Blessed & Grateful: Meeting My Superhero

One October Friday afternoon, I returned to my home office, checked email and read a message about me — but not intended for me to see.  A friend of mine traded messages with a friend of hers about their plans to introduce me to some guy named Mike at an upcoming Halloween party.

I saw the message by mistake. An accidental “reply all,” went to 200-some people on the e-mail list for a happy hour group.

My face flushed hot with embarrassment.

Why Orange? Because I Can

Too soon. Some legal paperwork was all that remained of the marriage that had brought me here to the middle of Pennsylvania, full of mountain ridges, valleys, forests and farm fields.

A year, I’d promised myself. One year before I decided whether to stay or go. By then, I had cried my tears, reflected on mistakes, done a lot of healing, and still had a lot to go.

Too soon to think about dating.

I leaned heavily on my best friend and her husband. They’d helped move furniture in and out of my house and shared their New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July holidays with me. Three is kind of a crowd.

That autumn, I settled into single life — and enjoying it.

I tore out old carpets of my 1900 petite, folk Victorian house to find original hardwood floors and painted my office a deep, rich, earthy violet. Soon, the living room would be a brilliant fire orange with crisp white trim and dark hardwood floors.

Why orange? Because I could. There was no one else to please and I really didn’t believe there ever would be. I dug deeper into the garden and studied to be a certified master gardener.

By Friday evenings, between a week of writing and editing work in my new purple office and a weekend of working on the house, I needed to get out for awhile.

So I’d joined a social “happy hour” group of adults of all ages, both singles and couples, who met for drinks after work on Fridays.

The Wish List

The embarrassment faded. I wanted to be a good sport. I thought of Rodney and his wife’s wish list.

My newly re-discovered single, creative life would not be disturbed for just anyone.

So I made a wish list, then told the fixer-uppers that since they were out there looking, thankyou-very-much, they may as well have my wish list — oh, and by the way you are sharing your private email exchange with everyone. 

“Wish list,” I scrawled in blue ink atop a half-sheet of torn notebook paper I still keep in my desk.

Then: GOOD PERSON. Responsible. Strong moral fiber. Generous of spirit (but not a doormat). Honorable.
Smart. Healthy. Active. Attractive. Outdoorsy ~ the more nature-oriented, the better (but no dirty, smelly hippies).
Good Listener.

Can I Borrow a Boa?

On the night of the Halloween party, the couch and its comfort looked oh-so-good. Way better than figuring out a costume.

The day had brought some blues and an early snowfall of several inches that stuck to the dry leaves still on the trees and weighed the boughs in an awkward way. This was the record-setting 2011 Halloween Nor’Easter known as “Snowtober.”

He’s probably a dud, I figured, still un-decided as daylight faded.

My friend called, wondering if I was going. I hemmed and hawed.

We’ll pick you up in 20 minutes, she decided.

Fine, I said. What the heck? Probably a dud.

Then, I realized my lack of costume.

Can you bring a boa?

At the last-minute I found a turquoise feathered mask, jammed contacts onto my eyes, put on a leopard-printed shirt atop the same hiking pants and clogs I’d worn all day and went out the door.

We WILL have a Conversation

At first, it felt like an eighth-grade dance. All couples, except for me and this tall guy dressed in dark clothing. The costumed couples stood talking in the dim lighting, watching as Mike and I were introduced.

He wore a black, netted mask and outfit. A ghilly suit, I learned later, that makes hunters and snipers blend into the shrubbery.

His teeth were really ugly. Neither of us said much and walked away.

Oh no, I thought. I passed up a good movie and comfy couch for this, buddy. Even if you are a dud, we’re going to have a freaking conversation just to be sure.

Finally, awhile later, our masks came off. His Halloween teeth, an effective part of his last-minute costume, were gone revealing his true smile.

He was pretty damn handsome, tall with dark hair and a square jaw.

But we had still not talked to each other.

I was taking stock of all of this while talking in a group of people. He chatted with a neighboring group. Then our groups merged and we were both talking to the same group about how the Texas Rangers had just lost a heart-breaker of a World Series the night before.

I asked him if he liked baseball. His face lit up and he smiled. Yes, my boys and I go to games.

In that moment, there was so much light and kindness in his handsome face, and my intuition wildly screamed: “Wow! I could LOVE this guy!”

Your boys? I asked. How old are they?

15 and 13.

And my intuition screamed again: “Oh, yipes, already teenagers, almost all grown up. That’s going to fly by. Be careful.”

I’d learned the hard way not to argue with my intuition.

We talked for a long time about baseball, hiking in the forests of central Pennsylvania, and books. He is a lifelong teacher and coach, a great father. A hunter, lover of history and the outdoors.

That moment could so easily have been false hope.

But it wasn’t.

Yelling at God

The next day, I called my mom to tell her I’d met a really nice guy, but had not heard from him.

He’s busy, she said. He has kids and a full schedule.

Me: You don’t even know his name! How are you already taking his side?

My mom: I have a good feeling about this. 

I’ve learned not to argue with my mother’s intuition.

The next day, I learned Mike had asked for my email address.

Then nothing. Crickets!

For days.

By then, I knew his e-mail address — from his web page for work. Easy! And I also knew he had to make the first move.

So I waited. As I sanded and caulked and painted and raked the leaves I yelled at God. Because I was still too wobbly to be disappointed.

Finally, I’m good again! Please do not bother me unless he’s the real deal!

Eventually, Mike e-mailed.

He had bought the book I’d mentioned about how natural gas-drilling was changing the Pennsylvania countryside, and read it in two days so we’d have something to talk about. He told me about his brother’s wedding.

His punctuation was near-perfect, and I swooned.

The next Sunday, we took a walk in the woods, had dinner and talked until the patrons at the restaurant were gone and the workers were vacuuming around us and ready to turn the lights off and go home.

By Thanksgiving, I was pretty darn sure it was a done deal.

He was worth it. Everything on my wish list and more.

A Superhero Family Guy, Teacher and Husband

Mike is a good, solid, honorable family man. He leads by example: Up early working hard, long days at hard jobs — and the boys come first. I don’t know how he does it, but he always finds a way to make time for the boys and now for me.

He is frugal and responsible with money.

He is generous with his spirit and kindness — however once someone crosses an important line or betrays his trust, look out. There is often no return. (Backbone!)

He is smart, healthy, beautiful inside and out, a good listener and unbelievably patient.

As I got to know him, I realized just how incredibly gifted of a teacher he is.

See, my journalism training and experience taught me to ask pressing questions, sometimes repeatedly, and root around for answers then quickly serve that bottom line answer up to a reader.

So as we all learned to live together, and things came up, I’d ask him for the answer.

You have to figure that out.

And I’ve heard him say the same thing about the kids.

He’s got to figure that out.

My instincts are to just tell kids the answer, and save them some trouble. It seems faster. But that doesn’t teach them anything. If they learn it themselves, they might just learn it for good.

The Faith to Fly, Together

Our courtship happened in school cafeterias and gymnasiums. When we met, he was an assistant principal at a middle school. The principal, his boss, is the wife of the other “fixer-upper,” the man who had sent the “reply-all” email.

One of our first dates was to chaperone the Winter Wonderland Dance at the middle school. That weekend, I met the boys.

Soon, all the clichés began to make sense: Love at first sight? Definitely. I believed it for the first time.

I fell hard and fast, for all three of them. It was dangerous because it was so soon. Too soon.

And because the only way it would work was if I let myself be swallowed up into the lives of these three men while the boys were still growing up — which required a not-so-little leap of faith that in time I would regain my balance.

It wasn’t always easy for my friends and family to understand. I was gone a lot. Gone or raving about these guys.

Mike and the boys this, Mike and the boys that, said a guy-friend as we walked in town. I know, Super Mike is perfect.

Well, yeah, just about, I said. I’m gushing. I’m sorry.

Lots of people deserve happily ever after and never get it. I don’t know why.

Some people find real, true, lasting love as teenagers and have five, six or even seven decades together.

Those people get really, really lucky.

Don’t Screw It Up!

Mike and I waited four decades for real love. True and lasting love. And then it was up to us to get it right, to cherish this gift and each other, our family and our home.

Or, as my mother — who still always takes his side — says: Don’t screw it up!

We made sure it was real over three years of long walks and routine and holiday family dinners, of traveling to and watching the boys’ games and sports events: basketball, football, baseball and wrestling.

Then we got married in front of a solid, old stone house at our favorite state park.

You are my dream come true, I told Mike and the boys during our ceremony. They are a package deal. We celebrated with our annual summer barbecue at a pavilion in the park.

My husband is absolutely all of those qualities on that wish list I made, and more.

So in those quiet moments together, I never forget to tell my superhero: Thanks for being my dream come true. Thanks for going to the party.