The day after our wedding, we left our hotel in San Francisco to go explore the city. It was a beautiful spring day and we were excited to spend the day together as husband and wife.
Our wedding was everything we hoped it to be, and we were still on a love high that we wanted to bask in for as long as possible.
My phone rang as we stepped out onto the sidewalk and I answered immediately. My son and daughter-in-law were due to have daughter number two any day, and we were happily assigned to take care of daughter number one while they were at the hospital.
The reason John chose to ask me to marry him on February 13, 2013, was because it was February 13, 2012, when he told me he could never see us getting together. Ever.
Guest post: John P. Gavin – The Real Trouble with Valentine’s Day
(This was the first column in a long time I didn’t send to Loretta to proofread before sending it to my editor, and that felt weird. I didn’t send it because she broke up with me the day before, albeit with good reason. But I didn’t want to see that yet. So I was annoyed – and a little shook up – and very cranky. Let’s see if any of that comes across in the column).
When John and I got the news his sentence would be community service, we were overjoyed. Over the coming months, we worked side by side at the Boys & Girls Club repainting interiors, working with the kids and helping out with special money raising events.
I had been a volunteer for the Boys & Girls Club before, and it was a natural fit to pick that charity to help. John was in his element as a natural Mr. Fix-it and was happy to help out an organization in need.
This is a book excerpt from November 2011. John and I had known each other for about five months at this point. Though we had started out as friends, we were now both single, and sparks were flying.
One evening in November sitting together on Loretta’s deck, which overlooks a tree studded hillside, the conversation turned to personal matters. She told me of her life – and of how big a role her kids played in it. My stories paralleled hers as I told her how I wanted my life to look, and how important my kids were to me.
We’d been having these conversations for a while now – at least since September – and I think we were both getting the same sense from them. The one that tells you that, hey, there’s got to be a reason why this person always feels so comfortable to be around.
John was desperately trying to keep me at an arms distance, especially when it came to his heart.
To say that John didn’t sweep me off my feet is an understatement…but, maybe that was a good thing?
Today’s post is from My John. I hope you enjoy it.
How Not to Sweep a Girl off Her Feet
Do you remember when the original Star Wars came out back in the 70’s?
To us kids it was amazing – we’d never seen anything like it. It was a seminal moment in our young lives that left a lasting impression. We talked about Obi Wan Kanobi, Luke, and Han Solo for years afterward.
So, Imagine my delight when the new batch of Star Wars films came out.
Someone please stop me if I get on a rant here. My fear is once I open up this can of irritation towards ageism, I won’t stop complaining.
But let’s talk about this for just a minute. I’ve been experiencing ageist behavior, every since I turned 50. It started with my glasses.
I’ve been wearing reading glasses for most of my adult life. I am extremely far-sighted and can spot an eagle a mile away. That part is really cool. And needing glasses to read wasn’t so bad until I reached that certain age.
All of a sudden I would get comments like, “Can I hold this farther away so you can see it?” or “Uh oh, must be getting old, you need glasses!”. And there have been many more statements said in that vein. Why do people do that?
My husband is chivalrous. Whenever we are together, he will always open the door for me and hold it so I can walk through first. I don’t think that’s so unusual, as I’ve seen a lot of men do that. But, my husband even opens the car door for me. That act seems to be rare, with the exception of maybe going out on a date.
It’s very nice and I feel loved and cared for and somehow special because of it.
His chivalrous nature doesn’t stop at opening doors for me. If he sees me carrying something, he will jump to assist or say, “Let me get that”. If I pull a ladder out, he says, “I’ll do that”. He does all the heavy lifting and most of the hard work around the place. It’s pretty nice having him around.
But here’s the rub, it’s frustrating at times too. A part of me feels less than, or helpless when he jumps in to help. There are times when I don’t want help.