The divorce process is moving along, now, and I am trying to get past the whirlwind romance with the tall, handsome guy who decided he wasn’t interested, after-all.  Who could blame him?  I had to have met him under some of the most bizarre circumstances possible; what with the psycho, suddenly bi-sexual husband who was conducting an on-line search for hook-ups with anything with a pulse…. and there’s a chance that the Ex didn’t even care about that.   So, I don’t blame the guy in the least.  I can see that the whole situation might have been too much to swallow and besides, he simply may not have been looking for a long-term attachment to me, in any case.

But, the wallowing in the dating pool continues and it is more or less a comedy of errors.  I’ve signed up on a few singles websites and I am astonished at how many married men are out there looking for an affair.  I find I have to stipulate that I am looking for a SINGLE, STRAIGHT MALE.  I see that a lot of men are either liars or have delusions about themselves.  Not that I care a whole lot about height or weight, because – what the heck – I am 5 foot 1 and not exactly skinny, but there were many guys who would claim to be six foot tall who were only 5 or 6 inches taller than I am, at most.  They all claimed to be ‘in good shape’ but were in various stages of middle-aged spread, including the one who assured me that he was in “athletic” condition and was at least 100 pounds over-weight.  Maybe the athletics he had in mind was Sumo Wrestling.   Do these people not have scales, tape measures or mirrors?    Anyway, dating is, if nothing else, interesting.  I meet some new guys, have some fun…. just flirting and none of them compare to the tall, handsome guy into whose arms I first fell.

I’m still working on whipping myself into shape.  I had lost my mother to a long and stressful illness 8 months before my marriage fell apart, and handled all her funeral arrangements and now was dealing with the awful discoveries about my soon-to-be ex-husband, remaking my life and divorce, and the stress was making my hair fall out.  So, I started using Minoxidil to stem the molt and I’m hoping my hair will all return one day, but the literature with the medication says it takes a year to see full results.  Okay, I have a year…. just please let my hair grow back!  I don’t need to be bald on top of everything else that’s going on!

My dog Sammy and I go for our daily morning hike in the forest behind our Little Apartment on the Pond and there’s something healing about walking up and down the foot-worn paths; listening to the birds, the wind whispering through the trees and stippling the waters of the woodland ponds we pass by.  Nature is timeless and cares not a bit for our woes, it is easy to forget them when I am under her spell.  The warmth of the golden sun shine dapples the earth, the early morning dew  is on the leaves, the profusion of colorful wildflowers nod pleasantly at us in greeting and we catch a fleeting glimpse of a deer as it dashes away to another secluded spot where it may graze uninterrupted by our presence; it all salves the soul and my wounded heart.   During the evening, we walk the quiet streets of our little neighborhood, past the fish shanty, past the few businesses, past the miniature horse farm where their ducks often spill into the road to splash in the puddles after a rain storm, up the hill, past the pond, down the dirt road, past another small homestead with chickens, fruit trees and a huge garden, and circle back home again.  Sometimes we see wild turkeys, sometimes we see a coyote who will turn and casually watch us from a safe distance with his yellow stare.

Sammy on the trails

My days are blissfully quiet.  I telecommute from home for work, tappity-tapping on my computer, submitting my articles and items; I babysit grandchildren occasionally and work in my garden, which has taken on a life of it’s own.  The plants grow lush and produce wonderful vegetables and fruit!  I am eating from it at every meal but breakfast and giving away some of the extra, too!  I wish I had more time to devote to my beloved gardens, but there’s always next year to do a better job with the planning and maintenance.    The evenings are also generally quiet, too; I am gathered with my pets in our cozy home; breezes stir the wind chimes to playing a lovely melody, sometimes joined by the haunting howling and yapping of the coyotes.  The TV is still silenced.  I can’t bare to watch it, yet.  Maybe by this winter when the snows are drifting up against the house and I am caught up on my work and ready to begin a knitting project I will ready to watch TV, again, but in the mean time it is simply a reminder of the wretched husband who had pulled the wool over my eyes for so many years.   As time goes by the pain will gradually ebb away, and I’m sure that I’ll get a hankering to watch a movie while I knit a sweater or scarf one of these days.  Yes, at some point, this will be all behind me.

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