Last Sunday, after seven weeks of being single, I enjoyed two dates. Thank you Elite Singles. I have found my stereotype of dating is (do not pardon the pun – please groan) out-of-date. Years ago you met people through work, activities, or family and friends. If you were serious you could use a matchmaker or dating service, though this use to seem a little suspect to me.
Today everyone meets online, I know many happily married couples who met on Match.com or wherever. So I’ve discarded my dated dating notions and my adventure has begun.
I met Carole online. We enjoyed three or four telephone conversations and a number of emails. Last Sunday morning I drove seventy miles north to meet her in person. This wasn’t a blind date. It was more like an introduction with benefits – our photos and other contacts.
Our meeting went well, and our conversation was so engrossing we didn’t order food until after we had talked for more than an hour. I believe our relationship will continue. Toward the end of lunch Carole asked me who had been the love of my life. Next time I’ll ask Carole who was hers.
Then I drove more than 150 miles south to meet Maria at a lakeside restaurant. Maria and I had never talked, nor exchanged emails. Through the online service she had invited me to meet her on Sunday. She seemed attractive in her photo, and her online profile was enticing, notably the “93%” compatibility rating. (Hint – post an up-to-date photo which is light enough to really see, and fill out your profile (pun intended) as fully as you possibly can.)
Maria was attractive in person. Inside the restaurant we chose a table, and she selected where each of us should sit. She ordered sparkling water. I ordered a Pepsi. Since it was early evening I had assumed we were going to have dinner, so I thought perhaps she had already ruled me out, choosing a quick drink rather than a meal.
Maria is European, and her accent was semi-thick. The room was noisy, and I have trouble understanding accents. I studied her face intently, and she became easier to understand as she talked. And talked. And talked.
On my drive home, completing a 330 mile journey for the day, I thought maybe I would write a hilarious account of this date and, perhaps, others to come. But in my Pogo Stick saga I poked fun at myself. Here I would have to poke fun at others, and that would be disrespectful to people who are out there putting themselves on the line.
After Marie talked for a while, without interruption, she became more personal.
“You know, Alan,” she said, “older people like us can fall in love.” She described a relationship she’d had with a man who was 87 when she was 67. I was moved when Maria told me, “He awakened in me something I thought had disappeared. I loved him. It was exciting. Then he suddenly died.”
That is a risk at any age.
As we parted she admired my car and mentioned that the man who had awakened her love had offered her the same model and color, I felt connected with Maria, another human being who, like me, was looking for someone to share her life with.
Her excitement poured over her dam of reticence, into my lakebed of need.
I drove home into a beautiful, imperfect, sunset, just like the heart of each of us.
Alan
