I awake each morning with the alarm at 4:00 AM. At the same time, regular as clockwork, a rooster crows from somewhere in a distant field behind my house. I love this hour of the morning, before the sunrise, when most of the world is still sleeping.This is usually my morning ritual: shower and shave; dress; pack a bagged lunch for work; make coffee; meditate for about half an hour; brush my teeth; then out the door to work at the hospital.
Prior to all of that, however, I indulge in a smaller but not insignificant ritual. Upon waking I walk to the living room and spend a few moments contemplating a portrait of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman that hangs there. It is a sepia toned still from Casablanca. In it, a smiling Ingrid Bergman sits cradled in Bogart's embrace, her head upon his chest, his lips barely grazing her brow.
The picture holds special significance for me, not because it is a scene captured from one of my favorite films, but because its presentation to me marks the exact moment that I fell in love with Shirley Williams. Equally important, it illustrates one of the reasons why I fell in love with her and why my love grows every day.
I met Shirley on a blind date arranged by our mutual friend, Suzi Tuzinski (http://suzituzi.blogspot.com/). Including this one, I have been on exactly two blind dates in my 45 years, and the first was an unmitigated disaster. Needless to say I was less than hopeful of a pleasant outcome. My philosophy going into this thing was, "Have no expectations. But you have been shut in, alone, for far too long, Gary. It will do you good to get out and have a little fun. The worst thing that can happen is that you come away from this having made a new friend."
On January 24th, 2010, we were to meet, along with Suzi and her husband Andy, at Dugan's Pub in Luzerne. Casual atmosphere, drinks, conversation. Very light. No pressure. I had never been to the pub, but I later learned that Shirley, Suzi, and Andy were old friends of the owner; this afforded Shirley a slight degree of comfort (and security) that I lacked. I briefly considered backing out (so did she I later learned), but I had given my word that I would be there. Both of us were coming out of painful breakups of long-term relationships, and neither of us wanted to be hurt again. Neither of us was thrilled with the prospect of re-entering the dating scene in our mid-40s. All of my fears were allayed the moment Shirley walked into the room.
Prior to the date, when Suzi first suggested that she might have a friend that she would like me to meet, I had asked what she was like. "She is petite, blonde, great personality .. she looks like a Dallas Cowboy's cheerleader."
Suzi's description, while accurate fell short. Shirley was absolutely radiant in a black sweater and Tommy Hilfiger jeans; a halo of blonde curls framed an angelic face and a smile so brilliant it could have come from a toothpaste ad. More though, I was drawn to her eyes, the color of dark, sweet chocolate.
My jaw was, I am quite sure, literally hanging open. At just over five feet tall, she could have knocked me over with a feather. I know I must have introduced myself because she shook my hand and responded, "Hello, Gary. I am Shirley. It's nice to meet you", but, honestly, I cannot recall actually saying anything; in my mind all that registered was meaningless gibberish ... "buhbuhbuhbuh."
Dinner was a blur of laughter, nerves, and conversation. Afterward we all said our good-byes; Shirley and I exchanged a few pleasantries, commented how nice it was to meet each each other, said good-night and headed to our cars. But as I unlocked my door, I hesitated. Thoughts began to churn; I had had a good time getting to know Shirley; she was not only beautiful, she was intelligent, fascinating, funny, and a genuinely nice person.; neither of us was currently involved with anyone. "Why not?" I thought. "What have you got to lose?" So I screwed up the courage and approached her as she was getting into her car. "Look," I said, all dry-mouthed and nervous as hell. "I really enjoyed meeting you. But I have been out of the game for so long I don't even know how it's played anymore, so I'll come right out and ask: could I call you sometime?"
"Yes," she said. "Or email." I laughed a bit at that, and email it was. Email was safe; one could make contact at one's own leisure, without pressure or immediacy and still maintain a comfortable distance ... perfect for two wounded hearts.
I bid her goodnight, attempting an awkward hug. She responded with a slight, non-committal "lean-in" and the date was over.
That was January. A month or two of email exchanges in which we asked and answered dozens of "getting to know you" questions about each other were followed by phone calls (although it did take her FOREVER to add my number to her contact list), then, finally, an honest-to-goodnes, face-to-face date.
As I now stand in my living room, looking at Bogey's Rick Blaine embracing Bergman's Ilsa Laszlo, I am struck by the changes in our lives and the depths of emotions that have developed over these last seven months. It has been only three or four months since I first said "I love you" to Shirley, words I never thought would ever pass my lips again.
The portrait of Bogart and Bergman came about as a result of a conversation that was mostly small-talk (or so I thought) ... in fact, I don't even recall if we were specifically talking about favorite movies. It was a moment in passing. Weeks later, Shirley came to my apartment for dinner. She said she had a surprise for me, and the moment she pulled the picture from the bag I felt something deep inside of me ... shift. I was stunned. She had picked up and acted on one small fragment of a conversation that I had dismissed as insignificant.
She had listened to me.
More important, she had heard.
With that realization, at that exact moment, I fell. My heart filled and I fell completely in love with Shirley May Williams. Each day, I continue to fall a little further.
Every morning I spend a quiet moment with Rick and Ilsa, honoring that moment, loving Shirley.
"Here's looking at you, kid."
Prior to all of that, however, I indulge in a smaller but not insignificant ritual. Upon waking I walk to the living room and spend a few moments contemplating a portrait of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman that hangs there. It is a sepia toned still from Casablanca. In it, a smiling Ingrid Bergman sits cradled in Bogart's embrace, her head upon his chest, his lips barely grazing her brow.
The picture holds special significance for me, not because it is a scene captured from one of my favorite films, but because its presentation to me marks the exact moment that I fell in love with Shirley Williams. Equally important, it illustrates one of the reasons why I fell in love with her and why my love grows every day.
I met Shirley on a blind date arranged by our mutual friend, Suzi Tuzinski (http://suzituzi.blogspot.com/). Including this one, I have been on exactly two blind dates in my 45 years, and the first was an unmitigated disaster. Needless to say I was less than hopeful of a pleasant outcome. My philosophy going into this thing was, "Have no expectations. But you have been shut in, alone, for far too long, Gary. It will do you good to get out and have a little fun. The worst thing that can happen is that you come away from this having made a new friend."
On January 24th, 2010, we were to meet, along with Suzi and her husband Andy, at Dugan's Pub in Luzerne. Casual atmosphere, drinks, conversation. Very light. No pressure. I had never been to the pub, but I later learned that Shirley, Suzi, and Andy were old friends of the owner; this afforded Shirley a slight degree of comfort (and security) that I lacked. I briefly considered backing out (so did she I later learned), but I had given my word that I would be there. Both of us were coming out of painful breakups of long-term relationships, and neither of us wanted to be hurt again. Neither of us was thrilled with the prospect of re-entering the dating scene in our mid-40s. All of my fears were allayed the moment Shirley walked into the room.
Prior to the date, when Suzi first suggested that she might have a friend that she would like me to meet, I had asked what she was like. "She is petite, blonde, great personality .. she looks like a Dallas Cowboy's cheerleader."
Suzi's description, while accurate fell short. Shirley was absolutely radiant in a black sweater and Tommy Hilfiger jeans; a halo of blonde curls framed an angelic face and a smile so brilliant it could have come from a toothpaste ad. More though, I was drawn to her eyes, the color of dark, sweet chocolate.
My jaw was, I am quite sure, literally hanging open. At just over five feet tall, she could have knocked me over with a feather. I know I must have introduced myself because she shook my hand and responded, "Hello, Gary. I am Shirley. It's nice to meet you", but, honestly, I cannot recall actually saying anything; in my mind all that registered was meaningless gibberish ... "buhbuhbuhbuh."
Dinner was a blur of laughter, nerves, and conversation. Afterward we all said our good-byes; Shirley and I exchanged a few pleasantries, commented how nice it was to meet each each other, said good-night and headed to our cars. But as I unlocked my door, I hesitated. Thoughts began to churn; I had had a good time getting to know Shirley; she was not only beautiful, she was intelligent, fascinating, funny, and a genuinely nice person.; neither of us was currently involved with anyone. "Why not?" I thought. "What have you got to lose?" So I screwed up the courage and approached her as she was getting into her car. "Look," I said, all dry-mouthed and nervous as hell. "I really enjoyed meeting you. But I have been out of the game for so long I don't even know how it's played anymore, so I'll come right out and ask: could I call you sometime?"
"Yes," she said. "Or email." I laughed a bit at that, and email it was. Email was safe; one could make contact at one's own leisure, without pressure or immediacy and still maintain a comfortable distance ... perfect for two wounded hearts.
I bid her goodnight, attempting an awkward hug. She responded with a slight, non-committal "lean-in" and the date was over.
That was January. A month or two of email exchanges in which we asked and answered dozens of "getting to know you" questions about each other were followed by phone calls (although it did take her FOREVER to add my number to her contact list), then, finally, an honest-to-goodnes, face-to-face date.
As I now stand in my living room, looking at Bogey's Rick Blaine embracing Bergman's Ilsa Laszlo, I am struck by the changes in our lives and the depths of emotions that have developed over these last seven months. It has been only three or four months since I first said "I love you" to Shirley, words I never thought would ever pass my lips again.
The portrait of Bogart and Bergman came about as a result of a conversation that was mostly small-talk (or so I thought) ... in fact, I don't even recall if we were specifically talking about favorite movies. It was a moment in passing. Weeks later, Shirley came to my apartment for dinner. She said she had a surprise for me, and the moment she pulled the picture from the bag I felt something deep inside of me ... shift. I was stunned. She had picked up and acted on one small fragment of a conversation that I had dismissed as insignificant.
She had listened to me.
More important, she had heard.
With that realization, at that exact moment, I fell. My heart filled and I fell completely in love with Shirley May Williams. Each day, I continue to fall a little further.
Every morning I spend a quiet moment with Rick and Ilsa, honoring that moment, loving Shirley.
"Here's looking at you, kid."
