I mourned for a couple of years until my daughter Laura encouraged me to put myself out there, which I did, eventually, on Match. We met physically in at her traditional Easter party at her Santa Monica house. Standing at her door, I saw her through the window, bouncing toward me with blond hair and twinkling blue eyes. She was 5 foot 4, and had a big smile.
Mary was a widow. We were both Catholic. I was smitten after two dates with a new man. When he had to move back to the U.
Washington just to get mail. I knew how to make her laugh. I also buried her dog Kiwi in her backyard when she died. Our life together was all I could have wanted. I thought the feeling was mutual. One of my goals was to find a way to tell Mary I loved her, and that I wanted to marry her, without scaring her off and losing her. We agreed Mary would travel in Europe on her own, meet me so we could travel together, and then travel more on her own.
It was jampacked. We sat at the base of a centuries-old colossal column, back to back. It felt wonderful, her body next to mine. In Korean dramas, a first kiss often happens on Date 6. We agreed to take the challenge, but the pent-up energy caused by taking it slow made me want to kiss him even more. We went to Portugal and stayed in a dreamlike guesthouse in a vineyard. On Oct. Mary got home a week later. We went to a movie, had a slurpy pasta dinner in Santa Monica and went to an event the next day.
And all was great. I asked if everything was OK. My head swirled in a storm. I said I had to think about it, and we hung up. Over a period of several days, we had one genial conversation and a couple of bad ones. I came home one day in a torrential L. Eventually she showed up. We kissed deep and true as always.
