Touch

On a typical Wednesday night at 9:00 p.m. I watch MI-5. I've watched it for alot of years--every episode is a good one. Tonight, instead I watched  the preview of 'Touch' instead...wow; it's going to be a great show. I had started writing a blog a few weeks ago that I hadn't finished on the golden ratio... 1.61803 but I didn't finish it; tonight I know why...I wasn't suppossed to until tonight.  I began the blog writing about a different kind of golden ratio. I had a man tell me that the ‘right’ age for a man to be dating is his age, divided in half, plus seven. So if a man is 50, that would make his ideal age 32…it feels creepy…not just to me, but I most women without their daddy issues to resolve or looking for a sugar daddy couldn’t imagine bedding down with a man that much older than me.

At the same time I had a woman that I very much respect tell me that I should be dating men 15 years older than I am—that statistically, that is the age range between a man and an woman that has the least divorce rate. Equally vile. The thought of sleeping with a man 15 years my senior is bad, waking up next to him is even worse. But if I were to use the Golden Dating Ratio, a man of 70 should be dating a woman of 42. I could imagine a man’s penis wanting a woman that young…but how desperate does a woman have to be to tolerate that much sagging?

My girlfriend in Santa Monica suggested to me that I should move to California—that men that take care of themselves; at 70 are like men of 60 on the east coast….with rare exception, I can’t get sexually excited over the idea of sleeping with a man at age 60.

That was where it the blog ended until now. Golden ratios', quantum physics, 'what the bleep do we know', 'blink', Chinese red threads of fate, Santa Monica, and once again, Joshua. Yes, Joshua lives in Santa Monica, and just 19 hours ago he clicked on my profile. I hadn't been to that online dating site in probably 6 months. And it's been 6 years of every time...every time in the last six years he thinks of me within 24 hours I know. Everytime I think of him, within 24 hours, he knows. I liken it to the feng shui ritual of women wishing for a husband to blow bubbles at a full moon. The belief is that the bubbles are lifted into the wind and land at the feet of your future beloved. I say his name outloud, it gets lifted in to the wind and it takes a day to find him. He thinks of me and it takes mere hours for me to just know.

We're somehow tied to eachother but we're not together. It's been more than two and a half years since I let him go from my heart. He's never fully here, he's never fully gone. But I know when I know that there's a reason. When I met Lee I couldn't stop thinking about him. I knew that as much as I might have wanted it be, that he wasn't in my life for romantic reasons, so I kept questioning why he was in my head. What was the connection that was supposed to happen? Was it for him or for me?

When I was 17 I was watching figure skating on TV with my mother. She kept talking to me about a skater...over and over who lived in upstate NY...she wouldn't let him go. Seventeen years later, my mother had died the year before and I happened to be working with a woman (who was my editor), who's spiritual leader also worked as an executive chef-- who just happened to be working for the ice skater...who became my doctor when I needed him most. I had had a test which came back negitive but I thought should have been positive and I talked to my editor about it in frustration. She went back to her office and came back with a book which she offered for me to look through a book and I did. I found a hotline number which I called and spoke to a doctor in Denver who gave me a referral to a physician in N.J. The doc I saw had a resident who happened to have done a rotation, with another physician in California who had written cookbooks that I happened to have had delivered to the office; my editor and I giggled over recipes--like the one for spaghetti squash surprise. I told her that the surprise was that there wasn't any spaghetti in it. When she developed Lyme disease and saw the doctor (who was her spiritual leader's catering client) and my editor was given a diet  that was exactly like the one I was place on a year earlier by a physician who moved by this point to Nevada. And by a series of circumstances--that if any one of those things had not happened in the sequence that that did,  I would not have found a physician to heal me. And when I think back to all of the steps, that any moment in time might have changed, the one question that I ask myself is how could my mother have known? How could she have know to say his name over and over to me so that I wouldn't forget?