I'll Tell Anyone Whose Heart Can Comprehend

In many ways, this is an ode to one of my favorite men.

If the movie hadn't already gotten me thinking about him, I'd have started once I got off the marathon phone conversation. Or when I pulled out the envelope of old photos. Or when he left the smart-assed comment on Friday's post.

I went to see "Southside With You" (alternately known as "the Obama movie," at least according to the woman in line in front of me at Movieland) because I loved the idea of a film about nothing more than a couple's first date.

That it was set in 1989 and that they wound up being President and First Lady only made the movie's appeal greater. But what I was really hoping for was nothing more than romance.

Because it was simply the story of a guy's attraction to a girl and how he wrangled her into spending more time with him on their first date than her lack of interest in "dating" him warranted. Of course he did it brilliantly, suggesting an Afro-centric art exhibit, Spike Lee's new film "Do the Right Thing" and her favorite dessert, ice cream.

In addition to admiring the man's game plan, part of the pleasure in watching the film was the simplicity of the time.

Barack drives a grody old Nissan Sentra with a hole in the floorboard that reminded me of a long-ago friend's VW Bug with a similar view of passing asphalt. Janet Jackson's "Miss You Much" blares from his car radio as the credits come up while he drives to pick up Michelle for that first fateful date.

Watching the characters fall into conversations about their pasts and passions, discussing everything and nothing while navigating Southside Chicago on a summer Saturday was truly a primer on how to have a successful first date.

Keep talking, talking, talking and never stop listening. Eat and drink in between and look at things you can talk about. And godspeed.

And though the audience knows what will ultimately happen down the road, the film ends with both sitting at home alone taking stock, trying to process the magic of what's just transpired between former near strangers.

It's a feeling anyone who's ever been on an unexpectedly successful first date recognizes. I know I do. I can remember coming home and marveling at the time spent in non-stop conversation with someone I barely knew that morning.

But not everyone's long first date, even the wildly successful ones, results in a 24-year marriage like the Obamas. Some result in a marriage approaching 40 years and that's where my friend L. comes in.

When we first met as college students, we hit it off, becoming fast friends among a large circle of colorful characters. I don't recall a time when he didn't have his girlfriend, but I was still surprised when they got married and even more surprised when they stayed married.

But as I've gotten older, I've realized that, like the Obamas, they saw something in each other early on and worked at nurturing it, probably in an atypical manner since they're both decidedly individualistic.

Today's plans had been built around a scheduled phone call to my best friend from college, with whom I hadn't spoken in probably close to two years and could no longer stand it.

Allowing for the time difference - she's in San Antonio - I got up barely in time to eat breakfast before sprawling in my favorite chair with a view of my wall of books for a wide-ranging conversation to catch up.

We cackled when she admitted her rabble-rousing DNA had been passed on to Son #2 and how she's at a point where she finds herself caring for others because, she laments, "I'm surrounded by nitwits." Fortunately, her degree is in criminal justice, so that helps, I'm sure.

Somewhere around the two hour plus mark, she mentioned her surprise and delight that I finally have a bevy of female friends, something I most definitely did not as a younger woman. I'd always had her, but she's one of those rare people who has as many male qualities as female, putting her in a category by herself.

But it was when I mentioned that L. had said the same thing that we turned our attention to the subject of our long-time friend and his wife and how they've achieved what so very few of our friends have: a decades old thriving relationship.

My friend admitted that she hadn't expected it to last. He was a gregarious and social Detroit boy and she was a quiet, sweet girl from an Iowa farm, so what were the chances? When we first met her, they seemed like the unlikeliest of couples.

I mentioned that I'd pulled out some old photos last weekend, shots of our posse back during that era, and there was L., a hat on his Afro, a flowered shawl on his shoulders, smiling at the camera as he danced with a girl named Mary at a long-ago Halloween party.

The entire tone of the party is evident in his energy and enthusiasm.

Neither of us recalled his girlfriend being there and there were no photos to suggest she was. Maybe their first date hadn't happened yet.

Because clearly, something significant happened the night it did - just like with Barry and Michelle - or they wouldn't still be happily together.

And on that subject, I once again defer to Miss Jackson.

Our friends think we're opposites
Falling in and out of love
They all said we'd never last
Still we manage to stay together
There's no easy explanation for it
But whenever there's a problem
We always work it out somehow

They said it wouldn't last
We had to prove them wrong
Cause I've learned in the past
That love will never do without you

It would just be a song if I hadn't seen it unfold with my own eyes. A great first date proves that you just know when the other person is non-negotiable.

So far as I can see, there's no easy explanation for it. Ain't love grand?

Spirit Like Water

I found the way to right my equilibrium.

It began with, of all things, a telephone call from someone fairly new to my life, a man with a barely-accented, mellifluous voice and an array of conversational offerings I found completely engaging - the Stanislavski method, poet Adrienne Rich, provincialism- that magically occupied me for every bit of an hour.

An hour. And I hate talking on the phone.

Still not sure how that happened, but grinning nonetheless.

With such a stellar first act under my belt, I had no choice but to maintain the high, choosing to take my daily walk on Belle Isle.

Under a bright blue sky full of puffy clouds and a steady breeze, I walked along the river, meeting four beagles I needed to pet (including one in a lime green life jacket - adorable), listening to the especially high rushing water and getting smiles from strangers left and right.

Good vibrations abounded.

The dock over the quarry pond was unexpectedly gone, but people were still casting lines into it.

Life happens and we adjust. There are still fish to be caught.

After a couple of times around the island, I climbed down a path to find an empty rock, took off my shoes and submerged my legs in the river up to the knees.

All around me, people lazed in the sun, dogs frolicked at the water's edge and kids squealed because they could.

There were some brave souls in kayaks working their way through the high water, but that was about the most ambitious thing I saw going on.

I watched a paddleboarder go by with two geese devotedly following in his wake.

Sun on my back, legs in the water, plans later.

Spoiler alert to that regular reader who prefers me sad: Too. Damn. Bad.

Calling a Stranger

I hadn't seen my friend Gregg since before Thanksgiving, so I thought I'd call him up and suggest we rectify that. And I hate talking on the phone, so you know I wanted to see him.

Him: Hello?
Me: Hey, what's up?
Him: The usual. How 'bout you?
Me: About the same. Do you even know who this is?
Him: Not entirely sure.
Me: It's Karen! See, it has been too long.
Him: Oh, hey!
Me: I'm calling because it's been ages since we got together so I thought maybe this week...
Him: You mean for the signing?
Me: Um, what signing?
Him: Wait, Karen, you're not coming to the signing?
Me: Is this Gregg XYZ?
Him: No. Is this Karen ABC?
Me: Nope. Hey, my mistake. Sorry.
Him: (laughing) Hey, it was fun talking to you. See you, Karen.
Me: See you, Gregg.

One digit off in a phone number and I'm in a parallel universe. What are the chances that a random mis-dial results in getting someone with the name of the person I was calling? Or that he'd have a friend named Karen?

I came *this* close to asking him where the signing was, but good sense stopped me.

Sadistically speaking, I live on planet Odd World. No need to push those boundaries any further.

Black Shadowess

This is what my life has come to. Sitting at my computer just before midnight last night, the phone rang. Anyone who knows me knows I hate the phone, so I don't get many calls during daylight hours, much less after dark.

Me: Hello?
Him: What are you doing home so early?
Me: Well, I went to the Silent Music Revival and out for a drink but now I'm home. Is that okay?
Him: Yea, I knew if you were home you'd be up. Wanna have lunch tomorrow?
Me: Uh, sure.
Him: Pick you up at noon.
Me: Okay, bye.

Of course, he could have just e-mailed me, but he planned to sleep until 11:30 this morning and wanted to know before he went to bed if we had plans. Welcome to my world.

We ate at 3325 West Cafe on the portico of the church building that used to house Acacia. As he pointed out, it's our second lunch of late looking down on the street theater of Carytown, always ripe for commentary from the peanut gallery (and we so enjoy being peanuts).

He needed coffee STAT and a Margarita pizza; I got the Bleu salad (Romaine lettuce, bleu cheese crumbles, toasted pine nuts, red onions, banana peppers, tomatoes, cukes and croutons with a vinaigrette), knowing he'd share his pizza, which he did.

My salad was perfect for me, mainly because I'd prefer a bleu cheese vinaigrette over a creamy bleu cheese dressing anytime. His pizza had the thinnest crust, almost cracker-like, and weighty with cheese, although basil was a tad short in supply. He ate four pieces, paused and got a second wind and finished off the rest. There went any hope of dessert, something he's usually good for.

Driving home, we were behind a 70s-era black van, pimped out nicely...if it were still 1977. On the spare tire cover, the owner had taken the kind of gold lettering you buy in a hardware store and written a message to the world: BLACK SHADOW - COME AND GET SOME.

"Yea, baby, cause that's the way to pull in the ladies," my friend said.

Suppose it would work on the back of a black Altima? Nah, probably not.