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05 September ~ 2007

It seems like everytime I try to date someone, I end up bringing up my long marriage, and how hard it was when it ended. Why the hell is that?

I try to suppress it, and it works, for a while. But eventually I have to talk about it again. I guess it is something I am still figuring out.

She was nineteen, a gorgeous, slender, brunette. I had met her once before, when her mother brought her by to introduce her. I didn't see her again for six months or so, and had mostly forgotten about her.

I don't remember what brought her to my home that second time, but we sat out in the meadow on the cement foundation of an old house and talked for hours, sharing our stories.

When she left towards evening my heart was filled with expectation and hope. I understand now that I had fallen in love. There is no love like a first love.

That was May of 1975. We married in November of that year.

I expected to always be married to her, even though we had our ups and downs. I was taken by surprise when she filed for divorce in June of 2001, as the dumpee often is. She said this is harder than she anticipated, and put the divorce on hold throughout the summer. I wondered if we would eventually get back together, because we remained friends, and the rocky times in our marriage seemed to be pretty far back.

It helped that I had stopped drinking a couple of years before, and when we were together enjoyed each other's company, especially out dancing. We had been passionate twosteppers at the Grizzly Rose for over a decade, and the timing and skill we had developed over the years (mostly her), is not seen often. There wasnt any anger between us, and once that summer she came over and was kinder than I expected.

My hopes went down though the day we went to a counselor together, and at the end of a long defensive narrative defending her actions, she said: "I just feel like moving on."

Then one week in September she told me not to go to the Rose the next Saturday night. It seemed odd for her to say that, since I had not gone all summer long, except on the weekends she called and said she wanted to go dancing.

So of course I put on my Wranglers and my Justin hat and drove down there, mostly out of curiosity. There she was, sitting on the southeast side at a table, with a date close beside her.

What should I do? They hadnt seen me. Should I slink out quietly and be depressed?

I asked the prettiest ladies to dance, and to my surprise found that we did well together - they could follow my leads. I told one regular named Lynn what was happening. She said well maybe this will open up something new for you. I shook my head no.

My wife and her boyfriend hadn't moved from their table - just sat there and watched. I thought that was rather strange since she loved to dance - When the band was good we would twostep until we had to stand in front of the fans to dry off. Later I learned the reason they mostly sat and watched was his bad knees, which made me feel sorry for her and wonder about the choices people make for the sake of moving on.

Before I left I went up to the table and nodded at them. She almost jeered at me, which gave me a cold chill, from the woman, my sweetheart, that I had married 26 years ago at barely 20 years old.

The next morning I called her and said we need to finalize the divorce. Our marriage ended on November 11, 2001.

I was depressed that winter. I recall some Saturday nights going to sleep at 6pm, for the night. I didn't go dancing even once.

Thank goodness I stayed firm in my resolve to not drink. I took a lot of walks and wilderness trips with my border collies. I let the healing hand of nature see me through it.

In July I started to come out of it. I had driven up to the Greeley Stampede, and was listening to the K.C. Yates band play Waylon Jennings out on the lawn under the trees, and right then realized I loved music and dancing too damn much to continue to be sorry-faced because she wanted to move on to her gimpy-kneed boyfriend. I went over to Miller Stockman and got a new hat, since I hadnt brought mine along, and went to the Gambler for Saturday Night. I found the passion she and I had was still there, I had a great time, and that was just the beginning of it. I found there was healing in the arms and firm backs and sweet smell of my lady partners, moving together to the music of a live band.

I don't want to imply that I never looked back, or felt better off. I did not want to be divorced. I never would have divorced her. She was my love, the only woman I had ever been close to. It just started sinking in that plenty of my life was still before me. She had made her choice, and I needed to look forward also. That would not change the fact that I had loved her deeply, and still do. We just never would be together again.

That was almost six years ago. I still don't drink, and likely never will, other than nonalcoholic Odoul's to keep the dance halls in business. I like to be in control when I dance with many different ladies, to retain some skill, and be alert at what is going on around me. I continue to be hooked on the honky tonk atmosphere - the excitement and passion of Saturday night, which I believe is called emotional energy. Everybody is in a happy mood, the music is great, and you can't help but be affected by it. Walk in from the outside on a good night and you feel it immediately.

Of course a lot of it is fueled by alcohol. I may not drink but I don't mind if others do. I probably wouldn't get but half the dance partners I do if those pretty ladies werent a little bit shitfaced.

Lynn, the lady I danced with on that night that my wife told me to stay away from the Rose ,still goes there. She had her own steady partner for years, and he is now long gone. I asked her to dance this last Saturday. We did an easy triplestep - she responded to my leads as if we had been dancing for years. I put my hand on her back and gently pulled her close as we spinned. When the song winded down she twirled away, and smiled. Her face was in the light and her smile was so warm that I was struck by her beauty - like when you are out in the evening and the sun comes from under a cloud just before sunset, and you never noticed it look like this before.

Later when I was leaning back against the rail and watching the band and the couples circling around the floor it struck me that Lynn and I have something in common. We are survivors. We have been through plenty, but by having what it takes to toughen up and be resilient, we are still out here experiencing the joy of music and dance and old friends on Saturday night.

You can't be faint-hearted and get the best out of life.

Being successful at honky tonk life is one thing though. I am still working on the rest.

I havent dated much since the divorce - just a few times, and I havent been close to anybody since my wife. It is pretty obvious that I am wanting to avoid the heartache of having someone who said they loved you turn away.

There is a lady that I see once in a while, who is a good dancer, and we seem to connect with each other. She seems like a sweet person, and more than once I wondered what it would be like to get to know her better. She is blond and slim, and has an uncommon beauty. I have told my friends about her, and they asked if she likes me also. I said I have no idea, and I probably never will. I am too chicken to find out. My comfort zone is to thank my partners and walk to the back of the dance hail to lean against a post until the next good song.

On Saturday this lady and I danced several times, and I managed to have a conversation with her now and again. Eventually though I would thank her and walk to the back.

The more we danced and talked, and as it got closer to midnight, I knew what I should do - take a chance and ask her out.

Would I, or would I watch her dance with other men, and then get her purse and leave with her friends, an opportunity lost.

I danced with her again, took a deep breath and said 'Would you like to go to dinner sometime?"

"OK," she said.

We had our first date, walking outside on a warm morning. She told me about her life, and I told her about mine, including my 26 year marriage. As I said, I havent figured yet how to avoid that topic. Maybe someday.

But I have been thinking about our date, and how sweet she was, and what she told me, and how important it is to have someone to listen.

What I have come to realize, is there is something very sacred in witnessing another person's life story.

And I wonder if that isnt the way that love begins, in the listening.