“Somethin’ in her eyes makes me wanna lose myself
       Makes me wanna lose myself, in her arms…
       There’s somethin’ in her voice makes my heart beat fast
       Hope this feeling lasts…the rest of my life…”

On Day One I handed her a ticket for a concert. It felt uneasy

Roth/Schorr wedding in Westchester, and on a hot August night came a moment of clarity. Standing, eyeing newlyweds dance, my mind paced between Brittany and Matthew, and the lady in Cleveland. Indeed, lyrics speaking directly to me I lost focus. We hadn’t spoken all day…and the clock was teasing 11.

“ ’Can’t call now—she may be busy or with someone,” urged my head.
“Fuck it,” said my soul, “If she is, she is,”
“Yeah, but you can’t interrupt her on a Saturday night—it’s invasive,” my brain reminded (to a mind made up).

She was, by then, in my system. Defying “conventional wisdom”, moments later I led with my heart and reached out by text. It was only as she wrote right back that I felt relief. All was right in the world, and it felt like home.

Day One had come through the rear-view mirror. (If you don’t believe me, ask H). So assured I was of the “friend” thing that the night at Cain Park we used what accountants refer to as the LIFO method: last in, first out. Scooping her up last, dropping her off first, with priorities in order I returned home pre-Letterman. No harm, no foul, thought I, but what did I know? (We’d have dinner Day Four).

Some things you just feel. No kiss that next “date”. Not even in field goal range. In fact, her push back mattered not. I was, even then, in with both feet; thinking back, so was she. Even then. Some things you just KNOW. Hitting the wall didn’t deter me. and the very next Wednesday we shared Paladar’s patio. It was Erev my cross-country drive and a still-unnumbered Day Eight.

(It’s a funny thing about life: how it gets in the way of plans. As she’s reminded me often, “Who’d have thunk it?” Certainly not I. As such, on the sojourn cross 80 I called her not. Who knew (not I) that the ensuing week we’d speak daily, or text…. Who (she STILL says) would have thunk it?

Feelings grew. At week’s end I rose early, by-passed the morning-after brunch, and sped west and right to her doorstep. She was, alas, making dinner. (This too was a first! Imagine ME, weaned on Al Bogart’s reverence for restaurants, hustling back for…home cooking)!

  “Well, if she knew how much these moments mean to me
       And how long I’ve waited for her touch
       And if she knew how happy she is making me
       (I never thought that I’d love anyone so much)…”

It was the end of the beginning. Sans planning or purpose we found ways, daily, to interact. Oddly, she once told me she liked the fact that I approached life “slow and steady.” An interesting comment, in light of our nexus, but she truly meant it.

“What’d you do last night?” Stacy’d ask daily. (I’m not an idiot; she wouldn’t come out and say it, but I knew what she was asking).
“Went over Carrie’s”.
“That’s what I like about you, Dad,” she’d tease, “Slow and steady.”

It was becoming a habit and…with some pause…an expectation. How well I recall the night after play rehearsal, sitting at Giant Eagle…in the parking lot…waiting to see if she’d call. She hadn’t asked me to come over—it was pushing 10 pm—- yet…I didn’t want to pack it in, to head back home. Staring at the clock, waiting a bit…finally, like in the movies, my cell phone chirped, signaling a message.

“Romney speaks in ten minutes. Interested?” The flag was up! Crossing party lines was easy.

The rest blurs. (Well, not really). From Labor Day to Holidays to Columbus to Plantation to Chappaqua.to Harriet to Cousin Bobby through Max we’ve shared smiles, friends, family and, most of all: time.

Talking the past (just a bit), living the present (over all!), we’ve pictured the future.


Sometime this fall, almost like it had eyes, it kicked in. Sometime this autumn, through glances shared and words unspoken, we struck that rainbow connection. Days blended as our lives melded. It was not so much “slow and steady” as just right….

Which leads me to Day One Hundred, not long ago.

On Day One Hundred, you see, three months-plus after I’d tendered the ticket…on Day One Hundred she handed me a garage door opener.

The concert was coming from within.

And it felt like home.

       …It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me
       It feels like I’m all the way the back where I come from….”

Randy Newman (adapted)

3 Responses to “FEELS LIKE HOME”

  1. Up From Dysfunction says:

    I really enjoyed reading this post. Lori

  2. Aunt Helen says:

    Me too!

  3. Grandpa Maysai says:

    Get off the computer. Stop wasting your time.

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