You can practically smell the perfume…

Ah, spring! The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing and one’s heart turns to romance. Or does it?

I sit here alone on a Thursday night when I should’ve been out on a date. Last week I had a really great phone conversation with someone I met on one of my two dating apps. This guy seemed like a real possibility. We had a lot in common. Laughs came easy. So did the understanding of the shortfalls that life delivered to us. I knew of a place to meet up for a casual dinner, not expensive but great a vibe. He was supposed to text me this week and let me know what time. Instead, I heard crickets.

Honestly, I don’t take it personally nor do I care. It seems to be the way of things. It’s not wrong, just human nature. Maybe he got nervous or met someone else. Or changed his mind. Seeking love in middle age is a job in itself. I know it’s out there and I’ve seen proof. Several of my friends met wonderful people through dating apps, and I’m confident I will, too. It’s like betting and odds – eventually, there will be a payout…or date.

In the meantime, my social club is beginning the switch to summer mode. It’s a bucolic place in the countryside, with cabins and tents for people to relax and stay. Some come from the city to escape the summer heat, or suburban folk who just want to get away, even it it’s close by. I moved into my small but very comfortable room last weekend. Cleaned it up after a long winter’s slumber. The trees and flowers are blooming. The pool and hot tub will open soon. Patio furniture is reappearing on the deck, and pretty soon there will be plenty of barbecues scenting the air with smoky tastefulness.

This place is my refuge, where I go each weekend in the summer to escape. I joined as a single woman, not knowing a soul. Now I’ve become part of a community. Never short on friends, I’m always asked to meet up for a drink, dinner, or sit by a firepit and chat. I play cards weekly just because it’s fun. No social media, jarring news headlines or other disturbances of the universe interferes with time spent here. It’s such a simple pleasure. It reminds me of what it used to be like well back in the day, when people didn’t necessarily have the wherewithal to go on expensive vacations. A basic room, a pool and some woods, along with friends gathering around a grill eating hot dogs was enough.

Here I also met Glamour Man, who still weaves in and out of my life. He’s a busy guy and not often around, but even he texted that he can’t wait to get back. To see me? Or everyone else? Probably both. As I scrubbed the floors of my room, GM popped into my head. I made the comparison to Mr. Big on “Sex in the City,” Carrie’s elusive love that she eventually marries. I’m not looking to marry anyone at this stage of my life, but it would be nice to sit around a firepit, have a beer and munch on a hot dog with someone. Even if that someone happens to be GM.

But for now, the work week can’t move fast enough for the weekends to arrive. Come tomorrow, I’ll pack up the car and drive off to my happy place where I can just be who I am, and not worry about what’s outside the picket fences. I’ll have a glass of wine, and welcome a catch-up with my friends who I haven’t seen all winter. That’ll be enough for now. I’ll be a rich woman, enjoying the wealth of camaraderie and friendship, a rare commodity in our insane times.