AhhhHHH  Men

BabyBlues4 —Your Perfect First Date:

I think they are all perfect: I love meeting new people and having new experiences

It’s not about where you go… It’s about attitude

Mr. Golf Swing —My Perfect First Date:

Why the Heck is everyone so concerned about first dates? Let’s face it no one even wants to go out on them. The way I see things is we skip the first 12 dates, start the relationship on date #13 kiss hello like we are great old friends, eat drink and enjoy each other’s company for the next 4 hours or 4 days… whichever works LOL

The back of Ellen’s leg stuck to the polished wooden pew as she rose with the congregation, prayer book in hand, and tried to lip sync the words to the unfamiliar chant. Flashes of family milestones – her son’s Bar Mitzvah, her daughter’s wedding – filtered through her thoughts as she absorbed the beauty of the temple. Interlocking beams of polished honey-colored wood separated large panes of glass and cast shafts of light over the congregation, which gave the impression they were nestled amongst a grove of majestic trees. The heat and brilliant sunlight from the late summer morning created a shimmer that bounced off the Torah covers as they were marched throughout the Sanctuary – held high for all to see.

“Take your prayer book, touch the Torah, and then touch the book to your lips,” Connie said.

“Fix your skirt, it’s starting to climb up your backside,” hissed Lori as she reached beyond Ellen’s shoulder to make contact with the procession, making contact with the left side of Ellen’s head instead.

Ellen eyed Lori. She was wearing a perfect burgundy sweater from Gucci’s newest collection and a tight skirt. A pang of envy washed over Ellen. Lori never had any evidence of muffin top, no matter what she wore.

“Did you see how the Rabbi deliberately turned away from me?” Ellen whispered back.

Lori lowered her voice. “We’re not on his side and he knows it. The temple is in for the fight of its life, and his job is on the line. The board refuses to renew his contract and it’s going to get real ugly.”

Ellen sighed. “I came here for peace and love, not conflict. Ugly? God, don’t tell me that. I want safety and community and maybe a chance at finding a boyfriend. What if my future boyfriend is with the group on the other side?”

Ellen sat between Connie and Lori, who were temple-going veterans. They knew all the songs while she felt at odds with her own version of spirituality and tradition, but the inspirational architecture of the sanctuary and ancient chants filled her soul with gratitude and belonging.

“Did I tell you I invited Mr. Golf Swing for a weekend?” Ellen whispered as she bent her head over her prayer book.

The congregation’s voices soared with song as Connie turned to Ellen. Connie’s widened eyes, fringed with long lashes, gave her an owlish look. “You did what? A weekend in the Hamptons – that’s your idea of a first date?” Her mouth formed an ‘O’ and solidified the owl-like expression.

“Wow,” Lori said, “think of all the cool beachy outfits. A weekend of outfits.”

“You-are-out-of-your-mind,” Connie chanted, keeping with the verse.

“I feel pretty good about this,” Ellen said a bit meekly. “We’ve been in touch for almost two months. He seems like he’s a really nice guy. He said he would fly in from Florida, visit his son in Great Neck, rent a car and come out to be with me. He said he would start my barbeque. Isn’t that nice?”

Connie and Lori shot looks at each other, then pressed their well-dressed bodies against Ellen’s body like fullbacks ready to take the quarterback down in a synchronized motion.

“Nice? OK – if you say so. Go with your gut, but you better call me every two hours,” Connie said. “On second thought, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow and go through your closet. If he’s staying with you, you must know in advance what you’re wearing.” The Goddess of All Dating Techniques spoke with authority. “You’ll want your transitions to be smooth, no flinging clothes around indecisively in front a new man.”

“I wonder if there’s a prayer for this?” Connie said. “I think you’ll need Him on your side.”

“Con, I’m looking forward to having Mr. Golf Swing on my side, but I’ll take all the help I can get.” Ellen glowed with anticipation and her heart sang along with the chorus of Hallelujah as the doors of the Ark that housed the scrolls closed on her last image of the Holy Torah.

Ellen skipped the gathering over food that marked the end of the Saturday morning service and ran to her car with her “to do” list while several Shabbat chants crowded her thoughts. Libby’s party was tonight and Ellen was thrilled to be included.

Pick out clothes. Check.

Buy leeks and parsley. Check. Baruch a tah…

Fear and Disappointment scrambled into the back seat and launched into their customary squabbling.

“I’m right and you’re wrong,” Disappointment insisted as she strove to secure her position. “Oh, I so hope Mr. Golf Swing brings a nice house gift. It’s not nice to come empty-handed.”

“You have to be an idiot to enjoy kicking yourself all day,” retorted Fear.

Pick up dry cleaning. Elluhanuoooo…

“What if he doesn’t come at all?” Disappointment shot back.

Work on legs at the gym. Check. Adonoi echaud…

“Shut up you ninnies, oh he’ll come all right, if I have anything to do with it.” Monique rode shotgun and smiled her sly smile as she trailed her taut arm out the window and tapped the side of the car in tune with the radio.

Ellen tried to focus on the party and begged her mind to stay in the moment.

Plan to arrive at Libby’s house on time.

Leave Fear and Disappointment home. Check.

Buy olives for martinis.

Bring house gift to the party.

Get on hands and knees with stiff brush and tackle the dog hair embedded in the carpet. Check… Buy new razors…check. Buy new charcoal for the barbeque…check. Pray for good weather…check.

Repeat mantras: Fuck the Un Husband, fuck the other new dating services, fuck the Daily Tarot, screw the conflict at the temple and screw Mr. Golf Swing. Amen.

Ahhhhhhh men!!!

Ellen swung the car left and broke free from the relentless traffic that made the last days of summer in the Hamptons so hellish. Weaving carefully through the familiar back roads lined with lush century-old, maroon colored Maples, she glanced at the open fields planted with produce. Rows of potatoes, peppers and Heirloom tomatoes with their fruit bent over on flowering vines, covered the fields that stood close to the roadside. Sunflowers and multi-hued Columbine, wilting and wavering in the late summer’s heat, filled one field. Ellen flashed the thought of painting flowers the next time she went out with her easel. In another field, rows of mature corn, with golden tassels shimmering in the August sun, with their bursting kernels, meant harvest and the promise of sweetness within.

Ellen wondered if these fields were in jeopardy of falling under the bulldozer of yet another developer, and silently prayed for their survival as she drove into her driveway. Her own little house stood on what was once such a field.

Ellen left the shopping bags on her counter as she rushed to the computer. Mr. Golf Swing was now emailing hourly and, as she searched her incoming mail, the smile on her face froze.

Mr. Cry Me A River

To Babyblue:

Subject: Exuberance abounds

Okay, now what to write to Babyblue that will keep her interest piqued? Ummm! What ‘m I supposed to do- sit on the edge of my chair and bark rapturously and wait for your response? And does pain stand in our way like a sheet of glass; we could walk through it, but not without a certain noise… I do get carried away. And so my distant Babyblue, for you…

The door flies open and abruptly you are inside. The story is about to begin. A rapping sound, then scurrying and scuffling noises come from within. From a faraway room, a cough, a moan, an indiscreet, rumpled laugh, a veranda rattles, a water pipe shutters, and a drawer is heard to slam, Somewhere a pink hat is tilted ever so carefully to satisfy the wearer.

How did I find you? The back alleys of chance perhaps. I suppose we all have those things which attract our attention, a photo, a word or sentence that causes us to pause. How did I find you? I can only answer with “because I was looking for you” and there you were wrapped up nice and neat in a little package and presented to me on a screen.

Go and enjoy your day, be fabulous, as I doubt you could be anything but. I will await your reply. I will be here, recovering, restoring my vision and of course writing, for you because I found you. And in the finding, the world shall be new and all the pages blank for us to fill in as we choose.

And do you remember, there was a time when people were known by their footsteps and beggars were rewarded for their trouble. A time when manners mattered twice as much as madness and half as much as magic…

Ahhh the magic…

My day has been made wonderful.

Your Jim

Babyblues4you:

Dear Jim,

I HATE HATS……….. WHO ARE YOU????????

Mr. Golf Swing

To: Babyblue

Subject: Heat

Hi gorgeous, Florida weather: hit ninety. My day of golf: broke eighty. I’m coming! LOL

Ned

Babyblues4you:

That’s SOOOO nice.

Ellen

Ellen needed a nap.

Later, she scrutinized her face as she peered into the mirror and regretted the crease from her pillow that formed an arc on her cheek. Butterflies fluttered about Ellen’s garden as she watched from her bathroom window. Butterflies tingled in her stomach as she prepared for the evening. Moths and cobwebs were swept from her mind with a splash of perfume, and the vestiges of sleep were erased with a coating of cover-up and blush.

Libby had invited several people from the local art community, including Debbie and Cora from Ellen’s painting group. Ellen had deepened her involvement with the larger community of artists within the Hamptons and had become a member of a well-known gallery. With her paintings on gallery walls and her name on postcards announcing shows, Ellen was gaining in recognition. The many long months of being on her own were starting to make sense. She peeled out of her driveway and headed for Sag Harbor, which was renown as a cool town.

Libby, a flaming red head, with eyes that sparkled with amber flecks, painted landscapes on huge canvases, and, like Ellen, loved to paint outdoors. Cora, from Ellen’s painting group had organized an outing, earlier in the summer, and directed Ellen to a well-known but isolated spot in a hidden cove on one of Amagansett’s shores. Ellen had arrived early to set up her easel. With careful precision, setting side table with palate, medium, and tubes of paint, Ellen lined up her brushes, moving with sure and deliberate action as if she were dancing. She was working on a painting with a low horizon line, giving emphasis to the large, fast moving clouds that billowed over the beachhead when Libby, seeing Ellen for the first time, marched over, arms flapping and tinkling with bracelets, took a brush from Ellen’s precisely set up collection, said, “Hi there, I’m Libby, who are you? May I? Watch this.” And with a deft move, she placed a confident stroke of shell pink on just the right curve of one of the clouds in Ellen’s painting. It was the perfect stroke. Ellen glowed like a shell pink cloud.

“I’m Ellen,” Ellen said. “Wow, where’d you learn that move? What a difference, thank you.”

Libby smiled, a crooked, sly grin, and tucked a paint brush back into Ellen’s collection, her arms tinkling with the music from her jewelry as she moved.

“I love your bracelets,” Ellen said. “Where did they come from?”

“Oh these?” Libby laughed. “From a fabulous web site, Turkish Emporium. It has the best stuff. Belly dancing scarves, coin ankle bracelets, all kinds of cool stuff.”

Belly dancing? In that instant, Ellen knew, with all they had in common, this was no chance meeting. Destiny, fate, and common interest had brought them together.

Why great interesting women and not some great guy? Ellen thought wistfully, as she brushed her hair one more time for good measure and finished getting ready for Libby’s party. Ellen looked at her watch. If she left now, she thought, she might be too early. Ellen didn’t want to be early. Ellen didn’t want to be late. She wanted to be just right.

Libby had spoken of several guests she expected and had gushed about her friend Walter, a well-known abstract artist, who would be there as well. Ellen’s butterflies returned as she thought about the possibilities. What would it be like to meet someone new in real life, in real time – away from a computer screen? She remembered Mr. Cry Me A River with a shudder.

“Love you.” Ellen said to Divina as she gave her dog a quick hug and a final command. “You’re good but you have to wait,” as she raced out the door.

She drove down the winding road to find the tucked away community of small, modest houses nestled in a picturesque setting that was a stronghold of arty, funky local people. Just what Ellen had dreamed of and longed to find.

Debbie and Cora were there first and greeted her with affection. Both women were wearing jeans and tee shirts and looked like they had just taken off their smocks rather than dressed for a party. Ellen felt slightly conspicuous in her tight black pants and tighter black sweater.

“Come with us,” Cora gestured, “we’re headed for the dock.”

Libby dashed up the small rise to embrace her. She was a large, voluptuous woman and always had a grand air about her. With caftan flapping, her Moroccan bangles clinked a warm welcome as she thrust a glass of wine into Ellen’s hand.

“Most of us are here. Oh, here comes Walter – you must meet him.”

“Hello there, good evening.”

Ellen turned to see a tall, lanky man and smiled her best smile. It grew wider as she noted his fascinating accent and his good looks, not poster boy pretty, but definitely handsome. The accent, and something distinctive about his clothes, made Ellen think Walter was from an Eastern European country.

“Walter’s wife is beyond brilliant,” Libby’s introduction continued. “Too bad she’s a bit under the weather tonight, and can’t make it. But you’ll meet her another time.”

Walter’s wife? Ellen’s smile hung on for a few seconds. The sun dipped itself behind a cloud overhead and cast a brief shadow on the dock in the place where she stood.

With glasses of wine in hand, the group spent the sunset waxing poetic about the inspiring views of water with its ripples and diminishing colors as the light faded on its surface. Debbie remarked at the similarity of the rapidly blending colors and Ellen’s last painting that she had worked on in the studio.

The evening came on with a northern breeze that chased away the warm summer day.

“Anyone hungry?” Libby asked.

“I brought soup,” Ellen said.

The group applauded.

“Bless you,” Libby said. “My kitchen skills include charring the simplest things.”

As everyone laughed at Libby, Ellen was glad she took so much time earlier with the soup. After her nap, Ellen had taken vegetables and ingredients on hand, rendered bacon and had added wine. Using her best technique, she layered spices and flavors that produced a rich complex vegetable soup that now made everyone murmur praise and thanks. The soup and wine warmed them.

“Such a good girl,” Walter laughed. “You must be Jewish. I bet you never come to an invitation empty-handed. My grandmother always said, ‘Invite a Jewish woman and you will never go hungry.’”

Ellen felt at home in her mind and body.

As the night turned its deepest shade of darkness, they sat on the dock with faces lit by flickering candles and the soft glow of the new moon.

“Do you believe in past lives?” Libby asked after exhausting the topic of her most recent trip to India.

“Yes,” Ellen replied earnestly, “I vowed to learn my lessons in this life in the hope of not repeating them in my next. It just never occurred to me that once I started to ask questions there would be so many different answers.”

“Ahh,” said Walter, “how very true. And what do you think of madness and the creative mind? Do we carry that with us through to the next life?”

“I hope so,” Cora exclaimed. “At least the creative part.”

“I think we do,” Ellen answered. “I just pray for more talent and less madness.”

“Well I hope you remember how to make delicious soup,” Walter added.

They all laughed with pleasure. Ellen’s blush was hidden by the dim light. Manifestation was at hand. Ellen, dressed in black, with her newest belt that shaped her toned body, was in her element.

Winding her way home in the dark, she reveled in the fact that this was now her turf. She made a wrong turn yet she still knew where she was.

“Hello,” she called to the Universe, “anyone out there?”

Her own voice answered, “Yes.” Recognizing her error, Ellen backed up, and in turning around, found her way home – another metaphor for sure.

“What are you reading now?” Fear sounded exasperated.

Disappointment lay sprawled upside down on the bed, twirling her legs with pointed toes as she plied in the air and turned the pages of Pia Melody’s Facing Love Addiction: Giving Yourself the Power to Change the Way You Love. “What do you care? You would have read it long ago if the whole subject didn’t terrify you,” Disappointment replied.

“Look who’s talking, that book is ancient. Read this, you might learn something.” Fear tossed a slim paperback at her.

Disappointment glanced at the title: The Shy Single: A Bold Guide to Dating for the Less-Than-Bold Dater. “Hmfff,” she said.

“Besides, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be so afraid all the time.” Fear glowered at her. “Always with your expectations, always wanting better, always being disappointed.”

“Me? What about you?” Disappointment shouted. “Remember when Dad said, ‘Oh, just do your best?’ What did that mean? That somehow my best could be better? Just what was I supposed to do?”

“Well, you’d have to be an idiot to enjoy kicking yourself every day,”

Fear shot back with her standard answer for her many disputes with Disappointment.

“It says here,” Disappointment read, “’My job is to refrain from hurting, punishing, attacking, getting even, fighting, or being dishonest….’”

“Yeah, well, how do you think we’re going to make sense of that? It takes two to tango you know.”

They looked at each other glumly.

Fear decided to clean her sweater drawers. She methodically folded all her pink and coral sweaters in one drawer and began to organize all of her blue ones in another. Disappointment read further: “All of our needs will be met all the time. We will learn the ability to compromise, to accommodate, to savor loyalty….” She closed the book, closed her eyes, and sighed.

Fear crawled into bed beside her and spooned

Exhausted, Ellen gave up the day and lay quietly in bed. The ceiling fan, with its gently whirring blades and soft movement of air, soothed her jumbled feelings.

She prayed.

Ellen’s last act of each day was to lie in bed, voice her thoughts and speak to her God. She prayed for understanding and strength. She prayed for love and friendship and for the element of surprise and wonder in her life.

That day, her Daily Tarot had read:

The Six of Swords implies that your power lies in transition. In order to seek new opportunities, trust in the process and acceptance is needed. Stay vulnerable and rely on guidance in order to move on with new hope. “Wherever you are, there you go.” Strength is perseverance and the will to survive.

Ellen prayed for more fucking.

Rule Number 11: Thou shall not covet… Get your own life.