A last bit of weirdness for the week

This was the fifth year I attended the conference where I met South Carolina. In those five years, I've made a lot of good friends. A couple of the men have caught my eye, too (shocker, I know). But SC is the first one I've had a romance with.

Last year (the 2006 conference), I noticed one of the men watching me. It seemed every time I turned around, I would find him already looking at me. I'd smile. He'd smile. He seemed very shy. He finally spoke to me as we entered William Faulkner's home, for a tour. I remember, it was cold and I was wrapped up in my Irish ruana.

"You like Irish music," he said. "Right?"

"Yes, I do," I said. I love Irish music. He started telling me about a new band to look up on YouTube.

He's from Missouri. He's older than me. Probably quite a bit older, from some of the things he's said. He remembers reading about Marilyn Monroe's death in a Mexican newspaper, while on a vacation. That's six years before I was born.

We kept saying this year that we needed to get time to sit and talk about music. We didn't manage it. So, we've been trading emails about the Irish music scene where he lives (there isn't one here), the albums we have, and then about his secret passion -- Alamo history.

I got a different kind of email from him today, though. All it said is that he dreamt of me last night. He was at a conference, it was still November, and he found me there. He'd just said to me, "Hey! I just saw you a couple of weeks ago!" and then he woke up.

And he wrote to tell me. That's an unexpected turn of events. And a typical way to wrap up my week, with something out of left field.