I’ve fallen in love.
Well, let’s not rush in to things. That may be an exaggeration, a rush of gratitude from a jaded old fart who imagined such things as whirlwind romances were relics of a personal past strewn with vaguely remembered — mostly forgotten — faces and names come and long gone.
Love had settled into my life like a comfortable cocoon. I’ve loved my Perfect Partner for over two decades… exclusively, deeply and fully. I’ve loved Whistler life as I’ve loved no place else and as a result have now lived here longer than I’ve ever lived any place in what I always imagined was a rootless life. I love how the summer at Smilin’ Dog Manor follows ski season, a change of place and scene, speed and tempo that makes returning to Whistler each autumn an exciting prelude to the coming snow. I love Zippy the Dog as only a dogdaddy can love an aloof, totally self-absorbed, four-legged, couch-sleepin’ oaf.
But shortly before Christmas another lady came into my life. At first, I was pretty indifferent to her. She seemed cold and, well, way too sophisticated for me, which may be a pretty good example of damning with faint praise since almost everyone I meet leaves me in the dust sophisticationwise. She was bright, intelligent in a way I’ll never be. She knew more about her particular field of expertise than anyone I’ve ever met. Her knowledge of geography seemed encyclopedic, an admittedly esoteric field but one of profound importance once you get past your own mind-numbing experience with it, warped as it generally is in an indifferent grade school geography teacher.
And, she was infinitely patient. Anyone who knows me can immediately grasp how important a trait that is in anyone who’s going to deal with me for longer than it takes to drink a beer and be insulted a few times in the process. When I ignore her advice, suggestions, recommendations, she doesn’t get mad, doesn’t feel slighted, doesn’t clam up. Instead, she goes with the flow, adjusts her gameplan, comes right back with another extremely rational proposal. Almost without exception, I realize she’s right and wind up doing things her way.
Her name’s Maestro, a bizarre moniker if there ever was one so I just call her the Lady. My Perfect Partner has more or less fallen for her as well. She’s slipped into our lives in a comfortable ménage a trois completely devoid of jealousy, bickering or hurt feelings. She’s a GPS navigation system, the progeny of the Magellan clan, and in a just over a week, she’s gone from stranger to someone I rarely leave home without.