On love deferred

The first time I had my furnace serviced I wondered if would I fall in love.

A friend of mine’s ex-fiancé, shortly after their breakup, had some plumbing issues and so called in a plumber; her pipes fixed, they married soon after. She teaches Rhetoric, and he fixes valves. She also seems to like Sangria morning, noon and night, but that’s another story.

Greg is both my heating AND cooling man; never have been much of a swinger. After my air stopped working (I must note that I’m not an air person, fire sign ya know, but when the air stops moving, I’m grateful that I am able to afford –and it is afford-to make it move.) Greg arrived. He quickly inquired about my filter, and asked me why I hadn’t changed it. I responded that I thought that the filter was for heating not for cooling. Greg told me the furnace was for both heating and cooling. With a name like furnace (emphasis on fur) it cools? I don’t get it.

Here is what I know about Greg. He has a lead foot. He goes up north during hunting season, but doesn’t really hunt, but still hangs out with guys, He brings his own bottled water to drink. He laughed, not when I didn’t know where the Fuse Box was, nor when I used a watering can in an attempt to clean out the compressor, but when I joked, “I really probably shouldn’t own a house”. He also likes flowers and thinks my Gerber Daisies will grow, but I really have to water and water and water them. Greg is fire, air and water. And married.

Love did not arrive with the Brinks man, UPS guy, the Plumber (he scratched the porcelain), Comcast (think he had a tether), Paper Boy (though..), or the Jehovah’s Witness (I informed him that unless he paid his association fee he would have to proselytize elsewhere). mmph.

Love has just not arrived at my door, or around the corner or even when I sleep. Some days, like Sundays after I read the New York Times’ Weddings Pages attempting to decipher the many paths towards love, unity and equality, I become sanguine. Melancholy. Resolved that love is my dream deferred. Love-capital L, I mean. Adding to this, my second-to-the-last girlfriend of Divorced parents, recently married. Granted it was to an Israeli and he’s really tall, but still.
The scarlet letter, “D”- children of divorce-their either the first to love or the last.

I love chance. I love constructing meaning where there is probably none. Yesterday, I made up a game at a store which was selling ol’ school CD’s. I closed my eyes, picked a random CD, and announced, that ‘..this is my life’s meaning today!'
My first CD – New Flame
My second CD – Stella Got her Groove Back, the Soundtrack

You can’t make this shit up.

Mary, friend, x-student, having recently broken up with her girlfriend, picked up ‘Tricky’.

Part of my struggle is that when I feel a flutter, I just want to fly (particularly when it’s hot and I’m heated, and the air isn’t moving).

What to do with the sparks…the flutters? A most recent flutter, a friend of a friend, whom I had hung out with, and even somewhat conversed with prior, was telling me the origin of his name. His name means, sandalwood, and what immediately passed through my mind, was, ‘Well if we ever went out I think it would be cool to find him something that is sandalwood”. Perhaps, I have been watching too many TLC Dating Stories, where they recommend bringing the gift to the first date, true, true. But I’d like to believe that the above was a moment to capture. To satiate on a little; the subconscious swimming to the surface for breath.