betaphilings

I hear myself think

about getting in sync

with a bold and wondrous

mountain.

You are that mountain,

solid and stable.

You change less when

winds of change blow.

When the Sidhe ride near,

your skies remain clear.

Fierce winds barely

ripple your snow.

Mountain, my dear,

I am the river below,

restless and inconstant.

When the Sidhe ride near,

their horses drink here.

My fluid edge restores them.

Sweet grass abounds

on these plentiful grounds.

The Sidhe rest here beside me.

Lord of the mountain,

high and remote,

your vigilance commands us.

Ernie and I were talking about philosophy and religion as we often do, subjects that increasingly seem to be the province of elder thought. We had just noted the Catholic Church’s dearth of saints in modern times when Ernie said, “You don’t hear anything about miracles anymore either.” I felt my instinct throwing up red flags but couldn’t find the words to voice an objection. Now that I’ve thought about it, I realize that the way Ernie and I met was itself a miracle. “Coincidence” just doesn’t feel like the right word.

Here’s what happened. I’d been on the single sites for five or six years, having lost my husband more than a decade prior. In all that time, I’d never made a single “magical” connection with an eligible man. I knew in my heart that the right man for me was out there and I would likely find him on a singles site. The timing and logistics were long since turned over to the cosmos.

On January 24, 2008 a box popped up out of nowhere for a singles site called Mate 1. I clicked on it rather perfunctorily and filled out only the bare minimum to set up a profile. In browsing for a photo, because my photos are everywhere, the only thing I could find was a 2004 shot of me gleeming in the parking lot of the Comedy Club after a night of cocktails and laughter with friends and family. It wasn’t that different from how I look.

That same day I got two responses. Ernie’s was the second. His profile heading read “Low Maintenance.” His location read “The Woodlands,” which happens to be, according to my globe-trotting son, “the only place I would live if I had to live in Texas.” The picture was of a man my age with a thin face and full head of hair. He was college educated and made a lot of money. I responded to his greeting, and he wrote back the next day.

Then it was Saturday, January 26 — Ernie’s 59th birthday — and I didn’t hear from him. But the next day I did. He asked for my email address, and I sent it, only the program deleted the dot com part. He asked for the address again, and again the program interferred. So I sent him my phone number instead, and thus began the dialogue that has continued to this day.

Where’s the miracle? Well, it’s this. After I sent my phone number to Ernie, Mate 1 deleted my profile. When I tried to log in, a mysterious box popped up saying, “Your profile has been deleted because you reported spam.” No, I didn’t! But that’s okay. I got the message: You needn’t look any further; this is the right man for you.

Isn’t it always a miracle when two people make a real connection? I think it is, and I am grateful for the ether miracle that sent Ernie to me and prevented our correspondence via email and gave him my phone number and then deleted my profile. I get it, God, and I thank you.

UPDATE>>>>I wrote this piece almost a year ago. Looking at it now, I see the unmistakable markers of new romance — hope, excitement, giddiness. Unfortunately, my great hopes for this relationship never fleshed out.  After sixteen months together, we have parted company. Too bad.