Nail, Meet Head

Yesterday, LuckyzMom commented: "How is his situation different than yours? What are your qualifications?"

Talk about hitting the nail on the head! Last night I talked to another man from Match. He asked how long I've been divorced. When I told him 17 years, he let out a long, low whistle. "Whoa. You're set in your ways!" he exclaimed.

I've thought and thought about that. I'm not even sure what my ways are. I don't have set habits or things that have to be a certain way. I share my life with so many people that it's sure not "my way or the highway" around here.

But it is true that I'm not prepared to compromise more than a reasonable amount just to find someone. And it is true that some of my life and characteristics could be as much of a red flag to others as the whole "not ready" thing was to me Monday night.

Lord. This is all so complicated. Or not, depending on what you make of it.

Striking Matches

My number one "thing to do before I go" is fall in love again. I've been waiting patiently, but no available man has knocked at my door, offering to join me in that adventure. It was well past time to take action. Sunday afternoon I signed up for on-line dating.

Last night I spoke to an interesting man. So far, I know he's smart and funny and loves his kids.

I also know he's a widower whose wife died about a year ago. She was his high school sweetheart, and they'd been married almost 40 years. He has not yet gone on an actual date with anyone.

Almost every story he told me about his children involved teaching them to be careful with money. He talked a lot about conserving throughout his life so he is absolutely secure for retirement.

I can't hear or see for the alarm bells ringing and the red flags flying in my head.

This man and his wife seem to have had a wonderful relationship. Being the first to date someone after a divorce almost never goes well. Dating after a death is likely to be even more intense. He's not ready -- he hasn't found his balance yet. He's lonely, and that's not good.

His focus on being careful with money may be his way of emphasizing what he considers a good quality. Or he might be a miser.

I am glad I insisted on calling him rather than giving him my number, glad I hid my number when I called. A big part of me has no intention of even responding to the email he sent this morning to tell me how much he enjoyed the conversation.

Isn't this how I've ended up single for 17 years? After a 60 minute conversation, I've written the entire story in my head and titled it Too Much Trouble.

How much of what I'm thinking here is common sense and how much is avoidance? I'd appreciate any thoughts you have.

Sleepwalking?

I am working in a coffee shop. Every 30 seconds or so, the man next to me snores quite loudly, several times.

The man's feet twitch from time to time. His eyes are open. He's reading a newspaper, for goodness sake. He's also snoring like a grizzly burrowed into a snowbound cave in the mountains of Montana.

Ambien? Sleep apnea? Poor nasal hygiene?

It's a complete mystery.

Two Sundays ago, I went to church for the first time in a long time. Back in Minneapolis, I went to a crazy Catholic church where we prayed to "Our Mother Who Art in Heaven" and danced in the aisles while we sang old hippie songs. All believing Christians were welcome to take communion in both forms. All were welcome in that place, in every way. Ordinary people spoke from the pulpit more often than priests.

During the years I went to St. Joan's I heard homilies from a Native American who spoke of the time when it became legal for his worship services to be performed, a man celebrating the birthday of the young woman whose heart saved his life, a fitter of prosthetic limbs in Southeast Asia, and a park ranger who believes trees hold the secret to life. I watched a man perform a Hawaiian sacred dance through the aisles and at the altar, his movement a sacred message. I saw three Palestinian women -- one Christian, one Jew and one Muslim -- defiantly hold hands and beg us to hep make sure their sons and daughters did not have to shoot at one another.

I miss St. Joan's as much as I miss anything about Minneapolis other than my daughter.

And then I discovered Unity Village Chapel. It's not quite the same, but it's closer than anything I've found. People stand and dance in place to old hippie music and the message is one of peace and love and hope. Of joy.

I have to miss services this week, and I'm sad about that, but it feels so good to have a church to miss again.

No Sweetness In the Sorrow of This Parting

A member of my cyberspace work team died this weekend. Far from home and family, far from understanding, far from everything, really.

We don't know many details. We can't know for sure how accurate the story as we've heard it may be. The one thing we do know is that a brilliant and beloved young person is dead. The tragic waste stuns me.

I pray for peace for the family. I pray in thanks for the person's young life that was and in sorrow for what is not to be. I pray Light surrounds all who feel darkness.

My memory is like Swiss cheese: solid in some places and nothing but air in others.

Thursday I needed to call the guy who services Paula for me. (She needs new tires. Can you believe she's already four years old?) I just picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory. I call the auto shop two or three times a year, but I remember the number. That's the solid.

The air is so much bigger, though. Yesterday I started the day on the treadmill. After several days of watching TV while I dragged my sorry butt along a path to nowhere, watching the seconds crawl by and feeling like the allotted time would never end, I dreaded more of the same. For some reason, I pulled out my iPod.

How could I have forgotten? How could I lose track of how much I love to pound along to the rhythm of my favorite songs? In my early 40s, I ran every morning, just me and Jimmy Buffet. Same tape every day. Same corner, singing, Yes, I am a pirate, 200 years too late. The canons don't thunder, there's nothing to plunder... Same joy rising as the world twirled by, and I got stronger and thinner. Every morning, I shouted over Jimmy's "I'm an over-40 victim of fate, arriving too late" with defiance -- "I'm no kinda victim of fate, never too late...NEVER TOO LATE."

Yesterday, it was the sound track from the Country Strong movie. I'm country strong, hard to break. Like the ground I grew up on.... and Even on my weakest day, I get a little bit stronger and After all these years of running round, flying high and falling down, well the time has come at last to rest my heart and ease my past.

Singing and pounding down the miles, joy rising with every step, I felt stronger and happier and more alive than I have in many months. How can I let inertia take over when that feeling is possible every day? Why can I remember rarely used phone numbers and forget that I actually like to exercise once I get going? How can I forget that feeling?

Crazy, but I stayed so long I was five minutes late to Paula's appointment. She really needs new tires. We've got so much adventure ahead.

64 and Sunny

It's 17 degrees and snowing like crazy here in KC, but it's 64 and sunny in my heart.

A few weeks ago, I was asked to do a project, which I can't really name or discuss because it's confidential. I can tell you the project was more trouble than it was worth to me in dollars and cents. I can tell you I agreed to do it because I thought I could help.

I can tell you I hoped the project might lead to good things, and it has.

I spent a truly ridiculous amount of time getting the details right on this thing. I made myself crazy, and several times it seemed like I was making the people in charge crazy, too. But all my obsession with details made them believe I know my stuff. It also made them ask me to be on set for a video shoot. Or maybe a bunch of video shoots.

In a place far from home -- a place where it's currently 64 and sunny.

I'm going on an adventure!!!!!!