The Advantages of Deprivation

I have been undergoing a little experiment with regards to dating, which is to not date. To not actively seek, to be content in my single-dom. I am so tired of the online thing. And I have given up trying to make eye contact with any guy in this city. Possibly, I am purposefully creating a little hedonic adaptation in my life, something I just read about over at The Happiness Project, a sort of law of diminishing returns, where you adapt to new circumstances until they become normal. You get a certain amount of time before something new becomes something old. Dating, for me has definitely fallen into that category. It has, after all, been y.e.a.r.s.

I have this theory that after a loss (divorce or death), you kind of go through a wild, animalistic stage. I think it has to do with trying to replace intimacy with sex. Eventually you realize it doesn't really work, though I have to say it sure is fun for a while. It is possible of course, that I simply got through my thirties.

What I am finding now though, is this kind of "settling in" stage. I am content with almost all aspects of my life. I am over my wild stage. It got old. And now, as Gretchen talks about, the best cure for hedonic adaptation is deprivation. I figure if I deprive myself of dating, then perhaps when something really great comes along, I will appreciate it all the more.

The odd thing is, I am finally feeling OK with being single. Before, I would moon on and on about wanting someone in my life, someone to share experiences with, someone to give me The Look. But these days I am beginning to understand why many women, once widowed, remain that way.


I get to avoid:

1. juggling of kid schedules
2. suspicious kids who don't trust anything that happens after they go to bed
3. ricocheting emotions
4. swooning over love horoscopes


Plus, I get

1. super buff by virtue of the crush on the trainer at the gym
2. to watch Grays Anatomy (or whatever girly show I want) without interruption
3. the sonicare all to myself
4. the two-person closet all to myself
5. to avoid ever having to watch a football game


Of course, if someone were to come along who could deal with my kid/widow/9-11 circumstances, liked Grays Anatomy, had his own toothbrush, and didn't like football, then perhaps I would consider giving him a drawer in my closet. Just one.

The Boys Are Back

As I reflect on what would have been my 19th wedding anniversary, I continue to wonder, What if? Of course it's impossible to imagine and yet, I still can in a way. Tonight we might have sat in a quiet restaurant somewhere nibbling sushi, or maybe we would now share in our kid's new foodie delights. Whatever, it would have been a quiet affair.

I had a taste last night of what Arron's life might have been like if the tables had been turned, had been me in the Trade Center that day. I was invited to a special viewing of the movie The Boys Are Back with (yum) Clive Owen. Its about a father who loses his wife to cancer and is left to raise their 6-year old son and eventually his 15 (or so)-year old son from a previous marriage. Cinematically (quite possibly a new word made up for my debut as a movie reviewer) it was beautiful. Set in the rolling wine country of Australia with painterly views of ocean slashed with undulating grasslands and meticulous rows of vines, the views created a mood in keeping with the subject matter. Nature charging forth in its never-ending cycles.

The various universalities of widow-dom (where are all these new words coming from?) were well represented: the anger, the drinking, the lack of housework, the comatose/angry kids, the wild abandon of routine, the doubting mother-in-law, the almost-love interest, the stressful job. My only gripe was that all this was displayed during a few short weeks of the father's grief process. But that's movies for you.

I was astounded at the young boy's (Artie) ability to show the range of emotion required for the role. He managed to capture the 6 year old's desire to pretend nothing was wrong, and then show great insight, extreme, irrational anger, finally falling apart completely by lying in a catatonic state on the floor.

Oddly, the storyline that touched me more, was that of the older son, Harry who had essentially been abandoned by his father (at the same age as Artie). It was touching to watch him deal with the loss of his parent, as though his loss was fresh. He harboured the same anger as Artie, and they seemed to bond by virtue of having lost a parent at a young age.

Of course the movie ends on a relatively happy note, presumably within the same year of the wife's death, which any bereaved parent knows is a little far-fetched, but I was happy to see a film that dealt with loss head on, and handled it with the delicacy and intricacy that loss seems to warrant.

I had stuffed my purse with tissues for this one, but surprisingly didn't use them. The film was infused with humour, mostly at the hands of young Artie, but also in the sheer abandon that Clive Owen's character learns to offset the difficult moments. It may be that I am hardened to watching others undertake their own losses, or because the main character was a man and thus was slightly removed from my own experience, but I was glad that somehow the movie was more poignant and humourous than outright sad.

I never thought I would find pleasure at a movie about loss, but strangely its good to be reminded once in a while that we are not alone. And maybe not even crazy.

Oregon Fun

It was an amazing weekend in Portland with Olivia. We seriously put a dent in my credit card, using the lack of sales tax as an excuse. It was such a rare treat spending a whole week alone with Olivia. We also did a couple of "cultural" things like going to both the Chinese and the Japanese Gardens. At the Chinese Garden we encountered a squirrel that really wasn't quite right:

The Japanese garden in particular blew me away and now I am all inspired to bonzai my Vashon trees and create entire hillsides of nothing but moss. And of course a tiny trickling creek with little waterfalls and perfect little seating nooks and pagotas are a must! OK, gotta stop thinking about the garden.

We also had some pretty terrific food. Olivia is now at an age where she appreciates good food. Our most memorable dinner was in the Nob Hill area at a restaurant called 23 Hoyt. The surroundings were lively on a Saturday night and the prawn spaghetti was amazing. So much so, we actually took the leftovers back to the hotel and ate them the next night for a snack.

The next night we ate at the restaurant next to the Ace Hotel, a funky place called Clyde Common. And true to its name, it had huge tables where you were sat together with others. Olivia seemed rather horrified when we were seated, squished between a family with a baby and two girls talking dirty. I managed to get us moved to larger table and she relaxed. The food was good, but the portions quite tiny (which is why we were happy for the previous night's leftovers).

Our final night was at Serrato also in Nob Hill (our favorite area, so we got quite adept at taking the streetcar there and back). It was good (I had a duck confit risotto), but paled next to Hoyt 23. Plus we were sort of terrorized by an alarmingly large bug in the window beside us. We had brunch with fellow widow blogger Candace and her daughter Anna and got to know her a little better. Although we had met in San Diego, it perhaps wasn't the most conducive to getting to know someone, what with all the Margaritas and all.

Next stop was Timberline Lodge where we were staying the night before picking Carter up from camp. We took a meandering drive along the Columbia Gorge where Olivia kept rolling her eyes at me every time I made her get out of the car to see yet another waterfall. But god, it was so beautiful. Very Lord of the Rings. I actually wished I hiked! And then the car began climbing higher and higher and although we could see our destination in the distance, it didn't seem possible that we would wind up being so close. Mt. Hood was beautiful in a stark, moon-like way. Being up so high above the treeline, the gravel was a purple-gray and sprinkled here and there with gorgeous purple wild flowers. The lodge itself was all gigantic timbers worn smooth by all the hands. Each banister was carved into a different animal, eagle, owl, otter, etc. Our room was cozy (read tiny, but very sweet and wood panelled). We headed for the pool, which at first was kind of chilly with the wind coming off the mountain. But eventually we donned our suits and found refuge in the heated pool.

As I was bobbing in there with Olivia, a big barreled-chested guy with a mustache introduced himself as Jeff. I had seen him checking us out, but only later did I learn that he was actually checking me out. We chatted in the hot tub before getting too hot and jumping back into the pool. He was loud in that American sort of way. I learned he was from MA, owned a ranch, did rodeos, and was along with a group of his daughter's as a sometimes downhill race coach. He invited me to have a beer with him, and he confessed his attraction. It's been a long time since that has happened!

When I got back to the pool after the beer, there was another dad there, and he was making some serious eye contact in the hot tub. I couldn't believe it. In a matter of an hour, I had two guys flirting with me! After four years in Seattle, where I may as well be invisible. What is that about? This dad was seriously cute and I was secretly hoping he was single, despite being from Rhode Island.

Later that night, after Olivia and I had dinner, Jeff found me again and offered to buy me a drink. Although he wasn't really my type, plus the fact that he was married, I couldn't help but be flattered. In Seattle, a guy barely gives you a sideways glance, much less talks to you or admires. The cute dad was also at the bar, and he and Jeff talked about ski racing and I found out that cute dad was also married. Jeff and I chatted some more. I didn't ask why a man married for 30 odd years was buying me wine. Well, actually I did ask about his marriage which he said was fine. But he was flirting. Big time. And for once I didn't feel invisible. I miss east coast men.

And then it was time to pick up Carter from Camp. He looked happy and relaxed, nothing like the sobbing wreck that had called me 17 times a day, just a few short days before. He had made it, and perhaps it was just relief, but I think it was possible that he might have even had a good time.

He wasn't the only one.

Dating with Kids

I seem to be struggling with the dating-with-kids thing. I am lucky that my almost 14 year old is willing to babysit my 9 year old while I am out for dinner. But last night she got freaked out and started texting me, and I had to come home. Yesterday, I was driving with my kids in the car and I saw him on the street. I yelled and he saw me, waving like a lunatic, so I pulled the car over before even really thinking about it. And then, there I was awkwardly having to introduce him to my kids, something I vowed I wouldn't do until it was clear that I wasn't competing with others, and there was something more serious between us, which might never come. So is it possible to be dating where all it amounts to is dinner once a week? The whole thing seems doomed. What do you do, when you want to date, invest time to see where something might lead, but don't have the luxury of an ex to pass your kids off on occasionally?

Happy Cupid Day

I have spent the day today with my son, starting with him making fried eggs on toast for me in bed, and later on a 5 mile bike ride around a park. Its actually a sunny day in Seattle today. A perfect day. This idea of intuition (as I mused upon in my last post) seems to be in other realms of the blogisphere. Perhaps its cupid's influence. This morning, one of the blogs I follow Our Best Version posted about it. How do you know when you are really in love? Of course the answer is just that you know. Intuition. I have a very good male friend whom I adore very much, but with whom I am not in love. When we initially met four years ago, it felt like love. We were both so taken off guard by our connection, but gradually it turned to friendship as these things sometimes do. But every year or so, the friendship becomes something more, at least for him. We get closer, he comes into our lives more and I can't deny that it is nice. I have someone to talk to, the kids adore him, we laugh together and have deep talks. As a single mother, life is 1000x easier when there is another person in the equation. For a while we prance along in this friendship mode, until I begin to realize that for him its something much more. But I am not in love with him. I had to tell him recently that I am not “the one” for him. He deserves to be with someone who loves him. Of course he is sad and insists that I am dwelling in my loss, that I won't ever allow anyone to meet the impossible standard of my dead husband. Sometimes I wonder if that is true. Arron has very large shoes to fill, and frankly, I am not willing to compromise. Arron and I had a good fit, something I don't quite have with my friend. He reads it as not being as good as Arron, but it is really about the fit. I deserve to be loved and to love as I once did. I know it won't be exactly the same, but I think being in love is a pretty basic foundation. But perhaps my friend is right and as a result of my unwillingness to compromise on this, I cannot possibly find the love that I seek. To be sure, dating lately has been abysmal. But I can't help resenting people who tell me that I am not over Arron or that I am stuck in my loss. I am convinced that if the right person walked into my life, I would be fully present. Arron would find a tidy place in our mutual lives. The difficulty for me in a new relationship, would be to take things slow enough, really get to know the person long enough to get past infatuation and lust, and to let intuition to properly kick in so that I could recognize real love. I also talked with my sister who told me about a divorced friend of hers who insists that she cannot possibly date with children. This made more sense that the stuck-in-my-grief theory. Time is so limited. My son had a massive blowout the other night trying to convince me that Arron wasn't really dead, just lost. He is desperate to have his daddy back. And he was only 2 when Arron died and has no memory of him. He is horrified by the idea of my dating, I suspect because if I date, then the possibly of daddy coming back will be extinguished. So yea, dating with grieving kids is hairy. My essay about another man I dated a few years ago, continues to languish, because I haven't figured out the point of the essay. Holding out for real love, stuck in grief, dating with kids, and ignoring intuition are all possible conclusions. With this other guy I convinced myself that he was something he was not. I ignored my intuition in lieu of my loneliness, and the whole thing ended badly. Two years later I am still recovering, but determined not to ignore my intuition again. It has lost me a friend (for now anyway), but it is not something I will compromise again. My intuition tells me that for now, breakfast in bed and a bike ride around the park are what comprise the perfect Cupid Day.