Sorry, ya’ll… not that anyone has checked in to see I was alive or had run off with a younger man.
Life just gets in the way. But, that’s my next blog.
I found my newest best-est friends today. Not sure they know that quite yet. The Midlife Gals. Oh God! Funny.
Here’s a sampling.
I’ll be back. Soon.
This is where you tell me you missed me and can’t imagine life without me. And, send money- deliriouslydivineone@gmail.com
Bonus video!
Sump Pump. The first words that popped up as I awoke this morning, unclenching my jaws and noting the light outside. Later than usual…a Sunday, 7 am. The Bob Edwards show on NPR and my mind fractured. I went to bed last night at a more reasonable hour, after an hour of red wine and Catherine the Great. After a day of client work, at the computer, seeing the gorgeous spring unfolding around me.
It’s one of those weekends. I haven’t had one in quite a while. Friday I went for drinks with a girlfriend at our favorite bar. She went home to cook dinner for hubby, I moved to a cafe table in the bar and had dinner. Before vacating my barstool I talked briefly with a frequent bar patron–an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in months. He commented on my long hair, I commented on his, and then, surprisingly, he asked if I was dating anyone. He’s not the type to ask that kind of question. It threw me. The official answer is no. I’m not seeing anyone. I get on my preferred online dating site, Okcupid, for a brief look and find nothing desirable within a 70 mile radius. Apparently no one finds me all that desirable either. I’m not even trying at this point.
I’m having my dinner with a glass of wine as the bar fills. From my vantage point I can see people as they enter the restaurant as well. Everyone is paired off. Friday night is couples night. The couple at the far corner of the bar are acting like teens, not mature adults of 50+ years. I sit alone, in full view. It started the weekend off poorly. Two Cosmos. A glass of wine with dinner. Driving home I see couples, only couples. By 9 pm I’m in bed. You can’t think when you’re asleep.
Why was this Friday different from the last 20 Friday nights I spent all alone? Wednesday I discovered that the scar tissue in my esophagus has grown back, not as severely as last year but… And, I have esophageal dysmotility. That’s new. This is all similar to what happened last March. I don’t know what the motility thing really means. I watched on the screen as the liquid barium trickled down my throat, paused and then continued on. It should have been a steady flowing stream. I saw the little barium pill get stuck in my throat. Weird.
Shit happens. I’m tough. I’ve dealt with my own fair share of adversity-alone. And, it’s the alone part that triggers my ‘stuff’. Swanlady reminded me that in the midst of my broken foot trauma almost 2 years ago I had a partner and yet was essentially alone in dealing with that situation.
A momentary blip on the why-am-I-all-alone and why-doesn’t-anyone-want-to-be-my-man screen. The solution? Well it’s not booze and hours of sleeping. I’ve always handled the issues in my family life, even when there was a spouse around. This is really minor stuff, this throat of mine. No hotdog eating contests for me. Another career opportunity squashed.
Catherine the Great didn’t like being alone either. For the very same reasons. She wanted stimulating conversation, the comfort of someone who cared (even if the care was paid for in rubles and jewels) and be a companion. She could bestow favors on her young men. She could demand they be at her side. Alas, those are things I can’t do.
Maybe Sump Pump is some magical hint from The Universe? I don’t have one in my house, nor do I need one (but yes, I know what they are and what they do, etc….). So, it must be something important, something that could change circumstances for me.
I think I’ll call my therapist.
I’ve been letting my hair grow for quite a while. It’s now well past my shoulders. I don’t color it so there is a little gray…well, more than a little.
Here’s the story that leads up to my question.
I was preparing for a photo shoot recently and an ex-boyfriend suggested I either cut my hair or color it!!! Gasp, I thought. It was a phone conversation so I couldn’t get the full nuanced reading on him. I don’t think this was really about me, not that it would matter, but rather ‘old’ women in general. Joe. v2 sees graying long hair as something only the religious types wear. You know the ones- long dresses, little fabric caps on their heads.
I believe he thinks I will follow his suggestion…. Well! Sputter… I Think Not.
But, it did get me thinking about the length of my hair. And, admittedly I went to the photo shoot with my hair up! Halfway through I took it down.
I love the way I look with long hair. I love putting it up in a sassy ponytail. I love braiding it and walking around in tattered jeans and birkenstocks, braless. I love being able to shape it into a twist on the top of my head.
I then asked another man with whom I have a romantic connection (Yes. There are dozens of them floating around) In person. With nothing riding on the answer–if you get my drift. His answer was vague. I think he covered it all his ass with a they-all-look-good kind of answer!
Saturday I got an email from guy I had been talking to on OKCupid (until he confessed to being married and living in a completely different city than indicated by his profile). He had seen the new photo and felt the need to comment on my hair. I sprang my survey question on him… First he said no. Then (thinking there was still hope) he wrote back to say, “Funny. I like some long hair. Looks good on you. It is the face that makes the hair. “
Nice recovery.
So? What do you think about women over 50 with long hair?
Valentine’s Day is coming and this is your chance to make a big impression. It is a delightful way to say all the loving things you’ve saved up over the last 364 days.
Of course this is a ‘holiday’ that is mostly geared towards men and involves, nay, demands!, the expenditure of money on a woman. For what? A day of forced excitement and cheerfulness? A romp in the sack that makes up for the rest of the year? Ha.
But, guys. If you play your cards right you might get your rewards too. Apparently, thanks to Tom Birdsey, March 14 is been declared as Steak and BJ Day. Yessiree.. Wouldn’t I love to be in charge of marketing for that one! The male version of Valentine’s Day where loving women treat their man to a big juicy steak and an equally juicy blowjob. Wow. What’s not to like about that? Unless you’re a woman with a strong gag reflex, a vegetarian, or a woman who hates giving head. If your lady falls in one of those categories, my advice to you is buy a Whitman Sampler from CVS and call it a day!
But, wait! Women have caught on. And, as we’re always nagging and bitching (except on Valentine’s Day) we’ve come up with a bit of a retort to your day of jollies! Please click and watch…it’s worth it and I can’t figure out how to embed it here. A Woman’s Perspective on Steak and BJ Day.
yeah, yeah…I’m just a bitchy old single woman. I know.
Clearly The Universe wants me to live-but it wants me to experience challenge…every fucking nanosecond of the day.
Computer works like a dream. “Old” computer sits idly by taunting and reminding me of the wireless mouse mischief.
Coffee pot has been continuing its Exorcist like possession until this morning. Monday. Cold. Coffee pot won’t do any anything. Not even pretend there are beans to grind. I am forced to heat water on stove and pour it in manually. Not sure how to proceed but I guarantee that the next pot will NOT be a Cuisinart. This is the second one, identical model, that has failed. Of course, I’ll investigate shipping it off for repairs but suspect it’s not worth the money and hassle of standing in line at the post office.
As if last week weren’t stressful enough, on Friday night at approximately 7:31 PM, my 500 gallon oil tank ran dry. Bringing both furnaces to a sputtering, chugging halt. I live in my ex’s childhood home. A delightful house in the woods with ceiling to floor windows for 60% of the walls. Old, 1959 windows…with no curtains. And, cathedral ceilings. In the woods-very little sunshine. Love it and hate it.
I use the same oil company my father-in-law used. They have not modernized so there is no answering machine, no emergency service and no contact information on their office door. I’ve had a chilly weekend-heating with the double oven, doors open, a space heater, electric blanket and 3 shirts most of the time.
I’m hopeful that simply giving me oil will work. I can only buy at increments, as a full tank probably costs $1600-$1800. And, last year when this happened it screwed up the furnaces when they sucked up the sludge from the bottom of the tank, which necessitated a service call from heating/cooling guys! Fingers crossed as I can’t imagine having to ‘do’ the service guy in exchange for a discount.
Really, people. Enough. Really.
I contemplated myself from some remote, cloud-like distance at some point this weekend. Saturday night probably, I was supplementing heat sources with bourbon (How can she bitch about money when she obviously has money for booze? ‘Cause ya know one of you is thinking that) . And wondered why I wasn’t more stressed out overall and how I manage to put on a pleasant face and go about my business. I thank some cosmic force for not giving me the suicidal gene. The combination of cold, tight finances, a third night of spaghetti and no man in my life….and let’s not forget the lovely cheerful rampant consumerism that is Christmas, is really getting to me.
Really. Now it’s time to nuke the coffee, pop into a cool shower and put on my game face for another exciting day at a job I hate. Happy Monday to you too.
I feel like Deliriously Divine is the blog where I whine and complain too much. And, while that may be true, I hope I bring more to the table. You are loyal readers and I love the interactions I have with fellow bloggers. One such blogger, Winsomebella, has given me the Versatile Blogging award- in a wonderful post rich with tidbits about storytellers. I consider myself a storyteller and one day I hope to have my book on someone’s table and pictured in someone’s blog post.
Writing a blog that is well-written and compelling to others isn’t always easy. The rewards of a story well-done come from the connection with readers. I am always thrilled when I’ve written something that evokes emotion for me and my readers. The last couple of posts have been that way. One was written through tears and the more recent one about men and their parts had me laughing with delight as I captured the essence of my experiences.
This is not a serious, somber blog-for the most part I’m sharing the sexy and not so sexy side of life after 50. I’ve shared other bits and pieces of my life in a previous anonymous blog and if you want to see the fuller ‘me’ leave me a comment and I’ll redirect you. Though many of you have followed me down the road.And, I thank you for that.
As I see it life is full of challenges- a mix of lightheartedness and near heartbreak. The job is to get through each day, often minute by minute. I’m not sure what the next few weeks of blogging hold for me-I’ve taken down my dating profiles and temporarily abandoned the quest. The last two men I’ve encountered, both named John, have tried to push into my life too quickly.
Maybe I’ll find new adventures to share that don’t involve the opposite sex? Can you imagine? This month I’m planning a few outings to new places and events, alone. I miss out on so much because I feel awkward going out alone, but I’m tired of staying at home. So!!
Thank you to Winsomebella for the award, she is such a beautiful writer that I feel somewhat undeserving.
I am supposed to share 7 things readers might not know about me, so here goes:
Anything titillating you want to share?
I met a guy. It happened quickly and was a short burst of intense fire. It threatened to send me up in a fireball. And, for one brief moment it seemed like all the things I wanted might come together in one person.
I laughed and smiled all day long. I remembered things he said and the feelings it brought to the surface. He was funny and wildly off the wall. Bright, well-read, sharp and somehow able to see me. The real me. Absolutely wonderful. Sweet and considerate, saying things that made me feel sexy and alive in a energetic, connected sort of way. Almost too good to be true.
It’s funny how the mind sometimes believes what it wants to believe, sees what it wants to see and hears only those things it wants to hear. He is a fascinating man. So why are there tears streaming down my face? Because I got caught up in the possibility, the dream, the whirlwind and the flames… without, just for a few minutes, stopping to be realistic. I cry for the fantasy, the realization of dream vs. reality and all the other stuff. We had decided that the phrase, ‘all the other stuff’ would be an apt phrase to use when trying to answer a question or finish a thought too big to be contained with mere words. You would just pause and then say ‘you know… and all the other stuff’. And, it would be sufficient for the 2 of us to know and understand.
It’s only been a few days. Hours of phone calls and emails and a date that lasted a whole work day. But, the cold hard reality of today. Monday. I can’t do this-the words I used with him. Thankfully he cut me off and insisted on hearing no reasons. I have a whole shitload of reasons. Distance, schedules, unconstrained, almost uncontrolled impulses and fantastical thinking, possible illnesses. One could gamble on living in the moment-enjoying what presents itself in the very moment. Or one can take a wee step back and think about 1 year or 10 years down the road and pause.
I already have one person with certifiable neurological issues, in a nursing home, depending on me. I can’t have another. I can’t handle a possible neurological condition, treated but undiagnosed. I can’t handle a man who, 6 days in, says he loves me. I don’t want to be the one who has to keep things organized, hold down the fort, make the schedules and keep a free spirit, a person with no filter or internal controls, in check.
Finding the right blend of vanilla and chocolate to suit the palate isn’t all that simple. It just isn’t. Being the tough one, taking the right road, saying “No” is hard. I feel like the bitch. I feel empty. And, I feel relieved. And, I feel all alone.
Yes, I was making good choices and looking out for my well-being. Healthy, intentional, me-centered. I did the right thing-so why doesn’t it feel better?
Don’t tell me I did the right thing, or how I’ll feel better later. No platitudes. I’ll be better by the time you’ve read this-though maybe a tad hungover. My suit of armor will be polished and shined. I will have the mask back on and life will continue as always. I know what I ought and should do and where I got caught up. I am looking out for my own interests and doing a pretty damn good job. My intuition works… in balance with practicality.
But, for just a few days, life got a little brighter and shinier.
It’s 11:30 at night and I should be sound asleep in preparation for a long, full and adventurous day. Do you ever lie down and shut your eyes only to feel like the world is spinning in front of you-images shuttling back and forth… frenetically. Yep! There’s no way to fight that. I tried some soft music but the song I picked only served to dredge up memories best left alone.
So, here I am, glass of red wine at my side with Mark O’Connor and YoYo Ma on iTunes. I got a job!!!! A part-time job… a second part-time job if you don’t count the writing clients.. It’s wild and crazy. I’m running in a hundred different directions and doing a whole new thing…sorta. I’ll be working for a caregiving business… “We” provide caregivers for seniors. I’m marketing, networking, writing, and working with community resources in 4 large towns/cities. I leave tomorrow to try to meet some people in city about 80 miles away and then on to a big city another 100 miles away for 2 days of training. I’m more than a little overwhelmed.
AND, I ‘met’ this guy on OKCupid on Thursday, yes-just a few days ago. He lives, as luck or divine intervention would have it, in between my two destinations tomorrow. So, we’re meeting for drinks and dinner tomorrow. He’s the reason I’m aflutter. He’s excited. I’m excited. We have great rapport on the phone and some wonderful shared interests. He’s not your average guy-very intuitive and expressive. Upbeat and complimentary. I’m ready for a good man to show up, it’s time. I go into date #1 with awareness and a willingness to let go and see what The Universe has in store for me. If tomorrow works out, we’ll contemplate Wednesday night on my return home. If it doesn’t, I get home earlier. No loss.
I’ve met a lot of men in the last 6 or 7 years. Some have left their mark. Scarring, soft memories, smiles, pain. I can look backwards with longing mixed with regrets. Or I can simply nod and see what might serve me better in the future. I would not wish to return to 99.90% of them. It was a unique moment in time for all concerned. I know there are fond memories on the other side as well and I’m sure I’ve done my fair share of scarring and leaving pain in my wake. Only one haunts me and I think that’s a pretty good track record. I may never be complete with him but I can at least protect myself from future hurts-self-imposed in a way.
Bonnie Raitt sings a song, Dimming of The Day….It started me down this path tonight. It’s a mournful song full of love and resignation. Mixed with hope and an acknowledgment of what could have been. Ultimately, I want that person who knows my better side, who will hold me and be with me at the dimming of the day. It’s about aging and loneliness, I think. Or at least that’s what happens when I project my needs onto her words.
This old house is falling down around my ears
I’m drowning in a river of my tears
When all my will is gone you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day
You pulled me like the moon
Pulls on the tide
You know just where I keep my better side
What days have come to keep us far apart
A broken promise or a broken heart
Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away
I need you at the dimming of the day
Come the night you’re only what I want
Come the night you could be my confidant
I see you the street and in company
Why don’t you come and ease your mind with me
I’m living for the night we steal away
I need you at the dimming of the day
I need you at the dimming of the day…
It’s time for this 57 year old grandma to get hip! I got the job! It’s not as much work, yet, as I had hoped. But. Out of 250ish applicants they chose 5. I’m one of those five. I will be writing a weekly blog for a new men’s product, targeted to 18-35 year old men. Yikes! My new boss is 27. He admitted last week that he wondered about my ability to connect with his target audience, given my age. I had to go through 3 rounds of interview type questions and writings to get this gig. It’s much better pay than the writing I did for a boomer site. And, the potential for more work and even a ‘job’ with the company is a future possibility.
They plan to whittle the list of writers down, based on reader engagement and traffic, so I may be calling on some of you to help me out. One of my girlfriends offered to read and comment..but I think they’re more interested in me bringing in a younger crowd, preferably men.
This will require some research. The writing is mostly about men and self-image and, what every man wants to know, how to get the girl! Or woman. I am thinking of late night hangouts where I can observe my prey. Maybe even a date? Whatcha think? I could contemplate an evening out with a 35 year old. Question is whether he’d be interested in me?
If you have any suggestions on where or how to research the mindset of a young adult male let me know. I’m already starting to read Detail, Men’s Health and Men’s Journal. Phat, isn’t it!
Just for fun, I made a Date-a-Base with Excel to keep track of the guys I was dating and/or talking to. I think I referenced it briefly as I talked about the dating world of Deliriously Divine One. Well, it is a lot of fun and a clever way to keep track, as well as share my stories with a few close friends who are in on my more private dating antics. When I updated it yesterday, I created a Dead List, with the rows of information in a lovely medium gray highlighted shade. And in the ongoing section I’ve used varying degrees of grey to indicate interest level.
I’m still seeing two guys (not the same as previously mentioned) and in conversation with a third. One of the two is simply a friendship type thing, no real excitement for me but we’ve had some pleasant evenings together over the last month or so-nothing more. Number two is a whole different story… hubba hubba, she says with a degree of optimistic caution. The third needs to fall by the wayside for a couple of reasons, mostly because we live 2 hours apart and he has 2 teen girls around 1/2 time. I can’t imagine dealing with that! So, why even go down that road?
I’m finding it easier than ever to be more clear about potential choices. And, I’m acting out of a very ‘me-centered’ place. I don’t mean that to sound egotistical but I have tended in the past to give more consideration to what they wanted, as opposed to making my choices based on my personal interests. I realize now that the dreamy guy I called Joe. v2 really operates out of his own unique reality. It’s Joe’s World…or the highway. And, while I contemplated meandering down that highway last week I reminded myself of what I want and what he wants and they only intersect, ever so briefly. So, I’m conjuring up an image of a bald aged Mike Meyers and the tattered plaid sofa in the basement when I think about Joe.v2 with nostalgic longings!!!
