Sunday, April 18, on a warm and windy afternoon, I jogged over to check out the progress on the pedestrian bridge the city was building at Caesar's Park (near Humboldt and North) about a mile from my flat. All that was in place were the two main beams, over a foot wide, with thin wire stretched along the guide rails waist high on either side. I was weighing if I had the gumption to cross, when I noticed a guy on one of the beams coming my way. Maybe he was a foreman for the project and I could ask him when the bridge would be done. I noticed that he was over 40 and cute.

At the time, I was smack dab in the middle of my six-week hunt to find a man before I turned 50. The briefest of histories: I was married for sixteen years; divorced in 1991. After a couple of lonely years, I met Jeff. On Feb. 5 of this year, the day before our tenth anniversary, Jeff confessed he wanted the relationship to end and moved out in March.

Nearing a half-century old, I wasn't in the mood to mope. I had completed a big writing project and had another due to start the beginning of May. With no major deadlines for over a month, I was determined to use all my energy to look for love. I dropped a few bucks on new bras and kept my eyes wide open. At events, I approached any man in my age range I considered appealing. Running errands, even in airports, I smiled as beguilingly as I could at all candidates. It worked. In short order, I dated five guys. No Mister Right though. So this mystery man on the bridge peaked my interest.

When he reached me, I queried if he was on the job. No. He explained he owned his own small construction company, lived nearby, and often stopped by the park on Sunday afternoons. I wished that I wasn't so sweaty, had shaved my legs, and was wearing a more attractive T-shirt and shorts. The conversation moved right along though. It became clear within nanoseconds that we were both single and exchanged names.

Joe and I linked up for our first date at the bridge April 28. I'd requested ahead of time for Joe to walk across with me. We stopped halfway and sat facing each other with our legs straddling one of the beams and talked, initially about where we'd go for dinner. Joe is primarily a vegetarian, just like me. A man with a full head of hair, a cleft chin, buff, four years younger than I am, and one of his favorite foods is sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes? I thought only women craved them.

We ate at Beans and Barley, where I discovered we had other things in common. He grew up in Shorewood, doesn't drink coffee, doesn't smoke, and enjoys swimming and hiking. Outside, he kissed me on the top of the head and inquired about getting together the next weekend.

Joe told me to be at the bridge on Saturday at 5 p.m. "dressed nice" for having dinner at the Third Street Pier. Second date; should be time for a real kiss. I wasn't eager to smooch after eating fish. Rarely shy, I phoned and suggested we should kiss at the bridge beforehand -- and we did.

May looked like a promising month.