Now I just have to find out what the hell it is that I am supposed to be doing… and go do it. I realize the false starts are a combination of too many choices of ability and experiences, and at the same time a fear of failure. You can not fail, if you do not try. But more importantly you cannot succeed if you do not try.

I am a soloist now. And it is “Solo” where I will be working to create my next act.

The definition of the word “Solo” is  “a thing done unaccompanied”  “A solist” is: “one  who does a thing unaccompanied.”  That’s me!  There is a lot more to follow. Stay tuned.  It’s pretty exciting.  Yes, Summer school this year has taught me a lot.

I’m Very HOT… it’s a Palm Beach Summer

Hey there! Sorry so long since the last post! So much and so little has happened. Up North I tried to unravel and unravelable situation with a horrible, Nazi like, building inspector who is making me tear the roof off a perfectly good 90 year adorable carriage house in Easton, Maryland. I got sick of waiting around for engineers and builders, and the attorney and the inspector, as I was sweltering in the 90 degree, third floor window unit cooled, little house, so  I  threw the poor dear bewildered dog  into storage ( Yes, hate me!…. my dog loving friends… but at least he’s not biting anyone… ) and took off for Florida  where I am right  now taking a computer class to brush up on  my stone age, non- existent  computer skills, in the splendiferous Mandel Library of West Palm Beach.

So folks this is just a  little teaser. As I’ve had to write a blog post to learn better connectivity and getting the word out. I will follow up shortly, to tell about so much that has  happened… well, not rally, but somethings have happened…. within and without.

More to follow!

Palm Beach Serengeti

I’m back. It’s been awhile, as I’ve been working hard on my book, the serious book. But too much seriousness makes this Jane a dull girl. It’s time to take  a break. Plus I’ve got to write because I’ve been trying very hard to land a job at the  Palm Beach Post. Maybe they’ll read  this blog. 

I  went out last night to Buccan. It’s safe for me to go out now, as I don’t have to stand behind the backs of the men eating at the bar , who would never consider giving up their seat at the bar to a lady. I found that lack of chivalry shocking when I first arrived here a few years ago, but I’ve adapted. There are actually empty bar stools in town now.  Being a “soloist” (as opposed “single”, a word that smells too much like  desperation), I like to eat at the bar, as it allows more opportunistic socializing.  I had a nice conversation with  a handsome, charming, freshly minted attorney who is new here.  I enjoyed sharing my spin on this town with him. I told him, the big secret here, is that this time of year,  is the  most social of all seasons.  I call it the “drought season”.

You see Palm Beach is a lot like the African Serengeti. When the drought season hits, all the far off social watering holes, dry up  all the wildebeests and zebras seek out the watering holes that don’t dry up. They come from  great distances to find  what it is they need, which is company, conversation, a good meal, and maybe the opposite sex. Herds of men and women from Boca, Wellington, West Palm, Jupiter and even the North End come to graze and drink at Buccan, PB Grill, Brick Tops, Meat Market, The Colony and Taboo during this quiet, “drought” season. Great herds of prey, attract great prides of predators. So the lions, leopards… and yes, cougars, are drawn in close too, as they prowl about, especially on a Friday night. There is a lot of wildlife to watch on a Friday night in Palm Beach.

I like it like this. It’s like we get two different towns. “In season”, we have chic, rich, crowded and competitive Palm Beach, and now after the fleets of Bentleys, Maserati, and Phantoms have been loaded into the platoons  of car carrying tractor trailers we have the  laid back, sleepy, quiet “Beach” town, where with the roads are as empty as the bar stools, and  the wild life comes in close for good viewing.

Tonight I’ll enjoy a nice dinner, and hopefully good conversation at Palm Beach Grill, and then I’ll swing by Buccan, to see if I can get a seat at the Blind, for viewing the wildlife… I mean the bar.I’m not the predator or the prey these days but more a “naturalist” hoping for a good view.   It’s Friday night in Palm Beach  and I’m back on  the Serengeti.

Introducing, “Professionally Single”

I’ve retired. Retired from “dating”. I don’t do it well, and I only like doing things I am naturally good at. I’ve been naturally athletic my whole life, so I do a fair number of sporty things fairly well, but I don’t practice, and if it doesn’t come easily to me, I just won’t do it.  I can hit all manner of balls fairly well; tennis balls,soft balls, golf balls, even for a time, polo balls.  But if there is time, studied effort and practice involved, that’s when I loose interest. I’m not good at “dating”, so I’m  quitting.

I am heeding the suggestion of my real life friend, and on line blog follower Kathy  and giving up “looking for love”… and all that “happy ever after” business. It’s too disruptive and effects my productivity. I woke up this morning and thought about my mother who died when she was 78. And was startled to realize that I may only have eighteen and a half years left on earth, if I die at her age. Realizing how fast 18  years came and went, watching my 27 year old son become a  man,  I’ve  become filled with a sudden sense of urgency. Almost panic, to  be honest.  I  had better get on with it. What ever “it” is. And what  just is that?  I still have no idea, what it is…. But I now know “what it’s not“. I  have realized that I have been wasting valuable time, in my own version of “Survivor”, trying out for the role of being someone’s life mate. Trying out for a job  I wasn’t asked to try out for, and a role I didn’t even know if I wanted. And that was just stupid on my part. Me and my stupid heart.

However for all my effort, experience,  and observation, these last three years being actively single, I have accrued a significant body of valuable, hard earned, knowledge, that I feel is my responsibility  to pass along to my fellow Singleton searchers and  survivors, still in the  trenches of Singledom. I have decided to selflessly assist them in their pursuit of success in finding  more love and happiness in their lives. Yes, I am going to do a most altuistic thing and share the secrets I have accrued thru love, tears, Viagra and  hormone prescriptions. I will give selflessly of my  experience for others to get  closer to  what it is they are searching for. And that information will be shared right here in this column.

Like many who retire with a valuable body of knowledge to still offer, I too shall become a “consultant”; a singles consultant. With my depth of experience, from having observed and listened to a thousand single men and women,  I am looking forward to my new role  writing  as  “Professionally Single”.  And below you will find a little appe-teaser, of what to expect coming up. In addition to Suddenly Single posts, there now will be  true life, “Observations”, “Do’s and Don’ts”, “Horrible Quotes”,  and “Over Heard at The Bar” posts, that will hopefully provide amusement and illumination into the nether world of dating between the sexes right here in Palm beach.

                                   TRUE, REALLY BAD VERBATIM QUOTE OF THE WEEK 

A blind date ( an old guy), said to me last week; ” I can’t get rid of a woman after she has sex with me.” I said; “I’m really getting cold. Will you ask for the check?”  Submitted by tall, beautiful, Elizabeth

                                                                   DO’s and DON’TS

When he can’t do the charity dog walk  with you, that you do in memory of your beloved Chihuahua that  died 6 years ago, ….because he has to go to  young son’s music recital…. DON’T COMPARE YOUR DEAD DOG TO HIS CHILDREN…. like ever. Even your alive dog…ever. Pets are not kids even if you push yours around in a silly stroller.

DO SAY: You understand, and you’ll just have to have fun without him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Willow no more

Good, mood lifting, music on Pandora plays loud as sit here in the sun room and write. It’s the channel he put me on to. A young, newer music, fun, upbeat channel, good for my mood. I need mood lifting music. Not the Neil Young that makes me sad now. I’m back here writing again. The  relationship  with him is over. The one who in whose company I was so happy. No fireworks, just a fade away. Kinda the way we faded in. I thought I had found a “keeper”. He hadn’t. It’s that simple. It’s OK. People are allowed to feel you are not what or who they are looking for. Even after you think they are who you are looking for. I guess this is what is called “dating”.  I hate dating.

I met all his old friends. They all really like me. I met his daughter and beautiful grand daughters. They were wonderful. I saw in them a warm family I would have loved to have been apart of. But that was my vision, and not his. People who knew him for a long time, said, with me, they saw a change in him. He seemed very happy. He was laughing, smiling, dancing, and even dressing better. They told me me they thought it was my influence. I felt the people who knew him and cared about him, felt I was good for him.  But he was the one who had to appreciate that. I guess he didn’t.

But I can’t help but wonder how and why the gears in his head turned. He put me into a series of social situations with ex girlfriends or their  families. I took it as a test and ran the gauntlet well, I thought. Maybe it was timing? He wants to feel  what it’s like to be single, after being a long series of  monogamous relationships? Who knows? I was enjoying  our time, I thought he was too, as he kept seeking me out. And then one night even blurted out the “L’ word apros to nothing in our conversation. As if he had come upon an amazing  revelation in himself.  I wrote about it in that last blog. How could my heart not leap at hearing that? But then a  week later, the cool distance began to set in… and as I became more confused and unsure of what had happened in his head… tension from the awkwardness  of the unspoken feelings or lack of, set in. We managed to get through the social obligations on the calendar…and now it’s “over”, with a brief  final text that ended with  a, “wishing you all the best”. And  just like that, one woman, actually, one  girl, because under all this, that is what I actually still am…. had to absorb that someone I really loved, didn’t want me in his life anymore.

I think letting me go was a mistake. I was very  good for him, and the kind of woman that could have easily gone the distance with him. He’s not an easy guy. I had the understanding and patience to deal with him and absorb his sometimes complicated thinking. Maybe he will come to his sense,  and life and time will show him that though I’m far from perfect and leave some things to be desired, I was a pretty damn good fit for him. We are old. There is no doubt about it. We are not supposed to be willows that can bend and adapt to another as we did when we were young…. but for him I was the willow. Maybe I bent too much.

So I am writing this blog again. This is the second time I have stopped writing as a result of a relationship I was having with a man. Maybe the desire to stop writing should be the red flag, warning to myself: ” Stay true!  Don’t bend and loose yourself  again.”

 

 

 

Learning to “Chill” in Florida

“Chill!” My son said. “Be chill !” I raised the child and now the child is raising me. We, my son and I, are about at the same place in  each of our newer relationships, though I suspect his is progressing more smoothly. While he was staying with me here in Palm
Beach last month, he  witnessed my emotional ups and down, that he accurately compared to a Junior High relationship. It wasn’t just me, the man on the other end of this relationship has done some dizzying turn arounds, that left me spinning not knowing if he was coming or going, starting it, or ending it.  We just did another one.

He is like the Florida weather, very variable, one moment fair and warm, then suddenly cold and stormy. I love the weather in Florida. It’s diverse, it’s exciting, and no matter what or how bad it is, you always know that the sun will come out and  it will be warm again, and sometimes, really hot. Like, really, really hot. That’s why I love  this weather …and this man.

But the “chill” thing… My sons’ admonition to “chill”, is good advice. I too, am variable and reactive. The realization that your personal happiness is becoming dependent  on another is frightening. The ability of letting another person in close enough to hurt you, when you’ve been very hurt, is very hard and difficult to do and not be fearful. My emotions have made me insecure. I’ve lost my feet under me, and have got to get them back. My own personal accomplishments and work are  what ground me, and I had better get back to working on them.  He probably feels the same. He took off  for the west coast for a few days. I can see he is still on March dot Com. I can see that because I am still on Match dot Com. We are both keeping our options open. It’s OK. Time and bonds and relationships that are good for the long run, take time and sometimes need to be tested. I don’t talk  with him about it. He’s not a talker. He’s a doer.

To that effect, we will be “doing” a lot together  this coming weekend. I’m his date for the Polo Hall of Fame black tie dinner, Saturday another benefit match and dinner, and a match on Sunday. I suspect this weekend might shake out our status a bit more but I don’t know which way it  is going to go. I have never been a passive person. I too, am a “doer”, but in this man I have met my match. He is strong. So strong I think I’m finally learning to be passive. I don’t know what the weather will be this weekend, but I do know that I am going to be “Chill”, no matter what the weather brings.

Hallelujah! It’s a Miracle!

“I’m SO happy!” I said aloud, as I woke up in bed this morning, alone, sleepy and considering my life. It’s not what you think. I may have slept alone, but I’m not alone. There is someone else. The man with the shell, the one I have been “dancing” the two step with, said words to me the other night… that were the stuff I could  only dream about. And didn’t expect…. They were wonderful words, that I almost didn’t hear, because I was chattering on, as I do, often slightly nervous in his quiet company. I had made dinner for the two of us, and we had just sat down for our cozy meal. I chattered on until he brought me up short with an exasperated, ” Stop blabbering on! You almost missed something important I was just saying to you!” He was right. I hadn’t heard what he had just said. Wide eyed, I looked up at him. Had I just heard him use a word, a girl never, ever, ever, hears? A word that is so precious it should not be written about in black or white…. Not yet at least. ” I’m sorry! Ummn.. could I get a  replay please? “, I whispered with intensity.

He repeated what he had been trying to say. It’s private. It’s between us, so I won’t ever write about that most close space. But I will say, his words mean so much to me, so unexpected, and yet hoped for. And those words, and his bravely speaking them… bring tears to my eyes as I write this. That two people, late in our lives, can still have hope to find those things that are reserved for the young, who have so much life yet to live, is a miracle. That two people who have experienced so much pain which should have forged an iron barrier to believing in another ever again, can still find hope and the ability to trust in another person, is a miracle. I sat, mouth agape, and absorbed what he had said.

“Really???  Wow, that’s pretty wonderful. What’s amazing is that I can be completely my self around you, and you still like me. That’s, like, a miracle.” He was nodding and smiling.  ” I feel like I should go to church now. I owe God something.” and  to prove my point, of him liking me, in spite of being my sometimes clown-like self, I stood up from the table, and suddenly dropped to my bare knees on the wooden deck, threw my hands over my head, and shaking them in gratitude to the heavens,  shouted in my best Bible Revival meeting voice, loud enough for my neighbors to hear, ” Thank you Jesus! Thank You God! Praise Jesus! It’s a Miracle! “. He was laughing pretty hard. I got up from my knees and the noisy exclaiming, and we had a really nice romantic dinner that night. He really puts up with me well. I’m so happy.

Thank you Jesus…. it’s a miracle.

 

 

 

Love’s Two Step & Space Exploration

It’s not over! One step forward, two steps back. Two steps forward, one step back. And so it goes in this relationship. As it does in every new relationship. We are dancing the dance that two people dance as they cautiously, sometimes fearfully, sometimes boldly and carelessly, move forward and backward in their emotions, as they learn about their feelings for another person. It’s not easy at our age. But truth be told , there is an element that feels  no different than when I was a fifteen year old sophomore  and pining away for  John McVeigh, the  smart, cute  starting center on Bishop Mc Devitt’s High school’s basketball team. It probably feels very similar emotionally but compounded by the intensity of knowing that our time in life and potentially together is  much more limited. We have less life to live, so there is a certain subliminal atmosphere of urgency … to “get on with it”. But it’s too soon now for that.

There was a terribly misunderstood email from me that shocked and hurt him. He didn’t like feeling hurt, and pulled back, hard. He said he wanted “space”. We were  moving too fast, too close, too soon. I felt it too. I wasn’t writing, and wasn’t taking care of the business of my own life. So we had a blow up. A terrible storm. He felt hurt, and his reaction then left me very hurt. But then he called Sunday morning, and we talked. I so was relieved to see his name on my phone. My eyes were puffy from crying, and I had somehow lost three pounds in a day, ( which wasn’t a bad thing). He talked and I listened. We aired it out, the storm cleared and we have a better understanding. We are having a “reset”. I like “resets”. I had a “reset” birthday this year. And now our relationship has been “reset”.  You see, I’m still learning to “date”.  I never  did. I feel like I have had a thousand first dates, and  maybe a little more. I’ve  have written about them here. But the only real relationships I  have had have been with my two husbands. And I married them.  I once wrote in this blog that ” I have only two speeds, “NO”, and “GO”.  So this is new to me. It’s still  “GO”. But go more SLOWLY.

I like this “re-set”. I can get back to my life and get productive again, and not be the lovesick, sad woman, sobbing in a pillow, that I was, just 48 hours ago. I’m not reaching out to him at all anymore. He wants space? Space it will be! He shall have a huge, gaping, vast, constellation of space. So much space he’s going have to look hard to find me. But I know he will.  You see, a half an hour after that call about him needing “space”, he called me and asked me to spend the day with him at the Stuart Boat show, looking at boats. Of course I said, “Yes”. Space exploration?  I think I like it.

 

 

 

 

 

.