My thirteen-year-old son has fallen for Date #11.
Yesterday, the three of us flew kites at Buffalo Rock State Park, then went for a hike along the Illinois River. Afterward, we stopped for dinner in some tiny, rural town where my son ordered a heaping portion of shepherd's pie and a giant glass of chocolate milk. The guy told jokes, had a hearty laugh and good-naturedly poked fun at me.
What was not to like?
"I don't know," I said as my son and I were driving back home, "but it just wasn't there."
"But he's so nice," my son insisted. "You have to give him another chance. At least two more times. It's the only way to know."
"You think?"
"Definitely." Then he went on to share his own dating philosophy: To go out with any girl who asks you, because once you get to know them, you'll probably end up liking them.
"You really could like any girl in your school?"
"Well," he said after thinking a moment or two, "maybe not _____ because she's always complaining, or _____ because she's too loud, but otherwise, probably yes. So, will you go out with him again?" he finished.
I glanced at my son, so optimistic and full of promise. "Yes," I said, "if he asks."
"Good. He will. Now tell me a story."
And so I did for the rest of the ride home.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Who Art Thou
It's discouraging. Even my dream life is letting me down.
Take the other night. I'm in a house near some stairs, when my ex appears. He's shorter and thinner than in real life. His bottom teeth are more crooked. And he's so uptight, he can barely say hello.
He suggests we meet another day.
I look at him incredulous. Yeah, sure, another day.
Then we try kissing, but there is nothing left. What was between us has disappeared.
The dream went on a while longer, but that was the gist of it and when I woke up, I was downright blue. In fact, all day long, I kept thinking about my ex and wondering whether....
...Love really does just vanish?
...Or is the fact that love vanishes, a sign that it wasn't love at all?
...And if the latter is true, does that mean, more often than not, all the energy and thought-time we expend on love just ends up down the tubes?
Unless, as my friend Nicole who is a therapist insists, love is personal. By which she means, if it's real for you, then it's real, regardless of whether it's reciprocal.
That would explain why someone I know can be obsessively in love with a fellow she met online, even though they've never spoken let alone ever met.
Or why a friend could pine after her true love - a married man - for twenty years, even though she sees him at best once a year.
Or I how I could go on for a good year thinking my ex-husband truly loved me, even though hello, obviously he didn't.
I suppose Nicole's view of love offers more room for optimism, but none of it is exactly cheery. Which may be why on a day like this, the best I can say about love is hopefully it's not only blind but deaf and dumb.
Take the other night. I'm in a house near some stairs, when my ex appears. He's shorter and thinner than in real life. His bottom teeth are more crooked. And he's so uptight, he can barely say hello.
He suggests we meet another day.
I look at him incredulous. Yeah, sure, another day.
Then we try kissing, but there is nothing left. What was between us has disappeared.
The dream went on a while longer, but that was the gist of it and when I woke up, I was downright blue. In fact, all day long, I kept thinking about my ex and wondering whether....
...Love really does just vanish?
...Or is the fact that love vanishes, a sign that it wasn't love at all?
...And if the latter is true, does that mean, more often than not, all the energy and thought-time we expend on love just ends up down the tubes?
Unless, as my friend Nicole who is a therapist insists, love is personal. By which she means, if it's real for you, then it's real, regardless of whether it's reciprocal.
That would explain why someone I know can be obsessively in love with a fellow she met online, even though they've never spoken let alone ever met.
Or why a friend could pine after her true love - a married man - for twenty years, even though she sees him at best once a year.
Or I how I could go on for a good year thinking my ex-husband truly loved me, even though hello, obviously he didn't.
I suppose Nicole's view of love offers more room for optimism, but none of it is exactly cheery. Which may be why on a day like this, the best I can say about love is hopefully it's not only blind but deaf and dumb.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
On Holiday - Date #10
Poor Date #10.
From the outside, he had a lot going for him. He was smart, handsome, financially well-off, and easy to talk with. Too, like most people when they're in the middle of a mess, he was vulnerable - a very attractive quality when combined with inner strength, or perhaps more aptly put, faith. Faith that things will get better and that you will get through this, whatever this might be.
In Date #10's case, it was a divorce. For Charlotte, a lovely, 40-year-old woman whom I met on a plane to Vancouver a few years back, it was the death of her husband. There she'd been, a happy-go-lucky wife and mother one day, then boom, her husband had a brain aneurysm, and the next day she was a widow.
By the time we met high in the sky, she'd been on her own for 18 months and seemed to be getting on with things. I, on the other hand, four months after the demise of my marriage, was an emotional meatball.
Needing answers, I peppered her with questions: Are you lonely? How's your daughter doing? Do you want to be with someone again?
I don't remember all she said, but I do recall this. That she was sure one day she'd find another partner.
Wow, I said, you're lucky you know that. But in the meantime, how do you cope?
Charlotte thought for a moment. If I told you that in a year's time you'd meet the man of your dreams and be with him the rest of your life, what would you do?
Probably enjoy myself, I said, and do all kinds of crazy, fun things, knowing this would be the last year I'd get to spend on my own.
Exactly, she replied. Like a year on holiday with yourself.
Twelve months on holiday with myself -- what a great notion! And yet I keep putting it off. For a good while, the details of my divorce consumed me. Then there was this boyfriend, and that one. At other times, I've simply been afraid.
But after dinner the other night with Date #10, who has no idea where he's going but whom I'm positive will get there anyway, I finally heard the wake-up call. It's time, hon. Pack your bags and don't forget sunscreen. Cause guaranteed there'll be blue skies whichever way you head.
From the outside, he had a lot going for him. He was smart, handsome, financially well-off, and easy to talk with. Too, like most people when they're in the middle of a mess, he was vulnerable - a very attractive quality when combined with inner strength, or perhaps more aptly put, faith. Faith that things will get better and that you will get through this, whatever this might be.
In Date #10's case, it was a divorce. For Charlotte, a lovely, 40-year-old woman whom I met on a plane to Vancouver a few years back, it was the death of her husband. There she'd been, a happy-go-lucky wife and mother one day, then boom, her husband had a brain aneurysm, and the next day she was a widow.
By the time we met high in the sky, she'd been on her own for 18 months and seemed to be getting on with things. I, on the other hand, four months after the demise of my marriage, was an emotional meatball.
Needing answers, I peppered her with questions: Are you lonely? How's your daughter doing? Do you want to be with someone again?
I don't remember all she said, but I do recall this. That she was sure one day she'd find another partner.
Wow, I said, you're lucky you know that. But in the meantime, how do you cope?
Charlotte thought for a moment. If I told you that in a year's time you'd meet the man of your dreams and be with him the rest of your life, what would you do?
Probably enjoy myself, I said, and do all kinds of crazy, fun things, knowing this would be the last year I'd get to spend on my own.
Exactly, she replied. Like a year on holiday with yourself.
Twelve months on holiday with myself -- what a great notion! And yet I keep putting it off. For a good while, the details of my divorce consumed me. Then there was this boyfriend, and that one. At other times, I've simply been afraid.
But after dinner the other night with Date #10, who has no idea where he's going but whom I'm positive will get there anyway, I finally heard the wake-up call. It's time, hon. Pack your bags and don't forget sunscreen. Cause guaranteed there'll be blue skies whichever way you head.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Loose Change - Date #9
I feel guilty. Date #9 emailed last week asking if I wanted to go out again, and I still haven't answered.
If a man did that to me, you can bet I'd be blasting him as a self-centered bum, unworthy of my attention. Yet here I am, acting equally bum-like, but unable to email this fellow back.
I don't know why except to say that our whole encounter was...strange. Where he chose to lunch - at a grimy sandwich counter with plastic tables, where we were the only two customers. How he paid for our tuna subs - with a handful of coins. The vaporous way he explained the end of his marriage - it just drifted off. Not to mention how he was always touching my arm, even though each time he did, I'd inch my chair further from his reach.
So why don't I just write back and say, no thanks, I don't think we're a match? The only think I can figure is that he reminds me too much of...myself.
Ask my son, and he'll tell you outright that we've eaten in any number of dives, although I like to think of them as authentic, down-home kind of spots. Just the other week, the two of us went to the ice cream store and I paid for the cones with the loose change I'd been saving in a bottle. Any of my friends will tell you that I'm touchy. And in my twenties, I ended a relationship for no reason other than the fact that the guy had written me a letter on a paper towel.
Yes, the only way to become spiritually healthy and strong is to look inside yourself. And I try to, a lot. But today, call me a chicken. Cluck cluck.
If a man did that to me, you can bet I'd be blasting him as a self-centered bum, unworthy of my attention. Yet here I am, acting equally bum-like, but unable to email this fellow back.
I don't know why except to say that our whole encounter was...strange. Where he chose to lunch - at a grimy sandwich counter with plastic tables, where we were the only two customers. How he paid for our tuna subs - with a handful of coins. The vaporous way he explained the end of his marriage - it just drifted off. Not to mention how he was always touching my arm, even though each time he did, I'd inch my chair further from his reach.
So why don't I just write back and say, no thanks, I don't think we're a match? The only think I can figure is that he reminds me too much of...myself.
Ask my son, and he'll tell you outright that we've eaten in any number of dives, although I like to think of them as authentic, down-home kind of spots. Just the other week, the two of us went to the ice cream store and I paid for the cones with the loose change I'd been saving in a bottle. Any of my friends will tell you that I'm touchy. And in my twenties, I ended a relationship for no reason other than the fact that the guy had written me a letter on a paper towel.
Yes, the only way to become spiritually healthy and strong is to look inside yourself. And I try to, a lot. But today, call me a chicken. Cluck cluck.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Out The Door
Talk about bloopers. Here I've been, going on about searching for Mr Right, but hello, did I ever put it out there that I'd like to find him?
No, not even close. Which may explain why my flurry of dating has come to naught. And why in all this time, I haven't felt anything remotely related to a zing, except once after being told that a certain married man-about-town had just separated from his wife.
Bingo, I thought, until hearing that the lout had been extra-maritally hooked up for nearly a year. Pshew...there went that spark, right out the door.
Speaking of which, my son, who thinks I don't have a life, has taken to literally pushing me out the door, insisting I let down my hair and have a little fun.
His tactic seems to be working because yesterday morning, at the last moment, I decided to head downstate and tag along with an environmental group that was lobbying at the state capital.
I'd been hesitant to go because it was a 3 1/2 hour ride. But in the end, I was glad I did. I'd never been in Springfield before. The folks I met were pleasant, and the weather delightful.
The best part, however, was when I stopped for gas in some depressed, farming community in the middle of nowhere. Half the town's shops were boarded up. Litter was everywhere. The warning bells and flashing red lights at the main railroad crossing may as well not have been there, considering the way locals ignored the signals and drove willy-nilly across the tracks.
Wow, I suddenly realized, am I ever lucky. I don't have to live here. I don't have to pump gas for a living. I can zip across the state in a car that's all paid for, pretty much whenever I please.
Sure, I'd like to fall madly in love, and even get married again someday. But for now, call it gratitude or counting your blessings, I'm sending a shout-out to good fortune.
No, not even close. Which may explain why my flurry of dating has come to naught. And why in all this time, I haven't felt anything remotely related to a zing, except once after being told that a certain married man-about-town had just separated from his wife.
Bingo, I thought, until hearing that the lout had been extra-maritally hooked up for nearly a year. Pshew...there went that spark, right out the door.
Speaking of which, my son, who thinks I don't have a life, has taken to literally pushing me out the door, insisting I let down my hair and have a little fun.
His tactic seems to be working because yesterday morning, at the last moment, I decided to head downstate and tag along with an environmental group that was lobbying at the state capital.
I'd been hesitant to go because it was a 3 1/2 hour ride. But in the end, I was glad I did. I'd never been in Springfield before. The folks I met were pleasant, and the weather delightful.
The best part, however, was when I stopped for gas in some depressed, farming community in the middle of nowhere. Half the town's shops were boarded up. Litter was everywhere. The warning bells and flashing red lights at the main railroad crossing may as well not have been there, considering the way locals ignored the signals and drove willy-nilly across the tracks.
Wow, I suddenly realized, am I ever lucky. I don't have to live here. I don't have to pump gas for a living. I can zip across the state in a car that's all paid for, pretty much whenever I please.
Sure, I'd like to fall madly in love, and even get married again someday. But for now, call it gratitude or counting your blessings, I'm sending a shout-out to good fortune.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Mr. Saturday Night
Two dates last week, or almost. Mr. Saturday Nighter canceled out two hours before we were supposed to meet. He said he wasn't feeling well and that he'd even missed a day of work.
Why he didn't call earlier to tell me he was sick, who knows. Nor did he apologize. But he did offer to make it up to me, twice.
Interesting. Someone I've never met, whom I've talked with on the phone maybe five minutes, is going to make it up to me? How, I'd like to know. Send flowers? Take me to a nicer place than we originally were planning to go, if and when, that is, we do indeed ever meet?
Nope. When he said, "I'll make it up to you," I think he must have been having a momentary blip and thought he was talking to his soon-to-be ex-wife.
I can just imagine the rest of their conversation. "Yes, I'd say I was 'fine,' even when I wasn't, but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I said, 'needing to talk about emotions is your problem,' but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I was sleeping around, but I'll make it up to you. Really, sweetie. Honest."
Promises, promises. Like clouds in the sky, how they drift by.
Why he didn't call earlier to tell me he was sick, who knows. Nor did he apologize. But he did offer to make it up to me, twice.
Interesting. Someone I've never met, whom I've talked with on the phone maybe five minutes, is going to make it up to me? How, I'd like to know. Send flowers? Take me to a nicer place than we originally were planning to go, if and when, that is, we do indeed ever meet?
Nope. When he said, "I'll make it up to you," I think he must have been having a momentary blip and thought he was talking to his soon-to-be ex-wife.
I can just imagine the rest of their conversation. "Yes, I'd say I was 'fine,' even when I wasn't, but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I said, 'needing to talk about emotions is your problem,' but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I was sleeping around, but I'll make it up to you. Really, sweetie. Honest."
Promises, promises. Like clouds in the sky, how they drift by.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The Golden Rule
I keep making the same mistake.
The first time, I was at a Bar Mitzvah party and after chatting with this fabulous woman a while, I blurted out how lucky she was to be such good friends with her husband.
Her response: silence. Then she confided that a few years back, she and her husband had separated for seventeen months.
Yesterday, I was at a roller rink helping chaperone a school field trip, when for some reason I felt compelled to tell the parent I was talking with - another terrific woman - how lucky she was to enjoy her husband's company.
This time there was a long pause before she shared how there'd been numerous times in her twenty-year marriage when she'd been ready to run.
On the bus ride home from roller-skating, I sat with my friend Kimberly. We've gone through a lot together including our second divorces. But on this trip, the talk turned to her parents' marriage and what it did or didn't teach her about how to be a wife, a mother, and a friend.
"So you think you did a lot wrong in your marriage?" I said.
"Oh yes," she replied. "But I didn't know differently. It was how I thought you could treat a husband."
The Golden Rule says, "Treat other people as you would have them treat you." But do we? Did I in my first marriage? in my second? Of course not. And look at the results.
The sun is finally out this morning. My son is at his dad's. This evening I'm meeting the man Kimberly fixed me up with for a drink. In the meantime, I think I'll go for a walk along the lake where, alone with myself, I'm hoping I'll get a little break before encountering my next blunder.
The first time, I was at a Bar Mitzvah party and after chatting with this fabulous woman a while, I blurted out how lucky she was to be such good friends with her husband.
Her response: silence. Then she confided that a few years back, she and her husband had separated for seventeen months.
Yesterday, I was at a roller rink helping chaperone a school field trip, when for some reason I felt compelled to tell the parent I was talking with - another terrific woman - how lucky she was to enjoy her husband's company.
This time there was a long pause before she shared how there'd been numerous times in her twenty-year marriage when she'd been ready to run.
On the bus ride home from roller-skating, I sat with my friend Kimberly. We've gone through a lot together including our second divorces. But on this trip, the talk turned to her parents' marriage and what it did or didn't teach her about how to be a wife, a mother, and a friend.
"So you think you did a lot wrong in your marriage?" I said.
"Oh yes," she replied. "But I didn't know differently. It was how I thought you could treat a husband."
The Golden Rule says, "Treat other people as you would have them treat you." But do we? Did I in my first marriage? in my second? Of course not. And look at the results.
The sun is finally out this morning. My son is at his dad's. This evening I'm meeting the man Kimberly fixed me up with for a drink. In the meantime, I think I'll go for a walk along the lake where, alone with myself, I'm hoping I'll get a little break before encountering my next blunder.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Red Flags
I have two dates lined up. One today for lunch. Another on Saturday evening. I'm feeling hopeful. One's a scientist who's raising a kid on his own. The other is a fix-up and even though the ex-husband of the girlfriend who set me up, spoke ill of him (they work in the same business), I liked the timbre of the guy's voice when we spoke over the phone.
Plus as my girlfriend pointed out, a lot of people in the industry in which her ex-husband and this guy work, can be jerks now and then. Don't let that count him out.
So what should count someone out? Which are the red flags to pay attention to? One of the men I went out with, Date # , said he was the CEO of some company. Yet when I googled the company, nothing turned up. At the bar where we met, he showed me his card, but then took it away so quickly, claiming it was his last one, that I didn't have time to read a thing. To top it off, he berated the waiter for being slow with serving our drinks.
Red flags? I should say so. But that evening, as well as the next day when he called, I overlooked everything. People are different, after all. People are different.
Like a former boyfriend of mine, whom I always thought was strange but nice. He turned out to be a murderer. My guess is he had some kind of psychotic snap. But I'm sure certain signs were always there. Certain signs that I chose to ignore.
The first time I met my post marriage ex-boyfriend, he went on and on about himself. My son, who was with me, even commented that the guy never asked one question about us. The first time I went out with my former husband, I had coffee while he ate lunch. Nonetheless, when the bill came, he asked me to chip in.
Did the ex-boyfriend always talk about himself? No. At times he was a very good listener, although true, given the choice, he preferred to be center stage. Was my ex-husband always cheap? No, when we were together his approach to money was to spend it. Yet during the divorce, he went after what I had, and since the divorce, counts every penny he's obliged to pay.
If we are who we are in the littlest moments, no wonder first impressions count. Yet in retrospect, would I have handled things differently with either of my ex's? Probably not. Both men had other qualities that I fell for hard and which overshadowed all else.
So do we ever learn anything? I'd like to think so. But you have to scale back your standards. Forget leaps and bounds. Or even baby steps. Use the measurement my girlfriend Heidi swears by: eyelash by eyelash.
Plus as my girlfriend pointed out, a lot of people in the industry in which her ex-husband and this guy work, can be jerks now and then. Don't let that count him out.
So what should count someone out? Which are the red flags to pay attention to? One of the men I went out with, Date # , said he was the CEO of some company. Yet when I googled the company, nothing turned up. At the bar where we met, he showed me his card, but then took it away so quickly, claiming it was his last one, that I didn't have time to read a thing. To top it off, he berated the waiter for being slow with serving our drinks.
Red flags? I should say so. But that evening, as well as the next day when he called, I overlooked everything. People are different, after all. People are different.
Like a former boyfriend of mine, whom I always thought was strange but nice. He turned out to be a murderer. My guess is he had some kind of psychotic snap. But I'm sure certain signs were always there. Certain signs that I chose to ignore.
The first time I met my post marriage ex-boyfriend, he went on and on about himself. My son, who was with me, even commented that the guy never asked one question about us. The first time I went out with my former husband, I had coffee while he ate lunch. Nonetheless, when the bill came, he asked me to chip in.
Did the ex-boyfriend always talk about himself? No. At times he was a very good listener, although true, given the choice, he preferred to be center stage. Was my ex-husband always cheap? No, when we were together his approach to money was to spend it. Yet during the divorce, he went after what I had, and since the divorce, counts every penny he's obliged to pay.
If we are who we are in the littlest moments, no wonder first impressions count. Yet in retrospect, would I have handled things differently with either of my ex's? Probably not. Both men had other qualities that I fell for hard and which overshadowed all else.
So do we ever learn anything? I'd like to think so. But you have to scale back your standards. Forget leaps and bounds. Or even baby steps. Use the measurement my girlfriend Heidi swears by: eyelash by eyelash.
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