Autumn

My mother-in-law is dating. She's 70. Her third date with the same man is coming up on Tuesday. Reportedly, he's a 76-year-old retired aeronautical engineer who skis and doesn't drive like an old man. You know what the third date means.

My father-in-law died just about three years ago. My in-laws were hot on the heels of their fiftieth wedding anniversary when he finally succumbed to the COPD that had been eating him alive for several years. My mother-in-law took care of that crotchety old man for a really long time - without thanks, without reward, and certainly without any meaningful companionship - and we never heard even one complaint from her. Must've been love, eh?

So, here we are, a few days before Date Number Three. We're attending the matinee of the musical my daughter is performing in, and it's intermission. She mentions that she's had a sore throat for a few days and is concerned that she won't be feeling any better before Tuesday (the BIG DAY). She tells me that her uncle had warned her to "not let this guy get in (her) pants." She laughs it off, her uncle playing like he's her Daddy and she's 16... she's laughing like a schoolgirl about the whole conversation... and then she confides, "he's worried about the guy getting in my pants when I haven't even been halfway to First Base yet!"

First Base? What??? YET???? It hits me - she's actually planning it. Maybe she hasn't been to first yet, but she's already calling her shot. She standing in the box with the bat rested casually on her shoulder and her finger pointed defiantly at the top tier, daring the pitcher to bring the heat. And I, suddenly, am overcome with admiration.

She may well be the most courageous person I know.