Gonzaga did not make it to the Sweet Sixteen, but they have before. And will again. This is the only time of year I consciously choose to watch televised sports. I like to follow GU only because it is my alma mater. John Stockton graduated from GU the year before I got there. There were wall sized posters of him in the gym. They may yet be there. I watched him on tv as he watched his son from the stands. He had been there before. John Stockton was back in SLC not as a player on the Utah Jazz, but as a father of a son who was playing for his alma mater. It became obvious to me about 3 minutes out that there was no hope for a comeback from Gonzaga. They lost and it is just as well. I don't have a lot of free time these days and if GU had won, they would still be going and so would I. I wish they could have hung in there.
It's fine that they lost. In order to watch the game on someplace other than my computer, I asked my friend Michelle if she was watching the game. She has Dish TV with a million and two channels. I figured she would have it. Yes, was the answer. She had an app on her phone that told her where and when the game was to be played and on what channel. It was almost halftime before she could find the game. Then, once she located it, she wanted to know how she got there and promptly turned off the game as she explored the various button options, combo button options, etc., but when I pleaded with her to put the game back on, she could not find it. I offered to try and find it but she would not give me the remote. Not that she wouldn't, she is ADD also and needed to figure out how she did what she did. I understood but wanted to watch the game. I said a few things like, "You just had it..." but pretty much just let it go. I understood what she was doing and why. She told me she was going to start taking Adderall for her ADD. I thought that was a good idea. She could certainly stand to lose some weight for the sake of her health.
She finds the game. Thank you. At half time, we had taco soup with tortillas and sour cream. I told a joke to the 6 year-old boy, and the eight-year-old girl, and with her own cell phone. It went like this: "Knock, knock. 'Who's there?' "Dwayne.' 'Dwayne who?' 'Dwayne da bathtub, I'm dwowning.'" Evidently, they had never heard it before and were laughing and laughing. Even their mom laughed. Here I was feeling kind of stupid because the only joke I could remember was a really old one. But they were laughing and swore they had never heard it before. Talk about a generation gap.
Dinner ended when the ballgame started up again. My hostess, actually, I invited myself, was watching the game, texting, and playing Word Play on her phone. Anytime I said something to her, I was interrupting something. I didn't get angry but felt ignored but that was fine as I just wanted to watch the game. When she started cheering when the opponents made a basket, I thought she flipped. She had. She was cheering because she thought Gonzaga was making the baskets. I reminded here, even with my minute knowledge of the game, that the teams switch baskets at the end of the half. We were well into the second half.
I curled my legs under my butt and sat in the leather chair watching the game. Gonzaga lost, I offered to help with dishes, and then got the hell out of there. I did get to talk to the kids about their dad. He's a pilot who's route is between Pittsburg and Cancun. They showed me a photo of him.
I don't go back and reread these posts but I know that I mentioned that I had put myself back in the online dating business. I am somewhat overwhelmed by the response and have dutifully tried to keep up with the emails. There is something in me, a part of my persona maybe, that feels an obligation to respond but some have to be let go and not responded to. The caliber of intelligent response has been more than I expected. I've met with two so far. One is a fabric artist and is in the same frame of mind as I am about my art right now. It just seems as if there are other forces at work keeping us from getting into the studio and getting some work done. Her work is of extreme high quality and sells for thousands. She has published a book and exhibited nationwide. she has writer's bloc, so to speak. I realized, from corresponding with her, that I was keeping myself out of the studio. The non working kiln was an excuse I used to not work. Once I went to Seattle and got a new controller for my kiln, (and installed it without getting electrocuted) I made myself go in and throw some pots. I wanted to do it. Hell, I used to throw every day. Now, I hadn't thrown in a month. My first pots flopped as I was rusty and wasn't yet zoned in to where I was. But I was throwing again. I made it over the fence.
She emailed me for a week, telling me about her efforts to make art and read to her elder mother. I guessed I missed a day and she emailed me and just came out and asked me if there was a romantic interest on my part because there was on hers and her friend suggested she just come out and ask me. She did.
I try to be black and white about things. Innuendo, inference, suggestion...c'mon, just say what you have to say kind of guy. I have the character flaw of expecting that out of every one else. It does not go that way.
So, I was black and white about it. I had been very careful all along to not write anything or make any statements indicating any sort of fondness or growing fondness. I relayed that to her in the responding email I sent. I apologized if I had done so as that it was never my intention. She wrote back and thanked me for clearing that up. I will probably never her from her again.
There are a lot of people in my life that fit in that category. For example, my good friend Dirk, who I played in a band with and lived with while he attended Eastern Oregon University as a music major. He played guitar in the band but you could throw anything at him and he could play it. His main instrument is trombone. I always hope I get to see him again.
I met with another correspondent Friday night in Ellensburg. A state university is located there along with a plethora of single female college professors. I met with one of the department heads. She looked exactly like her photos, which was not good. I came into this with a good, free and open mind and would have fun. The drive is an hour each way but the scenery is gorgeous and there is eternal sky with poofy clouds.
We met at a wine bar and she had ordered a bottle of wine. I was late, as normal, and laughed as I asked, "Am I late?" Since she was the only person in the place sitting by themselves who looked like her photographs, I sat down. We shook hands but eye contact was sporadic as I worked my brain to settle in and talk and have a good time. At least we were both intelligent enough to carry on an meaningful conversation. She told me about her ex, about her three kids at home. Keep in mind she is 56. The conversation ended up being focused on our errant daughters. Her daughter is in the ninth grade. My daughter is in Italy!!!! and having the time of her life and she knows it. This is going to be one changed in the right direction kid. I'm sure there will be some let down once she gets back but, if she sticks to her plan, she will be in college this fall. She wants to stay with me when she gets back. Hmmm...we'll see. There will be no car here for her to drive.
So, the professor emailed me Saturday to tell me what a great time she had, did I make it back ok? She stated she wanted to meet again. My response will be the same. This time there was absolutely no intention of any sort of romantic connection. I knew going into it there wouldn't be. I accepted an invitation and did well. I was polite, funny, serious when needed. We killed a bottle of wine that night and talked for three hours but for me it was a grand opportunity to talk to someone at a higher level of cognition but not so smart that we lost our place. Like I said, we mostly talked about our daughters.
I had planned to meet yet another correspondent this coming weekend. It just so happens that my oldest daughter is coming to town and wants to see me. That preempts everything. My darling, sweet daughter will be here to make me laugh.
When I was online earlier, I got lucky and met somebody who set the standard for any who come after. My desire is to stay with the standard. The standard is part of me. I take it with me. I want to touch her again.
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