Two months ago I asked for a little friendly advice about how to respond to my friend Merl's proposal of marriage.

I usually have no problem listening to my heart when it comes to decisions, but for some reason I was having trouble hearing its voice this time, and I wanted input.

I was not disappointed. Many people responded to my request, and I definitely learned something. Namely this: You people are as over-the-map as I am on this life-altering possibility!

Some people hailed a resounding "Yes!" to the question of whether I should marry Merl. Here are some of those responses: "Say `Yes' Ida Mae!" "Yes, you should marry him!" "Oh heck, why not marry the guy?" "Say yes. You don't need us to tell you what your heart is saying. We all hear it!"

Others felt just as strongly that I should say "No": "You've been happy this long on your own, so don't change now." "If you had wanted to marry Merl you would have jumped into his big strong arms and surrendered. But you're not the surrendering type." "If you have any doubt about this, DON'T DO IT!"

Several people gave me more questions to ponder, rather than specific answers. One person asked if I could be my true self around Merl. If so, what was I afraid of? Good question, I thought. Another was more practical:

"A good first step is to check Merl's credit. No need to inherit a financial mess at your age. Does the man cook? If so, how often? How is his health? Does he put the toilet seat down when he is finished? At your age, the heart must be involved, but not at the expense of the head."

When I quizzed my close friends here in Nubbins I got similar responses - some leaned toward yes, some toward no, and some gave me even more questions to consider until my head was spinning.

Despite the mixed responses, I was grateful for them. I don't agree with the old adage that one should never give or ask for advice, but I do think, in the end, you have to discern what's true for you. In this case, all the words of wisdom helped me see that the one person I most needed to talk with was Merl. Of course, I had talked to him plenty of times before, and he knew I was riding the fence about the proposal. (He's a patient soul.) I already knew about his finances and his health and that he keeps the toilet seat down (most of the time), but I needed to go a little deeper, delving into the good and the bad - all of it.

When I did, I told him that I loved him because he makes me laugh and we value the same things and I can be the real Ida Mae around him. But there was no getting around the fact that I was afraid of something ...

something that made me hesitant to get married. I wasn't sure what it was, but it was related to sharing households, to not having my own space, to the dreaded possibility of leaving Nubbins.

Merl, bless his heart, was grateful I'd been so honest. Then he said just the right thing:

"Maybe we need to be open to something different, Ida Mae. Something we haven't thought of yet. I'm not sure what it is, but why don't we stop thinking about it for a few days and maybe the answer will simply appear?"

It sounded so absolutely ludicrous, I immediately agreed. I walked with my friends, hiked in the woods, and tried not to think about the future. The day before I was planning to talk with Merl again, I checked email. Amongst the junk messages were three more responses to my request for advice. The first two were remarkably similar:

"I say marry Merl and keep your house. Just because you marry him doesn't mean you have to be with him 24/7. You've been on your own too long to quit cold turkey. You may find that you don't need your own space, but if you do, I believe you will be a rarity among women."

And ... "I say keep your house, let him keep his, and have your cake and eat it too."

The minute I saw these emails I knew this was the answer. Merl and I had a long talk about it and both agreed. We would get married, but we would keep our separate homes, at least for the moment. We'd have to figure out the details, but it immediately seemed right. It was a different way of doing things ... something that might not work for everyone, but was just right for us.

So what was that third email that arrived as I was opening myself up to an answer from the universe? I had specifically asked that no one respond to my request for advice by telling me to listen to my heart, but that's all this one said: "Listen to your heart, Ida Mae."

And what do you know? That advice was right all along. And now I could hear my heart singing.

")