washwords

Day 2 of  X365: the EX edition, special, all this week in honor of Valentines’ Day.

18/365: Cilantro: You ate Cilantro. Plain. Out of a bag. That you brought with you. Everywhere. And that was all there was. Cilantro. Which, tell the truth, I liked, too. Just a little bit more before you.

19/365: Rain: You never met anyone without a car, and wondered: HOW DID I GET TO WORK??? When I said I took the bus or walked or metro’ed, you said: REALLY?? but what about when it rains??

20/365: Married: You said you were separated, same as me, in your online profile. When we met, you explained you were planning to separate. After the bar mitzvah. of your 7-year-old.  And did I want another drink?

21/365: Gay (I): I’m not sure, I told my friend Mike, he might be gay. There’s just something. Planned dates too fancy. Liked dancing. A lot. Mike put it simpler: “Uhh, that guy? Yah, he’s totally gay.”

22/365:  Found II: We put books on the shelf. We giggle over puns, wearing out our welcome (mat). We plan trips and celebrations and cozy nights at home. We cuddle woofs. We feel lucky. And we are.

You may remember X365 ¹

But this time, in preparation for relaunching efforts to finish that book I’ve been threatening to write (Red Line to Dumpsville: my year of dating in Washington, DC (C), in celebration of building  a home and a life with my love, and in honor of Valentines’ Day,  I’m dredging up “the dating files.” Some of these stories are mine, some were told to me, and a few are compilations (anyone who’s dated in wash, dc knows that it isn’t long before you start dating the SAME person again and again. You can be the judge of which are which. or not.

I’m breaking from the rules for this one and won’t be using real names (to protect the not-so innocent). They’re still presented in random order. So no swelled heads anyone!

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you X365: the EX edition, special, all this week in honor of Valentines’ Day.

You may remember X365 – the idea is simple : write X number of words on ONE person who’s touched your life for each day of the year. My X was 35 (the age I was when I started); now it’s 36. The “micro-essays” as I liked to call them are random, or they were anyway – one day a relative or longheld close friend; the next, a stranger encountered on the Metro.

But this time, in preparation for relaunching efforts to finish that book I’ve been threatening to write (Red Line to Dumpsville: my year of dating in Washington, DC (C), in celebration of building  a home and a life with my love, and in honor of Valentines’ Day,  I’m dredging up “the dating files.” Some of these stories are mine, some were told to me, and a few are compilations (anyone who’s dated in wash, dc knows that it isn’t long before you start dating the SAME person again and again. You can be the judge of which are which. or not.

I’m breaking from the rules for this one and won’t be using real names (to protect the not-so innocent). They’re still presented in random order. So no swelled heads anyone!

10/365: Grownup: Unbuttoning, you said I had beautiful shoulders. Shared music, candlelight, grief. When I sought another older man, you said, “well at least I was the first.” “Well not the first,” we both said at once.

11/365: Seasons: On our first date, you LOVED me. You blew off a second. On the third, there was pizza, grammar, a kiss, and me sobbing. “So, I’ve seen all four seasons of you now,” you said.

12/365: Ratings: You played a question game, asking me how attracted I was to you right then. I lied up: “7??” Unsolicitedly, you said I was almost a 9, but lost two points re: lack of confidence.

13/365: Boy: I opened the car door and fell in love. with your 8-yr-old, swinging feet merrily, chattering. So much I didn’t notice that you sometimes disappeared, told me, on date one, you were an excellent liar.

14/365: Gift: You left me two CDs (of yours. subtle) saying the price was another one of my stories. the price was higher, sure, but not as bad as I’d assumed. Progress. And you helped me Ikea-ize!

15/365: Vejudgemental: These eggs are so bland (even though you ordered them sans everything.)  I have a complicated relationship with chocolate. I’m involved in the raw food movement. I’m considering leasing a cow. True stories all. Sigh.

16/365: Valentines: Yeah, well, I don’t really like Valentines Day, you said. Too commercial, too expensive, too silly. Oh yah, of course, me too. We don’t need pink heart-shaped cupcakes or anything. Ha! But honestly? I did.

17/365: Found-I: You say “You just don’t know how much I need you.” But I do. Your need is mine for your strong arms, laughing storytelling, and warm, pure heart enveloping mine. Thank you for finding me.

Spring fever, senioritis, skipping school comes easy, with it’s familiar laughter, shedding of clothes, spreading of blankets on hills, dipping of toes into pools, opening of windows.

But fall comes with it’s own maladies it seems and they are ones of coldness, layering, shuttering, shutting down.  For all around me, we are bundling, shuttering, closing down, shutting off.

Maybe it’s THIS fall. This fall with the economy plummeting, the campaigns becoming hostile and in some cases disturbing. This fall with the temperature literally changing from 80 degrees to 30 Fahrenheit in a day. This fall, with the war casualities and injuries mounting, this Fall with the flu and cold strains bouncing around from person to person.

Or maybe it’s just the people I know. Maybe it’s Washington and our obsession with polls and stats and debates. Maybe it’s my friends, one facing the prospect of losing her cat really more of a “spiritual guide,” the constant who saw her through boyfriends, and friends, and changes of cities and marriage and baby-wanting,

"habbib on the prowl," Suz Redfearn

and baby-bringing-home – Habbib.

Another friend asked recently “Is there such a thing as pre-partum depression?”

So maybe it’s us.

But me? I am getting married, I’m in love with a wonderful man who loves me back, I’m writing again (watch this space for snippets of “all the boys I’ve loved before” for my work-in-progress novella, “Red Line to Dumpsville: My Year of Dating in Washington D.C.”), getting good feedback on that writing, getting published and broadcast and awarded. I have a good job, with raises every year, and more importantly respect and friendship of peers I admire in turn.

And I’m sad, too.  And I don’t know why.

So we ride it out, we cuddle and hunker down together, we sing songs loudly,  we tell jokes and giggle. We bring friends our friends, bring love our love, bring hearts our hearts. And wait, trust in the universe, and know: this too shall pass.

My friend is in what she calls “pregrieving” for Habbib, the gentlemanly little man-cat who chose to live with her these past 15 years, with his curmudgeonly face but spirit of anything but grump. I told her what I very much know to be true, that whatever happens with Habbib that maybe he is preparing to go because he knows he can: she’ll be okay now. She got that love she was seeking and the beautiful baby, the loving husband, the security and full cup of love in the world. But sure as I am that Habbib is sure she’ll be okay, I’m equally sure that he won’t be gone, not forever, not really, even if physically. He’ll be sending her signs from wherever he is for years and years to come.

My dad does so all the time.  The year after he died I wanted to go on a trip to Spain – my mom was worried -I was just 13; we had just bombed Libya, she was a newly single parent. In the parking lot of our neighborhood drug store she saw an exact doppelganger copy of my dad’s old car: the fairly unique VW rabbit, beige. The license plate? “ITS OK.” No, I’m not kidding.

And it was, I went on that trip. Habbib may say his adieus to the the grassy patch he plays on and the laptops he likes to sleep on. We will hurt and get better and fall down again and laugh and cry and love and sometimes hate and then remember it is so much better to love. And the sun will rise and fall. And it will be O.K. Promise.