The End . . . Or, Rather, The Beginning!

Sometime before my Toby Keith concert date, I had walked my little dog Ralphie up the street to a retirement village. That neighborhood was peaceful, with beautiful flowers, brick duplex townhomes, and a lovely pond with a fountain. At the pond, a bench was set next to a weeping willow. It was a perfect place to just sit and ponder life.

Ponder, I did. I found myself thinking of life’s big questions: When would there be world peace? How long was I going to keep dyeing my hair, or should I let it go gray? What causes the stock market to fluctuate, and was it time I called my financial advisor? How on earth would I live without my kids close to me when they moved away next year? Do seniors get discount airline tickets? And what in the world was Ralphie rolling in right now?

I also was thinking about all the new people I’d met during the past summer because of my online dating. Retrospectively, some of those thoughts made me cringe. Some brought a smile to my face, and some brought a smirk. Was this going to be what the rest of my life would be like? While I had met many interesting people, and made some new friends, online dating was also a lot of work. When I was sixteen, if a boy liked me enough to ask me out, it was an unwritten rule that all I did was tell my folks who I was going out with and where we would be. Because I wasn’t dealing with a stranger, there was no need to do a background check, read anything at all about the boy, or worry about what kind of physical health my date was in.

I also found myself staring at the pond and enjoying the peaceful feeling of just sitting in the outdoors. That triggered memories of my lovely picnic date with Dave. Dave Andersen. For some reason, he was always in the back of my mind. Why? Maybe because he was a gentleman? Because he obviously was fond of me, even in love with me? Because he kept in touch with me through emails, always signing them, Your friend, Dave, so that I wouldn’t be scared off like I had been after his passionate kiss? I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t had that tearful meltdown. At least I knew I had a life-long friend in Dave. We had lots in common, and not just that we had each lost a very beloved spouse. He made me laugh. We liked the same music, jokes, and types of people, and shared many of the same ethics. If I could only find someone like him, but with whom I would feel that romantic spark! Oh, well. Que sera, sera, as Doris Day would say!

When I left the pond and got back home, as if my thoughts of him had been magic, there was an email from Dave. Whoa! Maybe I should start thinking of winning the lottery, I thought. Dear Dave had sent another little email asking how I was doing, and was I going to be going to the state fair?

I sat down and answered him. Yes, I was, I told him. He knew I worked at Simpson College as a secretary, so I told him I was going to be working the college’s booth in the Varied Industries Building on the Saturday following the concert.

Hey, I wrote. I work there from eight until noon. If you want to go to the fair, would you like to meet me and we could walk around for a while?

That would be totally “safe,” at least as far as my feelings were concerned. I could drive up there, work, see my “friend” Dave for a bit, and then drive back home. He immediately wrote me back that he would love to see the fair, and if I wanted to catch a ride with someone, he would be glad to take me back home whenever I got tired of walking. Aww! Unbelievable that he was so considerate!

I wrote back that it would work out just fine, as long as he didn’t mind driving all the way back to my home. I also mentioned that I had just been thinking of him and told him about the peaceful pond nearby. So I would have two dates for the fair: one for the concert with Big Bad John, and now one to actually explore the fair with my gentleman friend, Dave. This would be a good way to end the summer, I thought.

The Saturday following the Toby Keith concert, I rode up to the fair with a coworker, and we walked to our beautiful booth. Simpson is a small liberal arts college with about thirteen hundred students. I had worked there for twenty years. Our public relations/marketing department had, for the first time ever, put together a booth with all sorts of material about the school, free Frisbees, free water-based tattoos for the kids, and a “no-booth” photo booth that I was going to get to run.

The larger-than-life-sized screen was set in video mode so that fair-goers walking by could see themselves in live action. For those curious enough to stop, I would explain that the photo booth was a free and fun thing to try. I would position them in front of the screen, tell them to pose and count down from four to one, at which time the screen would freeze and snap their picture. Then they could pull icons available on the touch screen and “dress” themselves up with featured Simpson College colors, shirts, hats, and various other fun pictures. One older couple stopped to look, and as I visited with them, I learned they were from a nearby small town.

“I have a friend who lives there,” I said. When they asked his name, I told them “Dave Andersen,” and was surprised at the reaction I got from the lady.

“Oh, he is such a gem!” she exclaimed. She then proceeded to tell me all about his life as a single father after the death of his wife over a decade ago. To hear her tell it, Dave was a candidate for sainthood.

I debated a second, then decided to spring this news on her: “Well, I have a date with him later today.”

Immediately, I found myself wrapped in a bear hug amid cries of gladness. Then she pulled away and stared into my eyes with a little frown. She said, in a tone not unlike that of a math teacher announcing that there was an added question to a test that would determine failure or success, “He’s Catholic, you know.”

I nodded. “So am I.”

She immediately gave me another joyous hug. You would have thought I was a heroine just returning from saving the world.

So when Mr. Andersen arrived a few minutes before I was to leave my booth duties, I was curious to see if he was going to look any different to me after that glowing review from his hometown friend. I saw him coming toward me, and his face split into a big smile when he saw me. We hugged, and then he asked me if I would like to walk around, or would I prefer to find some shade and sit for a while since I’d been on my feet all morning? (Was Considerate his middle name?)

I love television commercials, especially funny ones. At the time of my online dating, State Farm Insurance Company was running an ad promoting a pocket app. It featured a beautiful girl waiting for the date she met on the Internet—a “French model.” As her date approached her, it was obvious to everyone but the young woman that he was anything but a French model. I thought this ad was hysterically funny and so clever.

So I copied it! When I was ready to leave my booth, I introduced Dave to all my friends. “I want you to meet my date. I met him on the Internet. He’s a French model.” I wasn’t sure if Dave would get the joke or not, but he passed the test with flying colors.

His eyes crinkled almost shut as he smiled, and then deadpanned, “BONE JURR!” My friends cracked up and seemed to be enthralled with him. Score one point for Dave.

We wandered around, talking, laughing, and eating some of the fair’s delicacies that only appear once a year, and that I hadn’t had a chance to have on Thursday with Big Bad John. I had to have a state fair corn dog. Corn dogs are sold in supermarkets in the frozen food section, and I tried some once. They were on par with the greenhouse-grown tomatoes you can buy in winter—there is no comparison to the real thing! Dave announced that corn dogs were his favorite treat at the fair. I looked at him with renewed interest.

I ran into my niece and her husband, and again introduced Dave as my “Internet French model” date. He knew his line, and we left my relatives, who were laughing with delight at the joke. We rode the Sky Glider and saw all the sights from the air. Then we wandered some more, finally sitting down beneath the shade of a tree.

We sat close together, and I felt as though I’d known him forever. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He looked at me and grinned, then leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. I finally felt the spark.

The next day, Dave picked me up at my house and took me to an ice-cream social. The night after that, he took me out to dinner, and kept doing that each night thereafter. Suddenly we were a couple, not just two people dating. I had no more interest in looking for a companion or friend. I had found something a lot better: I had found love again. My dating days were over.

Once again, I posted a Facebook entry:

What does a woman say to a man she’s only had a few dates with who tells her he loves her and has since the moment he first laid eyes on her picture? Well, if you’re a klutzy old blonde like me who recently watched a Toby Keith concert, you say “HAMMER DOWN!” I think that’s cowboy talk for “Great”or “Wow!”

Yes, FB fans: I’ve chosen Cheesecake over sexy height. With my sweet tooth, was there ever any doubt? Big Bad John lost out to an oldster with the bluest, kindest eyes I’ve ever had the privilege of looking into. Maybe my subconscious had already picked him out, because he’s the “Dave” that I kept calling Big Bad John on my first date with him! He’s a widower with three grown children and two (and a half) grandbabies.

He reminds me of a leprechaun. (Have you noticed I can’t ever just take anybody at face value for who they are—they always remind me of something else?) Besides the merry blue eyes, he has beautiful salt and pepper hair (a definite extra point in the follicularly challenged world of old men) and the cutest, most interesting face ever. He’s soft-spoken, but when he speaks it’s always about me—I have the sweetest smile, I have the prettiest hair, I have the best sense of humor, I’m a very special lady, yada yada yada! What’s not to love about the guy? I wish I’d met him years ago—I could have made a fortune by tape-recording him and installing his compliments into hunky-looking robots that women could just turn on when they yearn to hear them!

Now that we’re together, isn’t there any sort of mature and distinguished word for a senior-citizen girlfriend? Would it be “lady friend” or “old dame?” Stay tuned!

My Facebook friends were both thrilled—and disappointed. They were so glad I had found someone, but as indicated by the vast number of replies on my Facebook account, they had been living vicariously through me! Once people had known I was on a dating site, they had asked me for hints or instructions for themselves or someone they thought might benefit from my experience.

Like me at the start of this adventure, they were looking for step-by-step instructions on how to date, or even how to find love. As with anything dealing with the heart, there isn’t any one answer. All I know is, if an old klutz like me with hardly any dating experience can take a chance and find a match, I highly recommend online dating to anyone with the guts, desire, and dreams to handle it. It may help you find the love of your life. It may only give you some adventures you hadn’t experienced before. Or it may not be for you at all. But just imagine feeling like you’re sixteen again, and having the whole rest of your life before you. Sixteen: without the pimples, the curfews, or the inexperience. I think it’s an adventure worth the effort!