In which Ms. Ravelled talks to herself. And others.

So, what was it that made Saturday night’s dance different from better than the others? The music was definitely part of the equation. Although after the third Latin song in a row, I raised an eyebrow at Brother Sushi and asked him if he’d had Tex-Mex for lunch. [No, merely two requests, and that’s how they had panned out.]

He did, at one point, suggest that I cover my ears.

“Oh, man, are you playing Michael Jackson? Ewww!” He grinned as the opening notes of “Billie Jean” moonwalked out into the room. Very hard song not to get up and dance to, but I [try to] hold fast to my standards.

I think one of the two guys I dropped an email to in the past couple of weeks [which was not responded to, but we are not surprised, right?] was at the dance. Wow, two mangled infinitives in one sentence. Maybe I should just go back to bed.

That good brother didn’t ask me to dance, either, but it was fun watching him dance with the skinny wenches. He doesn’t seem to have as crisp a lead as Brother Yummy, but he does move gracefully.

I’ll wait for crisp.

In talking with my friend who is newly-engaged, she spoke of how her prayers had changed during the time that she was single. At first she had prayed for somebody who would love her, and she dated a guy who was really nice but had children with serious problems that she didn’t want to inflict upon her kids. And then she spent awhile telling God that she didn’t know what or whom to pray for. And one night she had the impression “Please just tell Me the kind of man you want.” So she did. And within days, the man she is marrying next month, called to ask her out.

I did a little tweaking of my own, on the drive home from the dance. I told Him the character qualities I so enjoy in Brother Sushi. And the ones in Trainman that make me feel so comfortable and safe. And what I like about my good friend T, the other silver fox who has been my friend for going on a year and a half now. [And who still doesn’t have a suitable code name.] Not forgetting Brother Karitas.

And what I think I need from an eternal companion. And what I am willing to give.

I have zero expectation of meeting anybody like that at the conference next weekend. But maybe the slightest inkling of hope after all; anyway, it is good to remind myself of what I’m waiting for, and why it will be worth every minute of the wait. And to give thanks that this still does not feel urgent to me, or anxiety-provoking.

Oh, now this is scary. As I walked into the meetinghouse yesterday, the executive secretary was waiting at the door. “Bishop would like to meet with you at 2:30.” Which pretty much destroyed my concentration for all three of our church meetings. That little bot running in the back of my head, “What’s my new calling going to be? Oh please, not the nursery leader.”

And it wasn’t. [Yay!!!!!] I’ll be able to tell you once I’ve been sustained and set apart. Probably not next Sunday. Possibly the Sunday after that. The church, like the Army, has a lot of hurry-up-and-wait. But it confirms to me that Heaven has an excellent sense of humor. That’s all I’m going to say for now, except that I would love it if my kids could be there when I’m set apart.

Much knitting progress yesterday. I made it all the way up the back to the beginning of the darts. This is going very quickly, maybe because I’ve already made the back once before? And I was reminded at church yesterday that in the service auction, I committed to make a scarf for my friend the Relief Society president, who will be leaving our ward shortly to get married and live in the hinterlands of Missouri. I had completely forgotten, what with the excitement over the new grandchild, the towing of Lorelai, the mortgaging of my bonus to the IRS. Little things like that. I hauled out a skein of laceweight before going to bed last night. I’m hoping to get it wound into a cake before I leave for work this morning. But if not that, then before I go to bed tonight.

I’m really glad that I had a long weekend, because I have something going every night this week. A meeting with the RS president tonight to discuss my calling [we are both single, so we’re calling it Family Home Evening], Knit Night tomorrow night, entering the details on visiting teaching into the computer at church on Wednesday and printing up report forms for the sisters who report to me, the temple session of the singles’ conference on Thursday night, Friday blessedly off for the D/FW Fiber Fest and [probably] dinner with the Trainman to celebrate my raise and maybe [hopefully] dragging him along to the dance that night, a meeting at 10:00 on Saturday morning that conflicts with the opening exercises for the singles’ conference *and* my promise to convey two of the sisters in my ward who do not drive at night, lectures all day on Saturday, dinner and a dance that night, and the usual round of meetings on Sunday plus a fireside to wind up the singles’ conference on Sunday night.

Why do I suddenly feel as if I were deja vu’ing LittleBit’s senior year?

Tub. Bath. Timer, so as not to doze off in same. Thankfully, I know what I’m wearing today, and I set it out last night, and my juice and milk are already bottled and ready to go.