About That Librarian
The Lovely Librarian at Limantour Beach
Hey, kids! As the temporal distance between this post and the previous two might suggest, I have found even less time than usual between the Boy and Librarian to keep you posted, but I now find myself with the kind of time that only the fell swoop of serious sickness can provide. Ick. As several of you had scrambled out of the woodwork to ensure that you'd hear all about this exciting new chapter in my life, and as I never had heard a discouraging word from anybody, I will finally go ahead and post publicly about my lovely Librarian.
The Librarian appeared on match.com sometime in early October, a time when I had just given up on giving up on that scene; the date with the Psychotherapist from website had gone okay but didn't promise much, and a pseudo-almost-"date" with a co-worker did more to cement a friendship than further any attraction, but I felt myself moving in a good direction and hopeful that someday I could actually find a special somebody if I just kept up my efforts. The website suggested that the Librarian and I 95% matched, and she had red hair, so I had to take a gander. Every image she had posted of herself showed her outside (though as my scout fuggler can attest, the distant camera angles left plenty to the imagination beyond her general build and appearance); she had only recently established herself in the Bay Area (Menlo Park); she had only positive things to say; she seemed to have led a moral, upstanding, relatively baggage-free life that had involved substantial globetrotting, and she really got me when she wrote something to the effect of "I now feel ready to find somebody to share the special things in everyday." I liked everything I saw, so I turned my attention to that 5% where we didn't match: I had billed myself as "very liberal" whereas she had billed herself as "liberal" (not a problem; as it turns out, we probably out-bleed each other's hearts in different ways, but we seem to fall in the same political neighborhood); she hadn't listed "government" as among the kind of career she wanted in a match (not a problem; as it turns out, "park ranger" actually worked to my advantage); and she had specified that she wanted a match without kids. Dammit; and had she caught my eye on more dour a day, I might have just written her off as I had several others for the same reason; but given my improving outlook and her obvious kindess and positivity, I instead marked her as a "favorite" and kept looking, with the intention to contact her at some indefinite point along with my other few dozen "favorites for later."
Then, on 23 October, I saw that she had looked back at me.
I had a great feeling right then, and composed a message for her on the spot with the subject "Friends ( gwynny ) Describe My Type as 'Hot Librarian'" and beginning with "I noticed that you noticed that I noticed you," continuing with a welcome to the area and questions into how her many homes had shaped her character, what situations led to the photographs she had posted, how she decided on a library career, and ending with a fairly confident "I look forward to hearing from you."
I had waited just long enough to stop holding out hope when her response came; she responded warmly, confidently, referring to her job as "librarianing" (you all know how I love "verbing," or making verbs from nouns), answering my questions thoroughly, thoughtfully and beautifully (I love good writing), asking what natural places I liked best in my neck of the woods and how I became a park ranger, and concluding with "I hope your tomorrow is fine."
I had a fine tomorrow, both in the day that followed and in the dawning of this new relationship (blech, I know, but she can play sappy right along with me, so deal with it).
We continued to impress each other with thoughtful inquiries and responses via e-mail every few days; she then, reiterating that she had enjoyed our correspondence and wanted to meet me and also that she hadn't been looking for somebody with a kid, asked me about the Boy and my relationship with his mother. I agonized over my response; I had told her right away that I consider myself an open book with nothing to hide, but this felt like my first opportunity in life to blow something so promising, and I crafted every word in hopes of keeping her interested while still presenting my true self.
I had to wait four days for a response, sweating out my birthday in the process. But I would never have to wait so long to hear from the Librarian again; she commended how "brave" an answer I had given and seemed more comfortable moving forward. We began chatting or e-mailing daily and arranging for our first in-person meeting; we decided to try and catch a sunset, moonrise and dinner at Stinson Beach after my workday on 13 November. In the interim, our conversations grew longer, deeper and more frequent; on the eve of our first date, we had just discussed stories of our dearest trees and some deeply personal matters, including the loss of my father in childhood and her sudden loss of her stepfather in recent months. We came into that day with hopes and emotions and nerves all running high.
The appointed hour came. And went. Neither of us had quite made our way to the appointed rendezvous in time. I assumed I had arrived later than her, and when a nervous scan of the town revealed the expected green Toyota Corolla with a woman resembling neither the Librarian's images nor her description waiting nervously, my heart sank. I approached and asked if she was the Librarian: but no. I then received a frantic text message from the Librarian indicating that she had misjudged the distance from the Point Reyes Lighthouse and would arrive as soon as she could. The woman in the car then asked if I had hoped to find somebody with the same first name, but I assured her that the one I wanted was on her way.
When the Librarian did finally arrive, she looked better than I ever could have hoped. She smiled broadly - I must have as well - and after we introduced ourselves, I asked, "So ... do we shake hands?" Without hesitation, she replied, "Oh, come here," and threw her arms around me. I knew right then that I wanted to see her again, and I felt oddly relaxed about my ability to ensure a second date.
I led her on foot to the beach as a fellow ranger locked up the parking lot, too late for sunset but plenty early for the rising nearly-full moon. We discussed our visits to the British Isles, our stints in the Great Lakes region, the geology of the shoreline at hand and memories of other shorelines thousands of miles distant. She saw the moon rise over Mount Tamalpais before I did; by that time, she had drawn my gaze firmly to her face and I had noticed the moonlight there first. I told her how beautiful she looked and she smiled as she awkwardly accepted the compliment. We made many-armed shadow puppets together with the light at our backs. As chill and hunger set in, and as the cypresses cast long shadows over our stretch of beach, we wondered how to get ourselves back into town; I produced my flashlight, and when I turned it on, the light revealed the sand sculpture we would have obliterated had we taken another step toward town:
We wondered at our good fortune, then collected some plastic trash, and finally - after asking her permission - I took her hand and led her back into town. I assured the other seeking woman in the green Corolla that "I had found her [the Librarian]." We found our chosen restaurant closed, but found an equally servicable restaurant open across the road. Dinner brought good food, more smiling, easier conversation, and boasting of the gorgeous toddlers in our lives (she has an adorable niece in Oakland, about a year younger than the Boy). A temperance map produced on her native Maui which I found posted over the urinal in the men's room made for much amusement. We boxed up my dinner (I eat slowly anyway, but I could barely eat) and made our way back to the road to find our cars.
We reached my red Hyundai entirely too quickly. I informed her that I had something for her - a loan, which any librarian would have to appreciate. I presented her with Thomas Pakenham's Meetings With Remarkable Trees and Remarkable Trees of the World; we sat on the hood of my car and she immediately dove into the latter book, looking for some Ficus and other trees she had in mind, then pausing to admire a baobab festooned with goats. She looked at me, exclaiming her delight at the goats in the tree, and I moved to kiss her. She kissed me back. We held each other for what seemed like minutes, and I felt the tension and ugliness in my life evaporate for a time. I felt truly happy. I asked when I could see her again, and we agreed to meet again, closer to her home, in about a week.
I walked her to her car. We kissed again. She opened her door. We kissed again over her door. We eventually parted; she waved from her car as she cautiously drove away, no doubt digesting the advice she'd sought for proper usage of highbeams on the way home. I sighed as she left, but smiled the whole way home. I wrote her upon my return, letting her know that my face then ached from smiling. I then wrote to tell all of you about this dreamy librarian.
We have since talked virtually every day; the eight days between our first and second dates seemed way too long, and we've seen each other about as many days each week as we've missed each other. I met her brother, sister-in-law and niece; she came to meet the Boy at our local playground, after which we all enjoyed an afternoon of tidepooling before an evening of delicious dinner with my brother, sister-in-law and niece; and when I caught this awful bug, she spent nearly her whole weekend here doting on me and making sure I got myself on the road to healthy. She even got this sicky out to the beach with her:
Librarian Fun Facts
- she stands 6'0" - a noticeable two inches taller than me; between that and the hair, she tends not to get lost in crowds - so much for landing the petite, unassuming woman I had expected
- I do have six months and six days on her in age - so much for landing the slightly older woman I had expected
- she grew up on Maui, graduated high school in Tacoma, obtained her undergraduate degree in English and theater at Oberlin College in Ohio, summered a few summers at a summer camp in Michigan, traveled the British Isles on a work visa, lived in a cooperative in Chicago, earned her master's degree and library and media science at Rutgers University in New Jersey, and moved in with friends in Menlo Park (California this time) this spring to enjoy proximity to her brother and new niece in Oakland
- she handles the juvenile and young adult responsibilities at a public library further up the peninsula, where she "increases the awesome" for her patrons; this apparently includes baking, crafting, organizing Halloween pageants dressed as a sexy, witchy librarian and putting on rock concerts - decidedly neither the library nor the librarian of my juvenile or young adult memories!
- she loves the Pacific Ocean and unique trees as much as I do, putzes on trails as much as I do, and wonders at all the same simple things that I do - different light on different surfaces at different times, scintillating wordplay, memories of little things mentioned only once, and more
- she describes herself as "private" and "a bit of a lady;" and especially as she now reads this journal, expect that I will keep a few things to myself - sorry, pervs! ;)>