I signed up for on-line dating on 7/16/16.
Since then there has been one woman who would have married me and one woman I would have married. They aren’t the same woman.
Measured against my goal of finding my next and last life-partner, I’m not doing so well. However, life can throw out some surprises.
On 9/25/16 I wrote:
Let the winds of negativity blow on by.
Press on under the great blue sky.
Buoyed up by the adventure ahead.
Past the rocky shores we sped.
Whoa, a poem. I don’t think I had done one of those since that high school assignment we were all forced to do. Now, there are several things about this poem that are humorous (to me). First, I don’t think it is very good. Second, I wrote it for Helen, who does not remember that I did write it. Helen is the woman I would marry and will be a recurring character in this blog (at least in the history sections). The poem is an attempt to smooth down those stories of the past that on-line daters often do during “the interview”.
Scenery when driving about.
This is the post excerpt.
While I learn how to run this blog, let me provide a little entertainment:
Of course I was broken.
It was a certain recipe for disaster.
Add in a mound of work problems,
Stir with 2 lumps of health issues
And sprinkle in a generous helping of marital miscues.
Bake under the warm glow of economic collapse,
Political turmoil and climate change.
It didn’t need Captain Ahab to yell “thar she blows”.
Nobody actually wanted it to happen.
It could have been prevented.
But blow she did.
Not in a spectacular super nova sort of way
Worthy of an epic poem.
More in a small, personal earth shattering way.
Now, here is the wonder.
Visualize the pieces, scattered, laying about.
Growing old, turning to dust.
But that isn’t what happened, not at all.
instead the pieces started healing.
I can’t explain how, that’s the miracle.
How is that possible?
Time, warmth, chocolate?
Piece by piece, infused by some will
Until the label “broken” no longer seems appropriate.
Now, let’s call it disassembled.
What do we make with all of these perfectly good pieces?
Sure, some probably rolled under the couch.
Maybe others scattered under the bushes.
But look at all those wonderful, glorious pieces.
There is just no way they are going to go back
Together the same way.
That would be insane.
I am disassembled, not broken.
Ed note: Reassembly is a future tale.
And now, for something a little lighter.
Title: June Snow
It's June 19 to be precise.
Looking around, where is the ice?
Tall mountains, all covered in green.
Winter is gone, that can be seen.
White is flying both near and far.
White is drifting down on my car.
White is hitting all over the ground.
White is scurrying without a sound.
Look around, what do you see?
Not much, just tree after tree.
Look closer, notice what you should.
White escaping the Cottonwood.