I've said it a lot, thought it many more times. "He's going to have to come to my door..." Dating isn't my thing. Knowing I'll be married and have babies - yeah, that's my thing. How we will meet, get together, etc.? He'll find me. I'll find him. This is how I think.
Well, a man knocked on my door this week.
How about that? And not to sell me steak or magazines or a political candidate. He saw me in my yard - he lives down the street - and wanted to talk to me. So, with his name written on a scrap of paper, along with his phone number and e-mail address, he knocked on my door. He seemed a little nervous...talked fast. Maybe he talks fast all the time. Anyhow, he was endearing. Suggested that we might go to Starbuck's and get a cup of coffee. I told him I'd like that.
I hope we go get some 'joe.
No matter what, I have the very delicious experience of a man coming to my door to ask me on a date. It happens. To me. It happens. I'm not crazy!
Thank you for the gift of a glimpse. Of a bit of magic. Of tending my garden and seeing beauty grow. My inside garden and my outside garden. Thank you, Creator of Me. Creator of All That Is.
Loving you tonight. Your affection is over the top. Your gestures are noted and received and embraced and celebrated. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for your delicious, dizzying and delightful, wirly-twirly love.
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