Romance DIY

We met cute in a long lovely story so heartwarming it could be Chicken Soup for the Soul worthy if not for the gritty bar setting. And the leather jackets. The whole saga is best saved for the special synchronicity issue but the abridged version is my best friend, who as Stephen King might write has more than a little bit of the shine to her, met him in a bar in Seattle and felt as strongly as she's ever felt anything in her life that he was going to be important to me.

So then what? Where do you go after a bolt of lightning from the clear blue? How do you woo someone you've never met or spoken to who lives 2348 miles away? How do you distinguish yourself from a crowded field and convince Mr. Been There Done All That to "pick me, pick me"?

Now unless you're Cyrano de Bergerac all romance is DIY but I'll say up front that I'm a big fan of old school wooing. E-mails are great and I couldn't do without the phone but give me a letter or a big splashy gesture that leaves nothing open to interpretation any day.

Fortunately, as frequently happens in the life of any music lover, just the right song came along. The song that said exactly what I wanted to say, the song that my heart vouched was true. In this instance it was Lisa Hannigan's "I Don't Know" . It's a sweet song about being twitterpated, about being love with the idea of someone before you know them well enough to well, know. The whole thing is basically a laundry list of what the song's protaganist doesn't know but would like to about the person who has captivated them. I feared it was too twee and girly to be actually liked by the intended recipiant (remember gritty leather jacket) but I hoped, with the right presentation, it's message would at least be understood.

But how to present it? Burning a CD, copying the lyrics or sending the video via YouTube were possibilities but all lacked the immediacy of grabbing someone's arm, cramming some earphones over their head and saying, "you gotta hear this song" which is what I really, really wanted to do. Him, listening to it for the first time, me, watching him listen-my entire body language saying, "this is from me to you." After some pacing with the song on near constant repeat I decided I'd make a songbook.

I'm no artist, I write but I do love to dabble in the visual mediums especially the ones kindest to the untrained like digital photography and assorted papercrafts. My hope was that even if the end result was not as polished and professional as it was inside my head the novelty and heartfelt spirit would trump any artistic crudity. I worked on it for weeks using my antique typewriter and sheaf after sheaf of vellum. Vintage photographs, photo corners and glue sticks-the craft supplies were spread all over. And when it was done, I liked it. It was very much like the song-small but winningly sincere and really, really sweet. Just the thing (I hoped, I hoped, fingers crossed) to represent me.

I showed it to my friend who of course had the advantage of actually meeting him and she said, full of shine again, "If you give it to him he will fall in love with you". That gave me pause, the little project had taken on a life and momentum of its own, as projects do, which almost made me forget the orginal purpose. Love would be grand but how about exchanging phone numbers? How about a chat first? But I had come too far and invested that wee little book with too much affection and importance not to send it. So off it went, so heavy with hope there ought to have been more postage charged.

The response? To quote the song, my first gift to him, "If you want to, I am game".


Click http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WwaPv1rZiQ to hear "I Don't Know"


This piece was originally written to submit to Underwired magazine for their DIY issue. They passed so I include it here with thanks to Nancy who suggested it.