Rose Gin Fizz

''For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that could be.'' - Tennyson.

As one often does with the ushering in of a new year, I have found myself more thoughtful than usual. Reflecting. Pondering. Tennyson's words echoing in my mind; ''...all the wonder that could be.''

Today is the first sunny day we have had for weeks here on the East Coast, and while I have thoroughly enjoyed the cold, foggy damp of late, even I will admit that sunshine is a welcomed change. It reminds me that you never realize how much you enjoy something until you have gone without it. This sentiment, of course, is also applicable to people.

When we last left off, I mentioned I thought I may have found Rupert. I couldn't help but laugh to myself recently when I scored a free National Geographic magazine at the local library for him from his birth year-1975-which even a featured article about his motherland, Canada. I laughed because said article described a town called Rupert, which, naturally, had a Rupert Bay, Rupert River, and all other Rupert-y places! You would not even believe me if I told you how many strange things like that happen on any given day. You really wouldn't.

In any event, I shall not call him Rupert but instead by his given name, which is Glen. He doesn't go by Glen, but personally I think it suits him quite nicely.

Anyway, Glen and I are no longer together. He asked, rather surprisingly and vaguely, to part ways shortly before Christmas, after expressing great enthusiasm about seeing me. The situation goes deeper than what I am explaining, but, nevertheless, I am still all set to see him on the West Coast for pre-booked, pre-break-up visits later this month, so the precarious nature of that is something I wonder about.

''...all the wonder that could be''.

I couldn't tell you for certain why we even broke up, but really, does it matter? When I was in Vancouver I saw something that struck me written in a person's garden, ''The past is the past. The future has not happened yet. Only the present moment is real.'' And so it goes.
The past is the past; we enjoyed each other immensely.
The future has not happened yet; perhaps I will find someone else equally as wonderful, Rupert, and be blissfully happy. Perhaps Glen will be Rupert after all and we will get back together and live a sweet, beautiful, nerdy, ethereal existence together. Or, not entirely unlikely, I will adopt more cats to join our little Reggie, thus, becoming an introverted ''Cat Lady'', raise my children amongst origami and baking projects and gloriously, glittery painting creations, teach history until my students make me insane, and take my off-kilter solo trips hiking through Iceland, stopping along the Ring Road to eat lobster bisque and run wild through defunct lava fields.
Only the present moment is real; I am learning this. I am learning not to let the events of the past and the uncertainty of the future spoil the realness of today. I am learning to let go of what was and embrace what can be and trust in the Universe. I am learning...

Whilst I obviously miss Glen terribly-we had become very close friends as well-I am so grateful for his presence in my life during its darkest, loneliest hour. I thought that time was when I had cancer, until I got divorced. Wow, was that isolating. Learning to live without a husband, my family unit as I knew it, my beloved home, it was a difficult transition for me. And he was there. Glen. He listened to me. He called me every day at the same times. I knew there would be a sweet letter waiting for me in my mailbox every once in a while. He had a sentimental, old-fashioned streak, like me. We connected. We just...connected. Not physically, but in every other way that two people can. In fact, I connected to him more so than anyone else before. He awakened something I had buried within myself out of fear from cancer, from heartbreak, from pain...the ability to plan for the future. Hope. I didn't even realize until I caught myself talking to him about this or that. I was planning for my future, and, as I did, I saw him in it. I really did see him in it. He fit there perfectly.

Before we broke up, I was planning on telling him that I was falling in love with him. I was not planning on falling in love with him or anyone else during the current season of my life, at all, but sometimes the greatest things occur when we least expect. Even if we never get back together, he still gave me a wonderful gift. He made me less afraid. On the contrary, he made me excited to think about life again in a whole new way. Glen was in my path just when I needed him, because at this time, I needed just about a miracle to feel better again. I was so beaten down by cancer and divorce, stress and fear of recurrence, I needed someone else to be there for me. I could not do it on my own. Someone to call me every night. Remind me to take my iron tablets and B12 vitamins (the complex ones, thank-you-very-much). Ask how my day was. Say he missed me. How much he couldn't wait to see me. Glen made me feel loved, needed, adored. All of the things I wanted to feel. Maybe he is not the one who is supposed to make me feel like that forever. But you know what? He showed me what it is to feel that way. He showed me it is possible to connect with someone so deeply, that all of the other baggage and history and circumstances don't even matter. He gave me hope. And when you are at the lowest point of your life, when you think there is no way you can possibly survive another blow, hope is the greatest thing you could ever give to another person. It saves them. And while my proud feminist self cringes at the very thought of any universe in which a man rescues a woman, I will admit that he saved me. But it wasn't a man saving a woman, it was a person saving another person. Glen truly did save me.

A few weeks later, I found myself in a pretty velvet dress sitting at little club in Athens, Georgia called Saint Louisa's Church. My friend and I were bar-hopping, and we ended up there after karaoke and (probably) one too many rose gin fizzes. And so, we chatted with this one and that one. For the first time in my adult life, I was a single woman. I was unattached. I could talk to men, flirt, even! Me! It was so against my nature, I mean, what do I even do? How does this work? And so we were enthralled in many an enticing conversation with the Science Professor from Virginia, or the Network Engineer from the university. And all I could think was, "He is nice, sure, but...he isn't Glen.'' I mean, no one could hold a candle to him. The way he says, "Helloooo'', kind of drawn out, when he starts a phone call. The way he says, ''Whoah'', in response to something he finds interesting. The way he says, ''Well...'', when you ask him something. How he fidgets with his hands and his body squirms a bit and his eyes blink a bit excessively every so often, all in an adorable, endearing way. I wanted him completely, loved everything about him. He made me so happy. And yet I found myself, when out around other men, able to flirt to my heart's content, with my pretty velvet dress and blue eyeliner and black Mary Janes and rose gin fizz, that none of that mattered to me. I wanted him. I wanted to be home in my pajamas, drinking tea, talking to him, hearing his voice. Not to say I didn't have fun at Saint Louisa's Church. I did. And the company was wonderful. But still, I wanted him and no one else but him. And I suppose, for the first time in my life, I was the one in the relationship that was broken up with. I was the one who was no longer wanted, for whatever reason. And no amount of pretty velvet dresses or ''good catches'' or rose gin fizzes was going to lessen the sting of that. Of knowing the one person that you want more than anyone else in the whole world does not want you back.

The next day I found myself in a little bookshop in town. They sold postcards, and so I wrote one out and told Glen about the rose gin fizz fiasco and how I hoped to see him still for our visit in January, if he wanted. My trip was plagued by reminders of him; the neighboring town was called the same as the one where he lives 2, 000 miles away. The building across from my friend's house was called ''Glen''. They played his favorite artist, Prince, all night during karaoke, another of his favorite's, on Prince Avenue, which crossed the street bearing the same name of the state where he lives. On the dresser in the bedroom where I stayed there was currency from his native, Canada. As I said earlier, if I told you all of the odd things I encounter that remind me of him on a regular basis, you would not believe me.

Upon careful thought, I have decided to avoid men entirely for the winter. I have gotten back into my yoga routines, experimenting with kundalini. I go to the gym a few days a week. I am blending my medicinal teas again, red raspberry, nettle, hibiscus, even the ''wild card'' of the herb family, black cohosh. I've been back on the traditional Chinese medicine ''no cold diet'', acupuncture, regular chiropractic adjustments, massages, and yoni steam baths in an effort to have a regular menstrual cycle and reboot my reproductive system, and it's working! I went two months without a cycle and it came back normally one week after I resumed my holistic treatments. I am sleeping well again and feeling great. I am teaching my son how to ride a bike, my daughter how to read, my toddler how to potty-train. My students and I have started our Africa unit, which is hugely exciting. I brought in shea butter from Ghana for them, which they loved. I have time to connect with friends again; just last night I went to an 80's Glam Dance Party in Atlanta! Our cottage is feeling more and more like home; at present the children are with their father and so it is just our kitten and I. I am stroking under his chin like Glen used to do with his cat, and he is purring away in heaven. Glen named him, too...Reggie. I am reminded of him in little, countless ways. Initially that made me sad, but actually, it is nice thing to be reminded of someone whom you think the moon and the stars of. There is a vegan sausage gumbo on the stove, with peppers, onions, squash, zucchini, garlic, tomatoes, fluffy rice. My candles are lit in the old fireplace, and I have a cozy throw blanket awaiting me on the couch to watch a indie movie with.

The thought of dating does not appeal to me. Not in the slightest. Even remotely.

I went out with one guy, a very nice man. He wanted to see me again. Said we ''had chemistry''. When I declined, he said, solemnly, ''I thought I made a poor impression...''

Ugh. This poor, kind, sweet man. He bought me a peppermint mocha latte and everything. I cannot go through that again. I felt terrible. It only further illustrated to me the special connection I had with Glen. It was instant. It was magic. And it's the kind of thing one either has, or they don't. And at this juncture, I cannot possibly imagine having that with anyone else but him.

So why bother even trying? Subjecting another poor soul to going out with me when I know the end result with bear no fruit whatsoever is not fair to me or to them. I will just sit there again, sipping my latte as I slip back into melancholia whilst forcing a weak smile and polite conversation. I am simply not ready.

I am going to enjoy my children, my friends, my home, my career. Reggie. Cooking. Blending teas, and doing yoga. And, occasionally, putting on a pretty velvet dress and drinking rose gin fizzes, whilst holding onto the hope that Glen instilled in me as Tennyson buzzes around my head like a pesky, persistent fly, ''...all the wonder that could be.''