Love Is Where You Find It

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Love Is Where You Find It. A lazy Saturday afternoon, at least for me. I’m waiting for the side effects of the shot I got at the doctor’s office on Thursday to kick in. Not sure what they are, but I will find out.

I can hear a lawnmower or two near, a weed eater or two at a distance, and a leaf blower between the other paraphernalia. The leaf blower is dealing with what a previous heavy rain and wind left on the lawns and in the driveway, not primarily leaves.

Two people don’t fall in love in this kind of weather. Too hot. They wait until the weather is a crisp October day, when the sweat does not pour from the man’s forehead as he gets down on one knee in the park to ask for a yes. When a bird who has not packed his bags yet to head South might chirp his/her approval. And a bullfrog is waiting over in the pond for the Budweiser commercial crew to come back, and make him a star, as they did several years ago for his counterparts. Of course those were animated, and he’s the real thing.

There is always a child with his mother in the park observing these goings-on, the child old enough to ask, and not old enough to understand. “”Why is that man down on one knee? Did he fall?” And his mother explains he’s asking the lady to marry him.

And the young child, a boy, saying he doesn’t ever think he’ll get married if you have to do that. Then he asks his mother what is marry.

An ideal setting for love, not mundane. Nobody goes mundane when you propose. There have to be romantic elements involved.

I had decided to go out to the Golden Rule in Hoover to pick up some BBQ for sandwiches. Something different. We don’t like to eat out, but we do like eating in. I had already made the circuit of carry-out recently, the lack of power for 40 hours turned that carry-out circuit inside-out. Chick-Fil-A, Milo’s, New York Pizza (two or three times). Golden Rule would be different.

Ho-hum. A trip out there and a trip back. At least it being a Saturday the traffic would be considerably lighter than the work week. During the week it’s like a traffic jam at the Indianapolis 500, standstill on the 2.5 mile track, bumper to bumper.

I went in the door of the Golden Rule, looked off to my left, and one of the waitresses was kissing what I assumed was a customer. I am not adverse to a nice looking woman kissing me, and of course later I would tell my wife it was all spontaneous. I’m certain my wife would have been spontaneous in her reply.

I spoke up. “What am I missing,” naturally thinking the waitress would find kindness in her heart to kiss me on my cheek? She did approach me, and I was a mite apprehensive, thinking of the spontaneity of my wife.

She flashed that engagement ring in front of me. A rather sizable engagement ring. In the olden days we called that a rock. She had the smile of love on her face, a special smile. Anyone who has ever been in love appreciates.

I feel sorry for anyone who has never been in love. They have no idea what they have missed.

I looked over on the other side of the front counter to find the man who had offered up this ring. They were not young folks. The waitress was probably in her forties, and the man with ample gray hair had to be in his fifties.

I joked with him across the counter, and probably loud enough for everybody in the place to hear, “How many years have you been waiting to do this?”

He laughed. “I have a ten-year plan.”

You go in a BBQ place to get BBQ. The last thing you expect is to find love. But that’s what I found. Not “Young Love” as Sonny James once sang.in his biggest hit.

Then again love does not have to be young, does it? On a hot, sunny Saturday afternoon love can be older, maybe even wiser, who knows?

Had I known about this when I ran into Sonny James in 2010 in the Courtyard Marriott in Homewood, I would have told him love is all ages. Sonny James, one of the nicest people you ever want to meet, I’m sure would have agreed. After all, he had been married a long time himself. That was a Friday night, and I don’t think he was returning to Nashville, where he lived, until Sunday, and by then the floods had come to Nashville. I hope not at his home.

Sonny told me a funny story about being on the Ed Sullivan show, which is where he appeared quite often. Sonny also told me he no longer toured or recorded. Knowing what I know now, I would have asked Sonny to record his 24th number one hit, which we could have called, “Love Comes in All Ages.”

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