OK, I have to confess, I didn't know what, ahem, swag was. I'm a writer, not a marketer. *blush* My swag is a jade bracelet with one of my cards attached, NOTHING like what you see here. You can thank the other authors for that. I mean look at that stuff, notebooks, pens, bookmarks. Dang, I need to get my act together.
On to my topic:
Those that know me, know I married my childhood sweetheart. I consider myself lucky to have met my other half when I was only fourteen. As I considered what to write for the blog hop, the first thing that came into my mind was the day I met my future husband.
For those of you that do remember, enjoy the trip down memory lane. For those that don't know me, enjoy a glimpse into my past.
Having had my locker broken into for the second time, I lugged my schoolbooks around with weary arms until glimmers of sweat popped out on my forehead. So not cool. Indian Summer in California meant it was baking hot. You could fry an egg on the sidewalk. Cliche, but true.
"Excuse me?" I looked up, a slender teenage boy stood before me, brown skinned, black haired, mouth flapping. I was not in a good mood. He pointed toward another boy resting against schoolyard stucco. The area was shaded and I couldn't get a good look.
"You know Dennis Carroll?"
"No." I squinted my eyes sans the glasses. I refused to wear them even if I couldn't see the blackboard. In any case, the only Carroll I knew was Terry Carroll and he was dating my friend, Karen.
"He's Terry Carroll's older brother."
I shuffled my school books. "I still don't know him."
"He wants to meet'cha," said with a clip and a toss of black hair.
Grabbing my elbow he pulled me forward. I finally got him to stop halfway across the culvert. Not only were my books ready to fall, but my stomach started having fits before my eyes reached across the distance between us. This guy was cute!
That's Dennis," the stranger whispered in my ear. "He likes you."
Taller than me, with eyes the color of robin's eggs, his long hair was tied in a pony tail.
A black tee-shirt, molded over a muscular chest set off tanned skin, and his harrow hips encased in blue jeans, made my heart skip a beat. Underneath his bell bottoms peeked a pair of cowboy boots. He stood at least four inches taller than me, making me feel petite.
The heat was suddenly forgotten and another kind was born.
He smiled, no, it was more of a grin, one lip curled up more than the other. I swear his eyes twinkled. He crooked a finger at me and my belly went for a walk on its own.
I followed his finger, knees shaking, heart quivering, until I was close enough to touch him. "You wanted something?" I brushed the hair from my face and smiled. Somehow, the sky seemed bluer, the air fresher, the world a better place to live. And believe me, in my world, anything was better than reality.
Sunlight glinted off his hair and I noticed a perfect part down the middle. Black lashes framed brilliant eyes. "Do you want to go to the dance on Friday?"
I tried to say yes, but my voice wouldn't work. I swallowed and cleared my throat. "Ah, yeah, I guess so."
He crooked a finger through a belt loop. "Oh, then good."
And that was that.
The night of our date I ransacked everything I owned to find something perfect to wear without success. A quick phone call to Sally, another close friend. "Remember that brown velvet dress with the puffy sleeves?"
"I need to borrow it. I have a date and nothing to wear."
Always a true friend, Sally had the dress over to me in just a few minutes. I slipped into it, did my hair, put on my make-up, and waited.
The door bell rang and I have never regretting answering it.
Oh, well, maybe a few times, but not for long.
It's been forty-three years since that first date. Trust me, these two hippies are shrinking though he's still taller than me. We listen to classic rock and dance to oldies but goodies. He has a bad leg, I have a bad digestive system. He's held my head when I'm so sick I don't think I'll make another day. I've massaged the muscles in his leg so many times I've forgotten the count. He has a new hip, I need a new belly. Crohn's disease sucks.
We have three kids, glorious children that have given our days beauty and heartache. Seven grandchildren have bounced on our knees and the Karen I spoke of above, my dearest friend, she has bounced seven grandchildren on hers, but alone for most of them, since Terry left us in 1999.
We've grieved together, laughed together, created families together. We've grown together, but we are not destined to die together. That hurts, but you go on living because you have to.
And that, my friend, is what love is all about; caring, giving, loving, and sharing. Not that there aren't the bad times because we all go through them. But it helps when we have others to share our pain.
I know it's hard to comment, but please try--Weebly is attempting to update my comments so it will be easier. You may win a basket full of goodies, swag, free books, fun stuff. The only way to find out is to take part in the fun!
Thank you for stopping by. And if you have time, please drop by the other author websites below and leave comments there as well.
(((hugs))) and have a WONDERFUL summer full of lovin' fun.