It's A Shoer Thing

"Shoe" was my granddaughter's first word. Most kids do  "mama" or "dada",  but not my now adult sweetie. She isn't the family shoe collector, however. That is my calling. I didn't realize how far the shoe addiction that I possessed had gone, until I began the moving process of selling my place. After a few days of deep denial, I got into the cupboard where I store my bevy of boots and so on. It wasn't the Paris Hilton kind of  shoe array, but in numbers, it was embarrassingly close. Most of the pumps and flats and boots were keepers, but way in the back where they had been hiding, were some mistake shoe purchases and other misdemeanors that were somewhat dusty although otherwise new looking. They had been the sort of purchases made in emotional states. You shoe people know what I mean. You are somewhere foreign, and you pass a shoe shop with delicious foot wear and before you know it, you are inside seated on an elegant chair and ordering from the charming clerk who hovers, your preferences. Box after tissued box arrives, and you, like Cinderella and her prince, are immersed in try ons and little walking rehearsals in front of the tiny slanted mirror that reflects your toes in some of the loveliest leathers and colours and shapes. Not that you can afford even to ask the phenomenal prices you know this store is famous for! But at last you put on the ultimate shoe, and your feet seem to look up at you in that pleading way that you cannot resist. You submit to your overwhelming indulgence and walk proudly out of the store with your new treasure in its logo box, tucked in your arms. When you get it home, you give it star placement on the shelf. There it is in deep blue suede as soft as a kitten. The heel, all golden is rimmed in pearls that the store clerk assured you are of the genuine fresh water variety. The heel is just the right height that is sexy, but also practical for actually walking or even dancing. Most of the gals you know, like you, wear shoes close to the nature of sneakers to events, but surreptitiously, change into the fabulous ones hidden in the bottom of their bag bag. Yes, two of them: one huge one called a tote and inside is its little babykin purse and a lot of other necessities such as scarves, phones and yes, the perfect heels that go with the occasion dress or pants. The shoes, naturally, are cosy in their mesh shoe bag that all very good shoes require for protection. When you pay a goodly part of your budget on an item, you need to look after the investment. But alas, the pearly shoes of which I speak, were worn only once to a New Year's party where they did get accolades and glances.  But just to look at them now and again, even though they seldom, if ever afterward, are worn, is pleasure. What of crystal and baseball and Dresden and hockey puck and jewelry collectors who do the same thing?  But back to the reality of the moving game. There are boxes for give-aways, donations and garbage. These adorable blue suede pearl encrusted shoes are gently and reverently placed back onto my shelf with a smile and a sigh that only shoe lovers can understand.

Aerial Reality

There are lots of "realities", but one that offers perspective like nothing else, is an aerial view of where you live. On my computer wallpaper, currently, I have a photograph that someone took of my city. It encompasses the entire area, since our city is very small compared to the others in the greater metropolis. It's small because the people who live in it, determined not to be absorbed by the large municipalities around it. They wanted it for its value as a seaside resort town that draws both national and international interest. Real estate makes it one of the most expensive sites in the country. Before written history, it was a quiet place of aborigines who, without the imported sands of today, knew its head of the bay for gathering sea and land foods in the moderate, friendly climate. Today, prosperity with all of its ups and downsides for the average person, is going through the usual struggles between the rich and the others. One group has money to burn and the other works to keep the traditional ways, places and economy as they have known it for centuries. Unfortunately, as the residential towers go up along with the need for infrastructure to support the expanding population, so do the taxes and costs. Life becomes a sellers and buyers and spenders marketplace. Peace is disturbed. Prosperity enters. Somehow, when looking at this aerial view, it brings into mind, what has happened. There is almost no more space for the little white boxes to go but upwards, as though the need grows vertically like a vigorous weed. The boxes are the homes, apartment buildings and businesses. The green bits here and there, the trees and meadows, are not many. The beaches form a necklace of  walkways, a railroad and concrete rimming the city. Jutting into the ocean is a long structure with a man-made breakwater slanted like the head of an arrow pointing to the vast ocean beyond, and inside it, tiny bits that are the moored pleasure boats. Beyond are other cities and the inlet with lovely pointed mountains behind. It's all peaceful and makes the anguishes, the accomplishments, the victories and defeats of everyday life seem ridiculously tiny. We see no people or vehicles or signs or any of the jetsam of our daily lives. Nothing moves. The viewpoint is thought provoking. We are above all the petty but important details that embroil us, we, the invisible creatures that creep about down there in that tiny place. But from here, we can see beyond to what really matters. How blue the sea is, and how large. While the land is likely teeming and humming, the sea is silent and stable and constant and simply there, as it has been since before Man. The water is the same, the land, the mountains and the air. Matter cannot be destroyed even though it can be changed. The things that will change are the little white boxes and little man made lines and rows and the relatively insignificant bits we see below. They look frail and vulnerable. But then, it's just a picture.

Be-Googled Befuddled

Have you ever fiddled around with your computer thinking you could improve things? And found out after, it turned into a major disaster? I just did, and not for the first time. My computer nerd, times I used to call in a panic, would shake his head and avoid saying, "I told you so". He'd ask me to drop the thing over to the shop, but that is an expensive endeavor and I am a DIYer. Unfortunately. After updating my so-called security system recently, I was super protected from things called viruses. It worked out that nothing, absolutely nothing, could get past the security gate keeper I opted for. You would think this is a big advantage. Alas, what I discovered immediately, is that like real cookies, they have a kind of sweetness that many of the sites I use, not only want, they insist upon if you want to use their facilities. They are deemed reliable. After employing the new security and using it, my old friends, all ran off without even a cyber wave good-bye.  No longer could I hop into my faves. I was devastated. My sites for games and puzzles and news and ideas, don't love me any more, I sobbed. I will just back track and say I'm sorry, and they will come running back. That should do it. It didn't. I went to the last resort which is turning the computer off and then on again. Nothing. Tears of frustration were close.  I was simply getting into deeper waters and bigger waves, the more I wrangled with the net. I could almost feel my computer screaming, but I didn't know how to extricate myself from the maelstrom I had gotten into.  Here I thought I was doing all the good things in building a high security wall to keep out the bad stuff, when what I was really doing was locking myself in with iron clad bars that are more difficult to escape from than the bad boys. I went to "help", which you all know should be called Ha-Ha-Help because what it tells you to do, is more complex and mysterious than what you want to fix. For some reason, what they ask, my system never seems to fathom. And the worst part is, you aren't able to speak with a human who might understand your problem in plain words. Finally, I decided that the only sensible thing to do  if I wanted to get back to my sites that make life fun, is send the big security cyber  guards packing. It took a bit of doing to get past their dire warnings. I persevered. My nice old pals I trusted are back on the net. They never failed me before, and they haven't failed me since.

Real Realty

Entering the  world of selling your abode and buying another, is like launching a ship. To do it these days, without a professional realtor, is entering dangerous waters. The realities, NPI, are the same as plying through a series of tricky reefs. Crashes are very likely if you aren't careful - even with a realtor on your side. Like most business dealings now, the regulations are fierce and full of possible pitfalls. Most of it, is designed for your protection as consumers, both buyer and seller. Without a top notch realtor, as mine is, you could get into a lot of misery while the transaction is in progress. The steps to selling, I feel, are the hardest part. Perhaps you think it's an easy matter but it's a push and pull, give and take, ups and downs experience and your new pal, the real estate agent must know the seas to get you through it without injury. First I would say, give over. If you fight the game play, you will suffer. Be real, with a realtor you can trust to stay on your side and listen to what they advise if you want to get on with it. One warning: your pencil has to be sharp. And have some loose money in your pocket. There are a lot of side pre-sale things that cost you up front. Some of the legals are made before you have the money in your pocket. Ask how much, and know where you're going to get it before you start the signatures. Then after the sale, there is the tax human and a whole lot of settlement things like getting your place in viewing shape, moving costs, hook- ups and downs, running around dealing with lawyers or notaries and more. But thanks to the 'net, lots can be desk done. It's not the simple matter it once was, when you bickered a bit, shook hands on a deal, got the cash, bought anew, and that was it. No more. The first steps loom. While we love our "stuff", others apparently, don't. The Stager comes in and gives you smart advice on what she sees, and it's not easy to take. "Out with it" is the favorite line. On-line photos can make or break a deal. The photographer enters the picture. Literally. These guys are pros, so if I were you, I'd get out of the building until it's done. No offense. When you see those photos, you'll want to buy your own place. Next is a carload of paperwork. Read, read, read and ask every single question you can think of.  Here comes the biggest hurdle. Waiting. If your bag of patience isn't empty by now, it soon will be. You have to sell in a time frame or you lose the place you want, but who takes on yours, has to do the same thing. We all stand in line and sometimes, it's long. Getting to work it  smoothly is like dancing with octopi. Your former hopes of getting rich with your home sweet home asset, could turn into just getting rid of it, period. It all depends on the market, good luck and the skill of your realtor. If you have the kind of perfect realtor I do, the one who even moves furniture around for you and says, let me handle the stress, lucky you!

Talking Stick

When I went to live and work in a place next to a Native North American community and had the pleasure of teaching mixed classes there, I learned to appreciate a culture, very old and wise and different. My former ideas changed. One of the very practical ones was The Talking Stick. In gatherings where there were discussions, negotiations or debates, the members had to remain silent and listen while only the holder of the Talking Stick could speak. Those gathered first agreed to using the Talking Stick rules. The stick was passed around, sometimes so that all holders had a turn to voice their point, and at other times, it was handed back and forth. The chief or moderator was on hand to make sure that no one spoke overlong, or broke the TS rule. Think how convenient this use of the Talking Stick could make meetings. With a family group around the table, all agreeing to use the method, there would be less interruption because everyone, adults and children alike,  would have a turn and knowing that, they might work to make their argument or opinion count. The idea isn't magic, but somehow if you are holding that Talking Stick, you feel the importance of the moment that is solely yours to say what's on your mind and know that others have to listen and not interrupt. It seems that those fortunate enough to work this democratic system, could avoid conflict knowing that they have rights and that they have to be respected, even if others do not agree. Others will have their turn to speak also, and the rule is, that no one must be denied the privilege of saying anything that matters to them, and others must hear them. It doesn't solve all problems, but what it does do, is to "clear the air" so that all sides can be heard. When this is understood, agreement becomes a matter of knowledge, in having to hear, perhaps things you don't necessarily want to hear, but ones that someone else needs to say, right or wrong in the opinion of anyone. Often times when there is debate, it is not being able to state your mind, that is the problem but once it is done, somehow things feel better because of it. Of course, there are certain individuals who refuse to use this method because they are not ready to share their ideas but consider that their ideas are the only way to proceed. This sort of person should realize that if you have the perfect idea, it needs to be tested just as the finest steel is. The only way to test it is to hear other points of view and reflect them against your own. Done this way, you may either want to adjust your own or be assured that yours are stronger than ever because you can also make your argument known. Everyone should come out at least knowing that a situation is aired. Wouldn't this, done in some way, make Question Day in parliament more sane than the present hoopla that we have to suffer through at that time. No one listens, the speakers thus shout and others interrupt or hoot. It's a shameful mess no matter how cute and traditional some think it is. The Talking Stick makes sense.

Hello Robot

Doing business with the robot is the way it's going, like it or not. Robots or technological workings over human-to-human interaction, is now. We've seen it coming when we watched the film hearing sweet voiced Hal in the space ship, but like all "bacterial" growth, the use of non-human devices in our lives, is doubling or more, on its time frames. We can shop with a tap. Pay for food priced in bar codes, not numbers. Some workers don't have a boss per se. If shift workers in their jobs, they get the call and off they go. Most calls are a series of pleasant voices telling us what number to press. (Incidentally always hit 0 where the real global human hides out.) There is no arguing or making excuses to a robot. You can't cough into the phone and play sick or get a tearful sympathy draw on your pay cheque from a machine. They just don't care or even know what caring is all about. So far. That's the down side, but there is also an "up" to it as well.  Machines or robot bosses don't badger you or frown or yell or make passes. They say "do it", and if you don't, you know where the "door"is. Simple and heartless. There is no discussion or negotiation or whining time. Machines just whir on as their makers have directed. If you're doing a real estate transaction, most of the viewing and dealing can be done from your office chair in front of your computer whether it be a laptop, phone, notebook or wrist device. Move over Dick Tracy. All the information you seek about someone, if they are hep, can be Googled. On line dating, weddings, funerals and taxes, sometimes medical advice, is readily available from the web. You can search and sign documents, share pictures and plans, do just about anything on line. Feeling lonely? We won't speak of the accommodating robotic love machines. Puhleese. Get onto facebook and in no time you've got more faces to friend than you can keep up with, and they could be half way around the world. With your phone or other device you get the latest news, do business, record voices, take photos, have security, listen to music, watch a film, call home: anything. The only problem is a no area-service or that there is no energy source. What concerns me, is not so much the robot situation, but the human one. Are we still able to communicate with people in a real way, one with emotional involvement? Do we feel, or just do. Can we argue or discuss or negotiate? Do we have expressive faces and abilities? Oh wait, I can look up all these stats as soon as I locate my cell. No problem, I forgot about my classy new computer watch. I'll give my cell a call, okay Hal?

Down On The Levy

You might think it's an easy move to leave home ownership and buy a condo. With land values, thus taxes, the way they have risen beyond reason, it looks like relief. But condos are complex places to live in, pardon the pun. All the glossy stuff such as granite and stainless steel, marble, hardwood, gyms and pools are not what that kind of lifestyle is all about. And if you think the price you see, is all there is to getting that glassy, flashy joint, beware. The idea that owning a condo is like taking a hotel room and waltzing off to have fun, is not what you may think. Okay, you sign on the dotted line and you move into your much smaller abode. You've gone through the agony of "getting rid of" and now you can sit back and enjoy the easy life. Off you can go south for the winter without worries about home ownership. How I wish it were that easy. Condos are run by management companies hired to see that councils elected by owners, carry out the legal requirements. Condo life is not a simple matter. Your council isn't there to hear your little complaints. They, like you, are owners wanting peace in their lives and that's what management companies are for. They are paid to deal with all that. But there are some sticky elements in condo ownership. First of all, you are one of the owners of the whole property and are thus responsible with others for the whole property. Along the way you have to maintain what you now own and sometimes the monthly fee you pay doesn't cover all the needed costs. Government laws have been made to prevent disasters like what we saw in the leaky condo mess. Laws make sure that you are protected but that responsibility comes with other costs. Your condo building whether it's a ritzy tower or modest old structure comes under the law and the laws are stringent. There are fines for those who try to ignore them. When the roof is bad, you pay extra and it should come out of the contingency funding if you have any. If not, there is a levy. Sometimes these range into the four figure or more amounts if the need is great. Old condos may seem cheap but be sure to check out what has been done or needs doing, regarding all of the structural and servicing things: systems, roofing, cladding, grounds, encumbrances, and more. And now there are added, for our protection we are told, other money grabbers such as fees for Depreciation Reports, CRF or contingency reserve funds, and other inspections and obligations. The levy fee can throw an owner's life into chaos. If your CRF is depleted and won't do the job, there could be an assessment or levy to meet future expenses. If you are ninety, you still have to pay into it, even though you will never see the effects. Your condo bylaws and past minutes should give you fair warning. Read these words very carefully or you could be in for a shock. No longer can we shut the door and call our home sweet homes, our castles. The castle is surrounded by walls of legals.

Collaring The Dragon

Today I heard a re-airing of the idea, voiced by our Prime Minister, that we can, should and, yes, do use minimally, the natural heating that comes from deep beneath the earth's surface. The number of vehicle emissions reduced in using it, is astounding. That makes so much sense to me. It's a bit like thinking of our big appliances and how much heat they issue into a room. It's all usable and in its way, recyclable. If you don't believe it, hold your hand over your television set and find out the amount of ambient heat put out by it. You pay for it in using the TV but at the same time, it has an impact, minimally, on your thermostat read outs.Thinking outside of the box is always a good idea. We are trying to source energy by using more of it in expensive ways such as constructing dams and great fans, while we are sitting on top of the easiest way to get it, rather than building these huge facilities and paying for high end personnel to study them and plan for years before getting at it and doing something. Drilling down to the "furnace" near earth's core, where the temperatures are super high, makes sense. I realize it is a simplistic comment, but all science begins with an idea that is simple. How to effect it, is the hard part. What, down-the-road implications might be, is yet another thing, but the idea of using what's in our, to us, vast world under the skin of earth that we creep upon, is perhaps the new inner space that we need to explore. It's already on its way. You might not realize it, but this day, millions upon millions of gallons of oil are stored down there by oil companies in great caverns. They don't need to build tanks, they found ones that no one can see or currently complain about. Google that one. Man already uses inner space for his purposes: mining, gathering gas and oil. We spend huge amounts of tax money going into outer space and avoid finding out what's right under our feet, literally. Whether it be like taking the lid off Pandora's box to get busy and try this resource, is another matter that scientists and politicians will be chewing over for some time, but it is there. Simplistically speaking. There is so much "politickling" that goes on endlessly, that cooperation and actually getting things done by both the elected government and the opposition, is lost. If ever this time and energy wasted in gabblings about between partisan politicians, was spent more on working together to solve these issues, what a different world we might have. We are only a sigh away from so much more.

Fencing Lessons

There was a recent media photo of eight proto-type "fences" on display somewhere near San Diego. These behemoth so-called fences shame their friendly picket or slatted or board varieties we enjoy chatting over with our neighbours. Our nice fences keep the dogs in and the kids safe from running out into the streets. We make yard fences attractive and keep them maintained. We plant flowers and shrubs around them.  At first, seeing these huge horrendous, insensitive and military-like "fences", I couldn't believe my eyes. These were being tested (?) to see which would be appropriate for use in the largest and supposedly, the best, bravest and freest country in the world. Have we so soon forgotten? Wasn't there joyous celebration when the "fence" in East Germany was dismantled "never to happen again"? Weren't there armed guards when the German fence was active and fear and inspections, in the days before its inhuman form was taken down? Have we forgotten about such walls that insult our very humanity? It seems that when the enemy does such things, we shudder, but when it happens in our so-called peaceful, accepting society 2000 years to our benefit, we give a cluck of the tongue and  a wee shake of our heads and go on about our daily lives. The vast majority of the criminal element and their doings goes surreptitiously right through the border crossings. That is a provable fact. Their massive hauls of drugs and laundered money finds ways to pass right by the noses of border guards. That kind of high cost crime, doesn't crawl over or dig under fences. Only people driven to desperation do that. Seeing those fences or even pictures of the famous infamous one being constructed south of us, makes me physically ill, my stomach reacts in disgust. I remember World War Two distinctly, and even as a child being taught to hate the enemy. Hate is a bad lesson but it was everywhere then: on posters, in the news casts, with gossip, in films. The hatred was deserved by the examples evident at the time because there were true dangers to our security. No walls were built then, however many lives were lost during the war years. Only at the end of the problems was the East German one made. If we were sitting on the moon, able to look down and see the state of this one earth, all that we have, and how pitiful it is that we humans who creep upon its surface, cannot share its generosity, we would look as horrified as does the true face of the moon.

Face In The Crowd

When a film scene is made of a large mob or fans in the stands or hoards on the streets, most of the faces are digitalized-in and repeated many times to look as though actual people are present. Most of us can't be the stars but in real life, we are the actual audience or the masses partaking. We are the faces in the crowd. When the camera pans the watchers in a large sector, they select for their reasons  the "best" faces to convey the tale of the piece. When you are at a hockey or baseball or basketball game, and the bright lights find you, it could be your moment of the fifteen minutes of fame said to be yours in a lifetime. Most of us don't get that far. The vast majority of the population is what determines the outcomes in our societies, not the few people at the top. The most famous, the richest, the royals are rare but we are the many. We are the ones who put them there by supporting or  spending or voting or going to  performances and plumping their fame by reading or writing about them or seeing them show their talents. We made them. We make them. Someone has to be the audience, the  stock holders, the ticket purchasers, the tax payers, the students, the workers and the fans and so on. Our faces are merely a blur but our numbers form what will happen to those on top. We can make or break them. It's a sort of popularity contest in which the winners have to court this gigantic beast, the general public, to get the support they need in  digits that tell what we have chosen. We are the grains of sand, the beach pebbles, the drops of water, the snowflakes, the termites, the bees. We are the gravel in the cement, the bricks on the tower, the stones in the pyramids, the atoms of iron in the bridge. We are the faces in the crowd and we decide what things will be done. And how. If this, then, is true, and it is, our value is very high. In numbers we have  huge power, even though it is not deliberately directed. We make a personal decision to vote certain ways or comment how we feel on issues or send letters or fill out surveys or just express our opinions verbally. Like the tiny microbes, that crawl on a leaf, we move about on the surface of the earth, billions of us, and our actions clump together to make differences or to keep things the same. We are the tsunami of power. The next time you look in the mirror and think that you are worthless or unimportant or redundant or  powerless, believe that your unique sole presence on earth as a thinking human being, does indeed matter. You are among a huge world wide collection of beings of all colours and shapes and minds and motions and that makes you alone, very accountable and responsible for human survival on this struggling lonely blue planet.

Life In A Cell

I know a number of lifers. Their cell phones don't leave their thumbs for  a second. And that's okay with me. It's the way they keep in touch and even though, it, too, will go out of style eventually, it's not my business to tell others how to live. Well, maybe a little. I have a cell phone and I find it great, but I use it only for calling a taxi, a waiting friend or as security when walking or driving. All other times, because I am at home most of the time, I don't care to pack a cell phone around with me every second of my life. I don't want to hear it ring in another room, and have to run around trying to find out where I left it last. Women do not have a myriad of handy pockets to slide things into  just to have their cell phones constantly on hand.  Having them in a purse, even though it has pockets, means digging amongst the myriad of  handbag essentials to extract a phone. No thanks, I love my land line units. Cell phones are no boon to me and, most of the time, they are a  necessary nuisance. I do not need to gab with my pals incessantly. Among my friends, the real ones, not the Facebook bevy of odd visages lined up and down for miles, a few have cell phones but, like me, they also have land lines and are at home, not at the job or on the sidewalks or driving cars every day. To those who groan when I say I have a phone book, nay, I like it, and furthermore, stay out of my life and my choices. I do what fits my life; you stick to yours. For one thing, a phone book, I find, is a handy reference. But I suppose there are phone "books" on cell phones, too. But if I am searching for a plumber, I don't want  to scroll through every one on the continent. Everything, I am told, is harboured in that tiny 2 by 5 inch do-dad. Oh excuse me again, only the old use inches and feet.  Cell phones are fine if you have three arms, two to use for human purposes, and the third, to hold your device. Once, a cousin of mine, broke a bone in his upper quadrant and the brace stuck out in front of his chest with his arm strung on it. Now if you addicted cell phone users, could get one of those contraptions, it would be ideal for you. But I jest. I know there are elders who binge on old TV game shows and wouldn't let a piece of electronics in their front doors. But just ask them how to use the latest TV operations on their updated set, and you will be amazed at the skill. Old folks are no dummies when it comes to doing what they love. Bingo dauber art is something that terrifies me to watch. How those ladies manage their collections of cards and swing those daubers about is uber. And don't dare to speak when a hot game of Bridge or chess is happening in the rec room.  But mention the word cell phones or e mailing, and you're in for a fight. The reasons they don't, are, that it is too complicated, but if you have ever played games with the same people, stand back. Just try to convince them that a computer is a cinch to conquer as is a cell phone. I did learn something new from a TV movie, however, if your cell phone goes dead, as a last ditch effort, you touch it to your nose. The nose knows. Excuse me, it's my cell. I really have to take this.

Picking Dates

At my age, I might seem a little weathered on the matter of dating, but it does happen. Even at our ages. Dating isn't asking someone's hand in marriage. It's just a date. Women seem to have the matter down, but older men, apparently need some advice. I was told quite sincerely, by an elderly male, that it is the fear of rejection that holds them off. What? At our ages, why should we fear rejection? Most older women are thrilled to be asked on a date, even though they may say "no" for some reason. One of the problems with many men, is that they still feel their dear dead wife would be dishonoured if they date. That is called grieving and no one can tell anyone else how to do it. But the fact remains, that the wonderful wife who once was, is not there any more and never will be. And isn't it better to be next to a warm human body rather than a spirit? It doesn't mean that you are disrespecting someone's memory. You are simply stepping into your changed life. When your spouse dies, that's the end of one pathway and another one awaits. You are alive and still need all that living people need: companionship, respect, comfort and hope. Love is very large and can encompass all sorts of ways especially when you are older, and have all of that experience behind you. Love doesn't necessarily mean passion or performance. It's just there waiting for someone to come along and accept it. So on with the dating advice. Groom yourself immaculately. Women are fussy about cleanliness and fresh looking smiles. Your Mom was right: brush your teeth and comb your hair. Neatness counts. If you meet a nice lady, gentlemen, speak to her in a respectful way and ask her if she would like to go to lunch with you or to coffee. If she accepts, you pay, fellas. No matter how rich the lady is, you asked her on the date, therefore, you pay. Take your date to somewhere very nice, not the cheap joint where you can get a bowl of soup for a dollar. Open doors for her, hold her chair, do not sit in your car and watch her to go in or out, you are the escort. Escort!  Never honk the horn of your car when you arrive at her door and please never say " I will pick you up". You pick things up off the floor, not ladies. A lady considers it respectful for you to be mannerly, and she should reciprocate by thanking you. Do NOT leave your hat on when you enter a building or sit at a table. Ever. Women do not care if you have a ton of hair under your hat or not. Don't talk about your illnesses or your dead wife or politics or religion. When you get to know each other later on, those subjects might arise. Be lighthearted but stow the corny jokes and keep your language decent. Think of your table manners. At the end of the date, thank her and only tell her you will call her, if you actually will. No lines, no lies. Keep the intimate stuff until perhaps later, but even then, don't make a move without her explicit permission. The rest is easy. Be yourself, but don't be lonely. It isn't marriage. It's just a date.