dancing with more than one partner.

I have often said that I was born in the wrong era. Old-fashioned is what I am. I still believe in courting, although I will admit to giving flowers to all genders of people. I hold doors open and like them opened for me. I still dress up for dates, even if subtly. Shaking hands is something we should all be good at and I love when a meeting starts with a satisfying one, and ends on a strong one as well.

But one characteristic separating me from many of my Bay Arean peers is that I am a loyal serial-monogamist. And I don't merely mean in romance. Dancing with more than one partner feels like an impossibly heavy juggling ball. I can do it, but it's uncomfortable.

And, like attempting to keep more than one baseball made of lead up in the air, above my head, out of sight, it's not only an uncomfortable proposition, but it feels like a duplicitous one.

Of course we all have to do it sometimes, though. Not everyone can know all, right?

I used to tell my friend azo all the time that I was invisible. He always corrected me, like the exceptional little editor that he is, saying gently, "No. The word you mean is transparent."

Suffice to say you can say you didn't hear it here first. Because there was nothing to hear. Or see.

Because according to the way it looks on the outside my life is interminably boring: I'm barely working, almost never baking, staying close to home, being courted by no one I've ever met in person, eating only at my favorite joints, dating no one, selling the odd vegetable and fruit at the Berkeley Farmers' Market and enjoying the perfect weather. O, and trying to wrap my head around *Slow Food Nation.

This summer will be marked by neither spike, drought, nor gape; but rather tagged with a feeling like one might have if one found oneself in a desert with a broken compass and only the wind to speak or listen to. I've been advised to listen to the silence and it is from there the answer will come.

Until then, find me on the dancefloor, looking hopefully down a long line of dance partners, waltzing with those stepping forth, song after song; but gazing longingly into each person's eyes, silently asking the question my outmoded self sounds like a faraway foghorn in deep night, are you the one?

*p.s. This news just in: I will be creating the dessert for Chef Leif Hedendal & his Slow Dinner with Serpentine & The SF Green Schoolyard Alliance.

Comments

[yankee]

You have a way with words, great post! As hard as it can be- those times in the desert can be the most insightful, especially when the compass isn't working.

Congrats, on the slow nation dessert.

[Aran]

I think those are great qualities to have actually... it would even make the world a more pleasant place if we all shared that with you. "transparent", i like that...

[Athen]

This summer will be marked by neither spike, drought, nor gape; but rather tagged with a feeling like one might have if one found oneself in a desert with a broken compass and only the wind to speak or listen to. I've been advised to listen to the silence and it is from there the answer will come.

The editor in me is in love with this paragraph. The rest of me simply empathizes (and sympathizes too).

[Susan]

It's reading powerful pieces like this that make me even more regretful I didn't have time to spend with you at the BlogHer conference.

[Jessica]

I'm with you 100%! Long live the era of courting! I wouldnt mind the fancy dresses ;)

[Lovebabz]

Hello!

You know I didn't realize that what I wanted was to be courted. Not until I read your post that I got it in my heart. I want to be courted and I am going to put that in a post...tomorrow for True Love Tuesday.

You are a GEM! Hold on to that!

[Emily]

I can relate to this post as well. Where does one go to be courted and to court? If you have figured this out let me know?