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The church goers greeted us warmly after we heard why Santa do what Santa do. “Y’all come back’” each said, moving on as their curiosity was satisfied.
The Porters, who befriended Admiral during his college days, were there and very welcoming since their last visit years ago. As we followed them up the long winding drive to their home, Admiral said "It's the same house I remembered 50 years ago." Tales of family, friends, funerals and weddings filled the air. Fortunately the chatter was louder than my tummy, roaring to say “feed me.”
Mid afternoon, following the Porters, we took off for lunch about 30 miles down the road in the next town. I did say we were at 40 and plum, didn't I? That's for 40 miles out and plum in the sticks. Enroute Admiral and I searched the car for snacks, only to recall we polished them off yesterday.
Our eyes danced at the all-you-can-eat buffet. Extreme will power and a rational head prevailed to select bits of yummy faves, totally satisfying any hunger pangs that may think about stirring.
All I can say about the drive back to RVA was it was long. "Where did all the traffic come from? Why do they clog up the road I'm on?" I wondered while Admiral napped as I drove.
Christmas plans came, went and made for a fun, very social holiday. At parties we met each other's friends. Admiral was amazed I knew some of his friends. Did he know I went out with one of them? He wondered whom I didn’t know.
There is no place better to end a year or begin a new one than the Hope & Glory Inn in Irvington. The handsomely designed cottages, clever gardens (even in the bleak winter) and delightful lobby with fascinating guests provided stimulating conversations, connecting with ole acquaintances. We had such fun that time slipped away, making us very late meeting wonderful friends for dinner and ringing in the new year.
All too soon the clock struck midnight. Welcome 2011. What would it be like?
When did you get on the wrong bus?
The day after Thanksgiving we were on the road, again. We were taking advantage of two days off from treatments for a holiday.
With half of his treatments completed, Admiral said “I don’t think the machine is turned on. I don’t feel anything. I don’t have any reactions. I guess it’s working. We’ll find out when it’s over, I reckon. I haven’t seen Dr. Roundface since our first visit. I did meet her associate last week. He seems very young. He’s alright since he’s interested in flying.”
The weekend was the big game in Blacksburg between Virginia and Virginia Tech, Admiral’s alma mater. He had planned the trip, keeping details a secret to surprise me as they unfolded. That’s a smart man who knows I love surprises!
On the way we stopped at Auntie Anne’s, my BFF since kindergarten, for a short visit. As we left, she whispered to me “ He’s a keeper. I know something’s up. Don’t let him get away. ”
The trip to Blacksburg was quick, with memories of taking my daughter there years ago. Admiral told tales of his life with his Model A and various roomies during his 4 years.
Tech’s Virginia Inn was comfy, the lobby filled with decorated Christmas trees, reminding us that Christmas was on the horizon. The fire in the lobby’s fireplace was toasty and where we and guests stayed for the greater part of the evening, warming ourselves and chatting about the trip there and tomorrow’s game.
Game day was clear, bright and windy, as only it can be in Blacksburg. Spotting a bus in front of the hotel, we climbed aboard. Everyone wore big important looking badges. As we talked to the passengers, we found out we were on the bus for the Board of Visitors, there for a big deal meeting and to enjoy the game! Of course, the bus ride was fast to Lane Stadium, with all traffic stopped for quick turns and easy access right to the main entrance!
Eventually we found the Engineering sky box on the top floor. It was packed with people of all ages and styles of warm dress. Snacks were plentiful and filling. The game was exciting. The more touchdowns we scored against Miami, the better we liked it and the more we cheered, making strangers more comfortable with each other. A final score of 31 – 17 was splendid, inducing high fives among the crowd.
Fans leaving the stadium always look like how I imagine immigrants looked landing on Ellis Island. We were two of thousands streaming to the parking lots. At the main gate the only sight of a bus was its back end roaring off into the distance. Soon we lucked into a classmate’s tail gate party where we warmed up with a toddy and ham biscuit with classmates and more school day stories. It's a wonder any of them made it to class, let alone to graduation and successful careers.
We said so long and walked uphill to the main road where city buses lined a distant curb. Admiral walked up to a policeman and asked for directions to get back to the Inn. I wasn’t believing this - a man asking directions!
“I forgot what the guy said. Let’s get on this bus. The driver will tell us how to get to the hotel.” Admiral said as we boarded a bus, trusting it was going our way.
Sure enough, when we got off where the driver directed us, the hotel was visible. The driver said it was 2 blocks, looking more like 20 miles to us. We walked fast into the raw wind, Admiral pulling me along to keep pace with his rapid steps. At the hotel, I beat him to the fire.
Admiral’s 4-year college career was varied. He played in the Highty Tighties, managed and played bass in his bluegrass band, and played other musical gigs anywhere he could get paid. The stories of events entertained me for hours. Relationships made then he continues to this day with visits and chats when he’s in the area.
The next day was clear, without wind. Off we went on an adventure to visit places and people Admiral knew during his gigs years ago. “I’m taking you to church today.” he said as we left the hotel. “I can find the little country church, I’m sure. Things don’t change much in the boondocks.” he added.
A twisting road at 40 and plum (40 miles out and plum in the sticks) ended at Mountain Lake Hotel, where the movie Dirty Dancing was filmed. Admiral rolled in laughter as he relived leaving a gig there.
It was dark and cold. The car was full of guys and instruments, with the bass tied to the front of the car, obstructing his view as he drove down the curving mountain road through snow. He said “I never told Mom about these things. Guess I didn’t tie the bass on very well because it fell off. We looked over the side of the road and never found it.”
“Oh, oh. It’s time for church. Let’s roll.” he hollered as he ran out the door of the resort to the car. I could see him driving that old Model A down that mountain road while he ran it too fast for my comfort. Finally he stopped at a church. It was a typical country church – white, steeple with cross on top, pointed front doors, a few large windows and several cars parked on the lawn around it. Yet it was no ordinary church. It was the one that Admiral had gone to when the Porters befriended him in the last century.
The service was underway when we entered, seeing 25 mostly elderly people scattered about the small room. As heads turned to see who the late arrivals were, we settled on the back row to be unobtrusive.
To the right of the chancel a large screen and the latest projector were suspended from the ceiling. “Hum, the preacher looks to be about 35ish and I guess he’s tech savvy. There’s some high powered tech stuff here. Wonder if he’ll use powerpoint for his sermon. ” I thought.
While I was unwrapping my layers of warm outer wear, I heard Admiral snicker under his breath. He poked me and pointed at the screen. In giant letters were WHY DO SANTA DO WHAT SANTA DO?
With half of his treatments completed, Admiral said “I don’t think the machine is turned on. I don’t feel anything. I don’t have any reactions. I guess it’s working. We’ll find out when it’s over, I reckon. I haven’t seen Dr. Roundface since our first visit. I did meet her associate last week. He seems very young. He’s alright since he’s interested in flying.”
The weekend was the big game in Blacksburg between Virginia and Virginia Tech, Admiral’s alma mater. He had planned the trip, keeping details a secret to surprise me as they unfolded. That’s a smart man who knows I love surprises!
On the way we stopped at Auntie Anne’s, my BFF since kindergarten, for a short visit. As we left, she whispered to me “ He’s a keeper. I know something’s up. Don’t let him get away. ”
The trip to Blacksburg was quick, with memories of taking my daughter there years ago. Admiral told tales of his life with his Model A and various roomies during his 4 years.
Tech’s Virginia Inn was comfy, the lobby filled with decorated Christmas trees, reminding us that Christmas was on the horizon. The fire in the lobby’s fireplace was toasty and where we and guests stayed for the greater part of the evening, warming ourselves and chatting about the trip there and tomorrow’s game.
Game day was clear, bright and windy, as only it can be in Blacksburg. Spotting a bus in front of the hotel, we climbed aboard. Everyone wore big important looking badges. As we talked to the passengers, we found out we were on the bus for the Board of Visitors, there for a big deal meeting and to enjoy the game! Of course, the bus ride was fast to Lane Stadium, with all traffic stopped for quick turns and easy access right to the main entrance!
Eventually we found the Engineering sky box on the top floor. It was packed with people of all ages and styles of warm dress. Snacks were plentiful and filling. The game was exciting. The more touchdowns we scored against Miami, the better we liked it and the more we cheered, making strangers more comfortable with each other. A final score of 31 – 17 was splendid, inducing high fives among the crowd.
Fans leaving the stadium always look like how I imagine immigrants looked landing on Ellis Island. We were two of thousands streaming to the parking lots. At the main gate the only sight of a bus was its back end roaring off into the distance. Soon we lucked into a classmate’s tail gate party where we warmed up with a toddy and ham biscuit with classmates and more school day stories. It's a wonder any of them made it to class, let alone to graduation and successful careers.
We said so long and walked uphill to the main road where city buses lined a distant curb. Admiral walked up to a policeman and asked for directions to get back to the Inn. I wasn’t believing this - a man asking directions!
“I forgot what the guy said. Let’s get on this bus. The driver will tell us how to get to the hotel.” Admiral said as we boarded a bus, trusting it was going our way.
Sure enough, when we got off where the driver directed us, the hotel was visible. The driver said it was 2 blocks, looking more like 20 miles to us. We walked fast into the raw wind, Admiral pulling me along to keep pace with his rapid steps. At the hotel, I beat him to the fire.
Admiral’s 4-year college career was varied. He played in the Highty Tighties, managed and played bass in his bluegrass band, and played other musical gigs anywhere he could get paid. The stories of events entertained me for hours. Relationships made then he continues to this day with visits and chats when he’s in the area.
The next day was clear, without wind. Off we went on an adventure to visit places and people Admiral knew during his gigs years ago. “I’m taking you to church today.” he said as we left the hotel. “I can find the little country church, I’m sure. Things don’t change much in the boondocks.” he added.
A twisting road at 40 and plum (40 miles out and plum in the sticks) ended at Mountain Lake Hotel, where the movie Dirty Dancing was filmed. Admiral rolled in laughter as he relived leaving a gig there.
It was dark and cold. The car was full of guys and instruments, with the bass tied to the front of the car, obstructing his view as he drove down the curving mountain road through snow. He said “I never told Mom about these things. Guess I didn’t tie the bass on very well because it fell off. We looked over the side of the road and never found it.”
“Oh, oh. It’s time for church. Let’s roll.” he hollered as he ran out the door of the resort to the car. I could see him driving that old Model A down that mountain road while he ran it too fast for my comfort. Finally he stopped at a church. It was a typical country church – white, steeple with cross on top, pointed front doors, a few large windows and several cars parked on the lawn around it. Yet it was no ordinary church. It was the one that Admiral had gone to when the Porters befriended him in the last century.
The service was underway when we entered, seeing 25 mostly elderly people scattered about the small room. As heads turned to see who the late arrivals were, we settled on the back row to be unobtrusive.
To the right of the chancel a large screen and the latest projector were suspended from the ceiling. “Hum, the preacher looks to be about 35ish and I guess he’s tech savvy. There’s some high powered tech stuff here. Wonder if he’ll use powerpoint for his sermon. ” I thought.
While I was unwrapping my layers of warm outer wear, I heard Admiral snicker under his breath. He poked me and pointed at the screen. In giant letters were WHY DO SANTA DO WHAT SANTA DO?
What makes you lose your mind?
Thanksgiving Day is a funny day. As a single woman I’ve done all kinds of things to enjoy a day filled with families coming together, laughing and having a good time, supposedly. For some it’s sad. For others it’s exciting. This Thanksgiving was going to be memorable, as most of my first time events with Admiral were.
His family tradition is for him to carve the turkey and ham at his sister’s annual family feast. I was on review before the family clan of thousands – a true acid test, if ever there is.
Her present was wrapped and ready to go days earlier. Nothing like bringing a nice gift to make a good impression.
With great anticipation Thanksgiving Day arrived and it was a full day. Long before I met Admiral friend Ann and I had committed to be host volunteers at the Community Dinner. Duties there would end about 2 so I’d be free for the rest of the day. Knowing this his sister generously would hold dinner until we arrived about 3ish.
As Admiral and I drove through the woods and over the hills on narrow country roads, our conversation covered tales of being river rats (a term for children from Richmond who spent summers messing about on the water) and names and relations of attendees – his sister, nieces, nephews, cousins, and any friends who showed up. I was confident I’d get three names right, especially since one was his sister, whom I’d already met. Coaching, while he hunted for a place to park, about who owned the cars in the driveway at his sister’s house was invaluable.
His sister greeted me at the door with a big hug and “Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here. Everyone wants to meet you.”
I replied “Happy Turkey Day. You’re so kind to include me and I really appreciate you holding dinner for us. I have a gift for you and I forgot it. When your brother gets near me, everything goes out of my head.”
His family tradition is for him to carve the turkey and ham at his sister’s annual family feast. I was on review before the family clan of thousands – a true acid test, if ever there is.
Her present was wrapped and ready to go days earlier. Nothing like bringing a nice gift to make a good impression.
With great anticipation Thanksgiving Day arrived and it was a full day. Long before I met Admiral friend Ann and I had committed to be host volunteers at the Community Dinner. Duties there would end about 2 so I’d be free for the rest of the day. Knowing this his sister generously would hold dinner until we arrived about 3ish.
As Admiral and I drove through the woods and over the hills on narrow country roads, our conversation covered tales of being river rats (a term for children from Richmond who spent summers messing about on the water) and names and relations of attendees – his sister, nieces, nephews, cousins, and any friends who showed up. I was confident I’d get three names right, especially since one was his sister, whom I’d already met. Coaching, while he hunted for a place to park, about who owned the cars in the driveway at his sister’s house was invaluable.
His sister greeted me at the door with a big hug and “Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here. Everyone wants to meet you.”
I replied “Happy Turkey Day. You’re so kind to include me and I really appreciate you holding dinner for us. I have a gift for you and I forgot it. When your brother gets near me, everything goes out of my head.”
When are you dazzled by BSOs?
"You're the first to see it. Admiral just gave it to me." I glowed to my daughter during her birthday dinner. "It's a friendship ring." The BSO (bright shiny object) sparkled in the light.
Girlfriends are the best for sharing yummy exciting things, relishing them over again as you tell each detail of events. Three weeks earlier I called Artsy. When she answered the phone, I blurted “Admiral just asked me to marry him and I said YES! Can you believe it?”
“Were you surprised?” she asked. It’s been 7 weeks and I’m surprised at me! When he asked me, I said ‘I’ll think about it.’ then 5 minutes later I said yes. This wasn’t part of my plan as you well know. So it looks like I’ll get a new plan.” I said.
“I couldn’t wait.” Admiral said excitedly. “I had to give you this.” He handed me an oval highly polished brass box I’d seen at his home. “Oh, geez. What is this. Can I fake being excited about this box?” I thought.
In it was a present, wrapped by Admiral himself. The layers of paper and scotch tape gave way from the little square box, revealing the most beautiful ring. It was gold with a sparkly sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. It took my breath away.
“I wanted to give you something special. Let’s call it a friendship ring for now. I’ll get you something better later.” Admiral said.
“You know, we’re celebrating my daughter’s birthday tonight. It’ll be a double celebration and she’ll be the first to know about the ring.” I said, surprised and loving the bright shiny object on my hand.
Girlfriends are the best for sharing yummy exciting things, relishing them over again as you tell each detail of events. Three weeks earlier I called Artsy. When she answered the phone, I blurted “Admiral just asked me to marry him and I said YES! Can you believe it?”
“Were you surprised?” she asked. It’s been 7 weeks and I’m surprised at me! When he asked me, I said ‘I’ll think about it.’ then 5 minutes later I said yes. This wasn’t part of my plan as you well know. So it looks like I’ll get a new plan.” I said.
“I couldn’t wait.” Admiral said excitedly. “I had to give you this.” He handed me an oval highly polished brass box I’d seen at his home. “Oh, geez. What is this. Can I fake being excited about this box?” I thought.
In it was a present, wrapped by Admiral himself. The layers of paper and scotch tape gave way from the little square box, revealing the most beautiful ring. It was gold with a sparkly sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. It took my breath away.
“I wanted to give you something special. Let’s call it a friendship ring for now. I’ll get you something better later.” Admiral said.
“You know, we’re celebrating my daughter’s birthday tonight. It’ll be a double celebration and she’ll be the first to know about the ring.” I said, surprised and loving the bright shiny object on my hand.
How many things go in a ring box?
Artsy and I began a Smart Woman's tradition with the Urbanna Oyster Festival. We invite friends to go with us This year our guys are our invited guests to share the fun. Thousands flock to this waterfront town for two days to devour the featured bi-valve, making good parking impossible. Hearing us whine about parking being less than easy, Admiral, with a quick phone call, arranged prime parking for us in town! Don't you love a man who gets things done!
As things usually go with friends in crowds, we got separated from Artsy and her guy because of the big black monster.
The bus was gigantic and black, like the one Pres. Obama used on his August Midwest tour. Admiral was beside himself with excitement.
“What’s so exciting about a bus? It is chilly and I’m ready to get out of the cold for a while.” I thought as I agreed to touring this black monster. Admiral was quick to point out the differences between the one he owned and this one since this one was glitzy and filled with lights, chrome and mirrors. And that was the inside.
Warmed again and still full of oysters, we walked to the car in the primo place, looking for Artsy and her guy with each step. Of course, in my effort to travel light, I’d left my cell phone in the car. When we got to the car, we found a note from Artsy. “Come on in the restaurant around the corner and get warm with us.” That’s a smart woman!
The drive home was warm and very short as we recalled the best oysters (fritters from the Lions Club, she crab soup from the Methodist church), the people we saw and vows to save the date for 2011.
Over casual suppers and outings in boats, planes and old cars, Admiral and I got to know each other better. Respect deepened as we shared gut and heart wrenching losses of marriages from death for him and divorce for me, dreams gone awry and unplanned successes that took us to mountaintops. We realized how precious our relationship was. To be healthy, acutely mentally alert, totally in charge of ourselves, and to have fabulous resources was a miracle at our age. At times we understood each other better than we understood ourselves.
Birthday dinner with my RVA daughter was another first for Admiral. He was finally meeting a child he’d heard much about. She knew this was special as she’d never had more than a fleeting glimpse of men I dated. After opening her presents, she handed me one. “You gave me a birthday present already. What’s this?” I asked about the ring-box shaped, beautifully wrapped package.
“Open it and see.” she grinned.
“It’s a pacifier. What’s happening? What in the world… I get it! Are you…? “ I asked excitedly.
“Yep. Due in late May. Congratulations, GoGo. Grandbaby #2 is on the way.” she announced. “You’re the first to know so keep it quiet ‘til I can tell the rest of the family.”
Then she said, “Hey, Mom, I haven’t seen you wear a ring for years. It looks like Princess Kate’s engagement ring. What’s that?”
As things usually go with friends in crowds, we got separated from Artsy and her guy because of the big black monster.
The bus was gigantic and black, like the one Pres. Obama used on his August Midwest tour. Admiral was beside himself with excitement.
“What’s so exciting about a bus? It is chilly and I’m ready to get out of the cold for a while.” I thought as I agreed to touring this black monster. Admiral was quick to point out the differences between the one he owned and this one since this one was glitzy and filled with lights, chrome and mirrors. And that was the inside.
Warmed again and still full of oysters, we walked to the car in the primo place, looking for Artsy and her guy with each step. Of course, in my effort to travel light, I’d left my cell phone in the car. When we got to the car, we found a note from Artsy. “Come on in the restaurant around the corner and get warm with us.” That’s a smart woman!
The drive home was warm and very short as we recalled the best oysters (fritters from the Lions Club, she crab soup from the Methodist church), the people we saw and vows to save the date for 2011.
Over casual suppers and outings in boats, planes and old cars, Admiral and I got to know each other better. Respect deepened as we shared gut and heart wrenching losses of marriages from death for him and divorce for me, dreams gone awry and unplanned successes that took us to mountaintops. We realized how precious our relationship was. To be healthy, acutely mentally alert, totally in charge of ourselves, and to have fabulous resources was a miracle at our age. At times we understood each other better than we understood ourselves.
Birthday dinner with my RVA daughter was another first for Admiral. He was finally meeting a child he’d heard much about. She knew this was special as she’d never had more than a fleeting glimpse of men I dated. After opening her presents, she handed me one. “You gave me a birthday present already. What’s this?” I asked about the ring-box shaped, beautifully wrapped package.
“Open it and see.” she grinned.
“It’s a pacifier. What’s happening? What in the world… I get it! Are you…? “ I asked excitedly.
“Yep. Due in late May. Congratulations, GoGo. Grandbaby #2 is on the way.” she announced. “You’re the first to know so keep it quiet ‘til I can tell the rest of the family.”
Then she said, “Hey, Mom, I haven’t seen you wear a ring for years. It looks like Princess Kate’s engagement ring. What’s that?”
A Phenomenal Woman
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I’m not cute or built to suit a model’s fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I’m telling lies.
I say
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
Like a bunch of honey bees
I say
It’s the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say
It’s in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace on my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It’s in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand the need for my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
by Maya Angelou
I’m not cute or built to suit a model’s fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I’m telling lies.
I say
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
Like a bunch of honey bees
I say
It’s the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say
It’s in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace on my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It’s in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand the need for my care.
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That’s me.
by Maya Angelou
Up Close and Personal with the Man in the Moon
It was time for the acid test. Girlfriends, cherished soul mates who speak truth, met Admiral. The evening was great fun and noisy, of course, with a dozen women talking at once. Admiral loved every minute of being the only man there and being the center of attention. He grinned from ear to ear, posed for snapshots, and talked easily with all. The next day each friend confirmed what I felt - he's a keeper.
"Let's fly up for the day." Admiral said when I talked about an extreme acid test - meeting my Delaware family. “You set the date and I’ll get us there in time for lunch.” he said.
The flight to Wilmington, DE was easy and scenic. The little 'potato chip' plane flew smoothly under Admiral's control, across the Chesapeake Bay, over farmland, cities and interesting landmarks.
The whole clan picked us up at the airport and took us to a charming restaurant in New Castle. The minute Admiral left the table they were full of questions about this man. “So, are you taking flying lessons?” # 1 Son asked right off the bat.
When Admiral returned, the questions changed. Yummy food was consumed over easy conversation with a heavy helping of check-out-the-new-guy-this-must-be-serious undercurrent for this first meeting.
Enjoying ourselves caused a later-than-planned departure for home. The return flight was expectedly smooth. Colors were brilliant as the sun set. Lights twinkled on the ground below and in the heavens above us. Conversation was animated as usual. Suddenly the plane was in a steep bank. “What’s going on? I’m going to throw up. This is the end.” I thought.
When I felt the plane level, I opened my eyes. We were flying straight into the biggest full moon I'd ever seen! I felt like I could reach out and tickle his chin!
Admiral held my hand and said “Look, the moon’s laughing at us. Do you think he laughs as much as we do?”
"Let's fly up for the day." Admiral said when I talked about an extreme acid test - meeting my Delaware family. “You set the date and I’ll get us there in time for lunch.” he said.
The flight to Wilmington, DE was easy and scenic. The little 'potato chip' plane flew smoothly under Admiral's control, across the Chesapeake Bay, over farmland, cities and interesting landmarks.
The whole clan picked us up at the airport and took us to a charming restaurant in New Castle. The minute Admiral left the table they were full of questions about this man. “So, are you taking flying lessons?” # 1 Son asked right off the bat.
When Admiral returned, the questions changed. Yummy food was consumed over easy conversation with a heavy helping of check-out-the-new-guy-this-must-be-serious undercurrent for this first meeting.
Enjoying ourselves caused a later-than-planned departure for home. The return flight was expectedly smooth. Colors were brilliant as the sun set. Lights twinkled on the ground below and in the heavens above us. Conversation was animated as usual. Suddenly the plane was in a steep bank. “What’s going on? I’m going to throw up. This is the end.” I thought.
When I felt the plane level, I opened my eyes. We were flying straight into the biggest full moon I'd ever seen! I felt like I could reach out and tickle his chin!
Admiral held my hand and said “Look, the moon’s laughing at us. Do you think he laughs as much as we do?”
Camping Out with Irene
“Will the drama never cease!” I exclaimed as I watched the Weather Channel. In RVA hurricanes are part of our summer weather, violent as they are. For days the hype built. Irene was huge, strong and getting bigger with each telecast.
The reporter was standing in surf in front of the Red Neck Palace in Kill Devil Hills. This beachfront cottage has been falling in the ocean for 12 years, at least. Hurricane Irene was on the way. At 14 mph she moved at my speed and there was plenty of warning to get to the grocery and stock up.
“It’s raining here.” Mary said. “I’m staying and riding Irene out. Stores are closed. Home Depot is open still. Oh, CNN interviewed my husband and it should be televised soon.” She continued. As we talked the TV flashed to Nags Head where Mary lives. Irene was arriving.
Irene was a big gal – as wide as Europe. Rain and wind projections and past experience said water would come in my house. For the first time in 18 years my house was empty – not one stick of anything, except sheets and towels, remained. “That’s all I need to stay at Sugar House – where life is sweet. I’ll camp out. The power never goes out. I can cook on the gas stove and take a hot shower. This’ll be an adventure.” I thought. My hurricane ready kit included projects to do sans electricity (in case power goes out), a good book, towels for mopping water, candles, matches, beach chair, health bars, chocolate and lots of diet coke.
The rain fell in torrents. The wind howled. I watched from each window while wiping up water blown through the sashes. Sheets of rain flew by. Blossoms on the crepe myrtles and flowers were blown off hours ago. The wind made eerie noises as it screamed by the front door.
Final cleaning to ready Sugar House for the next resident was my second priority, behind mopping up water.
“Just heard a tree’s down by your new house.” Wanda said. Thank heavens for cell phones. “Just saw it on Ch. 12. Thought you’d want to know."
Irene’s screaming winds and banging rain provided background sounds to the chat with my new neighbor I’d met the day before. “Yes, the tree fell. It’s on the other side of my house – well away from yours.” Alice volunteered. “I’ll call you if I see anything happening at your place.”
Lights flickered. “Is this it? Daylight’s fading. I better find the candles and matches now. “ I decided.
Ready for the worst I relaxed in my beach chair, watched wind-blown rain dance off the buildings, saw trees sway and connected with children and girlfriends, while sipping a Starbuck’s, brought in and reheated to make this adventure civilized. If I’m camping, I want all the luxuries.
Darkness fell. Sitting under the lone overhead light, I read, drank wine, and nibbled my dinner.
Perfect evenings end when it’s time to mop water and fix my bed – pads and layers of sheets piled on the floor on top of each other. As I crawled in, the floor got hard. As I settled under the covers, it got harder. My bones got sharper.
“And my children used to sleep like this! No wonder they were awake half the night.” I thought. “This sucks. Life here isn’t sweet now. I don’t do floor sleeping. What were you thinking! I can drive to my new house and that comfy bed would feel so fabulous. But it’s raining. I don’t know where trees are down or if the highway is open. I hate being out in driving rain. I’d better stay here. I can do this. Good night, Irene.” I said.
I must've slept as I woke to a breathtakingly beautiful morning. The clearest blue sky highlighted with pink puffies was my first sight. The quiet was almost deafening. Irene was gone. All was well. The drama had ceased.
The reporter was standing in surf in front of the Red Neck Palace in Kill Devil Hills. This beachfront cottage has been falling in the ocean for 12 years, at least. Hurricane Irene was on the way. At 14 mph she moved at my speed and there was plenty of warning to get to the grocery and stock up.
“It’s raining here.” Mary said. “I’m staying and riding Irene out. Stores are closed. Home Depot is open still. Oh, CNN interviewed my husband and it should be televised soon.” She continued. As we talked the TV flashed to Nags Head where Mary lives. Irene was arriving.
Irene was a big gal – as wide as Europe. Rain and wind projections and past experience said water would come in my house. For the first time in 18 years my house was empty – not one stick of anything, except sheets and towels, remained. “That’s all I need to stay at Sugar House – where life is sweet. I’ll camp out. The power never goes out. I can cook on the gas stove and take a hot shower. This’ll be an adventure.” I thought. My hurricane ready kit included projects to do sans electricity (in case power goes out), a good book, towels for mopping water, candles, matches, beach chair, health bars, chocolate and lots of diet coke.
The rain fell in torrents. The wind howled. I watched from each window while wiping up water blown through the sashes. Sheets of rain flew by. Blossoms on the crepe myrtles and flowers were blown off hours ago. The wind made eerie noises as it screamed by the front door.
Final cleaning to ready Sugar House for the next resident was my second priority, behind mopping up water.
“Just heard a tree’s down by your new house.” Wanda said. Thank heavens for cell phones. “Just saw it on Ch. 12. Thought you’d want to know."
Irene’s screaming winds and banging rain provided background sounds to the chat with my new neighbor I’d met the day before. “Yes, the tree fell. It’s on the other side of my house – well away from yours.” Alice volunteered. “I’ll call you if I see anything happening at your place.”
Lights flickered. “Is this it? Daylight’s fading. I better find the candles and matches now. “ I decided.
Ready for the worst I relaxed in my beach chair, watched wind-blown rain dance off the buildings, saw trees sway and connected with children and girlfriends, while sipping a Starbuck’s, brought in and reheated to make this adventure civilized. If I’m camping, I want all the luxuries.
Darkness fell. Sitting under the lone overhead light, I read, drank wine, and nibbled my dinner.
Perfect evenings end when it’s time to mop water and fix my bed – pads and layers of sheets piled on the floor on top of each other. As I crawled in, the floor got hard. As I settled under the covers, it got harder. My bones got sharper.
“And my children used to sleep like this! No wonder they were awake half the night.” I thought. “This sucks. Life here isn’t sweet now. I don’t do floor sleeping. What were you thinking! I can drive to my new house and that comfy bed would feel so fabulous. But it’s raining. I don’t know where trees are down or if the highway is open. I hate being out in driving rain. I’d better stay here. I can do this. Good night, Irene.” I said.
I must've slept as I woke to a breathtakingly beautiful morning. The clearest blue sky highlighted with pink puffies was my first sight. The quiet was almost deafening. Irene was gone. All was well. The drama had ceased.
With love on your 111th Birthday, Aunt Kate
“You’re wearing a path through my yard. You’ve got to stop that. “ Aunt Kate sternly said as she stopped me in my tracks on the way to second grade. Her yard was half way between home and school, a path walked almost daily. Filled with fear and trembling, I said “Yes, ma’m. I won’t do it again.” On my way I went, thinking “When is she gone so she won’t catch me again?”
Aunt Kate was a large woman with a strong voice. Married to my mother’s brother, Aunt Kate was a solid Christian, the first woman elected to the governing body of her church when women were more silent than heard. She was my god mother, a role she took seriously. And she was the woman who most positively influenced me and truly loved me.
Knowing how crazy my family was, she gave me glimpses of a sane, loving world. She bought me my first new tennis racket, replacing the hand-me-down racket from Mother’s teen years. With her I experienced my first airplane ride - all the way across the country. We were visiting her grandchildren, cousins who were my age. On that flight I sat by the window, taking in the scenery, spellbound by huge flat fields, glacier covered mountains and the Grand Canyon. I don’t think I moved a muscle.
The entire summer was spent experiencing life in Silicon Valley. There were strawberries to pick; the chilly very salty Pacific Ocean to wade in; a swimming pool for daily splashing and cousins to hang out with. I didn’t want to go home.
Eight weeks at Camp Alleghany in the West Virginia hills were heaven. Another whole summer away from home was better than good. Home sick was never in my vocabulary.
When my parents went away for months, I got to stay with Aunt Kate. These were the times I got As at school. The routine was rigid, centered on doing homework and all that makes A students. She was so authoritarian I didn’t want to know what any consequences were so I always followed her rules and life was good.
I never really got how special Aunt Kate was until she and Uncle Garland moved to Westminster-Canterbury, where you could live and be cared for ‘til you died. She wasn’t going to be a burden to her children in declining years, as she experienced taking care of her father in his decline.
Born in 1900 she delighted in telling every and anyone how old she was. On her 90th birthday the whole clan, 60 strong, gathered from across the country to honor her. Many of the nine girls named Katharine after her were there. My daughter is K8.
When my marriage ended, I dreaded telling her, fearful she would be disappointed in me. Again she wanted to provide for me.
Aunt Kate began to slow down after Uncle Garland passed away. Soon she gave up leading Stretch-&-Tone for sister residents and her church activities. Failing health and memory took her to assisted living where she lived in a room with familiar furniture and a hospital bed.
I took her to see my new home, bought with her blessing. I dreaded telling her son and the infirmary team that she’d fallen on the stoop and skinned up her shin badly. Luckily nothing was broken. When I told her son about it, he said she was always klutzy, another little known fact.
Faithfully I visited her, noticing each time how much thinner and frailer she was, how little she asked and how much I loved her. One visit was unforgettable. Aunt Kate was sitting in her favorite chair with her half eaten lunch on the tray before her. When I asked about her meal, she said “I’m waiting for the train to come. It slows down so I can pass my tray though the window to them and the poor people on board will have something to eat.” She didn’t mind if I waited with her until the train came.
After I left, I had to pull the car over and park while I wept with a broken heart. My precious fairy godmother Aunt Kate, whom I loved dearly, was gone. The woman who really, really loved me had been stolen by dementia.
Aunt Kate was a large woman with a strong voice. Married to my mother’s brother, Aunt Kate was a solid Christian, the first woman elected to the governing body of her church when women were more silent than heard. She was my god mother, a role she took seriously. And she was the woman who most positively influenced me and truly loved me.
Knowing how crazy my family was, she gave me glimpses of a sane, loving world. She bought me my first new tennis racket, replacing the hand-me-down racket from Mother’s teen years. With her I experienced my first airplane ride - all the way across the country. We were visiting her grandchildren, cousins who were my age. On that flight I sat by the window, taking in the scenery, spellbound by huge flat fields, glacier covered mountains and the Grand Canyon. I don’t think I moved a muscle.
The entire summer was spent experiencing life in Silicon Valley. There were strawberries to pick; the chilly very salty Pacific Ocean to wade in; a swimming pool for daily splashing and cousins to hang out with. I didn’t want to go home.
Eight weeks at Camp Alleghany in the West Virginia hills were heaven. Another whole summer away from home was better than good. Home sick was never in my vocabulary.
When my parents went away for months, I got to stay with Aunt Kate. These were the times I got As at school. The routine was rigid, centered on doing homework and all that makes A students. She was so authoritarian I didn’t want to know what any consequences were so I always followed her rules and life was good.
I never really got how special Aunt Kate was until she and Uncle Garland moved to Westminster-Canterbury, where you could live and be cared for ‘til you died. She wasn’t going to be a burden to her children in declining years, as she experienced taking care of her father in his decline.
Born in 1900 she delighted in telling every and anyone how old she was. On her 90th birthday the whole clan, 60 strong, gathered from across the country to honor her. Many of the nine girls named Katharine after her were there. My daughter is K8.
When my marriage ended, I dreaded telling her, fearful she would be disappointed in me. Again she wanted to provide for me.
Aunt Kate began to slow down after Uncle Garland passed away. Soon she gave up leading Stretch-&-Tone for sister residents and her church activities. Failing health and memory took her to assisted living where she lived in a room with familiar furniture and a hospital bed.
I took her to see my new home, bought with her blessing. I dreaded telling her son and the infirmary team that she’d fallen on the stoop and skinned up her shin badly. Luckily nothing was broken. When I told her son about it, he said she was always klutzy, another little known fact.
Faithfully I visited her, noticing each time how much thinner and frailer she was, how little she asked and how much I loved her. One visit was unforgettable. Aunt Kate was sitting in her favorite chair with her half eaten lunch on the tray before her. When I asked about her meal, she said “I’m waiting for the train to come. It slows down so I can pass my tray though the window to them and the poor people on board will have something to eat.” She didn’t mind if I waited with her until the train came.
After I left, I had to pull the car over and park while I wept with a broken heart. My precious fairy godmother Aunt Kate, whom I loved dearly, was gone. The woman who really, really loved me had been stolen by dementia.
What's Going On Isn't What You Think Is Going On
I was feeling overwhelmed. My book Smart Women Make Their Own Rules was in its final stages of printing, plans were underway for signings and there wasn’t enough of me to go around. How was I going to manage all that and a relationship too?
“I’m in his sights, I know it. I just don’t know what I want to do.” I told Smith. “This is going faster than I thought.”
“So why are you resisting what’s happening? He’s offering you what you want. What’s going on?”Smith asked.
When feeling out of control, I resort to getting order by making order out of chaos. An energy zapping messy office bookcase was the target. At completion many books were stacked up to go to Goodwill, notebooks were tossed and old journals were set aside for my old journal ritual.
Journaling is a marvelous tool. I started the practice when my marriage was falling apart, life was too painful and I was at my wit’s end. As life changes, journal pages fill and they rest on a shelf until ritual time. The ritual is quite simple: I burn each page, scattering the ashes in a special place in my garden.
In the cover of darkness, I sat in my garden and watched flames consume each page. One page was different with columns on it vs. the paragraphs that cleared my head. “Hmm, I’d better set this one aside and read it later. It looks too different.” I thought.
In the light of my cozy room I read the set-aside page. It was titled My Man – 2004. In two columns were lwords - the values and traits I wanted in my man. As I read it, I was awed. I couldn’t believe it! I wrote it in ’04 and here I am in 2011- reading each word that described Admiral.
“So why am I hesitating?” I ask myself. “Smokie, you don’t feel like you deserve this guy. Look at your self esteem. You asked for this man and here he is. You are so worthy of this guy. Get over yourself. “
New Friends among Forever Friends
A few days later Admiral and I attended a fund raiser for Children Inc. to see Seldom Scene, whose banjo player was a college friend. People that had blown me off chatted easily with me – because I was Admiral’s date. “I remember the time you landed your helicopter on my dock! It was most exciting.” one snooty gal exclaimed. When I told Admiral how suddenly I was okay to talk to, he laughed and said “Sounds like ‘em.”
We flew to Raleigh to celebrate the birthday of one of his first grade friends. I love private flying – no rude TSA! Classmates howled as they recalled Admiral’s antics. There’s a lot to be said for one who has friends from elementary school.
The next day we returned to Richmond in time for another of Admiral’s friend’s birthday party who goes to my church. Richmond’s small world makes life easy often. More stories came out about midnight takeoffs to the Bahamas from Florida, how he helped people sleep because he fixed their boat air conditioning on sultry hot nights, and rendezvous in exotic places on his magnificent yachts. Always the gentleman, he stood by quietly and smiling as people told stories on him with delight.
The Smart Woman’s tradition of going to the Urbanna Oyster Festival with friends was coming up. “Do I invite Admiral? What the hey, let’s do it." I thought. Not only did he gladly accept my invitation, he used connections to arrange a splendid parking place inside the tiny town where parking miles from the action is the procedure. One more time he shows he’s my kind of guy.
Wandering through shops, looking at the sites and eating oysters is the activity. As we chatted and strolled through an art show, he asked me what I was looking for on match. “My last first date.” I replied. Grinning widely, he said “Me, too. “
We flew to Raleigh to celebrate the birthday of one of his first grade friends. I love private flying – no rude TSA! Classmates howled as they recalled Admiral’s antics. There’s a lot to be said for one who has friends from elementary school.
The next day we returned to Richmond in time for another of Admiral’s friend’s birthday party who goes to my church. Richmond’s small world makes life easy often. More stories came out about midnight takeoffs to the Bahamas from Florida, how he helped people sleep because he fixed their boat air conditioning on sultry hot nights, and rendezvous in exotic places on his magnificent yachts. Always the gentleman, he stood by quietly and smiling as people told stories on him with delight.
The Smart Woman’s tradition of going to the Urbanna Oyster Festival with friends was coming up. “Do I invite Admiral? What the hey, let’s do it." I thought. Not only did he gladly accept my invitation, he used connections to arrange a splendid parking place inside the tiny town where parking miles from the action is the procedure. One more time he shows he’s my kind of guy.
Wandering through shops, looking at the sites and eating oysters is the activity. As we chatted and strolled through an art show, he asked me what I was looking for on match. “My last first date.” I replied. Grinning widely, he said “Me, too. “
When is 'no big deal' a big deal?
Weeks later over dinner Smith said "Sounds like you're softening on Boats. You're really enjoying his company now." "Yes, I am. He's so kind and dear. He's really a dear man. Our conversations are so open and honest and from the heart. No holds barred. I call him Admiral because he's all about boats. And we agree politically." I said. "But I'm still not sure."
During another boat outing Admiral said “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s no big deal but you need to know.” My stomach clinched and my mind raced with all kinds of ideas about what dreaded thing he’d say. Finally I said to my gremlin Bitch, “Silly girl, be quiet and listen.”
Admiral continued “Some time ago I had a cancer diagnosis. I went to the best surgeon and he told me they got it all. Seems it’s back now and I’m looking at radiation. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh my! I’m so sorry to hear that. What can I do for you? How can I help you?” I asked. Selfishly I was relieved to know my mental gymnastics were just that.
“I have a doctor’s appointment next week. I’ll probably have treatments. I hate that it means I may have to be here in cold weather. I really don’t like cold weather.” Admiral said matter of factly.
“No one’s going to the doctor with him and that’s not right. This is big and I can’t let him go alone. I’ll ask him if he wants me to go. I don’t want to push in where I’m not wanted, tho” I told Kathleen, my mentor in all things single.
Several days later I was sitting across the desk from Dr. Roundface with Admiral with a list of questions to ask in my Mother mode. Dr. Roundface covered all points and Admiral said “When do I start? I want to leave for warm weather soon and treatments are keeping me here too long.”
When I and friends need reinforcement, I email a prayer request to girlfriends to pray for the person and the situation. Such a note promptly went out requesting prayers for my precious Admiral. Kathleen’s email came back “Precious. Hmm. Sounds serious.”
During another boat outing Admiral said “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s no big deal but you need to know.” My stomach clinched and my mind raced with all kinds of ideas about what dreaded thing he’d say. Finally I said to my gremlin Bitch, “Silly girl, be quiet and listen.”
Admiral continued “Some time ago I had a cancer diagnosis. I went to the best surgeon and he told me they got it all. Seems it’s back now and I’m looking at radiation. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh my! I’m so sorry to hear that. What can I do for you? How can I help you?” I asked. Selfishly I was relieved to know my mental gymnastics were just that.
“I have a doctor’s appointment next week. I’ll probably have treatments. I hate that it means I may have to be here in cold weather. I really don’t like cold weather.” Admiral said matter of factly.
“No one’s going to the doctor with him and that’s not right. This is big and I can’t let him go alone. I’ll ask him if he wants me to go. I don’t want to push in where I’m not wanted, tho” I told Kathleen, my mentor in all things single.
Several days later I was sitting across the desk from Dr. Roundface with Admiral with a list of questions to ask in my Mother mode. Dr. Roundface covered all points and Admiral said “When do I start? I want to leave for warm weather soon and treatments are keeping me here too long.”
When I and friends need reinforcement, I email a prayer request to girlfriends to pray for the person and the situation. Such a note promptly went out requesting prayers for my precious Admiral. Kathleen’s email came back “Precious. Hmm. Sounds serious.”
Boats, Planes and Convertibles
“What can you lose?” Smith said to me over dinner one night. “He sounds nice. Accept his next date and have fun. You don’t have to marry him.”
Taking Smith's advice with a fun what-the-heck-can-I-lose? attitude I accepted his next date. It was truly amazing. At 0-dark-early Boats picked me up and drove me in his antique Model A to the small local airport. With only a purse and picnic lunch I had prepared in hand he flew us to another rural airport where we got in his cute convertible and drove 20 minutes to his boat! My head was reeling. Was this really happening to me? Pinch myself!
At the helm Boats skillfully guided his 35’ power boat from its slip to the open waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Did I say it was a childhood playground for both of us? The October air was warm, boat traffic scarce. “Be careful. Don’t lead him on. Be clear that you’re looking for friendship and fun. Sounds like you’re in his sights.” I thought.
I asked “Where are you headed?” “Well, you said you’d like to go to Tangier Island for a day trip so that’s what we’re doing.” he replied.
Conversation centered on his world built for two, his collection of antique cars he restored himself, numerous boats and planes used for his business and adventures on the water. The scenery was watery and chanting was esy as I sat by him in the double wide captain’s chair built for two.
Tangier’s harbor is quaint and colorful, lined with work boats, buoys and stacks of crab traps, tools of the many watermen who ply the waters pursuing those local crustaceans.
With his boat tied up at a dock, we strolled along the streets of Tangier, dodging golf carts, bicycles and the occasional truck, taking in the small community. We talked about life as we grew up, our adult lives with spouses and life today as singles. "You've been single too long" Boats said. I didn't know what he meant and I did think about living alone so long I get set in my ways like concrete.
Our picnic lunch we consumed onboard after an ice cream stop on land and watched boats come and go. The ride back to the marina was quick and easy.
The boat was putty under his control, docked flawlessly in its slip like it’d never left. After a short ride to the airport (no security checks here), we were taking off again in his plane. Destination Richmond before sunset. From the air we found many private grass airstrips, cultivated farm land and forests, traced rivers flowing to the Bay, discussed clouds and continued playing ‘Do you know…?’
Boats landed his plane for two flawlessly, taxing to the hanger where we disembarked. The ride to my house in his Model A was delightful. He recounted driving it across country from Washington,DC to Seattle with his grandson a few years earlier in the Great Race. He declined my offer to come in after he deposited me and the empty picnic basket in my home.
As I closed my front door, I was reflecting on my date with Boats, a most unique successful man with plenty of toys that ignite my sense of adventure. As he drove away, I heard “aahooga”, a fitting “Good night” from an old car in mint condition with a delightful outrageous man who likes to play behind the wheel. Smith’s advice was spot on – have fun with the guy to have fun with.
Taking Smith's advice with a fun what-the-heck-can-I-lose? attitude I accepted his next date. It was truly amazing. At 0-dark-early Boats picked me up and drove me in his antique Model A to the small local airport. With only a purse and picnic lunch I had prepared in hand he flew us to another rural airport where we got in his cute convertible and drove 20 minutes to his boat! My head was reeling. Was this really happening to me? Pinch myself!
At the helm Boats skillfully guided his 35’ power boat from its slip to the open waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Did I say it was a childhood playground for both of us? The October air was warm, boat traffic scarce. “Be careful. Don’t lead him on. Be clear that you’re looking for friendship and fun. Sounds like you’re in his sights.” I thought.
I asked “Where are you headed?” “Well, you said you’d like to go to Tangier Island for a day trip so that’s what we’re doing.” he replied.
Conversation centered on his world built for two, his collection of antique cars he restored himself, numerous boats and planes used for his business and adventures on the water. The scenery was watery and chanting was esy as I sat by him in the double wide captain’s chair built for two.
Tangier’s harbor is quaint and colorful, lined with work boats, buoys and stacks of crab traps, tools of the many watermen who ply the waters pursuing those local crustaceans.
With his boat tied up at a dock, we strolled along the streets of Tangier, dodging golf carts, bicycles and the occasional truck, taking in the small community. We talked about life as we grew up, our adult lives with spouses and life today as singles. "You've been single too long" Boats said. I didn't know what he meant and I did think about living alone so long I get set in my ways like concrete.
Our picnic lunch we consumed onboard after an ice cream stop on land and watched boats come and go. The ride back to the marina was quick and easy.
The boat was putty under his control, docked flawlessly in its slip like it’d never left. After a short ride to the airport (no security checks here), we were taking off again in his plane. Destination Richmond before sunset. From the air we found many private grass airstrips, cultivated farm land and forests, traced rivers flowing to the Bay, discussed clouds and continued playing ‘Do you know…?’
Boats landed his plane for two flawlessly, taxing to the hanger where we disembarked. The ride to my house in his Model A was delightful. He recounted driving it across country from Washington,DC to Seattle with his grandson a few years earlier in the Great Race. He declined my offer to come in after he deposited me and the empty picnic basket in my home.
As I closed my front door, I was reflecting on my date with Boats, a most unique successful man with plenty of toys that ignite my sense of adventure. As he drove away, I heard “aahooga”, a fitting “Good night” from an old car in mint condition with a delightful outrageous man who likes to play behind the wheel. Smith’s advice was spot on – have fun with the guy to have fun with.
Like Two Dogs Meeting in the Park
Lunch with a stranger is awkward at best, especially when you're sizing each other up with the dating agenda. Boats took my coat to hang up, pulled my chair out for me to be seated and asked the waiter to bring some water. He got points for that.
Throughout lunch we discovered we grew up 4 blocks from each other, went to the same church and he delivered my family's newspaper. My brother's best friend grew up next door to him. We spent childhood summers at the river (a Richmond tradition). Being older than I, our paths never crossed. What a small world - so like RVA.
After graduating with an engineering degree (I' ve never been able to talk to engineers or make sense of what they say) he began a business making gizmos for yachts. I'd heard of the business last year from a church member who was moving to Europe to handle the company's Middle East business.
He sold that business after decades of bounding success, retired and started two more businesses which he gave to key employees. (Dang! How generous. I'm impressed.) He told me about his suburban house, winter home in Florida (he hates cold weather) and his future plans.
His wife died suddenly in April (they just married the previous December) and now he's single again. He likes being married. I felt a catch in my stomach when I heard that. A rule of mine was at least 2 years being divorced or widowed and here I was with a guy whose wife passed away 6 months ago! Yikes!
He had gobs of fun toys - motorcycles, antique cars, and boats (How does he have time to play with all of that?) He said his world was built for two and he was one looking for his two. More points for having a clear goal.
"Do you like to garden?" he asked. "Well, I have a little piece of dirt I dig in." I answered. He has extensive gardens his next-to-last late wife planted and admits he barely knows one plant from another.
We played "Do you know.." and shared stories of match dates. His humor was delightful as he described the match gals and his adventures checking them out. They sounded too familiar. It's affirming to know the guys get a similar menu as the girls.
I thought "OK. You've done your career. I just wrote Smart Women Make Their Own Rules; the Professional Woman's Guide to Igniting your Power, got a new coaching client and have a keen focus for my future. You're kicking back and I'm rolling. I don't see much future here."
Three hours later Boats walked me to my car. For some reason I kissed him on the cheek. What was that about? I wondered. He waved as I drove by going to have dinner with Kathleen and tell her about another match date gone south.
Daily Boats called and emailed me. Checking caller ID I didn't answer his calls and returned emails 24 hours later. He was relentless. Guess he didn't have the same experience as I.
Throughout lunch we discovered we grew up 4 blocks from each other, went to the same church and he delivered my family's newspaper. My brother's best friend grew up next door to him. We spent childhood summers at the river (a Richmond tradition). Being older than I, our paths never crossed. What a small world - so like RVA.
After graduating with an engineering degree (I' ve never been able to talk to engineers or make sense of what they say) he began a business making gizmos for yachts. I'd heard of the business last year from a church member who was moving to Europe to handle the company's Middle East business.
He sold that business after decades of bounding success, retired and started two more businesses which he gave to key employees. (Dang! How generous. I'm impressed.) He told me about his suburban house, winter home in Florida (he hates cold weather) and his future plans.
His wife died suddenly in April (they just married the previous December) and now he's single again. He likes being married. I felt a catch in my stomach when I heard that. A rule of mine was at least 2 years being divorced or widowed and here I was with a guy whose wife passed away 6 months ago! Yikes!
He had gobs of fun toys - motorcycles, antique cars, and boats (How does he have time to play with all of that?) He said his world was built for two and he was one looking for his two. More points for having a clear goal.
"Do you like to garden?" he asked. "Well, I have a little piece of dirt I dig in." I answered. He has extensive gardens his next-to-last late wife planted and admits he barely knows one plant from another.
We played "Do you know.." and shared stories of match dates. His humor was delightful as he described the match gals and his adventures checking them out. They sounded too familiar. It's affirming to know the guys get a similar menu as the girls.
I thought "OK. You've done your career. I just wrote Smart Women Make Their Own Rules; the Professional Woman's Guide to Igniting your Power, got a new coaching client and have a keen focus for my future. You're kicking back and I'm rolling. I don't see much future here."
Three hours later Boats walked me to my car. For some reason I kissed him on the cheek. What was that about? I wondered. He waved as I drove by going to have dinner with Kathleen and tell her about another match date gone south.
Daily Boats called and emailed me. Checking caller ID I didn't answer his calls and returned emails 24 hours later. He was relentless. Guess he didn't have the same experience as I.
He Really Did What He Said
“ Yes. This is Smokie,” I replied to the man’s inquiry when I answered the phone.
“This is Boats, from match. I answered your email the other day saying I’d call when I got to town and so I’m calling.” It was 10:30 Sunday morning. Usually I'm at church til 11:30. Is this Divine Intervention?
He continued “Will you fly to Williamsburg with me for lunch today?”
“I would love to” I answered quickly. Then I thought “How did he know I love flying in little planes? Oh, no! Suppose he’s Jack the Ripper and I’m in the plane. He could kill me….. You’d better rethink this.”
He continued “ It’s 10:30 now. There’s a window between 11 and 3 so I’ll pick you up.”
“I going to Charlottesville for dinner with friends and I don’t know what time I have to leave.” I said truthfully. “My friend’s calling later to tell me when to meet.”
“Here’s my number. You call me when dinner plans are settled.” he replied, clearly a man on a mission.
With his number jotted on a napkin, we hung up. I was thinking “Wow! Fly to Williamsburg for lunch is nuts. You can drive there in an hour; how’d he know I love to fly in little planes?”
I recalled Boats' conversation with Kathleen, my match mentor and friend I was meeting for dinner that evening. With 3:45 as my departure time, I called Boats back.
We agreed to a lunch meeting at 12:30 at a place his friend owns. I declined his offer to pick me up – a bad idea for a first totally blind date. And he could be Jack-the-Ripper.
In front of the restaurant I saw a short man in a yellow jacket and funny cap. “Is this he? He doesn’t look like what I remember. Wish I'd read his profile better.” I thought.
As I approached, he said “I’m Boats. You must be Smokie.”
“Guilty.” I answered playfully, as we sized each other up, just like 2 dogs in the park.
“This is Boats, from match. I answered your email the other day saying I’d call when I got to town and so I’m calling.” It was 10:30 Sunday morning. Usually I'm at church til 11:30. Is this Divine Intervention?
He continued “Will you fly to Williamsburg with me for lunch today?”
“I would love to” I answered quickly. Then I thought “How did he know I love flying in little planes? Oh, no! Suppose he’s Jack the Ripper and I’m in the plane. He could kill me….. You’d better rethink this.”
He continued “ It’s 10:30 now. There’s a window between 11 and 3 so I’ll pick you up.”
“I going to Charlottesville for dinner with friends and I don’t know what time I have to leave.” I said truthfully. “My friend’s calling later to tell me when to meet.”
“Here’s my number. You call me when dinner plans are settled.” he replied, clearly a man on a mission.
With his number jotted on a napkin, we hung up. I was thinking “Wow! Fly to Williamsburg for lunch is nuts. You can drive there in an hour; how’d he know I love to fly in little planes?”
I recalled Boats' conversation with Kathleen, my match mentor and friend I was meeting for dinner that evening. With 3:45 as my departure time, I called Boats back.
We agreed to a lunch meeting at 12:30 at a place his friend owns. I declined his offer to pick me up – a bad idea for a first totally blind date. And he could be Jack-the-Ripper.
In front of the restaurant I saw a short man in a yellow jacket and funny cap. “Is this he? He doesn’t look like what I remember. Wish I'd read his profile better.” I thought.
As I approached, he said “I’m Boats. You must be Smokie.”
“Guilty.” I answered playfully, as we sized each other up, just like 2 dogs in the park.
What did your last Hail Mary get you?
“A girl’s gotta eat, you know.” was my mantra and check point for match guys. Lunches and dinners with several men were interesting and tested my powers of observation, to say the least. There was Swimmer, who had shoulders like Arnold Schwarzenegger . His wife’s death was lengthy and very bad dinner conversation. He talked about redoing his house to keep busy. From the shirt he was wearing I can only imagine what his house looks like.
I called Talker. He answered his phone while leaving the grocery store. He ranted with political opinions about every local, state, and national politician. Attempts to change the subject were unsuccessful as I could barely get a word in edgewise. After 35 minutes, I was a wild woman, more than ready to get off the phone. His groceries were put away and he was now ready to walk his dog. Not wanting to be rude (it must’ve been the proper southern upbringing) I jumped in and said quickly “Thanks for taking my call. I won’t take more of your time.” As I pressed the end button, I heard “Please call again.”
With 2 hours left in my match subscription it was time for my final play. Not much had changed except an adventure with my intuition and some dinner dates. With 30 minutes free to wrap up, I scanned the top 6 guys on the list of people who had viewed my profile. Three met my top 6 checks. A hasty note to each with “Hi Handsome” in the subject said “You peeked at me. It’s my last day on match. Check out my profile and if you like what you see, contact me. Here’s how. ” with email and phone added. As I hit the send button to each, I said “Wishing you a great life with the gal of your dreams.”
I had no expectation of results from this Hail Mary. Yet I had to take advantage of one last opportunity created months earlier when my subscription began. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And there was no Plan B.
I called Talker. He answered his phone while leaving the grocery store. He ranted with political opinions about every local, state, and national politician. Attempts to change the subject were unsuccessful as I could barely get a word in edgewise. After 35 minutes, I was a wild woman, more than ready to get off the phone. His groceries were put away and he was now ready to walk his dog. Not wanting to be rude (it must’ve been the proper southern upbringing) I jumped in and said quickly “Thanks for taking my call. I won’t take more of your time.” As I pressed the end button, I heard “Please call again.”
With 2 hours left in my match subscription it was time for my final play. Not much had changed except an adventure with my intuition and some dinner dates. With 30 minutes free to wrap up, I scanned the top 6 guys on the list of people who had viewed my profile. Three met my top 6 checks. A hasty note to each with “Hi Handsome” in the subject said “You peeked at me. It’s my last day on match. Check out my profile and if you like what you see, contact me. Here’s how. ” with email and phone added. As I hit the send button to each, I said “Wishing you a great life with the gal of your dreams.”
I had no expectation of results from this Hail Mary. Yet I had to take advantage of one last opportunity created months earlier when my subscription began. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And there was no Plan B.
Lessons Learned from the King's Speech
Friends raved about The Kings Speech. Hollywood proclaimed it Best Picture and Colin Firth, who played King George VI, Best Actor. The story of the man who unwillingly became King of England and overcame stuttering and insecurity is filled with lessons of personal development. In honor of the Royal Wedding on April 29 here are a few lessons learned from the King’s Speech:
Things are not always as they appear or you perceive.
No one is exempt from trauma during childhood.
Every career has areas pushing you beyond your skills.
Good rapport and trust in the professionals that help you is key to success.
A cheering squad of one, whether a friend or loved one, is another big key to achievement.
A story, well written and presented, is inspiring, entertaining, and thought provoking. Bravo Hollywood for your choices!
And finally, everyone needs a best friend – a confidante and buddy who shares the valley of disappointment and the peak of success.
Things are not always as they appear or you perceive.
No one is exempt from trauma during childhood.
Every career has areas pushing you beyond your skills.
Good rapport and trust in the professionals that help you is key to success.
A cheering squad of one, whether a friend or loved one, is another big key to achievement.
A story, well written and presented, is inspiring, entertaining, and thought provoking. Bravo Hollywood for your choices!
And finally, everyone needs a best friend – a confidante and buddy who shares the valley of disappointment and the peak of success.
Who'd have thought?
A milestone birthday requires a party and month long celebration. This birthday was going to be marked appropriately.
A burst of energy got home projects finished that had been put off too long. Plans were made and invites issued to friends, including Farmer.
When he rsvp’d, I asked about the date for a visit to his home going unanswered. He was busy getting crops up was the reply. “Something’s not right here.” Intuition said.
The party was a blast with best friends sharing cake and partaking in merriment. Farmer came late, was pleasant, and brought a bottle of champagne. He left very early, saying he had a long drive home.
Recounting my birthday evening, I said to Kathleen, my mentor in all things single women need to know, “It’s not adding up. There’s an 8 year gap when I add up all the numbers.”
“Have you googled him?” she asked.
"Never occurred to me. Let’s do it now.” I said. “His name is ordinary. Hold on! Last week we talked about his middle name and it’s really different. Let’s try that. His middle name is Westerly.”
With no expectation of any result, we were floored to see what Mr. Google provided. Up popped a PDF of a Court of Appeals of Virginia document! We were glued to the web as we read all 22 pages of the document. It read like a steamy novel ready to be a screen play and Oscar winning movie! He was contesting a divorce from his wife of 9 years (not 1 as he said) on numerous counts, including adultery. And he was contesting the courts finding that he committed marital waste and improper equitable distribution of his business.
Naturally the link to that PDF went to friends. Farmer became The Rat, a lowlife hosebag as my guy friends said. When I mentioned it to another girlfriend, she said she made it a point to talk to him at my birthday. “He was rude and condescending to me.” she said.
No wonder my intuition was squawking.
A burst of energy got home projects finished that had been put off too long. Plans were made and invites issued to friends, including Farmer.
When he rsvp’d, I asked about the date for a visit to his home going unanswered. He was busy getting crops up was the reply. “Something’s not right here.” Intuition said.
The party was a blast with best friends sharing cake and partaking in merriment. Farmer came late, was pleasant, and brought a bottle of champagne. He left very early, saying he had a long drive home.
Recounting my birthday evening, I said to Kathleen, my mentor in all things single women need to know, “It’s not adding up. There’s an 8 year gap when I add up all the numbers.”
“Have you googled him?” she asked.
"Never occurred to me. Let’s do it now.” I said. “His name is ordinary. Hold on! Last week we talked about his middle name and it’s really different. Let’s try that. His middle name is Westerly.”
With no expectation of any result, we were floored to see what Mr. Google provided. Up popped a PDF of a Court of Appeals of Virginia document! We were glued to the web as we read all 22 pages of the document. It read like a steamy novel ready to be a screen play and Oscar winning movie! He was contesting a divorce from his wife of 9 years (not 1 as he said) on numerous counts, including adultery. And he was contesting the courts finding that he committed marital waste and improper equitable distribution of his business.
Naturally the link to that PDF went to friends. Farmer became The Rat, a lowlife hosebag as my guy friends said. When I mentioned it to another girlfriend, she said she made it a point to talk to him at my birthday. “He was rude and condescending to me.” she said.
No wonder my intuition was squawking.
Doing the Math
Mr. Took-the-Bait morphed into Farmer. Talk about farm life, cattle, his shooting prowess, trips, my book and assorted topics made phone conversations delightful. Emails flew with daily reports. Weekly he was in town for engaging lunches at numerous new restaurants. My fave was Stronghill. One dinner invite I declined as I’m never available for a last minute engagement after Wednesday. (A single woman rule learned from a single mentor.)
Farmer accepted my invite in early August to go to a friend’s wedding in DC in late August. Then I heard nothing for three weeks. “Should I email? Should I call?” I wondered. “What is this all about?”
The wedding date was getting closer and if he wasn’t going, I was taking a girlfriend. I had to know. Enough of this silence.
“Would you come to my place for a visit? Come for the weekend and we’ll go on to the wedding on Saturday.” his email said, replying to my inquiry “Do you still want to go to the wedding at the end of the month?”
“Something’s missing” was a hunch. No contact for three weeks and I wasn’t about to get myself in a bad situation. Carefully I crafted my reply “Let’s meet in Fredericksburg at 0 dark early and make it a day trip". He agreed.
At the wedding, Farmer was charming. He declined my request for a dance to check out dancing skills he claimed to have. Chats were on a variety of topics and engaging, especially over the omission of the word “obey” from the vows. Note to self – what’s the big deal?
On the return drive to Fredericksburg he invited me to his home for the weekend. This time I accepted for mid September, three weeks later. A wave to each other in our separate cars headed to our respective homes was “Goodbye. It was fun.”
When in Fredericksburg, I always get a Carls treat. Savoring Carl’s dessert, I relived the day. The wedding was beautiful, the most exquisite I’ve seen, no detail left out; being with Farmer; seeing old friends all in the lush setting of George Washington’s River Farm were as delicious as the frozen treat.
“Something’s not right. Something's missing. ” my intuition strongly resounded. I added up the numbers – years married to first wife, years married to second wife left an 8 year gap, no matter how I added. “Something’s missing. ” was the echo.
“No kidding” I replied. “But what is it? I'm no math whiz but 8 years is a life span. What in the world....”
Farmer accepted my invite in early August to go to a friend’s wedding in DC in late August. Then I heard nothing for three weeks. “Should I email? Should I call?” I wondered. “What is this all about?”
The wedding date was getting closer and if he wasn’t going, I was taking a girlfriend. I had to know. Enough of this silence.
“Would you come to my place for a visit? Come for the weekend and we’ll go on to the wedding on Saturday.” his email said, replying to my inquiry “Do you still want to go to the wedding at the end of the month?”
“Something’s missing” was a hunch. No contact for three weeks and I wasn’t about to get myself in a bad situation. Carefully I crafted my reply “Let’s meet in Fredericksburg at 0 dark early and make it a day trip". He agreed.
At the wedding, Farmer was charming. He declined my request for a dance to check out dancing skills he claimed to have. Chats were on a variety of topics and engaging, especially over the omission of the word “obey” from the vows. Note to self – what’s the big deal?
On the return drive to Fredericksburg he invited me to his home for the weekend. This time I accepted for mid September, three weeks later. A wave to each other in our separate cars headed to our respective homes was “Goodbye. It was fun.”
When in Fredericksburg, I always get a Carls treat. Savoring Carl’s dessert, I relived the day. The wedding was beautiful, the most exquisite I’ve seen, no detail left out; being with Farmer; seeing old friends all in the lush setting of George Washington’s River Farm were as delicious as the frozen treat.
“Something’s not right. Something's missing. ” my intuition strongly resounded. I added up the numbers – years married to first wife, years married to second wife left an 8 year gap, no matter how I added. “Something’s missing. ” was the echo.
“No kidding” I replied. “But what is it? I'm no math whiz but 8 years is a life span. What in the world....”
What's missing?
It’s another ‘wearing a wet, wooly dog’ day in RVA. The air conditioning at California Pizza will feel mighty good for lunch with Mr. Took-the-Bait, fresh from match.com. Resolve, commitment and action are a powerful combo to make things happen.
I’m hungry, sweaty and anxious about this ‘blind date’. How many years has it been since my last one? What are his social skills like? What will he be like? Will I like him? The questions go on and on.
California Pizza is packed. “Here I am” I hear after asking the hostess if a lone man has been seated. As I turn and see Mr. Took-the-Bait, I jump. He’s 8’ tall! Guess I missed that part of his profile.
Ever the gentleman he orders my lunch after taking my selections. He says nice things and asks about me. Points for him. Soon our conversation turns to him, naturally, revealing he has a child living in RVA, not far from my house. He lives on a several hundred acre farm near Charlottesville with Angus cattle, making him a ‘gentleman farmer.’ He has been successful in business and seems comfortable in his skin.
He tells me I can trust him and never have to be afraid when I’m with him. He’ll protect me. “What’s that about?” I wonder. The thought that I'd be afraid or need protecting never occured to me.
The waiter interrupts us to apologize for the nearby screaming kid that would send a terrorist running away. We sympathize with him, wish him well in dealing with that and question how the mother stands it.
When lunch is over, he walks me to my car. He guesses I drive a sporty little BMW or Mercedes. How wrong he was when he saw big ole Glory B sitting there, regally taking up her 4 parking places. After saying thanks for lunch and asking if he can take me out again, we say adieu. He climbs into a huge Albemarle County red mud covered SUV and drives away.
It was fun and got me looking forward to more dates. I certainly was excited about the success. And my intuition said “Something’s missing.”
I’m hungry, sweaty and anxious about this ‘blind date’. How many years has it been since my last one? What are his social skills like? What will he be like? Will I like him? The questions go on and on.
California Pizza is packed. “Here I am” I hear after asking the hostess if a lone man has been seated. As I turn and see Mr. Took-the-Bait, I jump. He’s 8’ tall! Guess I missed that part of his profile.
Ever the gentleman he orders my lunch after taking my selections. He says nice things and asks about me. Points for him. Soon our conversation turns to him, naturally, revealing he has a child living in RVA, not far from my house. He lives on a several hundred acre farm near Charlottesville with Angus cattle, making him a ‘gentleman farmer.’ He has been successful in business and seems comfortable in his skin.
He tells me I can trust him and never have to be afraid when I’m with him. He’ll protect me. “What’s that about?” I wonder. The thought that I'd be afraid or need protecting never occured to me.
The waiter interrupts us to apologize for the nearby screaming kid that would send a terrorist running away. We sympathize with him, wish him well in dealing with that and question how the mother stands it.
When lunch is over, he walks me to my car. He guesses I drive a sporty little BMW or Mercedes. How wrong he was when he saw big ole Glory B sitting there, regally taking up her 4 parking places. After saying thanks for lunch and asking if he can take me out again, we say adieu. He climbs into a huge Albemarle County red mud covered SUV and drives away.
It was fun and got me looking forward to more dates. I certainly was excited about the success. And my intuition said “Something’s missing.”
What did your resolutions do for you?
Hugging change, my 2011 theme, comes from deliberate actions taken last year. Ever heard the saying, “Be careful what you ask for.”? When what you ask for comes in spades, be ready to shuck and jive and embrace change. During the next few blogs you’ll be privy to what happened because I played big and bold in 2010.
It was one of those days that felt like I was wearing a wet wooly dog…a typical June day in RVA. Dressed in summer finery, I was on the way to Mandy’s wedding.
“I’m sick of this. I’m doing something about it.” I said. “This time next year my life will be different.” I muttered as I drove. “She’s divorced, dated, courted and getting married and I haven’t had a decent date in ages. Everybody’s getting married - even my daughter. This is changing.” I’d said that before. This time resolve and commitment came from my toes.
Having a better social life wasn’t working with what I was doing. Newly married neighbors met on match.com and my best friend met her husband on match. What could I lose? At least I’d have a few dinners, interesting conversations and stories to tell. With coaching from match-experienced friends, my profile was written and photos were selected for prime marketing.
June 30 was launch date. I hemmed and hawed about sending emails. "Do I do this or not? This is work. What do I say to strangers?” I muttered, afraid I’d be successful and have too much fun with Mr. Right. “Hey, that’s fear of success. Isn’t that why you’re doing this? Pull up those big girl panties and get over yourself. This is sport so go for it big.” I told myself.
With vigor I clicked on one profile after another of guys who were looking for I don’t know what. Each had to pass my rule of 6 – clean shaven, non-smoker, physically active, widowed or divorced, have kids and kind eyes. I wasn’t settling for less. And I had nothing to lose.
Many hours late at night were spent looking, reading, clicking, deleting. Not much out there that passes my rule of 6. Should I abandon the rule? Heck no. Abandoning my rule equals settling and I’m not settling.
The few guys who did pass got this email: Subject: Hi Handsome. After that, words stopped. Match directions say “write cute clever notes to show what a prize you are.” At 10 pm at night and dog tired it’s hard to be cute, clever or feel like a prize. Again I pulled up my big girl panties and persevered. Some notes were clever – I wondered if they were too clever. Other notes I was surprised got replies.
Several days after launch I got a strike. The bait worked. Hiker hit on me at Pinecone Hollow Café. It’s amazing this match stuff works in person, too. My follow-up to Hiker produced no results.
A few days later I cast my bait in quantity on match and got another strike! And this one wants to meet me for lunch! Success!
What success have you experienced from your resolutions?
It was one of those days that felt like I was wearing a wet wooly dog…a typical June day in RVA. Dressed in summer finery, I was on the way to Mandy’s wedding.
“I’m sick of this. I’m doing something about it.” I said. “This time next year my life will be different.” I muttered as I drove. “She’s divorced, dated, courted and getting married and I haven’t had a decent date in ages. Everybody’s getting married - even my daughter. This is changing.” I’d said that before. This time resolve and commitment came from my toes.
Having a better social life wasn’t working with what I was doing. Newly married neighbors met on match.com and my best friend met her husband on match. What could I lose? At least I’d have a few dinners, interesting conversations and stories to tell. With coaching from match-experienced friends, my profile was written and photos were selected for prime marketing.
June 30 was launch date. I hemmed and hawed about sending emails. "Do I do this or not? This is work. What do I say to strangers?” I muttered, afraid I’d be successful and have too much fun with Mr. Right. “Hey, that’s fear of success. Isn’t that why you’re doing this? Pull up those big girl panties and get over yourself. This is sport so go for it big.” I told myself.
With vigor I clicked on one profile after another of guys who were looking for I don’t know what. Each had to pass my rule of 6 – clean shaven, non-smoker, physically active, widowed or divorced, have kids and kind eyes. I wasn’t settling for less. And I had nothing to lose.
Many hours late at night were spent looking, reading, clicking, deleting. Not much out there that passes my rule of 6. Should I abandon the rule? Heck no. Abandoning my rule equals settling and I’m not settling.
The few guys who did pass got this email: Subject: Hi Handsome. After that, words stopped. Match directions say “write cute clever notes to show what a prize you are.” At 10 pm at night and dog tired it’s hard to be cute, clever or feel like a prize. Again I pulled up my big girl panties and persevered. Some notes were clever – I wondered if they were too clever. Other notes I was surprised got replies.
Several days after launch I got a strike. The bait worked. Hiker hit on me at Pinecone Hollow Café. It’s amazing this match stuff works in person, too. My follow-up to Hiker produced no results.
A few days later I cast my bait in quantity on match and got another strike! And this one wants to meet me for lunch! Success!
What success have you experienced from your resolutions?
When did you last get bit?
“Take time now to reflect.” he said. “Find a comfortable place and spend time quietly reading the passage until a word or phrase resonates with you. Then stop. Reflect and pray on it.” he continued.
The day was colder than a witch in you-know-what. Being a quart low on spiritualism, this time-out was ideal. A beautiful, warm sanctuary was perfect for the retreat titled ‘Be Still and Know I Am God’. I found a pew with a comfy red pad where I could rest my back against the wall, stretch out my legs and cushion my bum. The leader, Brother Geoffrey, a monk and Superior of The Society of Saint John the Evangelist, said to get comfortable and I was following his directions. I‘m sure God wants us to be comfy. Why else are there chocolate, cashmere and warm places to go in the cold winter?
The passage was Psalm 139. I read it, wondering what words would grab me. My eyes fell upon “search” – that’s not it – “am acquainted with my ways” – nope, not it. “You hem me in.” It hit me between the eyes. “What’s this about?” I wondered.
I don’t like being hemmed in, in a box, conventional ways. Following rules feels constricting. Perhaps that’s why I never had a ‘real’ job working for someone else.
Rules are made for breaking – or pushing, at the least. I love making up my own rules - and following them. I even wrote a book titled Smart Women Make Their Own Rules: the Professional Woman’s Guide to Igniting your Power. Rules are important. Without them the world would be even more chaotic. Can you imagine traffic - during rush hour - at intersections without traffic lights?
Upon reflection I got that I have to be hemmed in by rules- by my own ‘rules’ – the principles my life is lived by. Then I have focus to do the work I’m called to do. To do each task the best I can. To serve where I can. To be served when needed.
“You hem me in.” I get it. Dang! Guess rules are more important that I realized. Ugh.
Brother Geoffrey helped us process the reflections as I said “Geez” over and over again. Finally it was lunchtime, to be done silently, continuing the mode of the Retreat.
The dining hall was large, the food delicious. Silently, politely (after all, we are southern) we nodded to each other, smiled and dined silently. The sounds were cutlery hitting dishes, chairs scraping the floor, footsteps walking across the room …and chatter.
“Who is that idiot talking? Can't she follow the rules? We’re eating in silence. What about silence doesn’t she understand? Is it so hard?” I thought. Then I realized I just bit myself!
Rats! I hate it when I bite myself in the you-know-where.
The day was colder than a witch in you-know-what. Being a quart low on spiritualism, this time-out was ideal. A beautiful, warm sanctuary was perfect for the retreat titled ‘Be Still and Know I Am God’. I found a pew with a comfy red pad where I could rest my back against the wall, stretch out my legs and cushion my bum. The leader, Brother Geoffrey, a monk and Superior of The Society of Saint John the Evangelist, said to get comfortable and I was following his directions. I‘m sure God wants us to be comfy. Why else are there chocolate, cashmere and warm places to go in the cold winter?
The passage was Psalm 139. I read it, wondering what words would grab me. My eyes fell upon “search” – that’s not it – “am acquainted with my ways” – nope, not it. “You hem me in.” It hit me between the eyes. “What’s this about?” I wondered.
I don’t like being hemmed in, in a box, conventional ways. Following rules feels constricting. Perhaps that’s why I never had a ‘real’ job working for someone else.
Rules are made for breaking – or pushing, at the least. I love making up my own rules - and following them. I even wrote a book titled Smart Women Make Their Own Rules: the Professional Woman’s Guide to Igniting your Power. Rules are important. Without them the world would be even more chaotic. Can you imagine traffic - during rush hour - at intersections without traffic lights?
Upon reflection I got that I have to be hemmed in by rules- by my own ‘rules’ – the principles my life is lived by. Then I have focus to do the work I’m called to do. To do each task the best I can. To serve where I can. To be served when needed.
“You hem me in.” I get it. Dang! Guess rules are more important that I realized. Ugh.
Brother Geoffrey helped us process the reflections as I said “Geez” over and over again. Finally it was lunchtime, to be done silently, continuing the mode of the Retreat.
The dining hall was large, the food delicious. Silently, politely (after all, we are southern) we nodded to each other, smiled and dined silently. The sounds were cutlery hitting dishes, chairs scraping the floor, footsteps walking across the room …and chatter.
“Who is that idiot talking? Can't she follow the rules? We’re eating in silence. What about silence doesn’t she understand? Is it so hard?” I thought. Then I realized I just bit myself!
Rats! I hate it when I bite myself in the you-know-where.
What happens when you don't have a plan?
The plan for my 2011 goal setting Retreat was basic – a full day set aside to be alone, without distraction. Richmond Hill was the perfect place – secluded, noontime prayer, and silence. Paper, markers, pens, computer and other goodies were ready. When the day was over I would leave with goals set for each month of 2011 to get from here to year’s end with grace, charm, and ease. Well, you gotta have a dream, right?
I picked a large sunny room on the 2nd floor as my home for the day. It felt like the best place to be – surely it was closer to outdoors and God. Watching birds fly, traffic move and hearing trains whistle kept me company (maybe they would inspire me). The brilliant blue sky and bright sun cancelled the bitter outside cold.
In a panic because I was without a single idea of where to start, I took a deep breath and sat quietly. I prayed, asking God to send something – anything.
Soon phrases came so I wrote them down – affirmations like “I can do this. My attitude is positive. Embrace change. Embrace success.” Um, interesting thoughts. More came: “Look farther out and trust that God will get me there. Give up blocks and barriers.”
I made two lists – titled Let Go and Begin. That was truly divine inspiration since I’d never have thought of that one. Phrases and words filled the columns.
Then ideas came. Starting with the end and backing slowly into each month, 2011 unfolded. They were captured randomly on post- it notes, then stuck in place as the plan became clear. I was amazed.
Peace and quiet reigned. Ideas came fast. A large red-tailed hawk flew by at eye level. When the noontime prayer bell rang, the plan was complete! And the theme Hug Change was evolving.
At days’ end, SMART (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Timely) goals had been established. Monthly goals and steps were clear and loose. I have to allow for windfalls and unexpected opportunities to expedite them.
What I had made so hard became easy by being quiet and patient. Juggling book signings, speaking gigs, travel, clients, contracts and my wonderful life are the goal. Hugging Change Boldly is the theme. How it really works may be the next reality show.
I picked a large sunny room on the 2nd floor as my home for the day. It felt like the best place to be – surely it was closer to outdoors and God. Watching birds fly, traffic move and hearing trains whistle kept me company (maybe they would inspire me). The brilliant blue sky and bright sun cancelled the bitter outside cold.
In a panic because I was without a single idea of where to start, I took a deep breath and sat quietly. I prayed, asking God to send something – anything.
Soon phrases came so I wrote them down – affirmations like “I can do this. My attitude is positive. Embrace change. Embrace success.” Um, interesting thoughts. More came: “Look farther out and trust that God will get me there. Give up blocks and barriers.”
I made two lists – titled Let Go and Begin. That was truly divine inspiration since I’d never have thought of that one. Phrases and words filled the columns.
Then ideas came. Starting with the end and backing slowly into each month, 2011 unfolded. They were captured randomly on post- it notes, then stuck in place as the plan became clear. I was amazed.
Peace and quiet reigned. Ideas came fast. A large red-tailed hawk flew by at eye level. When the noontime prayer bell rang, the plan was complete! And the theme Hug Change was evolving.
At days’ end, SMART (Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, Timely) goals had been established. Monthly goals and steps were clear and loose. I have to allow for windfalls and unexpected opportunities to expedite them.
What I had made so hard became easy by being quiet and patient. Juggling book signings, speaking gigs, travel, clients, contracts and my wonderful life are the goal. Hugging Change Boldly is the theme. How it really works may be the next reality show.
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