odds and ends

We had an earthquake early this morning.

Now, to people who really have earthquakes, like in California, this one was maybe an earth-baby-hiccup. But around here it's rather significant, because, well, we just don't have them. The earth stays put.

I seem to be the only person around here who felt it. It woke me from a sound sleep, adrenaline shot through my body like electricity, I was sure someone had just landed on my bed and I was thinking desperately how hard it would be to get to Harriet...and then it registered that my bed was shaking, it felt much like some giant person had grabbed up the posts at the foot of my bed and was rocking it around, and I heard all the glass clinking and then I relaxed and thought, Oh. Earthquake.

So, after my initial terror had subsided, I tried to go back to sleep, but of course I couldn't, being shoved around as I was. And then my response turned to annoyance. I was annoyed with the earthquake. I was trying to sleep, for crying out loud. And here it was 5:30 in the morning and I had to get up soon! BLAST you, earthquake!

Needless to say I am quite tired today, having turned in rather later than usual last night for no discernable reason. I was reading The Time Traveler's Wife and didn't feel like putting it down.

[Side note: This spell check doesn't recognize "discernable"; it wants me to spell it "discernible." Fortunately, thanks to online dictionaries -- because I was very disturbed by this; "discernible" didn't LOOK right -- I discovered that my way is also correct. Maybe it's British? This is what comes of reading so many British novels as a child. I learned to spell and write well by reading. You are what you eat. Also my vocabulary is rather better than spell check's, again because I read and it doesn't.]

In celebration of spring I decided to dress up for work today -- flirty, flouncy brown skirt, matching brown-lace-edged brown camisole, lightweight burnt orange shrug (that ties just under the chest -- very cute, very slimming), strappy hemp sandals, big bronze bangly jewelry, makeup.

So of course I was asked out by yet another man old enough to be my father.

This gentleman, though, I actually like -- I won't go out with him, but he's harmless and sweet and has lived something of a rough life and seems to be mellow and tired and worn down by his years. He reminds me of Smoky Lonesome from Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe -- quiet and hard-luck and devoted. So I tried to let him down gently. I know, I know, guys need straightforward direct answers or they'll be encouraged, but I couldn't be mean to him. He's kind of frail in spirit, a little broken (though still a man -- he did ask, after all). So I finagled my way out of it, hopefully without hurting his feelings.

Auuggggh. I need to get out more, be seen more. These older men (and when I say older, I do mean old enough to be my father -- in their fifties or higher -- which isn't old when I think about old, but it's old when I'm considering match qualities) seem to appreciate a little more what they see -- a fresh, pretty young woman who will keep a fine home. The men my age tend to be busy with other concerns...and, again, I don't get out much, and I've just dated the wrong guys, the kind that I generalize about and piss off decent men. So -- sorry, decent men; my stereotypes stem from my consistent disappointment in the dating arena. I haven't met you yet, or I already know you but you don't live here.

Sometimes this Old Man Fan Club discourages me -- I really hate hurting people's feelings, and I know how hard it is for most guys to approach a girl, and my gosh, can't I attract someone who didn't graduate high school the year I learned to walk? -- but sometimes it's encouraging too. Like the proprietor of the inn we stayed at in the Caymans for my sister's wedding. He was married, French, courtly, but very very taken with me, gave my father lavish compliments about me, and toward the end of the evening (it was one of those dinners available to all the inn guests, to enjoy good food outside on a tropical beach night and socialize, and so he was of course the host) he bowed to me and said to my dad, "Your other daughter, I know she is getting married. But my money is on this one."

I repeat that to myself, like a mantra, from time to time.