It was the night before leaving on another jaunt to my playground, NYC, when I woke up at like 3 in the morning with a feeling of uh oh…I may be getting sick. Come hell or high water, I was determined to get on that plane. Better to be sick in NYC than in Nashville. Well, unless of course I have Covid. Then it wouldn’t be very nice to go anywhere, let alone get on a plane.
So, when I woke in the morning, not feeling well, yet all packed to leave, I texted my very kind friend/neighbor Cindi to see if she had a Covid test handy. She didn’t. However, since she was driving me to the airport she suggested we stop at Walgreens and test along the way. This way she could turn the car around if I tested positive.
Up she pulled, and off we went. Coat, hat, mask on, I ran into Walgreens purchased a test kit and ran back to the car. There we sat bundled up doing our little science experiment, balancing the chemicals and little covid stick on the dashboard waiting for the lines to appear. Cindi starts cracking up. “Remember when we were younger, back then we were nervously taking pregnancy tests, not Covid tests,” she said laughing. If someone hadn’t worn their “mask” in those days, a very pink line could appear to determine your fate. It seemed like another lifetime ago when that was even an issue.
Back to the present moment, and it turned out, no Covid, or babies on the way. Just me, on my way to NYC to watch the Super Bowl at a friend’s, and, drum roll please, have date number two with a match from Hinge. Yes. I put my toes back in the dating pool and fell right in. This time, with a man who, get this, has the same first name as me! How cute, I thought, when we matched up online. Now, it was just a matter of determining if he will be a Carey Grant or a Harry Carey. Jury’s out, of course, since this whole charade I play with long distance dating leaves a lot to be desired. However, it seems I may have cracked part of the older person dating code. If I date someone with the same first name as me, it’s way less likely I’ll forget their name or my name for that matter.
At this point quite honestly, I don’t know if I’m actually dating for myself or food for this column. I somehow feel propelled by my readers to keep on going. l seem to consistently get stopped at the Jewish community center by someone or another asking about my love life. I feel indebted now somehow to keep the story going, even if not for myself anymore. It feels like it’s gotten bigger than me at this point and I’m just along for the ride to find my happily ever after. Either way, it seems good for a laugh. Isn’t it always though? Until they make you cry, that is.
Along those lines, another insight occurred after watching the Super Bowl. I had gone to my good friend Andy’s place to hang out and catch the half time show. However Andy, who is way more into football than I ever realized, was hootin’ and hollerin’ at the tv, and before I knew it, I got sucked in too. And before you know it, I was riveted. The last half of that game was insane. Back and forth, up and down, it was impossible to tell if the 49ers were going to win until, literally the last 3 seconds of the game. And that’s when I realized, that’s exactly how my love life feels all the time. Am I going to win? Am I going to lose? Oh it looks close, oh no, a fumble, darn someone stole the ball, I need a coach, how is this going to end? And most of all, like the 2024 Superbowl, going into overtime, will this game ever end?I
In a nutshell, here I am, when it comes to love, still in it to win it, going into overtime, and playing my hardest for a happily ever after.
And in a world gone mad, I’m holding on to a little bit of optimism.
Stay tuned.
The Jewish Observer is published by The Jewish Federation of Greater Nashville and made possible by funds raised in the Jewish Federation Annual Campaign. Become a supporter today.