On Friendship...

Recently I was given a quote by David Whyte:

The ultimate touchstone of friendship is in witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone, and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another, to have walked with them, to have believed in them and sometimes, to have accompanied them on a journey impossible to accomplish alone.

Reading those words, I think of a few in my history of friendships who have offered these gifts to me.  Then I look into my soul and ask:  Do I prescribe to those words for others?

Fun and Fanciful!

I love doing crafts--and although I don't think of myself as a good creator-of-the-unique, that's never stopped me.  I'm currently into paper creations.  My supplies come from various Dollar Stores in town.  Most often I make many more items than I'll ever use--but that doesn't stop me either...  Here's what has been bringing contentment to my life recently--the fun and fanciful!

 

This held the napkins at each place setting recently when friends came for dinner.

I still enjoy sending cards via snail mail.

And lastly, gift bags for Christmas and other occasions...

Crafting your heart out makes room for your soul to grow.

                                 -- Sara Lanan 

Swimming just below the surface...

As a teacher in my former life, I often contemplated what effect I had over my students.   Would they retain any of the vital wisdom I passed on?  Would they be changed into more conscious, responsible citizens?   

Recently I read Seven Thousand Ways to Listen by Mark Nepo.  (I highly recommend it!)  He speaks of a tradition of the Inuit people. 

The elders teach their sons that, if you watch closely enough, you’ll see the biggest [salmon] barely break surface, leaving an almost imperceptible wake.  When the big fish break surface in this way, the Inuit say they are making eyebrows in the water.  The slight break of surface is known as the wake of an unseen teacher.  Nepo goes on to say that this is a powerful metaphor for how we fish for what matters in our lives.  We are always looking for the teachers that swim just below the surface…

Reading those words, I immediately thought of a former student.  He took my course only because it was required.  He had little interest and spent his time chatting with friends.  One day he grabbed his backpack just minutes into class time.  I asked him where he was going and he muttered the discussion had no relevance to the course.  I followed him into the hall and told him he could not return until he saw me in my office.

Later that afternoon, we met.   I started out with:  What seems to be the problem?  When you’re in class, you talk to your friends; and today you walk out.  What's the deal? 

He began by telling me he didn’t like the way I taught.  I asked him, what don’t you like?  He began with a diatribe of reasons.  I soon realized that the more he talked the less defensive he became.  And, I admit, I relaxed as well.

When he finished, I told him that he didn’t need to like my teaching methods, and he certainly didn’t need to like me, but he did need to respect the rules of the class.  At that point, a rather cockeyed grin appeared on his face as he said, “Really, your teaching is OK.”  From there we chatted about other things—his major and  career goals. 

He returned to class with a different attitude.  Towards the end of the quarter, I needed help with a moving project.  He was the first to volunteer.   I saw him once after he graduated.  He smiled and thanked me, followed by a hug.

I think this might be an example of swimming beneath the surface.  I wasn’t teaching this young man anything in my office—I listened.  Perhaps that’s when learning is accomplished by both speaker and listener. 

To listen is to continually give up all expectation and to give our attention,

 completely and freshly, to what is before us,

not really knowing what we will hear or what that will mean. 

                               --- Mark Nepo

It Takes So Little...

I'm going to plagiarize this morning--but from Jen, so does that count?  I mean, aren't there some privileges left for the mother of grown daughters?   In Stuff Jen Says a couple of years ago she listed items to give out to strangers in need.

Since then--I do try to take my daughter's suggestions--I have put together gallon size Ziploc bags to hand out.  Items can vary, but here are some ideas.

Chap stick

Small packages of tissues

Comb

Soap

Trail mix

Granola bar

Crackers

Pack of gum

Band aids

Mouthwash

$1 to $5 in cash

Hand-wipes

Socks

Starbucks gift card

I use scrap yarn and make scarves for each bag

A friend knits hats

 A $ Store is a great place to get ideas!

You can speak to five individuals and get five different attitudes about the homeless--usually negative.  But bottom line, the above list is inexpensive to produce, and the gracious appreciation received more than pays for their assembly.

Poverty is the worst form of violence.
                          ― Mahatma Gandhi

The End of The Pursuit

Three days later I drove to meet Dennis, I had little hope of any better success this time.  But perhaps with progressive ideas to discuss we might have some common ground.

He met me at the door of a lovely French restaurant he’d suggested.  He handed me a beautiful red rose, smiled, and kissed me on each cheek.  OK, there might be a possibility here…  Our cloth covered table and linen napkins were beautifully laid with a lighted candle in the middle. 

And did I mention that he was genuinely good looking!  White hair loosely combed to the back and side—no nose hair; well fit dark slacks and soft plaid shirt with unbuttoned top.  He looked close to 6 feet and slim—I would have sworn he was younger than me, but he’d mentioned his age in an email.

We ordered—wow, these were expensive lunches, but Dennis had insisted I be his guest. 

For several minutes while we waited for our food, we chatted casually—movies, favorite restaurants, etc.  Once our orders came I thought I’d open up more.  “One reason I was particularly excited about meeting you is that you mentioned you are a progressive thinker compared to many.  I am as well!  I get so tired of all the conservative rhetoric!  People must think critically in these days of social changes.” 

I saw his eyes begin to twinkle.  Well, I had picked my wardrobe carefully for this occasion.  There was something different about Dennis—I just knew it.  I went on.  “I am so happy that gays are now allowed to marry in many places.  Of course it'll take time for overall acceptance, but at least we’re headed in the right direction!”  I breezily continued.  “Global warming is another important issue for me.  I don’t fully understand it, but I’ll trust the scientists with their research.”

As I merrily chatted, I saw a slow change taking place in Dennis’s expression.  What had started as full engagement now appeared as complete disconnect.  I stopped my banter and looked at him.  “Is something wrong?”

“Well,” he said hesitantly, “I think there’s been some misunderstanding.  My liberal or progressive ideas are on a more personal level.”

“I can assure you that I take these issues very personally,” I said.

“By personal I mean…”  He started again, “I mean like in the bedroom.”  The corners of his mouth turned up as the twinkle returned.  “Have you ever had the experience of ménage a trios?” 

Not only had I not experienced it, I had no recollection of the phrase being used in my presence!  Shocked, I responded, “Is THAT what you meant by liberal ideas?”

“Yes, how could you have taken it any other way?”

I was certainly perfecting this grabbing-purse-and-running routine.  I was in my car in 10 seconds and out of the parking lot in another five!

When I got home I just wanted to cry.  The disappointment of no potential relationship was the least of my concerns.  How could I have attracted or BEEN attracted to so many strange birds?  OK, I’m taking down my sign.  Complete website disconnect!  I’m no longer looking! 

The next day I went to the Humane Society and met Webster.  Here was loyalty without kinkiness.   No reading skills, but he’d lie quietly beside me while I languished in words.  And when I condominium camp, he’ll be with me.

In the next few weeks, Webster and I developed a routine.  My friends liked him, and he proved well behaved. 

One morning, we walked to a neighborhood coffee shop.  Webster stayed at the outdoor table while I got my tea and scone.  I sat down with my goodies and opened a new book by David Sedaris. 

I sat reading a few minutes when I heard a voice.  “Would you mind sharing your table?  The others are full.”

I looked up.  I couldn’t see the person behind the voice because of the sun, but I responded, “Please join me if you don’t mind a dog at the table.”  I smiled as he sat down. 

“I see you’re reading David Sedaris.  I’ve read everything he’s ever written, and have seen him in person a couple of times,”

“We have something in common,” I said enthusiastically.  “I love his writing and saw him once myself.  Are you gay?”

“Yes, I am, but more in theory than practice these days.  I’m a retired college professor who enjoys life at a slower pace sprinkled with occasional travel.”

With a confident smile I said, “You’re my kind of guy.” 

 The End--to this non-autobiographical story...

The Pursuit -- Chapter 3

When I got home I was still shaking!  This “finding a guy” is ridiculous!  It’s best to remain alone—v-e-r-y alone.  This pursuit is not worth it!

Later that day, I thought I’d have one last look at the website before disengaging forever.  I couldn’t believe it!!  THREE “Interests”…  Not going to touch those with a ten foot pole!  Well, OK, maybe a quick look.

But these guys sounded pretty good.  One liked to read--that’s good, my favorite hobby.  The second one was looking for someone with progressive ideas—well, that works for me!  We need more people who think critically about issues.  The last one enjoyed travel—yes, a companion on a trip to Italy could be perfect!  Quickly I clicked “Interest” on all three. 

After a few get-acquainted emails over the next few weeks, I met the traveler.  His name was Orville, and he suggested meeting at a lovely Mexican restaurant—OK, he gets the idea of ethnic foods and travel having a connection.  So far, so good…

As I sat down, he pushed in my chair.  Nice!   When our food came, I asked, “Orville, you said you enjoy travel.  So what countries have you visited?”

“O, I don’t go anywhere outside this great United States!  Why spend all that money going where they can’t speak English? For the last three years I’ve packed my tent and gone to a great wilderness area in Arizona for three months during the winter.  Next summer, I intend to explore some parts of Alaska I’ve never seen.  I hear Sarah Palin lives in a beautiful area.”

Tent camping AND Sarah Palin.  I’m going to vomit!  With great effort to hold back the internal explosion about to take place, I said, “So you really enjoy tent camping?”

“You betcha, and I’m hoping to find someone to share this fun!”

I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Orville, I do not tent camp.”—no sense addressing political ideology.   I gathered my purse and handed the waitress a $20 bill as I walked to the door.

I could not believe this—dead ends TWICE!  I mean, is the universe out to get me?  This whole idea of adding a relationship to my life seemed so innocent at the onset.  What happened? AND I had two more dates planned!  Should I email and cancel them?  In the end I did not. 

On my next date I met the reader.  Surely we could find some common ground.  I mean there are so many good books—yes, yes, and so much crap!  But I’ll think positively.  This will be better.  I know this one will be better!

I met Clifford, the reader, at a small coffee shop.  He stood as I walked in—the Yankees baseball cap on the table, the identifier.  His white socks showed about two inches below his trousers.  The original color of his jacket couldn’t be seen for the brown stains that smelled of barnyard.  His very thin hair was pulled back into a rubber banded dirty, greasy ponytail.  OK, chill—maybe he just returned from milking cows—except it was 2 p.m…

This was definitely NOT the man in the picture.  “Are you sure there hasn’t been some mistake?  You don’t look like the man in the website photo.” 

“O that, I forgot.  Actually he’s my identical twin—I saw absolutely no resemblance.  I don’t have a current picture of myself.  But I can assure you that I am the man you met on the internet.”  This was said MUCH too loudly in this small enclosure. He’d already ordered coffee so I sat down—though I’d planned to have tea.

I thought I’d begin.  “You said you like to read, so who is your favorite author?”

He smiled and put out his chest in pride.  “Zane Grey.  Yep, I love that man.  I’ve read his books about six times!  He has a way with all those stories about the West!  Those were real men!  Just can’t get enough of them so I read ‘em over and over.”

“So you enjoy the classics.” I responded without enthusiasm though I was really trying my best.  “What about any more modern day authors?”

“No, I pretty much stay with my old friend Zane.”

“What about you?  Who is your favorite author?”

I felt like a snob knowing he’d probably never heard of Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Christopher Bohjalian, Dan Brown, or Bill Bryson.  I slowly named them off hoping that since they were men there might be some recognition.

“Nope, never heard of them,” he said with puzzlement written all over his face. 

We sat for another few minutes.  This just wasn’t going to work.  Finally I looked at him, put my coffee cup down, and my hand on his.  “Clifford, it would be great for you to find someone to talk with about all those exciting Zane Grey stories.”

“Yes,” he said—his face lit up in anticipation--he obviously didn't read body language either.

“I’m afraid it’s not going to be me.  However I wish you all the happiness and good fortune in finding that person.”   I got up and slowly walked out.  

To be continued...

The Pursuit -- Chapter 2

Without adequate sleep, I logged on the site the next morning.  OMG…he’d responded with “Interest.”  Now what?  Do I email him?  No, I don’t want to appear desperate.  I’ll wait for another day.  But what if he decides to look for someone else?  In the end, I emailed him after lunch via the website. 

 Hi, I saw your profile and…

Hello, my name is…

Hi, wanna get together?

Finally I nervously typed:  Hi, I thought your profile looked interesting and wondered if you’d like to get acquainted?

That evening an email came through.  He lived in a town not far from me; had been a teacher; retired a couple of years; and divorced.  Then he asked if he could call.

I really didn’t want to rush things, but in the end I sent my phone number.  We made an appointment for a call the following day.

With just a few minutes of shyness, our conversation took off and seemed quite comfortable.  We discussed the weather, what kinds of food we enjoyed, a bit about our careers, and then decided to meet. The following Saturday.  Lunch at Sea View—a restaurant with no ocean view but paintings of waves on the wall that made one nauseous while eating...OK, I shouldn’t have agreed to a restaurant I wasn’t particularly crazy about, but I didn’t want to appear picky at the onset.

Ten minutes before leaving the house, I was still plucking those ½ inch facial hairs that grow overnight and continue on to one inch by nightfall.  A last look in the mirror—hmmm, wonder how good his eyesight is?

As I approached—seeing a red rose on the table—I noticed his eyes scanning me head to foot.  He had a nice smile.  No obvious nose hairs.  Clean fingernails.  No white socks—I checked after I sat down by pretending to drop my napkin.

We ordered.  When our plates came, I saw a slight hesitation on his part before picking up his fork—was he checking out the food; is he a germ freak? 

We small-talked until about ½ way through the meal when he put his fork down, looked straight at me, and said calmly,  “I can see that we make a great team.  But I want you to know that I have one requirement before I can commit to any woman.”

Great team? Requirement? Commitment?  What the hell?  I hadn’t finished checking out his table manners!

He went on, “I am a born-again Christian, and need to know if you’ve accepted Jesus as your personal savior.  In other words, are you saved?”

Saved?  From what?  I was saved from drowning once when I was a kid—understandable fear of water has followed me through my entire life—but I was saved at the time.

“Alvin—I really should have questioned that name at the beginning but it reminded me of that cute chipmunk—I haven’t really researched the question of reincarnation, so I don’t know if I’ve been born again or will be when I leave this life.”

He looked at me with a startled expression.  “You believe in reincarnation?”

“No, I didn’t say that…”

He interrupted.  “Do you want to go to hell?”

“Well, actually, I think a good number people on planet Earth are living in hell right now due to…”

Again he interrupted.  “Don’t you understand that I am serious?”

“Yes, I think I do.  I too am serious.  We are not a team, there is no commitment, and my requirement is to stay away from the likes of your requirement.”  At that point I reached for my purse, got up, walked past our waitress, plopped a $20 bill in her hand and left the restaurant.

To be continued...

The Pursuit -- Chapter 1

(Disclaimer:  This is not autobiographical!)

When one speaks of romance or the prospect…mental imagery often includes soft lights, tinkling wine glasses, and mood music.  In all that, my life is lacking.  Experience has been a harsh teacher…

After three disastrous marriages I had determined that life’s future relationships would be sans-men.  Ten years of fulfilling that prophecy left me the 3rd or 5^th guest at one too many parties, so I decided to take the bull by the horns and pursue a relationship on my terms.  But how, at this age—several years beyond retirement—might that happen?  I’d made it clear to my friends of my disinterest in male companionship, so the “I want you to meet” had ended long ago. 

I thought about hanging out in bars, but with one drink I’m either giggling grossly or crawling around the floor searching for breadcrumbs to feed the poor.  Not an attractive picture for any prospects.

A single’s group perhaps?  But my track record there held no hope.  My one and only experience ended when I told one arrogant guy--who saw himself as the Pied Piper for all females--that life without him brought the true meaning of salvation.  So another option down the tube.

Then I thought of online dating.  That would give me some control!  None of my friends need know. So I paid my fee.  I entered the website.  Wow!  I had no idea so many men enjoyed the same activities.   After an hour of perusing the site, I had a list of seven interests that ALL men love:  1. Walk on the beach; 2. Watch romantic movies; 3. Cook; 4. Shop; 5. Eat out; 6. Good conversationalist; and 7. Loves to listen.  As a career teacher, I recognize plagiarism when I see it.  I could add to their list…NO ORIGINAL THOUGHTS. 

OK, so I’ll look for someone who can at least create a grammatically correct sentence.

First I had to put my profile together. 

Retired from teaching; enjoys walking on the beach, watching romantic movies and loves to cook...

O crap!  While that’s true for me, it will not be in my profile.

In the end I said I wanted a friendship that could grow as we discover similar interests.  Yeah, pretty vague, I know.  Then I clicked the information into my profile.

I was adamant--I would not obsess over this venture!  However, when I met friends for lunch that afternoon, and they asked what I’d been up to, I had little to say—well, I took out the garbage and dusted behind the frig...

I returned to the dating website when I got home.  Then I saw him!  Nice looking—still had hair and not all of it coming out of his nose; I could see his belt—slight beer belly but his shirt covered it well; could express a thought with correct spelling and grammar.  And no walks on the beach or loves to cook, etc.

The website suggested that if a person looks interesting, then click on “Interest” and he would see it and respond if he shared interest.  I clicked and quickly shut the computer! 

What if he responds?  What if he doesn’t?  What if he’s a stalker or, worse yet, mass murderer?

The rest of that day was a complete waste.  I watched Bones that evening, and could see the possibility of the show’s scenario in my life—lonely woman beheaded by maniac she’d met on the internet…body discovered 6 months later…skull never found.

To be continued...