Waxing Nostalgic

Sometimes, just when you are about to give up hope, life swings in your favor.

I was 29 years old, panicking about turning thirty. I didn't have the kind of dating history to give one much hope of just running into the man of my dreams anytime soon. I was considering, you know... lowering my standards.

And then I remembered one of the greatest things I learned from a past relationship... that thoughts are things. Call it prayer, call it meditation, call it wishing, call it what you will. But thoughts have power and you can use it.

So, I sat down one day on my couch, I closed my eyes, I breathed deeply, and I started designing him.

He would be kind, he would be dark-eyed and dark haired. He would have goals but they wouldn't take him from his family. He would be manly, but not consumed by "guy things". He would be great with kids; he would be great with other people, he would be great with me.

I could wear high heels and he would still be taller than me.

He would be willing to clean the house at times, pick up after himself, and know how to do a load of laundry. He would cook great food, and enjoy doing it. He would know how to fix cars and computers, but still like to see a good "chick flick". He would enjoy going to the theater. He would like the same music I liked.

He would put up with my foibles.

He would like words like... "foibles".

I went on and on, describing the man of my dreams to the universe, to God, to Spirit, to Whoever Listens. And then I asked for that man to come into my life.

And soon.

Two weeks later, my roommate dragged me to cheesy dance club, and a tall, dark, handsome man kept looking over at me. I was astounded when he came over and asked me to dance. And later, for my phone number. His name was Clint and he was an architect!! We dated for two glorious weeks before he sat me down on that same couch and told me that he thought I was really great but he also liked this other girl, Nancy, and that he didn't feel comfortable dating two girls at the same time, and well, he was picking Nancy.

Have at it, Nancy!

He left and I went back to the couch. I sat down again, breathed a little more raggedy than before, and spilled out my list again to the universe. And then I added, "and please let him love me more than any other girl in the world!"

And I waited.

Two weeks later, my roommate dragged me off to the same cheesy dance club. I dreaded running into Clint there. Some friends from work came, and our mutual friend, Jason, also brought along his roommate, Michael, whom I had never met. And he was damned good looking. We both ordered the same drink, (WATER!) and laughed about it. When everyone was dancing, he asked if I wanted to go outside where it was a bit quieter.

I did. Very much so.

We both admitted that we preferred coffeehouses to bars, and it turned out we both frequented the same coffeehouse! In fact, as we told each other about ourselves, there was a repeated chorus of "me too!!", over and over again.

A day later, he called and asked me out to our favorite coffeehouse. It was our first date. We sat out on the patio, drinking mochas under the strings of lights that night. When the place closed, they told us we could stay there and talk. When the last employee left, he turned off the twinkle lights, and still we stayed and talked.

As he told me about himself, I kept making mental notes. Dark hair, dark eyes, check. Likes kids, check. Can fix a computer, check. He wants to be a doctor?? Has goals... check! Tall enough, check. Likes to cook, CHECK!!

And the litany of "me too's" continued, showing us how much we had in common.

I think he walked me to my car around 3am. There he gave me an awesome kiss good night.

Check.

We have been together ever since. Unless you count those four years he spent in Yugoslavia going to Med School. Yeah, that was no walk in the park, but we still considered ourselves "together".

On a trip home between semesters, he surprised me with a weekend at a bed and breakfast in Julian, CA. Neither of us had spent much time in San Diego, and never dreamed we would end up here, but we came down for this vacation together. It was a lovely place... not the kind of B&B with lace and painted wooden duckies, white wicker and light blue quilts (not that there is anything wrong with that) but our style... dark wood, red velvet Victorian settees, candles and rich colors all around.

One night, while I was taking a rare, luxurious, bubble bath (he had even brought in candles to make it more soothing and romantic), he came in, sat down by the tub, talked a bit. Stammered a bit...

And then he asked me if I would marry him.

(Talk about vulnerable! I was in the tub!!)

I, of course, said yes. He got a little wet, what with all the hugging and crying that ensued.


That bath??

That was ten years ago, today. And I still feel like a giddy girl on her first date whenever I think of him.

I love you, Honey.

Happy Anniversary.