Rocketship Romance

I just celebrated my twenty year wedding anniversary. Can you believe it? Neither can I for how fast it's gone by.  I married when I was nineteen, much to the chagrin of my dear mom.  But when you know you've found a keeper, what do you do? You hold on for the ride and you don't look down lest vertigo kicks in.  That's what I did while keeping my gaze steady towards the stars. 

I took dating very seriously.  Probably too serious, looking back.  But I knew I didn't want to waste anybody's time (or money) when I already knew I wasn't looking for anything long term just yet. I believed in being honest and upfront with the guys I went out with.  Besides, commitment was risky business.

My childhood was fraught with love gone awry.  One of my earliest memories I have is with my step dad's arm around the babysitter in the front seat while taking her home.  I must have been barely three at the time, but I remember thinking how my mom (this was my real mom, not my auntie who eventually adopted me after she died, see adoption post) wouldn't like that.  It almost seams like a long ago dream, some of those hard memories.

Somewhere along the way, I had made a decision about how difficult it would be to find the right Mr. Right for me.  Whether it was conscious or not, I had decided that the ideal didn't exist, men could be pretentious and fake, and that dating was not the best way to cut right through it and get to what is real.  So I decided to focus on school, the piano, and let dating alone for a while.

When I first saw him, he was wearing really dorky shoes with holes in them (sin), faded black cargo pants with white socks (only Michael Jackson could pull that off, and even then it looked sinful), and a plain white button up short sleeve dress shirt tucked in without a belt (mother load sin of all sins going straight to fashion hell).

Yes, I admit it.  I was a bit shallow when it came to a man's wardrobe and how it correlated with my attraction for him.  While I knew that clothes don't really make the man, I knew they certainly helped.

But oh! That face! and I swear honest to heaven, (and I don't swear hardly ever) I saw a light around him.  I know it sounds corny, but I must have seen a light and heard an angelic choir, because something transcended my initial judgmental response.

I was too shy (and probably old-fashioned)...... okay, okay..... chicken to make the first move. So I settled on a less direct, more junior high approach of telling my sister I thought he was handsome.  She promptly relayed the message in the sort of way that would shame even the best cheerleader at a pep rally with a mega-phone.  I. was. mortified.

But it worked.

He asked me out.  Yes!

It works every time! I promise.

I fell in love with him that night though I didn't want to admit it. We talked non stop until two in the morning.  I found myself telling him my most appalling secrets and knowing they were safe with him. He told me his and I knew there was no going back.  From that first date onward, it was like what I imagine a rocketship ride to be like.

Life long love is the grandest adventure of all.  We all want it. We all need it.  And we all have our most memorable stories of  'how it happened' for us, or how we've come so close, or how it hasn't happened yet - though we know it's out there...    (I refuse to give up hope for my loved ones whom it hasn't happened for yet.)

Our rocketship romance has weathered some serious storms over the years.  (It's so weird to say 'over the years' as if I'm old enough to say such a phrase.)  I'll blog about more of that later.

For now, I just wanted to say it's possible! This romance thing.

And to my handsome mister V -  I love you past the moon.

Happy Listening my friends. . .