sueeeus

What is it they say?  If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?

Things of late are resolving, bit by bit.

Sometimes when you belong to a big, strong, loving family, and you want to bring someone into that family fold, the family will guard the fortress and bar the gate until it’s understood what it means to enter that gate.  It can be formidable to an outsider; it’s basically running the gauntlet, and not one bit of fun.  Once in, though, it’s a pretty great place to be.

If you survive, that is.

Oy.

~*~*~*~

Separating the men from the boys…   …I found this circulating on the internet…

Boys play house, Men build homes.  Boys shack up, Men get married. Boys make babies, Men raise children.  A boy won’t raise his own children, a man will raise his and someone else’s.  Boys invent excuses for failure, Men produce strategies for success.  Boys look for somebody to take care of them, Men look for someone to take care of.  Boys seek popularity, Men demand respect and know how to give it.  Boys will like you for a month, Men will love you forever.

…It makes me think of this (which comes from the love standard)…

1 Cor 13:11

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away the things of a child.

~*~*~*~

I’m still shouting from the mountaintops!  I’m in love!  I am saying this carefully, and considering it deeply, measuring it against snippets of wisdom such as these:

Love is NOT…
1. Something you “fall into” – a black hole.
2. Infatuation. Emotional loss of control. “Flipped out..” “Couldn’t help myself.”Romanticism and sentimentalism. “Puppy love.” Boy-crazy; girl-crazy.
3. Evaluating another by external criteria. “She’s a #10”
4. Selfish. Interested in “getting” to satisfy my needs.
5. Taking advantage of another (age, height, weight, looks, intellect, emotional maturity,
spiritual maturity, social standings, social skills, psychological understanding, place of
authority, financial superiority, etc.)
6. Improper need fulfillment. Need for love, acceptance, relating, bonding, belonging, to be
valued, affirmed, excitement, identity, etc.
7. Lust. Hormones. Lasciviousness, sensuality.
8. Sex.
9. Idolatry. “……….is my life.” Totally preoccupied in attention and time.

Love is…
1. Respectful of the other person’s values, standards and opinions.
2. Unselfish and unconditional.
3. A decision to relate to the other person at every level – spiritual, psychological and physical.
4. Giving of oneself to the other.
5. Responsible to seek the highest good of the other person “for better or for worse.”
6. God in action. (Rom. 5:5; I John 4:8,16)

~*~*~*~

The bottom line?  My heart is at peace and it is well with my soul.

I stand in condemnation and read the words on the page that summarize conclusions about my personality, my issues, my mental state.  People who love me have taken it upon themselves to make conclusions about me, and speak authoritatively, as if they know.  As. If. They. Know.

If I rise up in indignation, does that mean there is credence in the accusations?  If I were innocent, I wouldn’t have anything to be angry about, and why would I care what anybody says or thinks?  That’s a bunch of bullshit, though.  I care what people say and think, whether it has credence or not.  THAT is one of my personality flaws.  Whether or not it matters, whether or not it’s true.  I only want goodness for everyone and for myself.  From the time I was a child, I was hyper sensitive to these things.  Always wanting to do the right thing.  To please everyone.  Not to let anyone down.  It’s the core of me.  Do I need therapy to correct that?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  What is wrong with trying to be good?

I actually HAVE had counseling for that very thing.  The bottom line:  if the manifestation of my people pleasing tendencies serve me well, amen.  If they don’t serve me well, then pay attention and be aware.  Case in point.  I kick ass in my professional life.  Kick. Ass.  People pleasing has served me well.  I’m an over-achiever.  I get things done single handedly that take entire departments to do.   Cradle to grave.  Me.  Just me.  Requirements. Design.  Architecture.  Business model.  Business case. Construction. Test. Debug. Release. Communication.  Training. Process definition.  Project management.  Change management.  Documentation.  The business. Analysis.  Diagnosis.  Troubleshooting.  Corrective  action.  Tracking.  Statistics.  Marketing. Support.  Administration. Business focal. Technical focal.  Information Technology focal.  ALL OF IT.  And my reward?  I’m respected in my field, by my peers and my management.  I’ve been promoted as high as I can go.  I’m recognized and esteemed.  It serves me well.

And what of my mental instability?  I’ve blogged ad nauseum for years.  I work through my stuff here.  Openly.

“What you’ve been through since your divorce is kind of making it seem like your marriage to Gadget wasn’t that bad after all.  At least you had some stability.  I envisioned you crusading forth like other single moms, but that’s not the path you’ve taken.”

Now that’s a kicker. The suffocating abyss in which I lived was preferable to the life I live now.  I’ve met a lot of men in the last two years, but I haven’t paraded them through my kids’ lives.  Met, not dated.  Yes, two men have come and gone in that time.  Does that make me unstable?  Of course I would rather have met the right one and stayed with him.  But I didn’t.  How the hell does anyone know whether someone fits unless they try?  So I’ve tried.  God bless me for picking myself back up, brushing off the dust, and starting over again.  So why the condemnation? Mama ain’t no ho. I’m not going to put myself or my children in harm’s way.   And even if I were drunken and delirious and high and completely blind in the moment, it would become evident in very short course, and I would snap out of it and that would be that.  So why drag someone through the dirt and invoke unnecessary pain?

I’m not trying to fill a hole in my life with somebody or some thing.  I stand strong as a complete human being.  I am good.  I am whole.  I am not broken.  I DON’T NEED ANY BODY OR ANY THING.

I want somebody though.  Want!  Not need.  I want to spend the rest of my life with one and only one man.  The rest of my life.  Every breathing moment.  I want to be a devoted and loving wife to a devoted and loving  husband.  I want my kids to grow up with a positive male influence.  I want them to have a step-dad.

Who the hell has the right to tell me I shouldn’t want these things?  It’s MY life.  My decision.

Some might call it a momentary lapse of reason.  But I don’t.  My eyes are wide open.

love monkey

My family is staging an intervention to my ‘love addiction’.  My natural inclination is to bristle with indignation for being accused and placed on trial for, gasp, exhibiting delirium and showing joy.  Of course the look on my face isn’t something they’re used to seeing.  It’s called happiness.  Because I look like a deer who is caught in the headlights, does it mean that I am blind to my surroundings?  Because I’ve been thrilled by the prospects of love at other times in my life, and ventured forth in hopes that it was indeed truth, only to learn that I was once again mistaken, does it mean that I am incapable of discerning anything?  Am I not allowed to make mistakes and learn from them?  Good Lord in heaven above, I put myself through more than enough condemnation for the mistakes I’ve made.  More than enough.  I hold myself to an extremely high standard, and of course I continue to fall short.  Yet I strive, strive, and strive some more to be better, see more clearly, be more wise, be more patient.

I understand their concern, and I stifle my inclination to be angry and hurt for the accusations put forth.  They love me.  Who can possibly ever measure up to be good enough for me?  After all, nobody ever has.  They’re protective, and I understand that.

I took the quiz.  I’m not a love addict.

In the nearly two years since I’ve been divorced, I’ve learned much.  My marriage was a legal agreement and a place of desolation.  The air that we breathed was stifling.  The space in which we moved was thick with tension.  There was no joy, no freedom, no peace, no comfort, no communication, no sharing, no meeting of the minds, no blending of the hearts.  No love.  It was an abyss, and I’m grateful to have had the strength and courage to make it end.

Of course I effervesced in the thrill of new love, when new love is what I thought I had found.  And during that rebound I found that I had compromised myself and my children, to my utmost horror.  Retrospectively, I understand that the thrill of new love was indeed the rush of infatuation, and not love at all.  I learned from that experience.  Truly.

The next time I allowed myself to get involved, the circumstances seemed different.  Two single parents, wanting the best for their child(ren) and wanting a long term, loving, committed relationship.  Again, the thrill of the prospect of happily ever after.  Again, like oil and vinegar briefly mix, it was quickly evident that there was no possible way of amalgamating our lives.

Am I an addict because in my heart of hearts and for all of my life, what I’ve wanted most was to settle down, entrust all of me with one and only one man who entrusts all of himself to me and only me,  and be a whole and loving family?  Must I forfeit that dream, because I failed the marriage that I had?  Do I only get one chance, and that chance is spent because I have children?  Of course I need to protect and shield my children.  Of course I need to edify them, and keep them safe, secure, healthy, and sound.  I am.  I do.

Why is it a character flaw for me to want to love and be loved?

I’m in love, and I want to shout it from the mountaintops!  Am I infatuated?  Of course.  Am I delirious?  Maybe.  Am I blind?  No.

Love that is real bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love, in truth, does not fail.

Does. Not. Fail.

I’m all in.

taking a chance on love

He’s the guy who touches the sky. He hangs from cables and works his magic. People stop and stare.  The places he goes and the things he does — oh how he amazes me.   He thrills me!  He works so hard, and he’s so very good at what he does.  I respect that immeasurably.

up, up, up, so high in the sky

He sent me a text message the other day:  “I sprayed your name on the building two stories up.  Everyone can see your name in Pioneer Square, my love bug.”

And so he did.

Spiderman - ready for action

there's this girl...

my name, for all to see

It makes me think, betcha by golly wow — you’re the one that I’ve been dreaming of forever.

And so he is.

There’s something about this guy…  He has a heart of gold.  He is kind.  He is gentle.  He is good.  He smiles and the warmth of his presence lights up the room.  He is tall.  My head fits perfectly in that wonderful place between his shoulder and his neck.  His eyes are the most beautiful blue, and not only beautiful because they are blue, but beautiful because they are the windows to his soul.  He shines, this man.  He is smart.  He is more than competent.  He is confident and enthusiastic.  He is compassionate.  He is responsible.  He is fine and upstanding.  He is strong, mature, educated, thoughtful, playful, sensitive, wise, elegant, savvy, honest, healthy, trustworthy, fun, dependable, interesting, passionate, alive, affectionate, communicative, understanding, and patient.  In a word, excellent.

making music

He sings to me, for me, and with me. He makes my heart pound and takes my breath away.

brightly his light shines

He has a heart for me.
And I am so very blessed to be the woman of his dreams.

Spiderman.

He shines.

We click.

I’m feeling scattered again.  Oh, I don’t like to feel scattered!  I like to know the boundaries of my world, as they constitute my comfort zone.  The perimeter can be very extensive, but I so very much like to be aware of what the perimeter is.

I’ve been house hunting and man hunting — up to my internet mischief.  It’s exhausting!  Add to that the cold that is trying to catch me.  My throat is a battleground.

The house hunting is proving to be very similar to the internet dating experience.  I’ve been to view several houses lately, and what they look like in real life is a far cry from what they look like in their on-line photos.  Rooms look impressively spacious, only to find they are tiny cracker boxes.  Earlier this year I was intent on finding a home with a view, maximizing the tranquility of my sphere –proximity to work, neighborhood safety, proximity to my family, and a view of mountains and salt water were my top priorities.  Frustrated with that, I refocused on vacation properties.  I thought I could buy a weekend home with the view and tranquility, and remain in my current home for the day-to-day living.  I’ve since reconsidered matters again, now that my Brutus is in school, and raised the school ratings above the desire for a view.  It has come to my attention that we don’t live in a particularly good school region, so I would like my boys to have the benefit of better schools and the stability to grow up with the same set of people.  Better views and better schools come at a price, so a similar home to the one I have is far beyond my means.  While there are beautiful and affordable homes available the further one extends from the city, and there are pockets of better schools in the outlying regions, the commute and proximity to family are prohibitive.  I don’t want to add any further stress to the world in which I live, so I have to be mindful of the effects of a difficult commute.

Add to this the pursuit of togetherness.  If only I knew what I wanted, or what would work best for me.  I know much of what I don’t want, but to quantify what I want and what I’m capable of is very difficult.  So far, it’s been an iterative process that has consumed years of my life, because I don’t know how else to approach it.  The current mission statement that best describes what I  think I want is “a respectful, respectable alpha male sex machine who is okay with me having my way when it’s important to me“.  In a nutshell.  Ha!

Meeting men is easy enough (with the online venue).  Determining a definite ‘no’ is easy enough as well.  Encountering a possible ‘maybe’ is very, very rare, and if it happens, I don’t know what to do next, other than tread softly, try not to cast forth too many pearls, and hope to remain clear headed and open minded.  None of which I am particularly good at.  (Oh, how my dad would cringe at my split infinitives and dangling participles, were he alive and reading this.)

It’s all so hard for me!  I just want to be settled down.  To know where home is.  To know with whom my heart is safely entrusted.  I want a simple and beautiful life.  (Yes, I know, I know, I already have a simple and beautiful life.)

I don’t sleep enough.  I would very much like to sleep more.  Some things can be done to improve this — the part where life’s a balancing act and something has to give.  I can always work on rebalancing, and not giving up sleep in lieu of ‘me’ time or other things.   I’m not sure what can be done about waking children.  If it’s not one, it’s the other.  I want them to always feel safe and secure, and shield them from any turmoil that churns within me.  I want.  I don’t always succeed.

I was in the middle of a dream when I heard LB crying this morning.  It was a dream about the dating circuit, I think.  I was on my way to meet a man.  He had a name, but now I can’t recall what it was.  Mike, possibly.  I parked my car at a bar (a little more cadence and this could be a grown up Dr. Seuss style book — Doctor Sueeeus…  Ha!  Note to self:  tag for future sarcastic writing /  art project…)  and at the same time a very clean cut biker dude was walking by, to enter the bar.  He had unscuffed pale cowboy boots that were very close to his skin color.  He had a bearded face, but the beard was short and tidy.  There was not a bit of roughness about his look — no weathered skin, no beat up leathers, no ink or visible piercings, no bad ass attitude.  He had a bottled water and was complaining there was no place to properly recycle the bottle top, as he threw it in the yard.  (This annoyed me.  He could have put it in a pocket or dealt with it later or in another less offensive and more responsible way.)  He was self secure and there was no hint of lacking confidence.  Even though he dressed like a biker dude and was entering the venue of a biker dude, he seemed out of place by appearance, but he was fully confident and not subject to external influences such as the expectations of what a biker dude should be.  I noted all of this in the once over I gave him, and concluded that he’s a boring engineer.  I said “Hi.”

I must have asked him if he knew the man I was going to meet (who lived next door –yep, next door to a biker bar), wondering if I had the right address.  He confirmed, and actually knew the guy.  Next scene, the two of us approach the house.  There is a screen door and I can see through the house to the back, there is a man outside near a short chain link fence (this is turning out to be a biker bar residential trailer trash neighborhood, it seems).  I wave to him in greeting, and he comes into the house.  Meanwhile, the biker dude opens the screen door and walks right in as if he owns the place.  He has a six pack under one arm –I think it was beer, and remember noting that it seemed out of place because neither guy seemed like the beer drinking type, and I am certainly not myself.  The date looks at me, at him, and a fleeting expression of ‘WTH is this guy doing here with her’ crosses his face, but he masks it quickly since he’s a very nice guy.  They exchange hellos, since they know each other, and I walk up to the guy and give  him a hug, introducing myself.  “Hi, I’m Sueeeus.”  He is very short and very slight, but lean and wiry, somehow more masculine than the pseudo biker dude.  I could crush him.  He has dark brown hair, a pleasant face, and intelligent eyes.  I take note that I have no physical attraction to him at all.  He explains that he had planned for us to watch a movie.  I can see that he is internally scrambling to adjust his date plans, with the addition of the third party present.  He describes the movie –it’s a children’s movie, G rated animation.  “Oh, I know the one!”, I exclaim.  “I like that movie.  Iron Man.”  (In the dream it made sense that it was an animated G rated Disney or DreamWorks type film, even though it was Iron Man.)

I can see in the instant expression that crosses his face that he is disappointed.  Disappointed that the other guy showed up.  Disappointed that I’m not into him, and that this will be a first and last date.  He’s a nice guy, and puts on a smile anyway.  He doesn’t seem to notice or perceive that I’m not into the biker dude either.  The pseudo biker dude is just there, oblivious to the situation that he is actually intruding upon a date, being inconsiderate to his friend (and me).  I size all this up and decide that it doesn’t matter that the biker dude came along, since I’m not into either of them; there’s no relationship potential.   I’m not sure why he came along, in the first place.  He doesn’t give any impression of being into me.  He may just be socially oblivious.

The dream ends with the three of us preparing to watch the movie.  More might have unfolded, but I heard LB crying.

Before, or interspersed with that, was another dream in which I was at another person’s house. I think it was my daycare, in fact.  I needed to use the bathroom.  Usually I’d wait for the comfort of my own home, but apparently my bladder was insistent.  For some reason there was limited privacy, so I wanted to take care of it as quickly as possible.  I started to go, and saw from the corner of my eye that my sitter’s husband was approaching.  I scrambled, made some noise so he would know I was there and not barge in on me, and flushed the toilet.  Only it clogged.  I was distraught.  How could it clog when I’d only peed and not even finished.  Urgh, what an uncomfortable feeling, to halt that flow part way through.  And then to have to contend with a clogged toilet that I didn’t even clog, and potentially have to excuse or explain myself to him.  It was his house, after all.  I was embarrassed.  I scanned for a plunger, found one, and tried to unclog, working furiously so that I’d have the situation fully taken care of by the time he got to the door, a bit frantic as the water level kept rising.  I was hoping hoping hoping that it wouldn’t overflow and leave me with an even bigger mess to clean up.  I felt irritated, having to deal with someone else’s crap (literally…) which manifested as my own problem.  Just in time, I plunged again, the clog gave way, the water receded and drained properly.  I washed my hands and made my exit, relieved to be over with it, but still strained and stressed from the ordeal.

I learned to juggle when I was eight years old.  We lived in Cambridge, England, that year, and some of the other kids would juggle two balls against the wall or in the air during recess.  I was intrigued, and gave it a go.  There’s a certain cadence, rhyme and reason to juggling.  It’s a learned skill, and some are naturally better at it than others.  I was fairly good at the two ball juggle.  I can even do it with one hand.  I’ve tried to add a third ball to the mix, off and on through the years, but never got the hang of it.  Once that ball was introduced, control was quickly lost, and the balls would tumble to the ground.

Sometimes it seems as though my life is like a juggling act.  Working and mothering.  These two things I can manage.  They are sustainable, and I can keep things going, more or less.  It’s not always smooth or with perfect rhythm, but I can generally keep it together.   A pattern seems to be emerging, in which the addition of a relationship is akin to trying to add that third ball.  I haven’t gotten the hang of how to adjust the rhythm, and sooner or later I get stressed out, start to compromise things, my mental and emotional states spin off into the ether, and everything falls apart until I can gather things together and get the rhythm going again.

I admire those kids you see playing that complicated jumping rope game in which two ropes are spun in opposite directions, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, and the kids line up, catch the rhythm, and jump in.  It’s so smooth, so perfect.  They blend, in what looks like effortless motion.  They skip and dance and sing.  It’s a beautiful thing to behold.  I wish relationships could blend so harmoniously, so smoothly.  For me, trying to have a relationship is about as successful as me trying to jump into one of those rope skipping games.  One step and I’m tangled completely, trip, and fall unceremoniously, possibly hurting others in the tumble, after which I have to pull myself together, apologize for the damage I’ve done and the trouble I’ve caused, scrape the dirt from my wounds, and hobble off to some safe place where I can regroup and heal.

The winds of change are always blowing
And every time I try to stay
The winds of change continue blowing
And they just carry me away

As I was driving home this evening, the thoughts milling about my mind converged upon an association, and the sound of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson singing “To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before” surfaced.

I consider myself “serially monogamous”. I don’t really know how to date, and I’ve written quite a bit about my frustrations with the singles and dating scene this year. In retrospect, as the year comes to a close, I can say that I gave it a valiant effort!

I’ve met someone who gets me. We fit. So I’m settling in to this state of togetherness.  Separate togetherness.  There are logistics to be addressed, after all.  Single mom raising two young boys.  Single dad raising one young girl. Different towns, different schools, different daycares, different schedules.  Similarly uncooperative exes…    It’s glorious, though, this being understood bit.  It’s a connection in which it feels as though we’ve known each other all along, so the actual physical introduction is anticlimactic.  Hello there.  Oh, there you are! It’s beautiful, really.

So, with all this new found peace on the love front, there is the jumble of this year’s escapades still milling about my mind a little, and I’d like for it to all sort and settle.  Hence, the emergence of Julio and Willie.

I never really dated, in life.  I just went from long term relationship to long term relationship.  My bad.  Even so, having spent the better part of a year dating, it’s a major culture shock for me, and it’s hard to sort it all out.  I never really knew how to be ‘casual’ with people.  It’s contrary to my nature.

I’ve started a mental recap, with the help of Julio.  My poor brain is jumbled and confused.  I have a fantastic love to focus on, but I have these threads that need to be put kindly away in their respective resting places.  How do I sort them out?  I don’t want them emerging to distract or confuse me.  And they don’t distract or confuse me in the sense that there is any interference with the relationship I’m nurturing, but in the sense that phasing from one person to another is something that has been done over the span of years in times past, but in days or weeks or months this year.  It’s a lot to process.

Like Salieri said, too many notes!  My poor brain.

~*~*~*~

the fish, the frogs, the toads, and the prince

In the course of 11 months, I’ve met a dozen men, and kissed most of them (all but two).  Shhh, there were even a couple of one night stands in the mix.  Not my thing, not my intention, but it is what it is, or, more accurately, it was what it was.  Not a whole helluva lot.  Ho hum.  Live and learn. And for all the men I’ve met, there were dozens more that I didn’t meet.

It’s not that they are fish, frogs, or toads, really.  Most of them are genuinely great guys, and it’s heartening to know that there are so many truly nice men out there.  We just don’t fit.  Misfits.  Except the prince, that is.  We fit.

• the gangster trucker (fun, controlling, alpha male, but still friends, after all)
• the electrician boat enthusiast (a sweet man, truly, but scattered; it seemed like we connected, but didn’t, if that makes any sense)
• the industrial maintenance guy with the permanently attached bluetooth headset (moody, controlling, and WTH is up with the headset?)
• the Irish road crew guy (such a funny and sweet man)
• the executive fish monger (more show than go, a disappointment, all told)
• the geek sailor (an inexplicable friend)
• the metrosexual designer (sweet, funny, kind)
• the geek viking body builder (fun, nice, thoughtful, kind)
• the musician (sweet, caring, good)
• the taco restaurateur (nice, sweet, fun, good)
• the resonant nerd.  MY resonant nerd.  He would be the prince of the lot.

I’ve kissed as many men in one year as I have in my whole life combined.  It kind of messes with my head a bit.  I think time will take care of the sorting, and I am so relieved I have one, just one, to focus on completely.

In many ways I am a simple person.  I am blessed to have a toolbox filled with many assorted items, but I am master of none.  Sometimes Oftentimes  I yearn to manifest excellence.  I’m not selling myself short.  I have very high standards, and am a perfectionist at that, so the realization of excellence is no small thing.  I can say that I am very good at many things, but excellent?  Alas, no.  (I do have a book that I plan to work through, called How to Do More Great Work, and hopefully it will help propel me, or at least inspire me.)

Where am I going with this?  I have no idea.

Oh.

Something I say in my online dating profile is that “I am inspired by good conversation, warmth, sharp wit and an animated spirit. I am thrilled by excellence in any form. I thrive on creativity.”

Recently I’ve been blessed with some amazing conversation that does, in fact, reflect all of those attributes.  Warmth.  Sharp wit.  Animated spirit.  And it has been thrilling, to say the least.  Inspiring, even.  The most marked manifestation happens when conversing via instant messenger chat.  Words are flying as fast as the fingers can type.  And the curious thing is, when they arrive, often they are the same words (not verbatim, but the same concepts, in each others’ speech style), so the thoughts being expressed have this sweet synchronicity.  It’s like a sensation of deja vu, when the words appear on screen.  You know that the person on the other side couldn’t possibly have read your words, then formulated and typed a response in so short a time.  We are left scratching our heads in wonder and bewilderment.  Then I realize I have a silly grin planted firmly on my face.

It’s a very sweet thing, this sense of synchronicity.  It’s like looking in the other person’s face and seeing oneself.  Knowing that other person sees inside and knows what and who they see.  A peaceful feeling descends.  A feeling of being home.

That alone is enough to make me think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

And then.

There is the dimension of touch.  A simple touch, the most innocent contact, and warmth emanates where fingers meet face or hand meets shoulder.  Eyes close.  Peace descends.  Tranquility surrounds.

Again, I shake my head, tousle my hair, and think, “pinch me, I must be dreaming, this can’t be real.”

But it is.

It’s real.

I’m awake.

I’m not dreaming.

I am humbled.

And profoundly blessed.

~*~*~*~

The saga unfolds. Unexpected, but most truly welcome.  What shall the future hold? There has been Gadget. There has been Skills. Now, there is Spock.  And hopefully much more to come.

Fascinating is a word I use for the unexpected.
— Spock, “The Squire of Gothos”, stardate 2124.5