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Takin' Care of Business

I haven’t written a so-called blog post for a while. There are a few reasons for this. One being, that I had several people tell me that my O Christmas Tree story made them cry and I would much prefer to make people laugh and not much has made me laugh lately. The other being that I was pre-occupied enjoying my newly rekindled relation-a-thingy with Mr. Wonderful. As it turned out, Mr. Wonderful and Mr. Houdini have a lot in common. They can both disappear into thin air, leaving their audience with their jaws on the floor and wishing that they hadn’t blinked for they missed the whole thing. I, on the other hand, just wanted my stinking money back for my ticket to the little magic show. What I got back instead was my beloved, lucky ring in the mail. I came home from a long, tiresome business trip and found a padded envelope on my stairs. In it, was my lucky ring with an all too familiar note saying that it was him, not me. Of course I already knew that, but the end result is the same. Here is where you can laugh with me or at me. I had recently sent him my copy of the book, He’s Just Not That Into Me, to share with someone he knew who was missing all the signs. I figured that I didn’t need it anymore, but just to be sure, I read it again and passed it along. I am so glad that when I opened that package it did not accompany the ring. Can you imagine the level of adding insult to injury? She can go ahead and keep it. I think I get it. I’m sure we can all find he humor in that, right? If not, then the irony.

The second reason that I haven’t written for a while, is because I thought I was going to have some really big news to share and I was waiting to write about that.  As it turns out I do not, yet. You see, I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because that is just a great way to set myself up for failure. Besides, on New Year’s Day, I am just lucky to have the wrapping paper picked up and the Barbies out of their packaging. I have no business dieting or training for a marathon. What I did instead is give myself a list of things that, come Hell or high water, I would accomplish in 2011. This would be my year of TCOB. For those you are confused, it stands for takin’ care of business. It isn’t so much a bucket list, because if I thought I was going to kick the bucket in 2011, the list would be different.

In 2011, in no particular order, I will…

1)      Buy a house.

2)      Make my quota every month.

3)      Snag a Keeper.

4)      Have well adjusted, happy children who pick up after themselves.

I don’t feel that those were too lofty of goals. After all, most people in my age bracket have already accomplished this. I am starting over so I get a mulligan.

When I, metaphorically, looked in the mirror and gave myself the “you can do it” pep talk, I thought of all the clichés. The first one that came to mind was-For Every Action There is an
Equal and Opposite Reaction. I needed to be proactive. I realize that for the most part, every situation we are in is a result of choices we have made. I also realize that if we want to be in a different situation, we need to choose to do so and make the appropriate choices. So I began looking at each thing on my list and just simply writing down what action I needed to take to get the desired result. I saved, I raised my credit score, and I got pre-approved for a mortgage, which is an incredible feat given my embarrassing income. I then made an offer on a house. Granted, it was the cheapest house for sale in town and it appears as though 10 to 12 pit bulls may have been living in it unattended for quite some time. Like me, it just needs a chance to start over. We will be good for each other. The first item on my list was about ready to be checked off and I was already picking out paint colors. I have not yet heard anything. This has gotten me down. In the early days, I was driving by the house and peering through the windows and now I am just waiting and my drive-bys are slowing to once a week. I drove by the other day and all the spring bulbs are popping up. I think it’s a sign.

Through it all, I have stayed focused on my job and making sure I was hitting my sales quota . In the fiscal year, I had hit it every month and I was excited. I then got the news that my territory was being extended to include all of Washington as well as Oregon. I now had two quotas, twice the travel, and half the time.

This also was making my goal of catching a keeper impossible. How can a person date with a schedule like that? Most disturbing, it was making my goal of happy, well adjusted children much more difficult. I’m stressed when I’m home and they miss me when I’m gone and I them. The other day, my 5 year old asked  me if I would ask my boss, if it was O.K. if I worked in her classroom or take the day off to snuggle. I told her I was sorry and that she needs to tip toe and whisper because I have a conference call. My heart aches for her and I wish things were different. But just when I am worried that I’m ruining her childhood, she then handed me a little piece of paper and whispered, “Here’s your ticket.”  I muted my phone and asked her what the ticket was for. She told me , “It’s a ticket to the crazy dance show.”  Conference call or not, that was a show that I wanted to go to. I handed her back the ticket and she put it in her pocket. While I listened to the latest and greatest innovations in Equine supplements, my sweet, neglected but resilient daughter did a silly dance for me. I asked her if I could have another ticket and she told me that the first one is free and the second one is going to cost me. Maybe she’s going to be alright after all.

Now, to accomplish the third thing on my list, I discovered that no matter how many times I look out my window there is not a prince on a white horse who’s just been a little lost for the past 35 years. As I have learned, you have to put your house on the market if you want an offer. Sticking with that analogy, I don’t mind buying a foreclosed home previously inhabited by Rabid dogs, but I am going to be a little more selective in this matter. You can paint a house and plant flowers, but men are impossible to change. What you see is what you get and they have the most hair on their head today than they ever will. Even though I previously said that I was done with internet dating, I signed back up again and I realized that there really are other fish in the sea. Maybe I will catch a keeper this time. It’s a good thing that I have my lucky ring back.

So here it is, almost three months into My Year and I have yet to cross one thing of my list. In fact, it feels like my initial progress is regressing. It feels at times that my list is headed for Hell in a hand cart. I try to remember that I have nine more months to make it happen and if I make sure that everything I do is in the best interest of the survival of the list, then it will. I think of the little toy car that you pull back and let go. It must go backwards or it will not go forward. I am in that going backwards part right now. I’m about ready to shoot forward. I can feel it.

Internet Dating- Chapter 3 The Ring

My membership to match.com is going to be ending soon and I don’t think I will be renewing it. It’s not that it wasn’t a fun experience, but it was exhausting and if done correctly can seem like a full-time job and I already have one of those. I suppose I could have just had my profile out there like how a casual, Sunday fisherman drops a line in the water and then takes a nap. Not me, I threw out a wide net and when it came up empty, I moved on to where there were those “other fish in the sea”. Unlike gym memberships that I have bought in the past, I was going to get my money’s worth on this one.

I met a lot of seemingly nice people and went on a lot of really fun dates. Throughout the whole process, I only went on one date that made me wish I had an eject button or some sort of app on my phone that would notify me of an emergency that required my presence, stat. It’s not that I have anything against cauliflower ear, after all, it is a sports injury and who can fault a guy for that? It’s when it’s accompanied by the worst case of little-man’s syndrome I’ve ever seen, that I start to have a problem. The first words out of his mouth were, “Hurry up its freezing out here.” Not, hello or nice to meet you or my oh my you’re stunning. What kind of guy wears shorts when it is 20 degrees out and then complains about being cold? The second words out of his mouth were, “Nice boots”. I do not think it was a compliment and obviously he did not get the memo that boots were huge this fall. Being the optimist that I am, I decided to give him a chance, but as he strutted around like a Banty rooster in a hen house I planned the great escape and I was off. Bye bye now.

I went out with a man nurse with an unhealthy obsession for European motorcycles and a knack for dialysis. We had a nice time, but on our second date he informed me that he was moving to a state with tighter corners on drier roads and more people in renal failure. Now, I’ve got curves and have had some kidney trouble of my own, but I can’t compete with that. So I said goodbye to Ducati_JJ. It was not a tearful goodbye.

I took a good sport, sight unseen, to a Christmas party and had a blast. I felt an instant comfort like I’d known him forever, but I got the feeling that he wasn’t interested in anything serious. The next weekend I took another nice guy to a Winter Solstice party and had a great time. I soon found out that they happened to be very good friends with each other. Whoops! I guess it is a small world after all. No worries. Moving on. What is it that they say about rolling stones and their inability to gather moss?

There were a few other dates with a few others, who were fun and nice but not that notable. That is except for one. He was a dashing English gentleman whose emails sounded like they were written by Shakespeare himself. He was in the special ops of some sort in The British Royal something, but had since gone high-tech and moved to Oregon to make things that I do not understand.  He had jet black hair, a sexy accent, was incredibly attractive, poetic, and sincere. He took my coat, pulled out my chair, and sang something in Italian over a beautiful bottle of red wine. Any girl in her right mind would have been thrilled and flattered, but I was having a bit of a hang up. The trouble was that I was never able to get someone out of my mind.

The first person who I met online, I wanted to be my last. I had met my Mr. Wonderful (see Internet Dating: An Update) and after several lovely dates and countless happy dances, he just disappeared. The phone calls stopped, no more “Good morning beautiful”  or” Sleep sweet” text messages , and no more Mr. Wonderful. I went over everything in my mind. Could he have been put off that I bought him a Crock Pot and filled it with soup? Did it send some sort of desperate for domesticity message? I just noticed that he didn’t have a Crock Pot and I suppose it was a little too much too soon, but a deal breaker? Really? Could it have been that I put winter scarves on his dogs? I guess that’s a little strange, but they seemed to like how they looked in the scarves. I went over every scenario in my mind and wondered what I could have done to make him fall off the face of the earth. I even thought that maybe he did actually fall off the face of the earth. The worst part about it was that I assumed it was me, but all I can be is me. After a couple of weeks of silence I finally got the, its-not-you-its-me email. Well, I would like to say that it made me feel better but I had already, with the help of my friends, determined that it wasn’t me. They told me that I was fabulous and I believed them. I wasn’t mad and I truly did understand his position. None-the-less, I was devastated. It wasn’t that we had this rich past and I was going to miss all the great times we had. What I was mourning was the possibility of what could have been. I was sad that I had to let go of my future, not my past. That was a new one for me. It looks odd to those around you. They don’t understand how you could miss someone who you barely knew. I understood and that’s all that mattered. So, for the next 6 weeks I continued to go forth on all the above dates and in every face on the other side of the table I saw only the lack of him.

Three years ago, when I found out that I was getting divorced, I took my wedding ring off and tossed it in the glove box of my car. It was a beautiful ring and I missed wearing it. A month later, I bought myself a new ring. It was a big, obnoxious turquoise ring that made a statement and it was on sale. It was going to be my lucky ring. I don’t think it brought me too much luck, but maybe it did. I don’t know, maybe without it, I would have been hit by a boulder or a bus or something. I suppose, I will never know what might have happened. The lucky thing is that I never lost it. I lose all my jewelry. I have an amazing collection of single earrings, but I never lost that. I even had a concierge mail it back to me when I left it in my room while on a business trip to Colorado. It was the first pretty thing, besides my horse, that I bought for myself after my divorce and it had seen me through some fun times and some sad times. I wore it on a trembling hand that wiped away tears and I had it on when I cut loose and two-stepped at a rodeo for the first time in 10 years. It was my, everything’s going to be O.K. ring.

The other day, I hadn’t seen my ring for a long time and I dug through my jewelry box and thought and thought about where it could be. I then had visions of wearing it while I chopped vegetables for soup in a Crock Pot. Could it be that I had left it at Mr. Wonderful’s house? I thought about my next move and decided that I needed it back. He couldn’t have my lucky ring…I needed it. I sent him a message and BINGO; he had the ring and was going to mail it to me. A week went by and I went on another date, but I still had nothing in the mail. While on my date, I got a message from Him. He hadn’t had a chance to mail it, but perhaps he could give it to me in person (or something like that). I excused myself from the table, locked myself in the bathroom stall, and replied, yes (or something like that). I rudely cut my date short, went home, and spoke with Mr. Wonderful on the phone for two hours. With great trepidation, an open mind, and a bit of a grudge, I did a happy dance.

The next day I met him for lunch and to, of course, reclaim my ring. It was longer than most lunches. In fact it was three hours and 15 minutes to be exact. My face hurt from smiling and my heart seemed to say, “Oh, come on not him again!” I was confused, angry, happy, hopeful, skeptical, smitten, guarded, and ridiculously thankful for those three hours. I don’t know if it was closure or the ripping open of a wound that was almost healed, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. It was a reminder that just because we say we’re ready to date and are open to being in a relationship of substance, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen right away and especially within the time frame of a 90-day internet dating membership. Mr. Wonderful isn’t sure that he’s ready to dive into something serious at this point and that’s OK with me. What kind of Utopia would it be if the perfect person, the one who makes your voice crack, your hands go numb, your knees weak, and causes you to speak only in sighs was right there in the same place at the same time and ready for what you’re ready for? It happens for some people, but with such a high divorce rate, it is obvious that for half of us it hasn’t happened. As far as the other half, some are just content, because it works and others demand more and the lucky few find it.

I have no idea if my Mr. Wonderful will be my Mr. Forever. I am not holding my breath. I have learned a few things. One is that things can change in an instant. We can stack up all our cards carefully and with great care, but what we have in the end is a house of cards. It takes but one slight breeze to send it crashing down. The thing about this is, if we are resilient, we still have those cards and we can stack them up again and pray for a less windy tomorrow. I have also learned that all we can do is to be great and to demand greatness and to settle for nothing less. The day I met him, my heart raised the bar. I will not be content with anything that does not exceed the way I feel today. Somebody better might be out there, but I will not take anything less.

Last weekend when we saw each other again, he had my lucky ring in his pocket. When we said goodbye, he didn’t give it back nor did I ask for it. I will get it next time…or the time after that. Maybe it is a lucky ring after all.

Wink.

O Christmas Tree

I have worked every weekend between Thanksgiving and Christmas at our family’s Christmas tree farm since I was somewhere around 12 years old, give or take. We’re cold and we’re tired, but we don’t let our customers know that. For them, getting their tree is the kick-off to their Christmas season and a stop at Merrywood Farm is tradition. It is great to be a part of their world in this way. I have taken hundreds of family Christmas card pictures over the years and every time they tell me it’s the little black button on the top of the camera and every time I act surprised and ask, “This one?” They say cheese and I make sure it is a card-worthy picture. I have given babies their first pony ride and seen them come back as teenagers with apples for the pony they’ve outgrown. Our unofficial motto is-A tree in the trunk and a smile on their face and we take it seriously. I always wonder what happens after they get the tree home. How do they decorate it, do they curse as they try to get it straight, does it fall, do they water it, is their angel made of paper by a preschool child years ago, and is it their last real tree before they switch to an artificial tree?

You would think that this might be a cobbler’s kid goes barefoot sort of thing. Does someone who is surrounded by trees all day long, really worry about their own tree? Or, do they need to have the tree of all trees to send the message that the family tree is a big deal and they take this sort of thing seriously. It must be real and it must be beautiful. The tree is the first gift we give ourselves and to our family and it should be lovely. My mother takes that approach and she chooses several trees sometime in the summer and the final one is selected and then often taken back out and another one brought in until it is just right. There are people who line up to snag her “rejects”. Growing up, before we were tree farmers, our tree selection and decorating was full of tradition and ceremony, just different than it is now. My sister and I would wear our rubber boots and if they had holes in them we would line them with plastic bread sacks to keep our socks dry and go tree hunting. We always got a big, bushy Doug Fir while my mother coveted the Nobles. It was always too tall and my dad always said so, but quickly chose to not pick that battle. When we got it home, my dad would cut a foot off the bottom and a bit off the top while my mother made fondue. We would eat sausage and cheese and drink hot chocolate while we decorated our big, fat tree. We would unwrap our eclectic assortment of ornaments and say things like, “oh, I love this one”.  My favorite was the little boy on the sled and of course, all the ones that I made. Over the years those ornaments have been replaced with an immense collection of glass ornaments that are stunning and full of slightly more recent history and memories, but I do miss that little boy on the sled. I wonder where he is.

The first year that I was married I wanted to start my own tradition of tree selection and decorating. I had these visions of a crackling fire and a romantic, “baby its cold outside” experience. We had worked at the farm all day and carved out a window to go find our own tree and I had hoped we would look at several to make sure that it was perfect. He said, “Get whatever one you want.” This was not right. We were supposed to look at many and then go back and get the first one we saw.  We had no decorations so I begged to stop on our way home and get a tree stand, lights, and some simple ornaments. Money was tight so I thought we would just have white lights, red bows, and real popcorn strands that we strung ourselves. I bought festive eat and drink and a Christmas CD. I was very excited. While I was doing the shopping, he was off buying the new Beatles’ Trilogy album and Coors light. We got home to our little, pink ranch house and brought in the tree. It fell, so I wired it to the ceiling with an eye-bolt and some wire from the junk drawer. I quickly discovered that movie theater butter microwave popcorn is not the proper choice for popcorn garland so I strung the lights and hummed along to Little Drummer Boy. Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum. Just as I was feeling the yuletide moment, my Christmas music was replaced by the Beatles and the “crack” of a Coors light opening. I nicely or not nicely, I can’t remember which one, asked him to participate in the evening with a little compassion for my romantic vision. We ended up in an argument and while I set out to deck the halls, it was him that I wanted to deck. He grabbed the bag of popcorn, his CD, and left. I sat on the couch, tied red ribbon bows on twisty ties, and cried. My first attempt at tradition had been foiled. I wanted to roast his chestnuts on an open fire. A few days later, I received a beautiful, antique armoire as an early Christmas present. Our living room was tiny and the only spot for it was where our tree stood. I ripped down the tree, threw it outside, sat on the couch and admired my pretty present. I may or may not have had a Coors light. We were the only folks on 12^th Ave to have our tree on the curb on December 15^th. It was a beautiful tree with one strand of soggy, buttery popcorn.

For the next 8 years, our tradition was that I would choose the tree, wire it to the ceiling, decorate it myself, and then get some sort of wonderful Christmas present about 10 days before Christmas. It wasn’t perfect, but it was tradition.

So, now we’re divorced. Oh, come on, you saw that coming.

The first year that my daughters and I were on our own was very hard me. I didn’t want a tree. I didn’t want Christmas, but I knew that it wasn’t a choice. As a parent, how we feel in December does not matter. Our children’s memories of Christmas are dependent upon us and it all starts with the tree.  But, I didn’t want to look at trees and find the perfect one. I just wanted to say, “Pick anyone you want, I don’t care.” I had left all the Christmas decorations behind when I had to move and I had nothing to hang on the tree and no merriment in my soul, but I forced myself to get a tree and start a new tradition. I bought glittery ornaments in gold, deep pink, and plum. It was non-traditional, but we were going to have a beautiful tree that was for girls only. No boys allowed. I made festive snacks, hot chocolate, and I wired the tree to the ceiling. I put on Christmas music and I cursed when the lights wouldn’t work and did my best to build memories for my daughters. Of course, my children fought, spilled their hot chocolate, and switched my Halleluiah Chorus to Sponge Bob. I was annoyed that we didn’t have this Rockwell experience and then I realized that we were carrying out a tradition. Traditionally speaking, our tree picking out and putting up is never romantic, cordial, a team effort, or rated PG, but it is our tradition and that is beautiful.

I’m struggling again this year with finding the motivation to get our tree up. I spent the other weekend moving the furniture around to make room for it and even picked out the tree, but the girls will be spending this Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with their dad and his new wife, in our old house. That was the house that I spent days making perfect at Christmas time. I threw wonderful parties and people swooned over my beautiful tree. He called last night to tell me about how they decorated their tree, listening to O Holy Night and sipping the cinnamon and clove infused cider that he made. The experience that I always tried to create.  Do not take me for a fool; I know that that is not exactly how it went. I’ll bet your Wassail on it, but still. This will be the first time that I have ever spent Christmas Eve and Christmas morning alone and it makes the tree seem pointless. No Christmas party at my house, no little girls in jammies rushing to see if Santa ate the cookies, and no one to enjoy it but me on Christmas morning.

This is how I feel tonight, but I believe in tradition and I believe in the magic of the Christmas tree. I look at the empty spot just waiting for our tree and I know that it will be there and that it will be spectacular. It stands now, in the field about 100 yards from the end of the white fence. A tall balsam that without being cut and adorned with gold, pink, and purple ornaments, would just be a another tree among billions in the world. The minute I bring it in the house, it will be a Christmas tree for girls only and around it we will gather and make memories.

Sometimes we try to plan things and make them perfect and it is easy to get frustrated when they aren’t just as we would hope. By definition, a tradition is a belief, custom, or practice that is passed on from one generation to the next. I know that growing up on a tree farm, my children and my children’s children will always have a real Christmas tree and they will appreciate all that it symbolizes. I hope that, from me, they learn to be flexible. I would love for things to be just as they have always been at Christmas, but things change and we must adjust accordingly.  This Christmas Eve I will need to start a new tradition and I will. When there was no room at the inn, Joseph and Mary were flexible. It was not as they had planned, but it was beautiful none-the-less. In fact, people having been talking about that Christmas for years.

Internet Dating-An Update.

It has been about two weeks since I threw my profile up on match.com and as promised, I am providing an update. Like most people, I was very skeptical at first. It isn’t that I didn’t believe in the process, it is pretty simple. It’s like classified ads for single people, which is brilliant. I really do not understand why anyone who is even remotely interested in meeting someone doesn’t try it. If you were trying to sell your house you would advertise it. You write something flattering about it like; new roof, great neighborhood, or lots of original charm. Then you take some nice pictures that make the rooms seem spacious, the kitchen functional, and the back yard great for entertaining. Most of the time we hire professionals to do all this for us. Why? Because buying and selling a house is a big deal and you can’t expect to walk into a bar and meet someone who is in the market for just your kind of house and is pre-qualified. It doesn’t happen, but we think we can find “the one” that way. Isn’t who we spend the rest of our life with a big deal too? 

I know that if I look on realtor.com I’m not just going to find the sad houses, next to the train tracks, in need of a little TLC. I’m going to find the sweet farmhouse, the practical home in the suburbs, the cozy cabin on lake, the shiny loft downtown, and the stunner with a view. So why do we assume that anyone who is on an internet dating sight is some sort of social-retard who doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of finding a date out in the real world? I knew that the whole online matching had evolved, but I really did not expect to see what I saw. In the beginning, I’m sure there were mostly guys with a nose whistle courting us from their Mom’s basement, but we’ve come a long way, baby.

In two weeks, my profile was viewed 492 times and I have received 50 emails. So just over 10% made contact. I can assume that the other 90% were not interested or as like to believe, just shy. I quickly discovered why these men were on this site. Here are just a few reasons …

They are on Match.com because…

1)      They work in a male dominated industry.

2)      They have been a little busy serving our country.

3)      There were no attractive women on the top of Mt Kilimanjaro.

4)      They have been pre-occupied immunizing orphans.

5)      They put their wife through law school and she left them for someone at the firm her first week on the job. True story.

In reading the emails I discovered that many guys were quick to offer a diatribe and give me a glimpse into not only their lives, but their souls. Many were very touching and I realized that this is why I don’t go to the Humane Society because you want to give every dog a home. If you do this, you will quickly find yourself on the TV show, Animal Hoarders and need to get your carpets replaced too often. These were humans who I’m sure were house broken, but also heartbroken.

There is this feature that match.com calls your Daily 5 where they suggest five people who might be a match. They don’t know me very well and on a daily basis I deleted all five. Last week, one seemed intriguing so I clicked interested. When you do this, I discovered that they are notified. I got an email from the one who I was apparently interested in and we chatted back and forth for a while and then exchanged phone numbers. At that point, we texted until my thumbs were sore. No LOL’s. Bonus. The next evening we spoke on the phone for an hour and 44 minutes. I wanted to view his profile again, but knew that he can see every time that I do. I didn’t want to seem like a freak so I decided to see if he had a facebook page. And so the stalking began. The internet has really changed the face of stalking. Gone are the days of the drive-by or hiding in the bushes. It is fabulous. There were a ton of guys with his name so I began looking at profile pictures to see which one it could be. I found it! A gorgeous, tall, blonde who looked just like Kirk Herbstriet standing next to an old man. Kirk Herbstreit is the only reason why I watch College Game Day and I thought it was sweet that his profile picture was him with his grandpa. Attractive and sensitive. I clicked on his picture and realized that it was the facebook page of an old man who happened to have his picture taken with Kirk Herbstreit. Shoot.  I dug a little deeper and found him. I pawed through his pictures like any good cyber-stalker would do and I liked what I saw. There were pictures of him camping with his son, a video of him in Iraq, goats, chickens, postings about his successful honey harvest, and some apparently from the cock pit of an airplane. I muttered things like, “oh, how cute”, “how are you single?”, and then I may have tried to growl like a tigress but I’m pretty sure it sounded like I had phlegm in my throat.

The next afternoon it was decided that we would meet for happy hour at the Ram. There was only one problem. I looked like crap. I didn’t have time to go home so I showed up at the door step of my best friend. My suspicions were correct. She told me my outfit was not flattering which I know meant that I looked fat. She offered me a curling iron and started pulling clothes out of her closest. She got me presentable and I was off.

I walked into the Ram and began spanning the room for Mr. Wonderful. There was no one sitting alone and nobody who looked like they were as nervous as I was. And then I spotted him. The music stopped, the heavens opened, and in slow motion, a stunning man walked towards me. I sucked in my stomach and looked behind him for a nose whistler. None. It was him. We sat down and he ordered an IPA. I said something stupid like, “Oh, I love IPA”. If he had ordered a cat poop sandwich, I probably would have said, “Oh, I love cat poop sandwiches.”  We talked and talked and by, we, I mean I talked and talked. I tend to do that when I’m nervous or awake. I prattled on about the book I was reading to my children and how it took place in Newfoundland and how they talked funny there. He listened and when I finished telling him all that I knew about Newfoundland, he simply said, “Yes, I know, I have spent a lot of time there.” Well of course you have. Before I said anything else ignorant, I got up to use the restroom and ran into our waitress at which time I lost my balance and put my hand on his shoulder to keep from falling.  Hmmm, somebody’s been working out. I went in to the bathroom, checked myself out in the mirror and did a happy dance.

We went out one more time and sat for hours talking. I tried to listen better this time, because his life really was more interesting than mine. Besides its just good manners. We took turns reading Trivial Pursuit cards to one another and I seemed to get all the hard ones. I suppose if I had known the answers, they wouldn’t have been so hard. He got all his correct and when I was wrong, he told me the right answer without having to flip the card over. Whatever, smarty pants.

Yesterday we went out again. This time we were going to make dinner at his house. He had a few errands to run before and invited me to ride along. The first stop was at the local Red Cross. Of course it was. The next stop was a meeting at a high school to discuss its alternative fuel program. Well, sure. Everybody does that on a Thursday. I stood there and listened while they discussed Bio-diesel and used words with a lot of letters. I tried to follow along, but it was beyond my level of comprehension. Four quintessential high school nerds looked on and hung on his every word like he was a celebrity. They stood there all pimply faced in their safety glasses, just listening to him like he was some sort of geek-God. I stood there looking at him thinking he was pretty and he looked nice in blue. When he was finished, we ran to the car in the rain which, not surprisingly was a black Mercedes run exclusively on Bio-diesel. Of course it is.

We got to his house and I was now looking like a drowned rat. I called my mother to let her know of my plans and she said, “How do you know he’s not a serial killer?” I peered into the kitchen and he was holding a cork screw. Just opening a bottle of wine. “Really, Gretchen, he could be a psycho.” I looked around the corner again and now he was holding a large knife. Just chopping garlic. As my mother continued to fret, I pretended to listen and checked out his many books on the book shelf. No wonder he waxed me at Trivial Pursuit. I hung up with my mother and then his phone rang. I stayed in the other room to give him privacy as he spoke to his son. I sat on the bench at the grand piano in front of a large picture window. I admired Portland’s city lights and as I watched a boat go by on the river, I eves dropped. He spoke calmly and sweetly to his teen-age son while trimming the fat from the chicken and I exhaled.

During dinner I made some comment about how cute it was that the miss-fit boys seemed to admire him. He then told me that it may have been because he used to be one of them. I had a hard time imagining that this man who really does look like Kirk Herbstreit (yes ladies, you heard me right) was ever a nerd. He is now a strapping 6’2” which apparently didn’t happen until after high school while he was in the Air Force. I thought about how I had crushes on the “captain of the football team types” in school, who never gave me the time of day because I was the “play the violin, cow milking type”.

On my drive home, after doing another happy dance, I pondered this. Not everyone reaches their full potential in high school and in the end it is the nerds who rule the world and now I have the great honor of spending time with one. Generally speaking, they are the ones who own successful businesses, write best-sellers, are concert pianists, and win Oscars. I’m sure that when a cure for cancer is found, it will be by the kid who today sits alone in biology. I didn’t get asked to prom and I remember being devastated. There were times that I sat alone in the cafeteria dodging spit balls from a table of letterman jackets. I’m sure Mr. Wonderful has stories like these and had I let him get a word in edgewise, he may have shared them with me. It is such a joy to date after we’re grown up. We know who we are and what we want and our dates do too. You don’t have to ask them “What do you want to be when you grow up?” because you know. You don’t have to wonder if they will be a good father, because you can tell that they already are. We get to see the finished product and we are mature enough to recognize Mr. Wonderful when we see him. Of course, we are never too mature to do a happy dance. Wink.

On the Bright Side

With Thanksgiving approaching, I have noticed that people are busy sharing all that they are thankful for. It truly is nice to pause and show gratitude for what we have instead of focusing on what we do not. It is so easy to get caught in a negative trap and we are all guilty of it. Not just the big things, but the little annoyances that life loves to give us. If we spend our days focusing on the fact that our life is not what we would have hoped for, either on a given day or in its entirety, we lose the ability to see the greatness around us.

I was listening to a Cat Stevens CD today and the lyrics to Moonshadow were a perfect example of this. Yes, I did say CD. Do you remember those? My company car doesn’t have a port for me to listen to my iPod so I have resorted to buying CDs. A year ago, when I started my job and got my car, I remember complaining about this. How in the world can I drive all over God’s green earth without my iPod? The new, more positive me now says, “Really, you ungrateful person? This is a free car, free gas, safe, and you were complaining about what music you could listen to? Really?”

O.K., back to the lyrics that sparked this whole thing.

if I ever lose my hands
lose my plough, lose my land
oh, if I ever lose my hands
oh, well...
I won’t have to work no more
and if I ever lose my eyes
If my colours all run dry
yes, if I ever lose my eyes
oh well …
I won't have to cry no more.

if I ever lose my legs
I won't moan and I won't beg
oh if I ever lose my legs
oh well...
I won't have to walk no more
And if I ever lose my mouth
all my teeth, north and south
yes, if I ever lose my mouth
oh well...
I won't have to talk...

The obvious lesson here is that no matter how grim things might seem, there is always an upside. Of course Cat Stevens might have been on an acid trip when he wrote this, I don’t’ know. In all seriousness, in any bad, the joyful can find good.  Sometimes you have to get creative and really make a conscious effort, but in the end it is worth it. It is freeing and it makes you lighter. When I choose to be annoyingly optimistic when my world seems to be throwing large cow pies at me and then laughing at me to boot, I can’t help smiling. I won. The cow pie thrower did not preserver, I did. I will walk into a room with a shit-eatin’ grin and my friends and family will ask me why I look so happy. To them, I will say, “because I just ate shit and I am still here to tell you all about.”

                As I replayed track 5 over and over again, I thought about all the times in the past two years that I have complained or felt sorry for myself. There were many times that I felt that I had the right to be mad or sad or to gripe and so I did. I have been dealt a few bad hands, compared to some people. BUT, compared to the rest of the world, I am one of the luckiest. I don’t care how horrible you think your life is or how bad of a day you’re having; you can rest assured that 98% of the world has it worse. We forget that.

O.K., here is where I ask you to take a trip with me to Pollyanna Land, where the grass is the greenest in your own yard, all clouds have a silver lining, and everyone’s glasses are rose colored. Hold on, this might get positively strange.  Yes, that pun was intended.  I thought about all the things that I have complained about in the past couple of years or even this morning and I just simply looked on the bright side. That’s all.

1)            My children will not stop saying, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” It drives me crazy.  I am grateful that I am called Mommy at all. Some people want for nothing else but that and I should never be annoyed at the sound of it.

2)            My Jeans don’t fit.  I have never known what it is like to really go hungry.

3)            Wow, that’s a deep wrinkle on my forehead.  It reminds me that I proudly take after my Dad and I have a stellar example of what a man should be like as do my daughters.

4)            Crow’s feet really?  I am lucky to have seen so many sunny days.

5)            Laugh lines. DUH!

6)            Complaints 4, 5, and 6. Botox is easily accessible. Someday soon, I can get it while I’m getting my oil changed.

7)            I can’t stand my girls fighting. I think I am going to hose them down. I am so happy that they have a sister. I know that they will have a life-long friend like I do in my own sister.

8)            My husband left me for another woman when my children were 2 and 5. I am glad that I was young enough to start again.

9)            My husband left me for another woman when my children were 2 and 5, part 2. I know that when they are with him and I am not there, they have a motherly figure to hug them should they skin their knee. That one made me throw up just a little, but now you see that it can be done.

10)          Stretch marks. I have a souvenir of the two greatest days of my life. Every day I am reminded that I gave life.

11)          I am exhausted! My girls got up in the middle of the night and wanted to sleep with me. I was forced to sleep on the edge of the bed with one foot on the ground. My children still want to be close to me. Someday they will not, but for now they do and I will embrace that.

12)          My Mother has too many opinions about my life. I am so lucky to have a mother who truly cares about me and wants me to be happy. I am not too proud to admit that she is usually right.

13)          My friends never have enough time to spend with me. I am happy that my friends have full lives and that their children have found activities that fulfill them and that they have a mother who will make sure that they are there.

14)          I never hear, “Honey, I’m Home.” I know that I will someday and when I do, it will be from someone who I actually want to be home.

15)          This CD I just spent my hard-earned money on, bites. It was a 2-disk set and with a little creativity, I have a new pair of earrings.

16)          I can’t afford to buy a house in my children’s school district on a single income. I have never slept in the rain, I do not need to lock my doors, and I have something to look forward to.

17)          I am late. Somebody cares if I am there or not. I am needed or wanted in some capacity and they cannot wait to for me to get there.

18)          My girls are at their dad’s and I miss them. I have some time to myself to catch my breath and remember what it is like to be me.

19)          It is Saturday night and I am alone. I am alone. That is nice.

20)          I am out of wine. Let’s not so over-board, something’s just suck.

21)          I have had a broken heart. I thank the ones who were not worthy of me for noticing it before I did and giving me the chance to find someone who is.

22)          I drive one million miles for my job with no interaction with co-workers. It gets lonely. I get to see amazing places in this great state, pick the radio station, be alone with my thoughts, and stop to marvel when I see something awe inspiring.

23)          My cat keeps pooping in the bath tub. She is not pooping in my bed.

24)          My children’s school is nickel and diming me to death. I don’t care how many laps you jogged. I’m broke. I must not forget that an education is not a right in very country. They are free to learn and become whomever they want. Also, their father and his new wife have agreed to pay for their college. It is the least they could do, right?

25)          I feel lost and I don’t know what direction I am supposed to be heading. Anywhere I want. Every morning I wake up, I know that I have 24 hours and how I spend them is up to me. My future is mine. My past does not define me, it teaches me. The world is my canvass just waiting to become a masterpiece. That is very cool.

Of course I don’t walk around in a Prozac comma every day. I feel, hurt, doubt, curse, wish, compare, covet, and am hugely human. I have discovered that the things that we complain about are still there whether we bitch and moan about them or not. If we spend that energy finding the bright side, it cleanses us. Try it. I dare you.

Life sometimes hands us a pile of crap. I get that. We can stand there all stinky and bitter or we can say, “Thank you, life. I appreciate the fertilizer. With it, I will grow.”

Internet Dating

This weekend I was taking a break from writing the Great American Novel, not because I had writer’s block, but because my fingers were tired. I started perusing Petfinder.com. I don’t know why because I’m not in the market for a dog and I already have a cat. One more might make me a crazy cat lady. Crazy cat lady…that gave me an idea. I had never checked out an internet dating sight. It was ironic to me that just when I’m perfectly content being single and rather like not having someone bossing me around, I find myself cruising Match.com. I tried to just be a voyeur and do a little window shopping without starting a profile, but it wouldn’t let me. I slapped together a little self-synopsis, trying to be honest and offering a true representation of myself without being too honest. For example I did not say that I like long walks on the beach because the truth is, my favorite part of the beach is the clam chowder. This might cause one to flip through my pictures to see if I’m fat. I began looking around. Over 2000 guys between 33 and 42 within 50 miles of 97013. Wow, who knew?

Within 10 minutes I got 5 “winks”. That’s apparently what you do to let someone know you are intrigued. I deleted them all. Too eager…like pouncing tigers. I glanced through all the choices like they were on a picture menu at Denny’s and when I saw the first one who looked interesting, I clicked him. Up comes a pop-up saying “NO HUNK FOR YOU! GIMME YOUR MONEY!”

“ What a racket, I’m not joining this thing.” I muttered.

So I got my card out and was now an official member of Match.com. I immediately began deleting all the guys that were obviously creepy and the ones who looked like they kept duct tape and garbage bags in their trunk.  I shopped ‘till I dropped and closed down my computer and went to sleep. The next morning I had more winks from a few “I don’t think sos” and a couple “not in your dreams” and one email.

I deleted the weirdos and  opened the email and checked him out. He was quite fetching I must say. 35, Principal at a high school, Athletic Director for the district, former college athlete, Masters Degree, river rafting guide in the summer, grew up on a 10,000 acre cattle ranch…O.K. I’m listening. You’re speaking my language BWR193. I read on and checked out his pictures…cute with a capital C and he was hilarious. After further investigation I realized that he lives in Bend. I’ve been down that road and I’m not going there again. Did I mention that he was adorable?

I got another email equally as intriguing. 38, Clinical psychologist, divorced father of 2, not that funny but taller than the first. Hometown, Bend!

Darn you, Bend. Why must you tempt me with your fresh air, outdoor concerts, snow capped mountains, and now this?

I decided to try a search a little closer to home. Within 10 miles of 97013…only 15. I found one…handsome and employed. I thought I might try out my wink button which I was excited about because I cannot wink in real life. Truly, my eyes do not close independently of one another. I took a deep breath and “winked”. Done…first one out of the way. I can do this. Just then, the horrible realization that I knew this person hit me. He was one of the dad’s from my children’s school and my sister was his child’s teacher. CRAP! How do I “unwink”? I scrambled around trying to delete it, but I couldn’t. It was out there for him to see. It was going to make PTA awkward. Not only that, I saw that he viewed me and chose not to respond. Ouch.

I tried not to let that get me down and I decided to broaden my search to people I was not likely to see in the grocery store while I had only enchiladas and toilet paper in my cart. There really were too many to choose from so I had to set some guidelines and do some weeding.

I will delete you if…

1)      There is a Pitbull in any of your pictures.

2)      You are not wearing a shirt in your profile picture. Unless of course you are participating in some type of sport that does not require a shirt such as water skiing. Even then I will wonder why you are not wearing a life jacket. Safety should be a priority.

3)      I can see that you are wearing a gold chain, unless it is an Olympic medal.

4)       You are more than twice my size.

5)      You are half my size.

6)       I find lol anywhere on your profile. I know you are not really laughing out loud and I don’t appreciate being lied to.

7)      Your online name is something like hotty439, NASCARluva, or vegan_867.

8)       Your picture is of you taking your own photo with your cell phone in the bathroom mirror. This signifies that you do not have one friend who is willing to take your picture.

9)      You have a mustache not accompanied by a beard, unless you are Tom Selleck.

10)    You appear in anyway shape or form to be playing Dungeons and Dragons in your profile picture.

O.K., guidelines in place, I began reading the menu again. I then started winking with reckless abandon. I crazily mumbled things to myself like, “ooh mommy likey” and “well, hello. I will wink at you now”. Each time I did, I tried to actually wink which was more ticking like I had Tourret’s Syndrome which was fine because they didn’t know that. They had no idea that it was noon and I hadn’t showered. I let out an evil, Hollywood style laugh every time I deleted someone who got lodged in my filter.

I got an email for someone calling himself, “flyfisherman”. That is a road I’ve travelled too and all it got me was a trout dinner and a postcard from Montana. I dug deeper to see if fly fishing was just a hobby and he was gainfully employed. Score…he had a real job. 36, father of 3-year old twins, lived outside of Portland. In one picture he was kicked back in a boat with hat and shades and the other apparently atop Mt. Everest  .We emailed back and forth and he was witty and clever and seemed to be earnest. I went over his profile with a fine tooth comb. 5’4”! I just spent the afternoon cyber-flirting with someone shorter than fifth-grader.

What is the moral of this story? There is none, except that in life we all tend to sit back and wonder why the world does not give us it’s offerings on a platter. We have all asked, Why does my phone not ring? Why do I not have my dream job? Why is the grass greener over there?  I find that I am saddened when I log onto Facebook and I don’t have any little red numbers in the left-hand corner. I am notified of nothing. I have also discovered that if in the day I share a little something with the world, like a cute thing my children said or something that made me smile or cry, I will have a little red box in the left hand corner. Someone saying, “Way to go” or “I hear ya sista” or maybe I made them genuinely LOL. So maybe there is a moral to this story. If we do not stand up and tell the world that we are here, they will not know. We cannot expect to hide under a rock and for people to find us and invite us to their party. Despite the preconceived notions I had of internet dating sites, I tried it, I am thoroughly enjoying it and I don’t feel desperate or needy. I feel discovered. I just might go out with the cute principal, the short fly fisherman, or the smokin’ hot fireman who just sent me a message while I was writing this. I will keep you posted. WINK.