Dan

Dan

In the days following my trying legal encounter, my confidence in my marketability was soon to be shattered.  Via the website, I connected with a very handsome, athletic Psychiatrist from Nanaimo.  He initiated correspondence with this complimentary pronouncement – 

I found your bio to be entertaining and thoughtfully written.  The woman described in it is a good representation of the woman I am looking for.  

He continued to lay on the enticing words, referencing a Herman Melville quote I’d added to my profile:

I too, identify with Herman Melville with my love of exploration of all things remote.  I love his enticing phrase ‘sail forbidden seas’ coupled with ‘barbarous coasts’- writing could not get much better!  Still elusive is the one adventurous woman with which to share sunrises, beaches and velvet night skies. 

I would like to meet and take the time for respectful consideration and conversation.

Could you let me know your thoughts? Please don’t wait too long.

Dan 

As urged by his final sentence, without delay I click on his profile to scrutinize his pictures.  In the first, he’s smiling broadly up at the camera, the orange of his kayak in vivid contrast to the turquoise water surrounding him. He’s got neatly trimmed grey hair, sunglasses that could be the up-market brother of my own, and a beautiful set of even American-Style white teeth.  More on the teeth later, as will become clear, teeth play an incisive role in this narrative.  I make no apology for the inclusion of that word. 

The second picture is not unexpected, a brown long-haired dog lolling on the beach with a red ball in his mouth.  These canine images, appearing with infiltrating regularity, are no doubt intended to demonstrate capacity for love and caring for another living creature. I plead guilty myself.  Why else would Barkley have secured prime real estate on my profile page? 

Another shows him ski-dooing, suitably clad in stylish seasonal attire, against a backdrop of chill fog and snow. That kind of day would have seen me happily still in my jammies at 3 pm.  The final picture is of him posing on skis. The tasteful calibre of his ski-suit convinces me it’s probably a Whistler shot rather than Mount Washington shot. He’s in that iconic pose assumed by those confident in their Double-Black-Diamond run ability. He’s neatly vertical, with legs tidily parallel, elegant skis almost touching one another.  His torso is swivelled to face the camera and arms are sweeping outwards, poles stabbed casually into the soft snow around him.  It is with good reason there’s no such shot posted on my profile.  When skiing, I am in a state ranging between high tension and paralysing terror, and this would be evident.  My skis would form the pizza shape, (this was a survival skill I mastered early.  It prevents one from sliding forward when one doesn’t want to slide forward) my bum would be curving unflatteringly outwards and poles would definitely be playing a supporting role to stop me from tipping to one side.  Wiser not to mention my mismatched ski attire at this juncture.  Actually, it’s probably wiser not to introduce unsettling images of myself engaging in any sporting activities… I digress, back to Dan.  There’s plenty to enchant the eye in the visuals he’s provided. 

One short paragraph in his description of himself ensures that I will correspond.

You will find that I am caring, open and gentle.  My interests are varied – I love travel, writing, fresh salads, calligraphy, adventure.  I strive for a lifetime of growth.  I love the warm heavy fuzziness of a fresh summer peach in my hand, the dusty texture on my lips, the soft sweet juiciness of the first taste of it.  I love the sound of water gently lapping on pebbled beaches, the feel of a warm breeze, and the tension before a first kiss.

With girlish enthusiasm I respond with alacrity.  After all, here is a  Really Handsome Fish nibbling at my bait.

Hello Dan... what a lovely letter introducing yourself. You seem sensitive and considerate.  Your profile certainly does intrigue me, but I have a sneaking suspicion that you are more virtuous and disciplined in regards to your lifestyle and health than I am. My approach to nutrition can be chaotic and though I love the outdoors and being active, I would by no means call myself athletic or sporty. Consider yourself warned. Anne

And so we’re off…. For a few days there are pleasant exchanges between the two of us.  I fill him in on a bit of my story.  He discloses his line of work, a psychiatrist.  No doubt an ace hidden up his sleeve, ready to be produced with a flourish.  Possibly my measured and atypical response to this impressive news was my first disappointment to him.  

Ah Dan, I am quite comfortable with doctors. After all, I was married to one for the better part of 31 years, so rest assured, I am not suffering from societal status deficit.  I've already enjoyed ‘Doctor’s Wife’  title, so unlike other social climbing women, your occupation is not a vehicle by which I would measure my self worth. Anne

Anne- You are unique and make me laugh.  I would love to connect with you.  Dan

As Dan had a scheduled dental appointment one afternoon that week, and his dental office is a mere 25 minutes drive from Duncan, we agreed to meet afterwards.  Cell phone numbers were exchanged, with the arrangement that he would text me when he was released from the Ordeal of the Chair of Pain.  As things transpired, there was clearly something amiss with that fine, white regular set of teeth - an extraction was necessary.  An unpalatable text chirped onto my cell phone that afternoon:

Just had a tooth pulled.  Will not be at best advantage if swollen lipped and drooling blood upon meeting.  Rain check.  Talk later?

Oh. You’re so close.  (Ever practical, I like to save on the drive)  Let’s meet anyway. I never show to best advantage either!  Unless u r in horrible pain… but then u shouldn’t be driving yet anyway.  At least then u can assess if I am worth another visit.  A

I’d prefer to postpone. Am feeling battered and traumatized. Really sorry. Had no idea they’d yank it. D

Ok ((hugs)) Drive v carefully.  Drug yourself if in pain. A

After he’d arrived home, he sent this -   Lips are numb and tea tastes of blood.  Talk later?

Unbeknownst to me, who was fast asleep at the ungodly hour, he texted this command just before midnight-

WILL BE UP A WHILE LONGER YOU CAN CALL ME NOW

The following morning, after my eyes were assaulted by his summons shouting at me from my cell phone screen, I responded-

 Are you barking orders at me in the manner of a surgeon to a scrub nurse?  Or were you too bleary-eyed to notice that your caps lock was on? A

Neither my dog nor I bark. It was the latter.  D 

Mine does.  I have to continually remind him about his Inside Voice.  In fact, I have a sign on the back of the door to the garage that says, ‘We like Quiet Dogs.’  I read it aloud to him from time to time.   A

The following morning was when I probably made my fatal miss-step. Though looking back, quite possibly he’d been disconcerted by my non-athletic declarations, my eagerness to meet despite his dental trauma,  my ‘barking surgeon’ accusation and mad monologues to my dog.  Half asleep and headachy I sent the following email –

Good Morning, Dan. There I was coping grandly, but having woken with a blinding headache, I staggered half asleep to the bathroom,  and gulped down a sleeping pill that starts with a Z - Zopiclone (sounds like the arch nemesis from Space Invaders), mistaking it for my trusty T3, so may not make it through the Times Colonist let alone my cryptic. Jammie day. 

To this sparkling insight into the quality of my life, I received no response at all.  Before the following weekend, I sent him a text.

Hi- I just wanted to clarify weekend plans.  Any thoughts regarding connecting?  A 

His reply dashed my hopes in that regard.

Too many commitments, will be unable to meet. D

Not wanting to come across as desperate I responded,

No problem...it can wait till you have more time.  Let me know if you have a moment. 

Rudely, I felt, there was no reply to this, so a few days later I wrote-

Hi Dan.  I have a thought you may have decided against meeting? Could you let me know either way? Have a great week. Anne

Again, no answer.  I began to question the man’s manners. Unfamiliar as I am with internet etiquette, I felt surely it is only polite to respond?  Some days later, deciding that he should be alerted to his unchivalrous treatment in a subtle way, I concluded our exchanges with the following-

My apologies, Dan, if somehow I alarmed or offended you. I am totally inexperienced at all this.... it just seems strange to me that you are not responding given that we had a definite meeting set up which had to be cancelled owing to your extraction.

Then, kindly opening an exit door that he could easily avail himself of, and extricate himself with some degree of civility intact, I added-

 Perhaps you've met someone else, in which case, congrats!  Anne

No response.  Nothing…Ever….

But here’s the interesting twist.  A month or so later, when I was accessing a free messaging app on my cell phone, there he was, in my ‘contacts’!   I’m presuming this was because we’d texted and my clever phone transferred his submitted information to the app.  Included in his listing was a different photograph.  Gone was the handsome, active Adonis with beautiful teeth and stylish sunglasses.  I stared in horror at a scary glowering old man.  He was mousy-haired and grim mouthed, sporting a dense and scrubbing-brushy goatee and matching bristling whiskered eyebrows.  Was this a psychiatrist who never intended to meet, but just wanted to play mind games with me?  Was he even a psychiatrist?  Did he even go near a dentist?  

I have just re-examined this image, and it brings a shudder of unease.  Could it be that he's doing time and is using the internet dating as a welcome distraction?   Oh happy reprieve!

Michael

Blog Readers- A change is as good as a holiday!  Interspersed in my blog will be a few more reflective pieces.  This post gives insight into an important part of my life- Art.  The emails are a close reflection of actual correspondence with another artist. Hopefully you find it interesting and refreshing. All the drawings featured are mine, done from life.  Anne    

Michael

  

         

Hello – I am delighted to discover someone else on this site who is clearly as passionate about figure drawing as I am. Thanks for posting some images of your work. I think they're dynamic and so full of vitality and at the same time audaciously confident and accurate.  I think you’re brilliant how you suggest at bone structure, musculature, form and movement within a single image. 

Fantastic work, congratulations! I have a weakness for decisive line, myself.  Anne

Anne - It’s a funny thing, life drawing – scribbling images down on crappy paper, most often with them ending up as fire starters, but occasionally there is something worth keeping. That makes it all worthwhile.  Thank you for your compliments.  I’m intrigued by your work, you’ve only got the one drawing on the site – is there somewhere I can see more?   I am happy to communicate with another figure drawer.  Michael

Hi Michael

You make me laugh.  I find that far too often the quality of my image is in direct disproportion to the quality of the paper upon which it is drawn.  Most often, when I pull out an expensive sheet of paper the end result is unworthy.  Probably the stress around having to ‘produce’.  I have always enjoyed the challenge of life drawing, I know it will take a lifetime, or beyond, to hone my skill at it.  I also find it extremely therapeutic.  My theory is that one has to concentrate so intensely on the drawing, any other worries are unable to encroach into one’s head at the time.  Here’s a link where you can see a few of my drawings. https://plus.google.com/photos/107399415030224853515/albums/5645752012341825665?banner=pwa

Anne, wow, lovely!  You’re not scared of extreme foreshortening and you nail the feet and hands. Feet are always a challenge, and yours are superb. I hate it when I wreck a drawing because I bugger up the hands or feet.  M

Hi... I used to battle with feet / hands, do ghastly amorphous suggestions,  or v amateurish with too small fingers. So resolved to conquer them- did 1/2 hr each day drawing my own from the mirror. So now, for me they are my default. If I am lazy or tired I settle on a hand or foot study. I feel like a bit of a cheat because it's really not difficult and one can get away with horrific inaccuracies!  With faces, I find it impossible to flatter, so do no justice to lovely girls with my brutal line.

I have learned that no matter how long I do life drawing, I am only happy with about 10% of the pieces.  This proportion hasn’t changed for me over time, I just keep (hopefully!) raising my bar higher.

My two friends, Sharron and Kaye, and myself have been drawing together weekly for over ten years.  Even now, it still feels like playing the lottery.  With each new pose, we feel enthusiastic and inspired and think, “Maybe this time, it’s going to be a winner!”  Though often there are mornings of duds we still love to come back for more, possibly because Leonard Cohen is the patron saint of our group, so we get our Leonard Fix, even if the art part causes disappointment.  A

Anne,... Ah,  Leonard!  Now there's a master of his art!  You're right, it is totally like gambling.  Very, very rare that what one hopes for comes to pass!  I also find it difficult to flatter when drawing.  To me, the lack of structure in young beautiful girls makes them difficult to draw without aging them prematurely.  I am far more interested in portraying form above flattery.  This is why I stay away from portraiture!  Your 10% satisfaction rate holds true for me as well. M

Hi Michael

Thanks for the link to your website.  I passed a happy half hour, glass of wine in hand, browsing through your images. There is both a maturity and accuracy to your work that is rare in figure drawing.  I do hope you are exhibiting somewhere?   Anne

Anne

Not exhibiting drawings, but I do sell my paintings at a couple of galleries.  I find the public has little interest in life drawings.  I set up the website in a desperate attempt to self-promote.  I really dislike blowing my own trumpet in this way.  M

Hi  Michael- I know EXACTLY how you feel about self-promotion. I always hated that part about the art. Why can't we go back to the days of patrons? I used to have a website but somehow it vanished into the cyber vapours, and then I became too busy with the hassles of real life to fuss over it... So for now there is just a sorely neglected art blog.  Anne

Anne- You intrigue me, I think we’d make a good fit – I am drawn to you.  LOL!  What do you think about meeting in person?

Michael - sweetie, did you not notice that I am over twenty years older than you? Even though you may not be as keen on drawing the beautiful young girls, I am pretty sure that when it comes to dating, you’d rather have a beautiful young one than an over fifty old crock like myself!  I am flattered but I really don’t think anything by way of romantic would pan out between us!

I wish you all the best- I know you’re going to go far, if you can draw like this with so few years of experience under your belt, I can’t wait to see what you’ll be doing when you are my age!

Thanks.  Keep well, keep drawing.

Anne

Richard

Richard 

 

Bravo!  He writes to me.  What a well written and witty profile!

 

I had practised my right to artistic license, and had changed my written profile in its entirety.  Instead of the tedious list of interests and beguiling character traits, the lads were treated to my ‘Window Dressing’ (March) essay in this blog, which details my photograph-choosing process.  Lesser men would be daunted to attempt a run at this literary gauntlet.  Those that persevered through the first couple of paragraphs would be justly rewarded with a dousing of my humour in full flight.  I am referring, of course, to the deliberations over the image of yours truly cycling, helmet facing backwards.  This filter, I thought, was well conceived.  Individuals who emerged through the reading intact would be worth a second look.  The undesirables, the ones hankering after the bodily delights of women, would be overwhelmed at my wordiness, and flee to less challenging waters.  Those shallow waters being awash with buxom women in bikinis who liked sunsets, backrubs and fireside chats. 

Richard clearly had no problem digesting my essay, and we wrote back and forth on the intricacies of my wardrobe (my penchant for scoop neck tops)  and the delights of both Istanbul and the beach at Dallas Road. 

The images on his profile page were nothing short of beautiful. Richard himself is pretty easy on the eye, with his trim physique, tousled,  variegated hair, olive skin and dark brown eyes.  Clearly he’d hired a professional to take the shots- one showed him walking in the street in Victoria (I recognized Market Square behind him, so could verify the authenticity of the locale) wearing a suit and striding forward with purpose.  A second showed him in a well-appointed kitchen.  He’d donned an apron and was busy stirring a pan of simmering mushrooms on a stove.   The third image was more of a holiday snapshot.  In it he’s on a beach somewhere tropical, but clearly not too remote, has he’s fortifying himself with a yummy looking fruit-bedecked cocktail. 

My guard is generally alerted with very good looking men as I suspect they’ve a proclivity to be vain and preening characters.  All too often, aware of their good looks, they can be more interested in themselves than their superficial personalities would warrant.  However, who am I to discriminate against a man on the basis of handsomeness?  His email exchanges were literate and engaging, and my interest was sharpened when I noticed his profession was listed as ‘law.’  I did feel some mixed emotions regarding that profession, as I know so little about any legal matters, I wondered what line of conversation we might safely follow where I would not present as a complete idiot.

In keeping with the current trend, he too was looking for an athletic woman who took good care of herself.  This, by now, is such a familiar refrain, it barely caused me a moment’s panic.  It’s my thought that if I can wedge into an economy class aeroplane seat and fasten the seatbelt over my tummy, I am in reasonable shape physically. 

It was with joy I received the news that Richard would happily drive the Malahat to meet me for lunch one Saturday.  He’d always wanted to check out the acclaimed Duncan Farmer’s market, and I provided the perfect pretext.  He summoned me to lunch, to be followed by a visit the market together.  Being well aware that my son-in-law would be in attendance at his stall in the market, selling fresh eggs and his beautiful herbs and veggies,  I pre-emptively phoned James to alert him to the fact that should he see me walking round the market with an unfamiliar man hovering attendance, he’s not to call the RCMP.

I made the mistake of arriving somewhat early for our meeting, so it was annoying to have to wait a good 15 minutes for Richard.  Though I know as well as any how troublesome the Malahat highway can be - if there is some kind of an accident, it can mean a delay of hours. 

When he walked in, I recognized him immediately, though his presentation differed from what I’d anticipated.  Having spent considerable time scrutinizing my wardrobe, as presented in my picture gallery, one would have expected he’d have taken better care with is own.  He was in a baby-poo shirt, jeans and brown shoes which had echoes of Martins’, as described in April.   These items would have been passable, but the ensemble was completed with a most peculiar sleeveless over-vest.  One could almost believe it was a man’s navy blazer, with the sleeves and lapels cut off.  It seemed to be made of a wool-blend fabric and had a very useful amount of pockets included on its front facade.  His wardrobe was verging on fraudulent, I felt, given his online image of suave urbanity.  Oh well, perhaps over the weekends he liked to be casual to the point of extreme comfort.  Lawyers have to dress formally all week, so I permit him this lapse. I've heard it said that often men of substantial means, having nothing to prove, dress down when given the chance.

After menu selections were settled on, and our drinks placed before us, his cross examination began in earnest.  When did I move to Canada?  Why did I move to Canada? Do I like it in Canada? How many children have I got?  Where are they? Where is your ex-husband (maybe he didn’t read my profile?)  Where in South Africa did you grow up?  And where is Durban? Where do you live now?  How long have you lived in this area? Do you like it here? What work do you do? And your children, what are they doing? What plans do you have for travel? And this, joltingly out of context, given the lack of admissible evidence, as I was sporting none: So do you think diamonds really are a girl’s best friend? Was that some kind of screen for materialistic tendencies?  It was relentless. The correct legal term, I believe, is Ad Infinitum, though my preference is Ad Nauseum.  I am surprised he wasn’t taking notes as I answered each of these questions, and many more.  It wasn’t unexpected when twinges heralding a stress headache encroached my brain. 

As he continued without pause, I became alive to my error in agreeing to a lunch date.  A coffee date could, if necessary, be concluded within the half hour, but a lunch date required at least twice that long, unless one was willing to impolitely go AWOL.  

Richard's questioning became more personal and probing as time progressed.  “Tell me about your exercise regime.”  And alarmingly, as I took a bite of Caesar salad, “You know that’s stuff is awfully fattening, don’t you?  It will go straight onto those thighs.”   At the sound of the word ‘thighs,’ I could feel my headache intensify with unwelcome strobed zig-zag arcs, and a maniacal twitch tug rhythmically at my eyelid.  Before I became a hostile witness, I plead permission for a washroom recess and hastened to the ladies’ room.  

I am never one to abandon a delicious plate of quesadilla half-way through the eating, so the obvious answer to enduring the meal to its conclusion was my trusty Grandpa Headache Powder.  My sisters are not permitted to visit from South Africa without bringing at least three boxes of the stuff.  I have found nothing comparable here in Canada when it comes to my stubborn and debilitating headaches.  The powder comes in a paper sachet, the idea being to tip it on the tongue, and swig it down with a lot of water, trying all the while to disregard the violently acrid taste and fizzing texture.  Being practiced, I have mastered the technique.  It can prove challenging, I realized, when there is no cup of water on hand to bring to the lips.  One has to bend over the tap, tongue curled upward resembling lapping cat’s, to prevent the powder from spilling out of one’s mouth.  Somehow I managed this skillful manouvre with success, and so returned to the witness bench secure in the knowledge that within minutes the pounding gavel in my head would ease.  

Unfortunately, such was my haste to self-medicate, I’d failed to notice the damning white powder dusting the front of my navy (scoop neck) top.  Prosecuting council spotted it and pointed an accusatory finger at Exhibit A.  “What’s that?” he asked.  Unaware of my medicinal malfunction, I almost said “My breast, what do you think it is?” but something told me to look down.  The incriminating evidence was clearly presented.  “Oh, that’s my headache powder!” I jauntily announced.  “Really?  I have never heard of headache powder. Sounds Victorian.”  He responded, eyes and lips narrowed with suspicion and judgement.  I explained about South Africa and the obliging sisters transporting my supply and the punishing headaches, but I could see he’d lost interest in me, in that instant.  Well, quite probably he’d been underwhelmed when he’d seen my thighs… Clearly his verdict had been reached, and I had been found wanting.  I was now encroaching on his time.  

We completed our meal with little more conversation.  Never has such delicious food stuck so uncomfortably in my throat.  Thankfully, the throbbing head was my alibi and reason why I should hasten home rather than stroll the market stalls with him.  Happily, he granted me absolute discharge with no further objection.

Headache or not, I’m never one to miss an opportunity to promote my son-in-law’s business.  “Do make sure you visit the Lockwood Farm Stall,” was my parting shot, “They have the finest free-range eggs on the Island.”  

Ha ha, I hear from James that he bought three dozen!