After over a thousand words in my last post, I’m finding even more in my head.  Excuse me while I brain dump.

Somewhere between the first and the thousandth time Tall Dude and I talked, I began to describe a unique concert that I had just attended with a female, sober friend. The evening featured a pipe organ and a gospel choir playing and singing Christmas tunes in a rattle-the-rafters sort of way.

“That sounds like something my dad would like,” Tall Dude said.

Without a pause, without a hesitation, without even a breath, I said, “He would absolutely love it.”

The words poured from my mouth with a familiarity that startled me. I had the knowing — I knew his father. I knew he would love it. I knew we would get him tickets to next year’s concert. As clear as looking out my living room windows, I saw it.

Again, I know I am an alcoholic with a really bad case of magical thinking and a huge perception disorder which is probably why I had that awkward moment, the pause for a breath, where I felt I should add a disclaimer to my “knowing” words.

“Um…,” I stumbled. “I know I don’t know your father. Never met him. But… yeah, I can only imagine that he would love this concert.” Holy sh*t, how do I explain the breeze that just blew across my soul?

The same thing happened as we planned our date for Tuesday. We had been discussing Christmas gifts for our kids — separate holidays, of course.  I’m smitten, not completely insane. Or… maybe I am. He told me about the gift certificate he is giving his daughters for a super-cool activity.

“You are the second person in a week to tell me about that,” I said. “Do you mind if I copy-cat? My kids would love that gift.”

“Sure. If you want to, I can take you to the Big Box Warehouse Store where I got the gift certificate. They’re offering a special deal on them.”

“That would be great,” I said.

“You know, this might be one of those make or break moments. I have my routine for shopping there.”

“I do, too,” I said. “How about this: I promise I won’t subject you to watching me buy toilet paper and paper towels this time…”

“I have no doubt we will be doing that together at some point,” he said. It was said without sales pitch, without coercion, without anything other than the authentic belief that this is something powerfully more.

“Me, too.” The comfortable pause happened.  “For now, why don’t we just get the gift certificate, then grab some dinner. We’ll save the toilet paper buying for next time.”

Then, we talked about how we shop the Big Box Warehouse Store — our methodology, our dreams of having someone to shop with us, our snacking through the samples offered at the store.

Yeah, it’s those kind of conversations.