men of a certain age

I recently wrote a response to a personal ad I happeded upon while surfing CL for another reason. I mimicked his writing style (called Plan B) to describe myself and my imagined future. It was a fun exercise that resulted in the opposite of the intended effect. Prior to this exercise (after 1 year on an internet dating site) I took myself off the market; this persoanl ad reminded me why.

I come across men of a certain age (49+) who, either never married or divorced without children, are looking for an ideal marriage with a sexy, intelligent, stable woman who will bare them 2 or more children. Granted, there are exceptions, but what woman with all the sophistication and sensibility of the one described below will either be under 40 or 40+ and still be interested in pregnancy? Why do I find it desirable and impressive when single dads put themselves back on romantic row, yet men reject me for the same circumstances?

The ad: "So plan A didn't pan out - can't complain too much, got great kids, and they had a great mom for a long time. So now, years later, there's a new plan. Not being all that creative, I call it Plan B. It goes something like this...
Decent looking 6 ft tall athletic guy changes it all up. He closes down a business he's been in for decades and goes back to college for to pursue a decent paying legal career.
A couple quarters away from graduation, he meets a very sweet, honest woman (last one left some say) and there begins a the coolest of friendships. He really digs her because she's caring, supportive, loyal, and radiates joy. She really digs him because he listens to her without trying to fix everything, but when she does need assistance, he's the first to volunteer - seeking nothing in return. She thinks he's funny. They like to visit the beach, watch movies in and out, go for long walks, and see live bands - especially jazz and blues but also a symphony on occasion. The weeks fly by and he graduates, gets a new career, and the couple takes awesome vacations to places both always wanted to see, or couldn't wait to get back to again. Some time passes and they find a nice older house, yellow with white trim farm house, which they fix up together to be just so. She picks out about everything, but lets him have his breakfast nook with a booth where he does a little writing - high back red vinyl job from a restaurant auction. They enjoy watching the sunset from a large back porch. Staunch white pillars and wide railing overlook the garden they planted earlier in the spring. Family and friends drop by often, and a few times a year there's a big barbecue or a turkey in the oven. The kids play hide and seek in the yard, when they're not taking turns on the tire swing that hangs from a century old walnut tree, or sneaking fresh baked cookies and zucchini bread from the pantry - thinking no one saw. When winter comes, snow fall dusts the trees with a silvery grace and beauty - like something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Time flows forward, joyfully, serenely. Their happiness is only exceeded by an overwhelming gratitude for each other. Fortune offered one shot at the "if I had to do it over again" paradigm, and wresting it from fate's clenched grip, the two made it their own. Like I said, Plan B. And since I'm still writing it, well it's a work in progress. I've been having a problem with character development however. I know my character, but this story requires another. Maybe you know of someone who'd like to help my editing. I'm just sayin'...
Thanks for letting me share, Linus"

(grandkids under the oak tree would be more realistic)

mouths of babes

While I'm sitting at the computer, inspiration oozing as I delight in sharing the humor I've gathered over the years my son observes in a mild mannered way, "Mom, I don't think your life is interesting enough to write about."

the "magic age"

Shortly after I turned 40 I went to my nurse practitioner for a routine check up. Nothing out of the ordinary, but she is writing referrals for all manner of tests and procedures. “The good news is you don’t need a pap smear annually,” she informs. “Really? Why?” “You’ve reached the magic age.” Bewildered, I say nothing. “I’m also recommending a full panel of blood work including thyroid, cholesterol and blood sugar.” I must look dazed because she repeats, “You’re at that magic age, and we want to have a baseline.” Not one to use medical services outside of emergencies I ask, “Baseline for what?” “Well, you’re at that magic age where things can start to change. Risks for diabetes, heart disease…” The list runs on like the disclaimer at the end of a car commercial. “The Magic age?” I ask. “I keep saying that don’t I? She says with a smile.” “Yes!” I say with astonishment. Am I to believe that an accomplished, confident, active and wrinkle free mother will diminish in the wake of the “magic age?” I left the office determined to defy magic.