Love with a French twistLaurie Mesones

For the longest time, I’ve wanted to visit Paris. So after being deployed to Iraq for six months, Mark (Carreon) wanted to take me to France for our two-year anni-versary. We spent a week sightseeing and roaming the streets of Paris with each other. On our last night there, we made reservations at the Eiffel Tower restaurant overlooking the city. He was acting so strange that night. His knee was shaking, he kept fidgeting, and I can almost remember him breaking out in a sweat. He kept excusing himself from the table until I asked if he was doing OK.

After dinner he asked a nice group of ladies to take our picture in the restaurant. As I was posing, Mark dropped his jacket. He bent down to pick it up and turned around on one knee with a diamond ring. There, in the middle of the restaurant, he asked me to marry him. I could barely choke up a “YES” in the midst of my shock and tears of happiness. As he slipped the ring on my finger, I kissed him, and the entire restaurant applauded our big moment. It was perfect. I had the perfect man, in the perfect city, at the perfect place.

The best part of it was that he asked for my father’s blessing the weekend before we left for France. Both our families and friends knew he was going to propose, and somehow everyone managed to keep it a secret. After all the trouble he went through to make that moment so perfect for me, there is no way anyone could have said no. I am so lucky to have a wonderful man that would do so much for me, and I cannot wait to start our lives together. After all the time we spent apart and all the time we have had together, we found our happy ending and new beginning. Happy Valentine’s Day! Je t’aime.

Mark Carreon’s versionComing home from my deployment, the one thing on my mind was that I was

to marry the woman of my dreams. How I was going to propose to her, I had no idea. Fast forward to Paris ... On the plane ride to Paris, the only thing on my mind was: “How do I hide this ring from my soon-to-be fiancee without having her see it throughout the trip?” The entire week I was so nervous. After everything we saw in Paris, from the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower, nothing could compare to the sight of my fiancee’s face when I proposed to her.

Finally the night had come when I had to propose. The butterflies in my stomach were flopping around so bad I could hardly keep myself from acting weird as usual. I was trying to find out where I could hide the ring, but no pocket, sleeve, or sock could hide the bulkiness of the box that the ring was in. I thought to myself, “ I just hope she doesn’t grab me in the spot where the ring is at.”

As we made our way to the Eiffel Tower, I kept getting more and more nervous. I was fidgeting around and constantly moving more than a little kid on a sugar rush. Finally after two Metro (subway) rides and a quarter mile of a walk, we had arrived at the Eiffel Tower. We made our way to the restaurant. As we were waiting to be seated, I had taken off my jacket and tie so that I could hide the ring. As we were having dinner, I made sure the ring was set in a spot where it would not fall or be seen.

My nerves got the best of me and I ended up insulting my fiancee during dinner. Five courses and one insult later it was show time. I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to find someone who spoke English in the restaurant, but luckily a really nice Australian family was sitting behind us, and as we were leaving I asked one of the ladies to videotape me proposing to Laurie. I made sure to whisper to her so I would not give away the surprise. I told my fiancee to get ready for the picture. As we were posing for the picture, I dropped my jacket, got on one knee, pulled the ring out of my pocket, and there I took Laurie’s hand and asked her to be my wife. She said “Yes.”

Two carrots on a forkDeb Stuart

I first saw my husband, Jeff, at the Borderline Bar and Grill in Thousand Oaks where I would go dancing. He would always tip his hat and flash that beautiful crooked smile at me as I passed him on the dance floor. His bright blue eyes were mesmerizing. I didn’t know it then, but apparently he had taken a liking to me as well. One night I got up the courage to ask him to dance. When the dance ended, he leaned down and kissed me. I was floored. He told me later he figured I’d either slap him or like it. Needless to say ...

We started dating, and it was truly love at first site. After a couple of months, he said, “If I’m going to ask you to marry me, we need to go look at rings.” I told him that I was not a diamond kind of girl and he would just have to think of something else. He and his buddy were working in Yuma, Ariz., at the time and had invited me down for the weekend. We had horrible rains that weekend and what should have been a four-hour drive turned into almost eight. When I lost cell phone service through the Salton Sea area, I guess he went into panic mode. As I pulled up to the motel and walked up the stairs, right then and there he asked me to marry him. I said, “You can’t ask me like that.” Jokingly he told me, “Fine,” and said he wouldn’t ask me again then.

The next night we went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and his friend, Shane, asked the waitress to bring him a couple of carrots. I thought it was odd at the time but ignored it. A few minutes later when the carrots arrived, Shane put the two carrots on the end of a fork, handed them to Jeff and said, “Here bro, here’s her two carrots.” At that point, Jeff stood up, pushed his chair back, got down on one knee, offered me the fork with the carrots and said, “Will you marry me?” Of course, I said yes and the whole place erupted in applause. I remember the lady next to us hitting her husband and saying, “Why couldn’t you do something like that?”

Nine months after we met we were married. Twelve years later those two carrots on the fork are still hanging in a barn wood shadow box in the living room. I love him as much today as I did when we first met. He is truly my very best friend and soul mate. Thanks to Borderline, Shane for the two carrots, and thanks mostly to my husband for saying “yes” when I asked him to dance. I love you honey.

Proposal at a Pittsburgh parkArthur T. King

My sweetheart, Donna, and I met in high school in the 10th grade. We attended a few classes together where she helped me with my homework so I wouldn’t fail

Love makes our world go ’round

With Valentine’s Day in mind, Lifestyle magazine asked for stories about love and romance. Submissions were sent in by couples who have been together for decades, while others are just beginning their lives together.

We hope you enjoy reading them.

Laurie Mesones and Mark Carreon.

any class. Each school day we would meet at the library for a study period. Besides using this time to study class material we used it to try to get to know each other by sitting across from each other and touching ankles. This, however, didn’t turn into anything serious as I had to quit school and get a job. The bad thing is I left without saying goodbye.

We had no contact with each other for about a year and a half. By that time I had joined the Naval Reserves. One day I was on my way to a meeting but needed a notebook. So on my way to the meeting I stopped at a drugstore in downtown Pittsburgh and literally bumped into Donna who was on her way out from picking up something for her brother, John. We quickly made arrangements to meet again as I was in a hurry to get to my meeting. At this time my sweetheart was working as a long-distance operator for the Bell Telephone Co. in downtown Pittsburgh. So we arranged meeting times that were good for both of us. This eventually developed into a boyfriend-girlfriend situation.

It was time to meet her family, so I was invited for dinner one night. I quickly learned that in her home you didn’t decline anything being served. The house where my sweetheart lived was three stories, and the kitchen was on the bottom floor. After dinner her mother and dad went upstairs, but her small young brother stayed at the bottom of the stairs, peeking around the corner of the stairwell. When he was called upstairs, he said, “I’m waiting to see if they kiss.” Well, we sat separated on a couch that was over against a window wall. So it was a rather uneventful evening until it was time for me to go home.

Things got more personal, we became closer and closer, and it was decided we would spend our lives together for a lifetime. Eventually a ring was bought and an official date was set for our engagement. It was an Easter Sunday after church. It was a beautiful sunny day and my sweetheart’s dad took us to a beautiful city park overlooking downtown Pittsburgh. He was a semiprofessional photographer so he set us in cute poses as we walked around the park. Then it was time. I asked her to stand in a picture-perfect place, then I reached into my pocket for the ring, knelt down in front of her and asked her to marry me. Of course, she answered “yes.”

Now remember, this was the 1950s, and parents still had control of their children. We were only 18 at the time, and restrictions were made that we had to wait until we were 19. So we set the wedding day for the week after her 19th birthday. We have been together now for 55 years. We strengthen our relationship by working together — not yours or mine, but ours. Yes, there are certain things that sort of fall to the wife and certain things to the husband. All else is to us, and it has kept us as a loving couple for all the years we have been together.

Our love storyRuth Kelly

In February 1955, soon after moving to the small northeastern Oregon town

of Irrigon, I met and soon fell in love with a young man with the most wonderful smile and an incredible personality by the name of Bill Kelly. I was a junior in high school; Bill had graduated two years earlier. He worked the night shift operating a

ferry boat on the Columbia River, so he had afternoons and evenings free, allowing us to spend lots of time together. Much of that time was spent with family, as my brother, Joe, worked with Bill. They became best friends, and our parents became good friends also. We had such good times. He attended my school dances with me and all the sports and other activities at school. He was my first love, and I now know my only love.

We had dated for 1½ years when Bill’s job required him to move to another area, and we drifted apart. Each of us married and had fami-lies. Shortly after my first son, Kevin, was born, my parents invited Bill’s parents for dinner and to see their new grandson. While we were all visiting, Bill’s dad made the comment to me, “I had wished you would be my daughter-in-Iaw.” That was a little touchy at the time because my

husband was present and heard the comment! Bill has two sons, and I have three sons and a daughter.

Bill spent four years in the Air Force and then settled in Lancaster, where he has resided in the same house for 47 years. He and his family made frequent visits to eastern Oregon and Washington to visit relatives. During each trip, they would stop in Irrigon to see my parents, and, occasionally, they would visit with me and my family. Once in a great while, we would see each other at class reunions. I’d hear things about him from my brother or mutual friends that made me realize he was still the great guy I had known as a teenager.

Bill’s wife of 50 years passed away in 2009 after a long illness. A few months later, he came to Irrigon for his 55th class reunion. I also attended that gathering, and it was very nice to see him. It had been about 10 years since we had last seen each other. All of a sudden, about three weeks later, I was asked to leave my home, which turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me.

In another few weeks, Bill and I started talking on the phone once in awhile. Once in awhile soon turned into two or three times a day. We fell in love again during those long and frequent phone conversations and knew we wanted to be together. In September, my youngest son, Jon, and my grandson, Aaron, drove me from Irrigon to Lancaster. We were married in April 2010, with none other than my brother, Joe, and his wife, Carol, as our witnesses. (Bill had been Joe’s best man many years before) We are both happier than we ever thought was possible to be.

We have complete trust and faith in each other, and each of us has the great-est respect for the other. It’s a very nice feeling to be loved for just who you are, and not have to pretend to be someone you’re not, a new experience for me. We find we think alike on so many things and, of course, with our background with each other, friends, and family, we have so much to talk about. We truly enjoy being together. Whether we’re riding in the car or on our motorcycle, trimming trees, mowing the yard, or just sitting at home visiting with each other, it really doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. We enjoy dancing and try to make it to the Lancaster Elk’s Lodge every Sunday evening. We laugh a lot, get very emotional when we tell our story to someone, or just talk with each other about how it all came about. We often say that at times our relationship seems as new as it is, but we are so completely comfortable with each other that much more often than not, we feel as if we’ve always been together.

All six of our combined children and their families have given us their bless-ings, which gives us a wonderful feeling. Added to that are wonderful neigh-bors and other friends — old friends for Bill, new ones for me — who have all accepted me and made me feel so very welcome in my new home. They frequently come over to visit or accept an invitation to dinner. Neighborhood gatherings/potlucks occur on the spur of the moment and are very enjoyable for all of us.

We both feel that God has richly blessed us by bringing us together in our “golden years” with so much love to share. We say that at our ages (74 and 72) we don’t have time to wait for yearly anniversaries, so we celebrate monthly.

Left, : Ruth and Bill Kelly in May 1956 at her high school graduation in Oregon. Right, Ruth and Bill Kelly on their wedding day, April 15, 2010, in Lancaster.

He brings me roses on the 15th of each month. My husband has brightened the smile on my face and he’s put a smile in my heart. I feel like I’m the luckiest woman on Earth to have found the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. And I’m not going to let him get away again!

Luckiest lady in the worldEvelyn Bannon

I had been giving a lot of thought about what to share about my wonderful husband of nearly 25 years — surprise romantic getaways, special anniversary celebrations, loving cards and flowers through the years (especially for no particular reason!), setting up surprise parties, barbershop quartet singers appearing at my office on Valentine’s Day. You name it, my sweetie has done it!

What I think comes to mind the most, however, are the times he’s made me laugh, the times he’s lovingly held me as I’ve cried, his tremendous heart in loving our children, family and dear friends, how he is always willing to help people in need. These are just a few of the many, many things I love about you Kevin and make me realize over and over that I am the luckiest lady in the world! I love you, and happy happy Valentine’s Day!

Still going strongGordon Balbach

My wife, Pamela, my oldest daughter and I all live in Lake Los Angeles and have been there about 20 years. My romance story actually starts out back in 1974 when I was a young bachelor of 29 years and living in Burbank by myself at the time.

In mid-October of that year, one week before the hunting season for quail was

to open, I decided to make an exploratory scouting trip up through the Castaic area, going over the hills past Lake Elizabeth and into the Antelope Valley where I stopped at a Denny’s for a bite to eat. As I always like to have something to read while I eat, I picked up a copy of a news magazine called the Single’s Register where I saw an ad placed by a woman who I thought might be interesting to meet.

I wrote her and the following Saturday I did go quail hunting, got a few birds and came back home to my little apartment in Burbank. In my mailbox was a letter from the woman whom I had written. I called her and made a date and the rest is history. We were married in June 1975 and have been together ever since. I have two grown daughters: one, as I said, living in Lake Los Angeles and the other living in the San Diego area.

I love the area for the quietness of the neighborhood, the clear night sky, and the big yards we all have out there where my dogs can have a place to run. I hope you enjoyed this little piece of trivia from my romantic life that started so many years ago but is still going strong.

Overcoming obstacles Don Ross

I proposed in writing to my future wife, Irene, and enclosed $50 for bus fare. If she kept the $50 and refused marriage, I figured it would probably be the best $50 expenditure of my lifetime. Irene arrived in Dayton, Ohio, from Seattle with $7, plus change, on Saturday, Dec. 23, 1939, approximately 18 hours late due to blizzard conditions across Montana, South Dakota and Illinois.

My objective for the day was to obtain her approval for our marriage, and to “get on with the marriage arrangements” as soon as possible. This included purchase of a wedding ring, making an appointment with a preacher, locating at least two witnesses to be present at the wedding, and obtaining a marriage license. All this with four inches of fresh snow on the streets.

Shortly before noon, we had accomplished all the essentials (including a shower and clean clothes for Irene) except the marriage license. The Montgomery County courthouse remained open until noon on Saturdays. Irene and I arrived at the county clerk’s office at 12:05 p.m., and the door was locked. Panic struck us! What to do? As I peered through the keyhole in the high hardwood door, I could see a tall, thin old man sitting at his desk getting ready to eat his lunch from a brown paper sack. I banged on the door with gusto. At first the man did not budge. After repeated bangings, he came to the door. I explained we had a 2 p.m. appointment with a preacher to get married that afternoon. He invited us into his office and sat us in chairs near his desk in an arrangement that enabled him to “eyeball” us.

It was then that we learned the sad news. Ohio had a three-day waiting period following the issuance of a marriage license before a couple could be married. We were caught off-guard with the Ohio law. I explained our plight, including our backgrounds, my new employment (at what is now Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio) and our behavioral values, which precluded us from living together until married. He offered the suggestion that we go to Richmond, Ind., 45 miles to the west, where we could be married without a waiting period. I explained the Pontiac’s need for repairs, and that it was in no condition to go 90 miles that afternoon. Our disappointment must have been highly evident to him in that he suddenly offered to backdate the paperwork so that we could get on with our wedding plans. Had he not appeared as a grim, scrawny old grump, Irene would have jumped up and hugged him tightly. He did not get a tip nor a bribe from us, but I’m certain he felt the satisfaction of helping two naive innocent young people (each 23 years of age) achieve an important milestone in their pathway of life.

With marriage license in hand, Irene and I hurried to get our two witnesses, Mr. and Mrs. William (Bill) J. Brown, and on to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Dayton in time to meet Bishop Phil Porter at 2 p.m. The brief wedding ceremony was con-cluded by 2:20 p.m., the only hitch being “who has the wedding ring?” I looked at Bill. Bill looked at me. I had fully intended to hand the ring to Bill in advance of the ceremony since he was to serve as best man. Fumbling in my pockets while Bishop Porter waited with the four of us at the alter impatiently, I retrieved the ring from my vest pocket

Promptly, Irene and I were “on our honeymoon,” which was to consist of setting up housekeeping in our small apartment. Upon opening the locked door to our apartment, we were shocked to see the place draped and crisscrossed with streamers of toilet paper. Who had access and who did all the decorating? Oh yes,

Don and Irene Ross.

the landlords had keys. They and the upstairs apartment dwellers gave us a “grand welcome” to our first home. The activities of this busy day launched Irene and me on our way to 71 years of a happy and rewarding marriage.

Love through the royal game of warDaa Anne Mahowald

The first time I ever laid eyes on my spouse was on my birthday. A new student at the university, I didn’t have anyone with whom to celebrate the occasion so I wandered over to the student center on campus. I found my way downstairs and ambled into the rec room. It was crowded, filled with the hum of low voices. Along with foosball, pingpong, and pool tables, there was a Chess Corner, a part of the room set aside for chess tables. It was filled with college students playing game after game of chess.

Matt stood out from these chess enthusiasts in his dusky blue suit; everyone else was in casual attire. Much later, I learned he’d just come from a job interview. But all I knew that day was what a dashing figure he cut. He was the first chess player I spoke to that day, and it turned out it was his birthday, too! A chess tour-nament competitor for years, being at the Chess Corner was actually his way of celebrating.

That first day, we played a half dozen games. Since I was a novice and he an expert, he crushed me every game. But then he began teaching me basic chess concepts. In the following months, he took me under his wing and taught me the finer points of the game. As I learned about the strategies and tactics in the royal game of war, our romance blossomed. After chess games or tournaments, we’d spend time together walking and talking, sharing and caring. We grew closer and closer, our days filled with classes, chess, and romantic evenings. Finally, on the third anniversary of our meeting, on our birthday, I proposed. A year later, again on our birthday, we married.

More than 20 years later, we’re still ardent chess enthusiasts. I’ve become a professional chess teacher/coach. Matt’s a Boeing engineer on Edwards Air Force Base, but he, too, coaches chess clubs. And together we organize and run chess events for kids. Every year, for our birthday, for the anniversary of our meeting, for our wedding anniversary, we go to a chess tournament. We celebrate our love and the love of the game that brought us together.

Many happy hoursLyle Talbot

Romance, love story, at my age? Well, it happened! Five years ago, this octoge-narian was sipping a chilled glass of chardonnay at a local bistro, enjoying “happy hour.” At the time, it had been five years since my separation after a marriage of more than 40 years.

Seated next to me was a very attractive lady, nearly 25 years my junior, seemingly unaware of my presence, engrossed in a long-distance cell phone conversation to which I had become an unwilling and annoyed listener. I sat there wondering why do people come into a social atmosphere and bore surrounding patrons by discussing their private lives in public?

On ending her family chat (with her daughter she told me later) she turned to me with a beautiful smile and a “warm fuzzy” greeting. My radar screen lit up instantly as I wanted to gather more “intel” on what she was all about, but she was the one asking all the questions —what’s your name, what do you do for work, how old are you, how long have you lived in the Valley, etc. In my cross-examination I discovered she was a doctor of psychiatry working at a local youth correctional facility and also a reverse-commuter, driving from Los Angeles to Lancaster almost daily but spending one night a week at the home of a nurse colleague. She was also a world traveler, having worked on five different continents and served as a volunteer with Mother Teresa in India, aiding termanally ill children. Educated, talented, compassionate and wealthy to boot; my radar screen blew out a transis-tor and crashed.

After a very pleasant hour of exchanging our personal histories (but not our phone numbers) she departed for an evening of local rest after asking if I would be there the same time next week. You know I was and for many weeks thereafter, wondering why someone with such an extensive backround would find any interest in this aging, retired county surveyor, but she did!

During our ensuing weekly encounters over libations and occasional lunches she took a new practice in a local homeless assistance program and was becom-ing weary of the daily commute to Burbank where her family lived, so I offered up a solution to save fuel costs and wear and tear on both her car and her body

as well.I ever so “deftly” suggested she was welcome to my vacant, spare bedroom

with private bath, some home cooking, all at no charge, as well as the swimming pool and relaxing heated spa and laundry privileges. Would she go for it? Read on. She followed me home after lunch and did a cautious walk-through then ques-tioned me about my gentlemanly conduct and/or intentions, making it positively clear it would be a platonic relationship. Only then did she graciously accept my offer/proposition.

Our arrangement lasted over half of a decade, and she later softened her platonic “proclamation” somewhat to this gentle old charmer. Alas, about 18 months ago she relocated to rural Virginia where her girls enrolled in quality finishing schools before college. All the while she continued seeing her patients here in the Valley using a web-cam computer in a spare bedroom connected to the local office, making quarterly visits back here for in-person consultations. Sadly, her telepsy-chiatry contract was recently terminated without any prior notice or stated cause, and now my romantic odyssey is blowing in those horrendous Valley winds. The fact is my sweetheart really is a psychiatrist. The joke is she was not my psychiatrist but then I’m not too sure about that. Although she must remain nameless to those who read this tale, and she no longer resides at my abode, she will forever be “My Valentine” — xoxoxo’s darling ‘til we meet again!

Descanso Gardens Made Me CryJeff Nadonza

Her name was Elaine. I dated other girls before, but she was The One. I knew it, too. When I think of the love of my life, it is always her. It was like I knew even before we ever met. Can’t really explain it. If you believe in soul mates, then you will understand Elaine was mine.

At first, I didn’t want to like her. Everything was telling me, “No. Not her.” It was bad timing. Leaving for college soon and long-distance relationships don’t work. She was a sophomore and I was a senior. I was busy with AP classes, school clubs and a part-time job. Worse, she was dating my good friend and roommate at the time. But I kept on getting this vibe, she’s The One. Needless to say, my good friend/ former roommate/her ex-boyfriend and I do not speak to each other anymore.

It was an innocent time. Everything was a refreshing surprise. Started off with an innocent, friendship flower one buys for a high school fund-raiser. Then it was a spur of the moment flower plucked by the nearby rosebush before second period. Later, it became the cute purple flowers from her next door neighbor’s prized garden. It transformed to Sadie Hawkins chrysanthemum with no romantic intentions, just an inkling of “maybe.”

Before I knew it, it was a late-night drive to the local 7-Eleven to buy those cheap roses in the plastic bags just because. It turned into electric blue sprayed carnation in baby’s breath from Conroy’s. It later became that white rose corsage for the dance that “we weren’t officially going to go together because she still had a boyfriend but just in case we coincidentally met.” Then it was the two dozen

Lyle Talbot and friend.

long-stemmed red roses in the golden box for prom.

Admittedly, this got a bit ridiculous. It started as a cute thing to do, giving a flower every day for a week. Then it turned into an entire month, which became a year of flower-giving. It wasn’t my initial intention to give her flowers every day. I did not want to like her or, heaven forbid, love her. Thing is, I just did. Guess, I always did.

Our time would be coming to an end as most high school romances do. Didn’t care. Wanted and needed to stay in this moment for as long as I could. Knew this would forever ruin any future relation-ships I’d ever have; plus, secretly hoped she’d compare every future relationship with our time together. It did and she did. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Leaving for college would end of our relationship. It needed to be done. We both had to grow. The breakup wasn’t pretty. Many nights I was lost thinking about her. However, when you found The One, nothing’s the same. Dated others in college, even bought flowers in other relationships, but it was nothing like before.

Just didn’t feel right. Just didn’t have the same magic. Always felt like I was cheating. For the longest time, I avoided flower shops and never bought flowers as gifts for years. People believed that I had a flower phobia.

When I went to the Descanso Gardens for the first time, you’d believe this flower phobia was true. You see, I had an anxiety attack. Discovered this place by accident. Going to botanical gardens wasn’t my thing. Had some time before heading to a party and I kept getting this vibe to go, so I went.

Paid my $8 and walked around enjoy-ing the park. Looked at the turtles and koi fish in the Japanese Garden. Watched a bride and groom take wedding pic-tures. Even hugged a redwood. Before too long, I started crying. A grown man balling in the middle of the Descanso Gardens — nice. Couldn’t tell you why at the time. A flood of emotions washed over me. Memories of Elaine. Memo-ries of the heartbreak. Memories of living a much different life hit. Felt sad. Depressed. Felt angry. I just sat there frozen, inundated by feelings. Couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Stayed there for hours, just remembering.

It took time to understand this out-burst. It snuck up on me imperceptibly. The smell of those flowers—the carna-tions, the chrysanthemums, the roses—it caused the flood gate of emotions to burst. These were flowers I gave Elaine years ago. Avoided being around flowers so long that I forgot why I stopped

getting them. In the middle of this 150-acre garden

park, I couldn’t get away. All these feelings were dammed up for so long. Simply, I forgot what it was like to be in love. It’s been so long. Sitting there I knew it was something I had to get through. Needed to stop running away from these feelings. Just experience it.

Time passed and life happened. Elaine is married now. She has a handsome son

and a wonderful husband. We’re Face-book friends. We e-mail and text every so often. We even send postcards. However, that time we had together, well, it was ... special. Don’t know where I heard this saying, but it always has stuck with me: “One can never step in the same river twice.”

It will never be the same, nor should it be the same. The relationship with Elaine is different now. This is OK; if not in this

lifetime, then the next. However, after the Descanso Gardens anxiety attack, I got over my phobia of buying flowers.

My attitude changed. If there’s a chance I can have an iota of what I felt with Elaine, then I must run toward it and not away from it. Can’t say there was a lesson learned, but I do know the universe will provide. Still haven’t bought flowers. Yet, in time, soon, maybe. Until then, I buy plants instead.