Living Happily Ever After
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Reality

Date: November 6, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it.”

My grandpa was a cute, gentle, nice, loving man. He was short, bald, soft spoken, kind to children, served in his state House of Representatives, was a farmer  and wore white patent leather shiny shoes when he dressed up. He was a 1970s Lifesavers commercial come to life. I never knew anyone who didn’t love him.

I was with my former father-in-law, once, and was completely struck by the different grandfather my children had: tall, with thick dark hair, tan skin, a big tattoo, played college football, was a Golden Glove boxer in the Navy, and worked in construction.

It made me laugh. My children certainly were living a different reality from the one I had.

This morning I was reminded of that, again, as my youngest sang me a song, over and over, before I left for work. It went like this (sung to the tune of “The Farmer In The Dell”): “The farmer in the jail, the farmer in the jail, heigh-ho the dairy-oh, the farmer in the jail.”

I told my son I loved his song. And then I explained, “It actually goes like this,” sang it for him the traditional way, and taught him what a “dell” is. But he didn’t buy it at all.

“No, it’s not, Mom. The farmer is in JAIL.” (I don’t think jail was even in my vocabulary when I was his age. Like I said, my children are certainly living a different reality from the one I had! It’s funny, what becomes your reality, based on your unexpected life and its experiences.) We had a discussion about farmers and what good people they are, that they’re working on their farms, not in a jail; but my argument fell on the deaf ears of a preschooler.

Long story short, he wouldn’t change his song. Or his belief.

Last year that little ditty would have panicked me. Today, I simply dropped my son off at daycare and thought, “Hmm, those children are going to learn a new song today!”

I realized I’ve accepted my unexpected life. I’m comfortable, again, in my own skin. I don’t dread the “P” word (prison.) And it feels good.

Not to mention it can be VERY entertaining!

“I am biased to my show as a whole but it is still very entertaining.” (Rob Mariano)

With Change Comes…Shrek

Date: August 31, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Change is inevitable – except from a vending machine.” (Robert C. Gallagher)

Change is inevitable. The new level changed things, like disrupted Bachelor #5′s “schedule.” I saw him just three days later, instead of the usual week between dates. We went for a drive and then to a park to talk. In the middle of our conversation, he looked at me and asked, “By the way, when is your birthday?”

I replied, “August 25th.”

He didn’t respond the way I expected him to. Instead, his eyes got big and he said, “NO WAY! Did you google me or something?”

Did I google him? No! And I hadn’t even thought to. When I asked why he’d asked me such a thing, he replied, “August 25th is my birthday too!” I had known we had a lot in common. I just had no idea how much–even the same birthday! (Although mine was several years later, in case anyone hasn’t been paying attention. Lol.)

Our conversation continued. During the course of the evening, we covered a gamut of topics, including some shallow (I admit it) concerns I expressed. Bachelor #5 responded optimistically to every one of them.

I told him I thought he was too old for me. His response? “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be amazed at how 38 years old I can look with Botox and by covering the gray in my hair.”

I’d been told it is very characteristic for men to date “down” a decade when they’re single, especially after a divorce, and in my experience, that was true much of the time. Men in their 30s, dated women in their 20s. Men in their 40s, dated women in their 30s and so forth. I replied, “Well, if you look 38 years old, then you might want to date someone who is 38 years old–or even younger. You probably ought to consider that.” Bachelor #5 shook his head no and said, “I’ve found the age I want.”

So I brought up height. I told him I thought he was too short for me–that I had some really high heels I loved and wouldn’t be able to wear around him. He said, “How tall are you? I’m taller than you. Wear whatever shoes you want; I’ll be Tom Cruise, you can be Katie Holmes!” And he laughed.

I mentioned some other “issues” as well, but he had an upbeat answer for every one of them. He even told me he appreciated knowing exactly how I felt and exactly what I thought; he said he found it refreshing! (Not many men can say THAT.)

The final “issue” of the evening concerned his piano playing. We had different ideas about it. He thought it was a positive thing; I wasn’t so sure. Piano had always been my thing, I’d never shared it with any man. When I told him that, he looked at me in shock. In his experience, women enjoyed men who could play the piano (and sing), and there I was telling him it was a strike against him! He probably shook his head and thought, “I just can’t win with this woman.” But instead he said, “Never mind then! YOU can have the piano, I won’t play the piano any more. I’ll play the guitar!”

He played the guitar too?

I never knew that.

And in that moment it became clear to me. I was not just dating a grandpa, I was not spending time with simply a reformed Santa (thanks to his shave), and I was not just chatting with a very nice, patient, good man–I was dealing with Shrek! This man had layers. Every single time I was with him, I learned something new about him. And every time I did, it was something I liked. Quite a different experience from the dark and destructive revelations of 2009 that led to my divorce and unexpected life, when everything new thing I discovered was even worse than the revelation before it.

I was dating Shrek! I never expected that.

“Ogres are like onions…Onions have layers. Ogres have layers…You get it?” (“Shrek”)

I was beginning to.

An Invitation

Date: August 23, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Find me a man who’s interesting enough to have dinner with and I’ll be happy.” (Lauren Bacall)

He was a very busy man. His invitation mentioned something about an evening had opened up, the only evening for the next month that he wasn’t busy, and amazingly enough, I was free the night he asked about. I accepted his dinner invitation.

When I asked if he would pick me up or if I should meet him somewhere he told me he thought it best we meet at the restaurant. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that all of the time, I just believe it’s best to meet at the restaurant the first date,” he said.

Then he dropped the bombshell. (AFTER I’d already accepted his invitation! Lol. Think of the worries and concerns I’ve mentioned—I won’t call them issues—traceable to aging, wrinkles, and being old; now think about my opinion of facial hair.) Bachelor #5 warned me about his appearance. Due to a theater role he was playing at the time, he said he had a beard; a gray beard, “like an old grandpa.” Then he corrected himself, “Actually, I am a grandpa. But not that kind of one!”

Forty-two years old with a four-year-old, and I had agreed to a date with a grandpa–with facial hair. And it was gray!

The holidays were approaching, I joked that it was his lucky day because I loved Santa Claus! (Did I REALLY say that? I did, and it’s true.) I just never imagined dating him.

The date was on.

“All great change in America begins at the dinner table.” (Ronald Reagan)

The Spaghetti Factory, to be exact.

Fred Flintstone and The Grandpa

Date: June 23, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

I met the next bachelors, Bachelor #3 and Bachelor #4 (if they qualify as that–I’ll explain later), at a Sunday night religious meeting for singles in Utah.

I walked in the door of the church building to brave my second such meeting and was stunned when four men rushed over and introduced themselves to me in the foyer. Two asked me where I was sitting. (I hadn’t even entered the chapel yet. I didn’t have a seat.) Like a deer caught in headlights, again, I said, “I’m not sure yet. I don’t even know if I’m staying!” I left them and headed into the chapel.

A man came up to me as I walked in the door, shook my hand and introduced himself. He asked me where I was sitting. My answer hadn’t changed. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t even know if I’m staying!”

I went across the room, toward the back, and sat in the corner against the wall–trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. It worked, too, until a very loud man with a shaved head walked in. He walked past my row, glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he passed by but kept walking, then he stopped, turned around and came and sat down right in front of me! He turned around, introduced himself, and began talking to me. In fact, he turned around and talked to me through the entire prelude like we’d come together or were there as a couple, or at least knew each other! I was mortified. At a break in his conversation, I excused myself.

I went and sat on the other side of the chapel, toward the front this time, but still against the wall.

A man wandered over (Bachelor #3) shook my hand and introduced himself. He asked me what I was doing there. I replied, “Just here to hear the speaker.”

He said, “Aren’t you a little young to be here?”

I was stunned. I thought I was at the Sunday meeting for 31 years old and older. Had I gone to the wrong place? I asked, “Isn’t this for 31 years old and older?” He said yes. I said, “Then I’m at the right place.” He said, “How old are you? Look around–I’m 52 years old. You are by FAR the youngest person here. Do you have kids? What are their ages?”

When I told him I was 42 years old and had a four-year-old, he nodded his head knowingly and said, “I told you you are a little young to be here. No one here is under 50. And no one is going to want a four-year-old at this age.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t feeling like I belonged many places I went as a single, for one reason or another, and then I was being told I didn’t even belong at a singles event for my age group? What else was new?

The meeting began; our conversation ended. The good news? I was alone on the bench!

I sat and listened to the presentation. I didn’t feel like I totally belonged, but I was doing o.k. until the special musical number. A man stood and sang a song I’d never loved, but it had been sung at my mom’s funeral and had affected me every time I’d heard it since then. That night the words hit me in a whole new way. And I wondered what my parents had to be thinking about the disaster-at-times life that was now mine. Tears started rolling down my cheeks.

Not that I could stop the tears from coming, but I thought I was being very discreet about experiencing them. I wasn’t sobbing, or shaking, or anything. Just subtly wiping them away as I sat and listened to the music. And then, from out of nowhere, it happened.

Well, actually, I’m pretty sure it came from behind me.

Unexpectedly, I felt a hand from behind touch my shoulder and squeeze. And didn’t let go. I couldn’t believe it! I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t dare acknowledge it. The only thing I felt I could do was pretend it wasn’t happening!

“…It’s all just pretend. That’s what’s fun about it.” (James Spader) NOT.

Periodically, through the rest of the meeting, I felt a hand on my shoulder and a squeeze. Every time, I’d freeze (probably stiffen) and wait for it to go away! I was reminded, again, there are just some things in life you never expect to experience. That night, I got several!

When the meeting was over, I stood up to leave and the man who had been sitting behind me (I assumed he must have been the shoulder squeezer) said, “If you ever want to talk about it…” I thanked him and told him I was fine. He kindly offered to connect me with singles events more my age. I gave him my email as he requested, and headed out the door.

But before I made it to my car, an old man stopped me. Seriously old–probably pushing 70. He introduced himself as a professor at a local university, told me about himself, asked me about myself…and asked me out on a date! I NEVER saw that one coming. Thank you, Bachelor #4!

Before I could respond to Bachelor #4, a woman came by, grabbed me by the arm, marched me away and said, “Just because you’re single, DOES NOT MEAN you have to be kind to everyone. How long have you been divorced? You’ll learn. I just wanted to get you out of there. Save you.” And she walked away.

I ran into Bachelor #4 a few times after that, and every time he asked me out. Each time I got away without answering. How do you reject a grandpa? (Because I didn’t actually date him, I don’t know if he qualifies as Bachelor #4. But to honor him for his tenacity and his quest for youth, I’ve given him a number.)

That night, however, I went home my usual alone, checked my email before bed to get a jump on what was in store for me the next day, and there was a contact from Bachelor #3–telling me how nice it was to meet me, sharing more about himself, giving me a link to a singles site more my age…and asking me out!

How did I respond?

I did what I do best. I ignored it. I thanked him for the singles info and left it at that. I ran into him a lot after that, and he was always friendly. He even started to seem familiar, in a way, and I couldn’t figure out why. Until one time, I was with a man at an event, ran into Bachelor #3 and he asked a little of the history behind my association with Bachelor #3. I explained. He laughed. When I asked what was so funny, he said, “I just never pictured you dating Fred Flintstone.”

As soon as he said that, it hit me why Bachelor #3 seemed so familiar! Yabba-dabba-DOO!

Thank you, Bachelor #3.