April 2009 - Posts
Perhaps I should begin by explaining the curious title of this narrative.
Most American women want to get married at some point in their lives. I always wanted to get married, and I freely admit it. Maybe not so much for the white dress and big party, but for the stability, having a partner to grow with, and to just feel secure.
A few good men asked my father for my hand in marriage, but there was only one I said yes to, and this was because I thought he held the magical power that made him “The One.” But the wedding date was never set because I kept getting cold feet and finding reasons to put off all discussions regarding our future.
It didn't take long for me to be honest with myself that something big was missing. I had the handsome guy, the Tiffany's ring, and the great extended family; a perfect package, right? When my friends learned I wasn't sure of my choice, they encouraged me to peel back the layers and take a deeper look. I didn't like what I saw, so I was shortly on a train out of dysfunction junction. I was 35.
In a matter of days, it seemed everyone I knew was ready to set me up on dates. I was looking for matrimony, not another long term boyfriend, and I realized a well-thought out list of “must-haves” was important for me to obtain my goal.
I made a list of 10 specific (and non-superficial) traits I was looking for in “The One,” and spread the word to anyone waiting in line to set me up with some “great guy” they knew. Otherwise, it would be too easy to be swayed by a charming personality.
I knew what I wanted and would not veer off course, even if my blind date was gorgeous, wealthy, knew the secret ingredient of Coca-Cola, or could pick the banjo like no one's business. I had never been on a blind date before this time, but I was ready to embark on this brand new life and be open to whatever lies ahead. I was 100% ready to meet the man I was destined to be with, so why not surrender to blind dating in order to be proactive? Letting friends act as matchmaker for a 77-date spree, the result was, not surprisingly, quite entertaining.
My beloved father, a member of no less than three Catholic singles groups at the time, decided this was fun he didn't want to miss out on. It was actually his idea to number the dates, run down each thumbnail sketch to him on the phone before each date, and keep a journal of highlights.
Since I work in the funeral industry, I realized my career choice might make the whole dating situation somewhat awkward. I was always up-front about what I did for a living, because I wanted men to be in the loop before we met. But I also steered the conversation to other topics because my career was too often the focus when meeting people. The first date could easily turn into a question and answer session all about me. I was there to screen them, after all!
I had 77 blind dates over a 12-month span, until all the effort netted me a happy ending. I got the guy (a fellow funeral industry professional), the proposal, and became pregnant one month after my absolute fairytale wedding. I am now the mother of a beautiful baby girl and a doted-on wife who hopes to never have a blind date again! Throughout this experience, I learned that life is what happens when we are busy making other plans, and that my father is really my biggest fan.
Blind dating is meeting a special person who someone in your life thought you were special enough to meet.
I tell this to myself in the mirror, over and over, and then ask the reflection if I was accepting blind dates because all my friends were married, or because I was feeling desperate.
“I don’t ever do blind dates,” declared my trusty mirror, but of course in a voice only I could hear. “It’s my general policy, because I can find my own dates. Blind dates equal desperate dates and the smell of desperation is a complete turn-off for me.”
So I have a date with a stranger tonight. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but somehow I feel collectively awkward since I come from a rather blind date phobic society. But why do we feel it is something odd? After all, Ray Charles went on many blind dates with his wife, Della.
I guess a big hesitation is that the odds aren’t a favorable number. Two people can always match up on paper, but chemistry and attraction are obviously very important factors that those setting up blind daters might not always realize. Pairing up a couple who look rather well-suited with similar backgrounds can make for good friends, but not always for a great love match.
I would also guess there was less urgency for both parties to go through with the date, then compared to “regular” dating. You haven’t met yet, you don’t really know if you will have anything to talk about, much less if you’ll have any chemistry, and you are relying on someone else’s idea of what you’re really looking for.
It’s really a lot to think about. Maybe my mirror is on to something.
The questions start to race around my head in an alarming number: Will I have to come up with a list of questions and subjects to talk about if there is an unnerving lull in the conversation? Do I have to disclose any legal or emotional woes I’m currently dealing with? Must I wear a clean shirt?
Our meeting place will be at a local bistro, for a glass of wine, or maybe a cup of coffee.
I believe a drink or a cup of coffee is perfectly fine for talking and seeing if there’s an initial attraction. After all, it is a blind date; we were brought together by mutual friends, or else by the Internet. If there’s a mutual desire to see each other again, then a longer or more expensive date is the probable next step.
I’m feeling fine. So far, so good. I heard lots of praise heaped into this suitor, he lives close by, and his e-mailed photo was quite stellar. All seems fine, right?
But on the other hand, it’s a totally mixed bag since online photos are not often representative of how people actually look. And beauty (and praise!) is really in the eye of the beholder.
I phoned a few friends for reassurance, and they are clearly repelled at my plans for this evening. They can’t believe I would rather sit and listen to random strangers’ life story. Why don’t you find a hobby, or take up golf they’d say? There are plenty of men out on the greens, swinging their clubs.
Truly the wrong numbers for me to dial for support, seeing none of them had been on a blind date in their life. But they have been on regular dates before, and for what I know, the difference isn't that big.
Many people do the meet and greet, and if a thoughtful, preliminary pre-screening has happened by the time of the date, there should be enough in common to have fun and keep the conversation rolling.
So that is my plan. To step away from my mirror, put on that clean shirt, and go have fun.
I often hear I don't look like a funeral director, but historically, women were the first caretakers of the dead in the United States. They were called "layers out of the dead." This was consistent with their role as midwives and nurses. It was only when the education became formalized that it was deemed inappropriate for women.
It was women who washed, shaved and dressed corpses for quick burial services, a necessity before refrigeration or modern embalming techniques took hold. But after the Civil War, the familial chore of making a loved one presentable after death turned into a profession. Instead of women, males who held licenses and were educated at a growing number of mortuary science schools prepared the dead for burial using modern techniques to preserve bodies much longer.
Women bring a necessary element to the role as caretaker of a family's deceased loved one; we inherently listen for a story, rather then just pick out facts. It's true to our nature to achieve a personal connection. Women have a nurturing instinct -- it comes naturally to them. Plus, women have a knack for details. We are more apt to provide a variety of choices to fulfill personal wishes because we know that death ends a life, not a relationship.
Realizing that each individual is a gift, possessing a unique personality and character, women are quite committed to making each service truly reflective of the life that has been lived while acknowledging the loss that has occurred.
I began working in the funeral industry 19 years ago, back when it was truly an anomaly to walk into a funeral home and be greeted by a woman. Of course working hard to prove myself came as a natural progression, as I am comfortable being in a helping industry. I love the reverence and extreme caring.
When someone you love passes away, numerous responsibilities require our immediate attention. My first priority, naturally, is to comfort those most affected. Then I am able to focus on arrangements, taking care of required forms and all other notifications.
I am in a rare situation in my industry. I am a small-town mortician who actually lives on the same property as the funeral home so I can be available all hours of the day and evening. I am the person who answers the phone, arrives at the place of death, and handles everything else for the family so they can mourn and take care of each other.
I take great pride that my community has entrusted my funeral home with providing unparalleled service and attention at such a time of need. It is my goal to support my families every step of their arrangements and to pay tribute to the special memory of their loved one.
I received a call the other day from a woman who wanted to ask question about my life at the parlour. She was a career-changer looking for a more meaningful line of work. She had been intrigued by the business for years, and was thrilled to finally have a "sit down" with a female who could honestly answer her questions.
The bottom line for many women in the field is a deep desire to help people during an emotionally difficult time. Lately I've been seeing more women in the funeral profession, and slowly the numbers of women are rising at annual conventions. This pleases me greatly.