But there is a guy who came into my magnetic field a couple of years ago. He was in my memoir class. This class meets for eight-week segments, albeit sporadically. We are a casual crowd of writers. We write and share details of our lives and recent adventures with relatively perfect strangers. I am very used to that. I sit in church basements and meeting rooms three times a week and do practically the same thing. It's called Al-Anon.
From his looks and his words, I could infer he is a real western gentleman. Rugged. Outdoorsy. Handsome. Flannel or western shirts and boots. Yep. Boots. That footwear I can no longer tolerate due to rheumatoid arthritis. But damn, they look good at the end of his Wranglers. He recited a piece on rafting some river and that confirmed it. He is a west of the Mississippi kind of guy. A Coloradoan. Maybe a rare breed.
One day in yoga at my local rec center he showed up. Now I was intrigued. A writer and a yogi? Someone who wouldn't pooh-pooh my literary efforts as frivolous or depressing. (My poetry is a tad dark) A man who I could perhaps share that part of my life with? This was an awful lot to think about just moments before downward dog and savasana, so I turned back to the teacher and paid attention. After all, yoga is about me and my mat. Not about me and my overactive imagination and fantasies and the guy in the back of the room.
That was a while ago, but I remember a hug and expressions of surprise that we both lived in proximity to the rec center. I allowed a bit of heart softening and then he stopped going to memoir class. I stopped seeing him at yoga. I let it go. Not meant to be, and all those other cliché sayings hanging on therapist's walls everywhere.
He did however share a nice poem he had written with me via e-mail. I am the self-proclaimed poetess of our memoir class. It was a great ditty about horses and riding, and bandanas and petrichor. Remember that word: Petrichor. I looked it up and it means the sweet smell of the earth after a rain. A great word, perhaps even a romantic use of language by the poet. I gave a bit of feedback and off to the ranch he went for several summery weeks. I am not kidding. Did I say he was a dude?
A year and half goes by and nada. Nothing. I don't see him much and communique via e-mail has ceased. No exchanging of poems. Nil. It's OK. He is handsome but if I had a hat I wouldn't hang it on a guy anyway. Then he reappears at memoir and I must admit, I felt a bit of pitter-patter. At this age, it could have been A-Fib, but I'm going with the emotional heart symptom. He comes up to me after class and tells me he liked my reading. Yep, its a pitter-patter. He also tells me I seem stressed, which is an accurate assessment of my life at that moment. I am further impressed at his intuition and sensitivity. Nonetheless we part ways.
A few weeks later the word petrichor appears in my Merriam-Webster word of the day email. That was a word I didn't know existed before this cowboy sent me his poem. I take it as a sign to reach out to the wrangler. I forward the email and tell him seeing the word petrichor in my email had me thinking of him. I struck a lode. He replies and I reply and we are actually having an electronic conversation. A few emails later and we have agreed to see an improv show at the Mercury on an upcoming Friday evening. Tonight.
I share a couple of my newer poems with this man and he responds with thoughtful comments. Here's an excerpt of one of the e-mailed poems:
My poetry. Nothing more than a vessel
Holding my heart full of nails
Jagged words
His reply hints that I should be careful getting to close to a magnet. Hmm. Maybe a little pull on my heart would be good for my soul. I am definitely interested. He's nice looking and nice. I am beginning to think he is either introverted or shy. I wonder if the first move will be in my court for anything to progress. I am a pretty forward person in many arenas, but to put myself out there to pursue a guy? I'm not too sure about that. Don't men chase women? What year is it? Do I have the energy to do anything about this? Am I being open, honest and willing?
Meeting 'organically' as such is a delight that has drawbacks. Without filling out an on-line profile the excavation of information could be a long archeological dig. Coffee or tea? Age, religion. political affiliation, job history... I know he has a daughter and two grandbabies. He has a woodshop in his garage (I divorced my husband to reclaim an indoor parking spot), and drives a truck. He lives pretty close-by. That's about it.
Will our 'date' to an improv show be a series of small talk snippets? Will we connect in a way that the conversation and the silences are equally comfortable? Will he drink and then want to drive - compelling me to call an UBER and never see him again?
Here is what I would want a man to know about me before diving into my pool. I have RA and it can be limiting, but I do my best to lead a full life. I am a cynic, a skeptic and sarcastic. I am quick witted and can be sharp tongued, but also know when to hold back. I love my kids and grandkids more than anything - I do much for them - and that isn't likely to change.
I love to exercise and take long walks, but I amble slowly. I don't mind if my hiking companion goes ahead of me and circles back every once in a while. I stop to look at bugs and hug trees and talk to little kids. I am a dog person, but am happy to not have the responsibility of having one in my home. I can pass on cats and birds confined to cages.
I am a vegetarian and a great cook. If a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I should have arrived long ago. I don't comment on other's food choices, and won't tolerate judgement about mine. I like coffee and tea. I am politically left, but not so far as to fall off a cliff. I'm retired and want to stay that way, so I am not paying for a guy's way to anything. Let's 'Go Dutch' is fine by me. Spontaneously treating me is a bonus point for manners and old-fashioned traditions.
I don't celebrate gift-giving by a calendar. I may forget it is Christmas but buy you something I see at a random time. I like small, thoughtful gifts. Never buy me jewelry. Books are great. So are funky socks. My next birthday is a milestone. I'll let you know if my thoughts on gift giving change this coming year.
I think Starbucks is ridiculous. So is avocado toast. I volunteer sporadically and am generous to causes I think do good works. I am a compassionate friend, but at the same time find myself liking people in general a bit less as the years go by.
My parents are dead, my siblings do not live close, my kids don't mind my business. I stay on my side of the street, try to keep my front porch clean and like to live and let live. I go to Al-Anon two or three times per week. It is my religion, my spirituality, my therapy, my fellowship. Just don't ask me anybody's last name.
I like to be on my schedule, but am willing to flex. I respect alone time. Mine and others. I try not to gossip. I write a lot of poetry. I spend much of my day typing, tapping, texting, and transmitting. Anything someone says or does may appear in a blog. Maybe this guy deserves a heads-up in that department. I'm already doing it and we haven't even gone out yet!
Back to magnets and nails in my heart and attraction and softening... Let's see how tonight goes.
Time to Write,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment