Take no prisoners

I don't suppose it's appropriate to disclose the details of recent conversations in a blog. I want to, but I can't. So without the details, imagine that a certain girl is talking to a certain guy. Said guy admits to having an account on match.com. This weirds girl out.

The end.

I have a certain concern, in this digital age, that romance is dying a silent death. Back in the days when my grandparents were hooking up - 65 years ago - it was simple. I heard the two of them tell their story again around the dinner table a few nights ago, and was struck by the beauty of it all.

They were 28 and 24 when they got married in 1941. She saw him when she was in 8th grade, and said, "That's the man I'm going to marry." Years later, that's what happened. But it was a matter of proximity, and communication, that allowed them to end up where they did - it was a slow process over that ten year period. When he was away at college, she was home. When she was away, he was back working on the ranch. When she wrote him from her junior college to invite him to their dance, he wrote back and said, "No, thanks, but have a good time." (He explains that he didn't have any dress shoes, and didn't want to embarrass her. She, however, thinks he just didn't want to go.)

Their first date was to the Wheeler County Fair (somewhere in Iowa, or Nebraska, or something) where Grandma recalls she was entertained by Grandpa's unfruitful attempts to beat the strongman test where you hit the thing to try to ring the bell at the top...you know the one. Rigged, I'd say. Anyway, that was the beginning of what turned into an awesome adventure of life together. They've been to every continent, taught at colleges, lived in South America, been poor, been rich, raised two kids, six grandkids, and 4 great grandkids. And the quote I'll never forget from Grandpa on reflecting over it all: "We've been very fortunate...it couldn't have been better."

So now there's match.com. How sad. I don't want a story that starts with blind emailing, profile views, carefully planned words and timing. I'd rather have the guy with the wrong shoes who takes me to the fair so I can watch him show off. Something about all that controlled communication disturbs me...like we've forgotten how to just live and enjoy the people that come our way. I think there's such a thing as trying too hard.

Nothing against the Guy to which I referred. He's a good guy who should be with someone real, and I just worry that it'll never happen with ones anticipation being linked to an inbox.

Even so, I liked You've Got Mail.

Prodigy?

On Sunday, my 11 year old niece will perform her first solo French horn concerto with the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra, on one of their local "orKIDStra" concerts. I just thought that was interesting.

11.

And she sounds amazing. And I don't throw that word around lightly - especially with horn players. I mean, the potential for sounding like a sick cow is astronomical. And she's beating those odds with her crazy little ambusher.

Can't wait to see this concert...