:::sigh, yeah:::
Anyway, here's Paul's and mine...
:::I won tickets to go see Billy Joel in a local radio station’s Most Romantic Valentine’s Day contest with this story:::
Let’s start with some back history.
In 1974, when I was 14 years old, my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 42.
I graduated from high school in 1978, and went to Florida State University’s School of Music as a Music Therapy major with Voice as my instrument.
This was not my preference, as I
really wanted to pursue Secondary Education Choral Instruction as my major, but my Mom was a school teacher all her life and she believed it was not a lucrative career. So, she convinced my Daddy that if I pursued that, that I would be totally on my own financially; no help with getting loans or grants, or anything. I caved, and filed my major as Music Therapy.
I was then, and still am, a shallow creature. Our very first clinical was enough for me to decide working with patients who would benefit from Music Therapy was not for me. So, without informing my parents, I switched majors to what I wanted to study. By the start of Spring semester though, somehow my parents found out, and although Spring semester was paid for, I had no idea what I was going to do come Summer.
A friend I had made in the dorm invited me to her home in Sarasota for Spring break. There I met Buck, my first boyfriend I lived with. I returned to FSU about a month later to collect my things.
We lived in a sort of commune with all the band members of our garage band, which we called
Blue Sun. I was the only female member, and did vocals; mostly back up with lead on a couple of songs. The guys decided to head to Gator Town to play in the bars near UF in the summer of 1979 so I tagged along with Buck. But, by this time, Buck and I were struggling, and when a new keyboardist joined the group, he and I hit it off right away. This was David.
Skipping all of the anger and angst of the next few months, I moved in with David in January of 1981. By summer we were planning our wedding; deposits had been put down and a dress ordered. Then, my Mom came out of remission, and David couldn’t handle it. He up and left two months before the wedding. Mom died on October 15th, 1981, on her 50th birthday. Praise HaShem that at 47, I and my sister, who is 45, are still both cancer free…
Anyway, stupid me stayed in touch with David anyway. We finally got married in 1984, in a ceremony of just the two of us by a notary. My Dad refused to speak to me for a year and a half…
Until he was diagnosed with Oat Cell Lung cancer from years of smoking four and a half packs of Viceroys a day. Even though he had quit cold turkey a little over five years before. This was in October, 1986.
On our second anniversary in December, 1986, David’s “gift” to me was telling me he had decided he didn’t love me anymore, and I needed to return to my childhood home and care for my Dad. I left on Chr-stmas Day.
Daddy died on April 27th, 1987. I was 27 years old. My divorce was final in June of that year. Praise HaShem there were no children involved.
For whatever reason, most likely since I was the older of the two sisters, I was named executor of the will. So, I had my childhood home with a mortgage I couldn’t afford to live in (no death insurance on the mortgage), and my sister said I could live there as long as I paid the entire mortgage while doing so. But, should I sell the house, she wanted her half, of course. I had to sell. The mortgage was easily more than two-thirds what I was earning as a non-college graduate per month and what life insurance there was went towards Daddy’s funeral costs.
Dealing with all of that, in the summer of 1987 it was announced that Pink Floyd was going to do a tour to promote their
Momentary Lapse of Reason album and had set a date at Miami’s Orange Bowl (my childhood home was in Hollywood, FL, just south of Fort Lauderdale). I had never seen Pink Floyd, and
really wanted to go, as they are still one of my top five groups. But, all of my childhood friends had moved away, and I was scared to drive into downtown Miami on my own. So I hesitated on buying a ticket.
Finally, in October 1987, about a month before the show, I sucked it up and bought a single ticket at Spec’s in the local mall. The seat was pretty decent; dead center of the stage. The only problem was it was all the way in the opposite end zone. So, I started to searching said mall for a pair of binoculars.
The first place I went into was a Radio Shack. Working behind the counter was this 19 year old kid (to my 27). He saw me looking around, asked if he could help me, and when told I was looking for binoculars directed me next door to Wolf Camera.
Me: Thank you. (flouncing around to walk out of the store)
Paul: Excuse me. May I ask what you need binoculars for?
To this day, Paul says he said that to stop me to see if there was anyway to make the contact into a sale. And yet, he also says he wanted to prolong our conversation.
So, I told him about just buying the ticket to the show. He asks me to hold on a minute, goes into the back room, and comes out with cash.
Paul: I really want to see that show, but have no ride. Would you take this and go buy me a ticket? I would like to ask if you would give me a ride to and from the show, as I don’t live far from here. We can exchange phone numbers, and arrange pick up information later.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I was a 27 year old woman, alone, most likely depressed, and terribly lonely. So, I agreed. I went back to Spec’s bought another single ticket which wound up being in the row directly behind me, brought it to Paul, and we exchanged telephone numbers. I then left.
That night, Paul called me. We wound up talking for three hours.
By the time the concert came around a month later we were living together. Between mid-November and Valentine’s Day, Paul, who is the eternal romantic, asked me to marry him three separate times. I had just gotten divorced a few months earlier, and wasn’t willing to commit. Yet, we stayed together despite me saying “no,” as things other than me committing were good between us.
Just before Valentine’s Day, a friend of Paul’s who I knew slightly asked to speak with me. We had a real heart to heart, and he told me having been divorced before and surviving it, that I shouldn’t be afraid to marry again. That if it didn’t work, I could always divorce again. I told him I hated the thought of being a divorcee multiple times. He told me that Paul told him he strongly believed in marriage once he found his soul mate, and it was tearing him up that I would not agree to it. I left doing some deeper thinking.
:::BTW, at this point my birthday had passed, so I was 28 to Paul’s 19:::
Paul proposed again on Valentines Day. This time I said “yes.”
We were married March 27th, 1988. Beorn was born at the end of August in 1993. I had been sexually active since I was 12 years old (1972), doing nothing to prevent pregnancy on my part, and he is the only time I have ever conceived. This shallow creature was given a challenge to meet in my autism spectrum son; I only hope I have been able to rise to the challenge.
Next Match 27th, we will celebrate 20 years of marriage.
They formed a tag-team while we were busy festing!!! 
. I was putting on some music and Tam was lying on the floor and then I found someone's hand rubbing my leg! J and D then rushed out of the bedroom yelling and screaming at each other and would not stop. Then Tam said, "Damm, that's enough of that crap! Want to come over to my house for a beer?" I accepted and never left her house after that...