Six months of sleeping with a dog that was now almost the length of my bed made me realize it was time for me to break out and find a date with an actual human being. I had not only constructed a box, I had established my own private cloister.
“Lois, darling,” I muttered to myself, “You know you are never going to meet anyone sitting home night after night reading books and watching television.”
“Yeah, yeah…. I know, I know. I’ll get out, I will! I promise. Next weekend maybe,” I answered myself.
In therapy, I became enlightened about meditation and how to seek my angels’ advice for what it was I needed in my life. I knew I needed healing and spent many an evening curled up with Doreen Virtue and Louise Hay. I read as many of their books as I could get my hands on. I lit candles, sat quietly (which was no small feat with Apollo dropping his toys at my feet every two minutes) and meditated for hours. I thanked God, my spirit guides, and any angels that were listening for the many gifts they had given me over my life-time; supportive friends and family, wonderful children and for leading me to a job which I found quite satisfying. I read about karma and placed small altars throughout my home. You’re not going to believe this, but I got out my childhood rosary and hung it on the mirror in my bedroom. It was comforting. I played soft music while sitting patiently, waiting for messages. I changed my inner thought processes, trying to be more positive and easier on myself. I stopped expecting perfection and learned to go with the flow.
Finally, I made a list of qualities I wanted in a mate, whoever and wherever he was. Passion, humor, honesty, trustworthiness, spirituality and integrity were just a few. I read it every night before I went to bed. I thought about it during the day. When it is meant to happen it will happen, I assured myself. Wanting it to be right this time, I was in no hurry. Patiently, I worked on my mission. I was not about to rush things and then have them go awry. Besides, I was still quite comfortable in the shelter of my box I kept telling myself.
My second holiday season as a single woman was fast approaching; Christmas parties with no date, no intimate presents from a lover and only Apollo to rest his head on my pillow at night. I had to make a move. A group of co-workers were headed out for drinks one evening and I jumped at the chance to join them at a local Italian restaurant.
I cozied up to the bar taking a quick glance around for any plausible new talent. Seated next to me was a friendly couple about my age. I introduced myself, as is my nature, and struck up a conversation. My friends soon arrived and the couple joined us for dinner. The fact that I was newly divorced soon reared its head into the conversation.
“She’d be perfect for your brother? We need to introduce them,” I heard the husband say as he leaned into his wife. I was floored, flattered even. It pays to step out of your box, I thought. They told me he, too, was newly divorced, held a very lucrative position with a large corporation and was a really, really, nice guy. They had definitely piqued my interest. His name was Scott, he’d grown up in our little town and was currently living in a suburb of Chicago, but drove down every few weeks to visit family. I felt my angels must be looking out for me after all, wrote down my phone number and handed it to them. My spirits rose. A date! I might actually have a real date!
My ex-husband e-mailed the next day to let me know he was flying our daughter, Haley, home from West Africa for the holidays. I was thrilled! It was going to be the best Christmas ever. I couldn’t have asked for more, both of my children home at the same time after all we’d been through. My prayers had been answered. I was overjoyed! I touched the pale, blue beads of my rosary hanging in my bedroom. Had I become my mother after all?
As promised, a few days after Christmas I received a phone call from Scott wanting me to meet him, his sister and her husband for a drink. He’d caught me off guard. I was so wrapped up with my children being home for the holidays I had almost forgotten about Scott. Quickly, fear set in. I scanned my brain searching for any possible reason why I wouldn’t be able to join them. Rarely does this happen, but I came up blank. Could this possibly be that spark of hope glittering into my life?
I agreed to meet them but informed him my children would be joining me. I was nervous and a little excited. I hadn’t had a date since the ripe old age of twenty-four. I was now fifty. Haley was right there when the phone rang, overhearing the entire conversation. She played along acting very excited, but my son, Jack, was having none of it. He had his own plans for the evening. I pleaded with them, “Please don’t make me go alone. I need back up here. I need your opinions, damn it.” They finally relented.
Goody! Goody! Goody! I had a pseudo date! I wanted to dance! I cranked up my Etta James CD and the kitchen dancing commenced! It’s simply impossible to sit still when Etta starts belting out those tunes.
“Yeah, you got me where you want me now, Baby, what you want me to do?” We all sang along showing off our smoothest dance floor moves, “I’m goin’ up, I’m going down, I’m goin’ up, down, down and up, any way you want, let it rooooooooooll.”
Having Haley home helped relieve some of my tension. We giggled just like old times while getting dressed. She always had a way of making things fun. I wound my long red hair up on top of my head, pulled on my favorite black sweater, added pearl earrings, and polished myself off with a mist of my very best perfume. Voila!
“Do you think he’ll like me?” I called out to Haley from my bedroom, my insecurities sneaking up on me.
“Mom, what’s not to like? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?”
I paused, lipstick in hand, gazing at my image in the lighted, magnifying mirror.
“Yes, Haley Dear, I have looked at myself in the mirror, more times than you could imagine,” I thought.
No longer the demure young woman I once was, I looked tired and I deplored these bags under my eyes now. I longed for a face-lift to rid myself of this chicken neck. Shots of Botox to stop my lipstick from bleeding and new perky breasts would be nice too. I craved a tummy tuck. No amount of moisturizer could save me now. Why I didn’t demand more money during the divorce, I’ll never know.
“Do you think he still has hair?” I called out.
“I pray he doesn’t have one of the beer guts!” she chuckled.
“We’ll soon find out!” I answered.
“Wish me luck, Apollo,” I reached down and scratched his ears good-bye and handed him a treat. Haley, Jack and I then hopped into my car and drove out to meet my destiny.

To be continued…