Elijah is one of my favorite dead prophets. (I am rather more fond of the living ones, because they give counsel that is consistent with previous revelation and tailored to our times. Elijah, one of the greatest men who has ever lived on earth, never had to deal with telemarketers.)
The Bible says that when it was Elijah’s time to go, a chariot came down out of Heaven and whisked him away. The same thing happened to his successor, Elisha, some years later.
[I would be perfectly content if they sent Teancum, resurrected, on a Harley. Do not try to tell me that there are no Harley Davidsons in Heaven. That is as harsh as saying there will be no chocolate.]
Why am I rambling on about dead prophets, you ask? Well, as I told y’all was the [non-evil] plan, I have been to the temple four times this week; that’s the back-story. Here is what has developed since last weekend, when I started teasing him about his experiment: i.e., seeking a new wife.
ME: It’s a nice lab you have going. How many petri dishes are you watching?
And from here on out, I am going to paraphrase. We have been having great fun with this metaphor. He is seeing at least at least one other petri dish. And he is being a complete gentleman about it: very considerate of the feelings of all the petri dishes, unlike another widower I could mention.
I shared with him what happened when I went to watch Secondborn speak in church a few weeks ago, and was sitting next to a guy whom 2BDH had really wanted me to date, a couple of years back. That brother and I like each other well enough, but there was no click. Then Brother Abacus came over and said hello, and for a moment I feared that he was going to sit down on the other side. And I caught a glimpse of another man in their ward whom I dated *once* (but the kids don’t know who he is), who seemed a bit grumpy when caught sight of me, and I thought, “The only thing that would make this moment more perfect would be if the children’s father walked in the door right now.” (Yes, he’s in Secondborn's ward, too.) Thankfully, he was apparently attending his other church that morning.
As I told the new guy, whatever the antithesis of “embarrassment of riches” is, that was it. And I told him that I would brave the gauntlet last Tuesday, by attending his ward’s temple night. “Which I guess means that I will be attending the temple *four* times this week, and when I walk out after Saturday’s session, Elijah will swoop down with his chariot and carry me away to wed one of the stripling warriors, and you will be flat out of luck ... Or something.”
Later in the week, he asked if he should bring his camera to the temple on Saturday; he was going to be there for the sealing (wedding) of some young friends, and I was going to be there with my own ward. He thought that if the chariot and the swooping occurred, there was a pretty good chance the pictures would get published in the next Ensign.
I told him he had my permission to publish, should I be Elijahfied, just as long as they also published the companion shot of his face as told the bystanders, “I lose more petri dishes that way...”
He is so much fun. I am having so much fun. Even if my petri dish gets voted off the island, so to speak, it will have been a grand experiment. Whatever is going on, he jumps right in, but not in a see how cool I am? way.
They taught us to hula last night. If you know how to find me on Facebook, there are four new pictures, but I promise I did finally manage to get the hips and the hands moving at more or less the same time. The best part? They taught the guys how to do the haka, which is a Maori war cry.
I told the new guy that they should use it to get the brethren all fired up to go do their home teaching. Mighty impressive. (At this point he is better at haka than at line-dancing, but my point is that he is not doing all his living inside his head.)
Yesterday I went from home to the temple, up to Denton for a doll/bead thing, down to Plano/Frisco to pick up macaroni salad for the luau at L*L Hawaiian Barbecue, down to Kay Fabrics in Richardson (which was no longer there, but it was where I got some of the fabric for the girls' weddings), over to Firewheel Mall to chill (literally) at the B&N before moseying over to the new guy’s to give him his line-dancing lesson, then on to the dance and home. I put over 200 miles on Lorelai. Miraculously, I am hearing very little from the trick knee, not during the last part of the trek home, and not this morning. Woohoo! (Answered prayers.)
Brother Abacus deigned to show up for the luau. I may have gotten a little snarky. Yes, I have forgiven him for the way he treated me, and a dear friend, and at least 10 other women that we know of. Yes, I know how to be civil. Yes, he has a right to attend any of the singles activities that interest him. But he does not have the right to sit at my table and act as if we were friends, and compound it by saying what a nice little family Secondborn has. (It wasn't what he said. It was how he said it.)
At which point I reached down into the Ubiquitous Red Bag and fired up my cell phone and texted Brother Sushi: “Would you hurry up and get here? I have something at my table that needs smiting.” But he had something to do for his ward, and by the time he got to the luau, all the macaroni salad was gone, as was Brother Abacus. [Who is not an evil man, just a painfully clueless one. I know, I know. Time wounds all heels. I just wanted to help the process along...]
I have other news to share; tune in tomorrow, if only for pictures of the stuff that may have followed me home from the doll/bead shop. [No, I did not break my pledge not to buy any doll stuff this year.]
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!