Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Sorry Wrong Number




I had decided I wasn't going to date anymore. No more Dateme.com.  You know, looking at photos of men who pretty much lie about their height, age, weight and post a picture that is at least ten years old when they had hair. After all, dating for me seemed to be a steady stream of "one" dates. That was me, the queen of "one" date. I could go out with a guy for one date and realize very quickly that home would have been a much better place for me to be. I had decided I'd just work on a few home improvement projects. I had decided that I'd just stay active with the singles group at church. I had decided I'd just be the best "me" I could be. At least, that was my plan. Little did I know how a few weeks could change my life forever.

It was July in Georgia.  A sunny hot and sultry Wednesday afternoon.  The oldest daughter and I made a trek for freshman orientation to Shorter College in Rome, Georgia.  It was a great time to explore new things.  After two days of orienting we left Rome headed for home and vacation on the Gulf of Mexico.  The younger girls were awaiting our return packed and ready to load up for a week of long overdue vacation.  Friday afternoon we drove to Columbus and made a pit stop with the good Sheila and her girls.  Up early Saturday morning headed for the gulf coast, the Palmer chicks.  Happy times.  My life was full, my heart light.  Being a single mom was a great thing.  The wind was changing direction and I was unaware.

Upon my return from the beach, low and behold there was a message in my inbox from Dateme.com.  Someone calling himself Golf Guy had contacted me.  Hmmmm.  Golf Guy.   I'd seen his profile.  I remembered.  He sounded, well, nice.  And cute.  But remember, I had made that decision . . . you know the one.  I looked at his profile again.  Still, nice and did I mention he was cute?  What's a girl to do?  Respond! And QUICKLY.  Totally forgetting I had decided not to date.  I decided to respond.

There was a catch, a hiccup. The email he'd sent me was received on Wednesday, the day I'd taken college freshman for orientation.  Way before seven days at the beach.  Eleven days earlier.  Eleven days is a very long time in cyber dating world.  Lots of thoughts were going through my mind. What if he'd forgotten about sending the request?  What if he'd already gone on to the next girl?  what if, what if . . . What did I have to loose?  Within a few seconds I'd responded with something like, "Not sure if you're still interested.  I've been out of town on vacation.  Bla bla bla,  let me know."  Remember, he seemed nice and cute.  Little did I know how this quick response would affect the rest of my life.

He was still interested. It took a couple of days for him to respond.  His response was something like, "I'm on vacation now, will get back with you when I return."  Well, all rightie then.  He didn't tell me he'd be on vacation for three weeks.  Life continued. Eventually, he returned and emailed me again.  We bantered back and forth with email for several days and finally he gave me his phone number.  Told me to give him a call.  It took a few minutes but I did call the number.  Several times and for a few days.    I kept getting this  - very strange - voice mail.  Some guy with a weird voice.  Could I date this voice?  I was not at all sure.   Sounded like he was in a tunnel maybe a research lab.   My imagination went wild.  What kind of lab?  A hospital lab?  A research lab?  Were there white mice?   Ewe.

After I couldn't reach him for a day or two he prompted me, via email, to try again.  He was me teasing me relentlessly that I was not successful at reaching him.  Told me to get one of the girls to help me dial the phone. Surely one of them could teach me. Finally, I emailed him that I'd just called him and gotten his voice mail.  Again.  Then miracle of miracles.  He said something like, "I've been here all morning and haven't missed any calls.  My number is 404-245-2300."

Wait.  404-245-2300 is NOT the number I'd been dialing.  You remember, the guy at the funky research lab?  The correct number was only a digit off.  I'd been dialing the wrong number all along. So, I held my breath and dialed the new number.  He answered immediately and with an attitude of  it's about time.  On the other hand I was relieved to hear that he sounded normal and not in a research lab kind of normal.

We had a very nice conversation and arranged a face to face date the next week.  We didn't wait that long.   He phoned me Friday morning and asked if I'd join him for lunch.  As I was agreeing I was also thinking about how this would be it.  You know me, the "one date queen."   Imagine my surprise when lunch lasted a little longer than my 'hour' that was allowed.  We set up date two.   My one date streak had been broken.

Date two was an all day event which lead to date three, four, five and eventually a proposal of marriage.  Twelve years later I search for words to tell of this relationship.  It's a lot of fun.  There is love, laughter, children and grandchildren.  I can't imagine how different my life might be if I had kept that "no more dating" decision.  How ridiculous.   

Date Two Hot August Sunday Afternoon






Friday, May 11, 2012

Senior English

And I don't mean senior as in senior citizen.  I mean senior as in high school senior.

It was a rite of passage to endure Mr. Clark's tough senior English class back in the day.  I remember well the Harbrace Handbook.  Stupid handbook.  I also recall the number of my error(s).  It was 16.  Now I'm not sure if it was a letter or number came after that 16.  It could have been 16-A or maybe 16-7.  I just remember my grammatical errors we in section 16 of that dreaded handbook.  Obviously, I did not learn from my mistakes.  I received notations on every paper to check "16" such and so.  Why didn't I get it?  Could it be I wasn't paying attention?  Or dreaded writing?  Did I just (gasp) not care?  I know I cared, but probably not very much.

What I learned in that class was that I was not a good writer.  That I was a bad writer.   I could never be good enough for an "A". It wasn't perfect.  OK, so what is perfect?   I've searched for perfection and only have found it in a bar of chocolate.  Or Chocolate Stuff from Barbara Jean's restaurant on St. Simons Island.

Today I chose to write because I like it.  It's fun.  It is an expression of how I feel and what I think.   It's my effort is to make people laugh, reflect and enjoy life.  How can we instill wanting to write in our children?  How can we encourage them?   How can we make it fun?  In my opinion, everything we do should be as much fun as possible.  Let's face it.  Lots of things, well, just aren't fun - unless we search to find the fun in the task at hand.  

All those years ago, I remember John for encouraging me.  John was so smart.  He still is. Maybe I thought some of his "smart" would rub off on me.  NOT! He did help me put things into perspective.  For that, I am grateful and thanks to John, I got one good grade in Senior English.  It was for TALKING though.  Now, THAT's something I'm good at . . .


Just Bebe

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Which Way To The Playground?

A couple of days ago I read an article on the internet about children being injured on playgrounds.  The title grabbed my attention immediately.

Danger on the Playground: Riding the Slide with Your Toddler in Your Lap Could Break Her Leg



What grandma wants that?  Of course, I clicked on the link and quickly read through the advice the author mentioned.  Seems if you ride with the child on your lap, their leg could get caught and could be easily broken.    So, don't do that!

You know in this internet age there are people that post comments on every article they read.  After reading the article, it was like a huge vacuum drawing me toward those comments.  Sarcasm.  I love it.

The first was a quip about being amazed that he survived being a child.  What with sliding down slides and hanging on bars and climbing flag poles, all without the benefit of a helmet, shin guards or elbow pads.

The next comment went further and mentioned riding a bike without a helmet, shoeless and having a sister or brother on the handlebars.  Again, how did we survive?

I posted a comment on my facebook page about the article and mentioned our elementary school playground.  Seems there were quite a few memories about the merry go round.  "Best scar ever" was what one of my friends had to say.

Later in the week I had the pleasure of attending recess at a local elementary school.  Yes, contrary to popular belief, they still have recess.  (Remember, I said I loved sarcasm.  I think there should be a font especially for sarcasm.)  What I noticed on today's playground was a lot more "stuff."  Brightly colored things for kids to climb on, slide down, climb through, shimmy down and balance on.  Lots more to play on than our selection of metal gray/brown slides, swings and maybe a monkey bar or two.

Despite all of the brightly colored slides, swings and monkey bars I couldn't help but notice that most of the kids went to the open field and played kick ball.  Funny, all these years later kicking a ball with your classmates is the first choice.   Oh, for a repeat of 5th grade.  On second thought, maybe not.

Just Bebe