I love the days in life that start out ordinary, but end up extraordinary. October 11, 1969 was such a day for me. I awoke before the buzz of my alarm clock and couldn't wait to get out of bed. That was unusual. Most Saturdays, I buried the nagging clock under my pillow, snoozed until minutes before I had to be at work, panicked, flew from the bed, dressed and raced to the car. I'd arrive to my job, at a San Marcos, Texas flower shop, hungry but in the nick of time.
October 11, 1969 began gently. I had time to dress nicer than usual and to do my make-up and hair. I enjoyed breakfast and took my time driving to work. The day was bright, beautiful, and breezy. Red, orange, and yellow leaves swirled through the air as gracefully as snowflakes. It felt like a day for celebration!
That morning, my boss, Miss Levinia Winkles, couldn't have been grumpier. She skipped all greetings and asked me why my co-worker, Liz, wasn't there. I had no idea; we barely knew one another. We had taken the job as part of our high school's Distributive Education program. We worked part-time during the week and all day on Saturdays.
Miss Winkles handed me a broom and told me to "take myself back outside and sweep leaves from the walkway." I didn't mind. It beat working in the dreary flower shop with her.
While I was out there, a brown '61 Chevy pulled to the curb at the end of the walkway. Liz popped from the passenger side. The driver inched away.
"Hi," Liz said. "You look nice. My cousin, Mike, just asked who you are."
"Really," I said. "Did he say anything else?"
"He said you're pretty, that's all."
She went into the shop. I stayed outside. Thinking about him made sweeping a pleasure. I remembered seeing him at the high school before he graduated. He often wore knit shirts or sweaters with the sleeves pushed up, Levis, and brown loafers. He had incredible brown eyes. His golden-brown swept across his forehead. He seemed nice, very cute, and was, at the time, very taken.
Thoughts of him carried me through the day and all the way home. I wondered if he'd ever call. He did, a few minutes after dinner. He invited me to go with him and Liz to his sister's party. I agreed. They picked me up awhile later in the same brown '61 Chevy.
I didn't know where to sit in the car, so Liz sat in the middle. He laughed and asked me why I didn't sit by him. I felt awkward and wondered what he thought of me. He told me later that he also felt awkward and wondered what I thought of him.
We arrived at the party and went outside to get acquainted. We sat on the front-porch steps. I don't remember what we talked about. I do remember a gentle breeze, chirping crickets, and a full moon that weaved in and out of the clouds. A grey kitten crawled into my lap and purred for attention. Every so often, Mike reached over to quiet him. I remember feeling a shiver as his hand brushed mine. I loved his unassuming demeanor, his sparkling-brown eyes, and the way the moonlight danced in his hair!
When the party ended, he took me home. This time, Liz stayed behind. I sat next to him. He parked the car in front of my house and turned off the ignition. We talked for a long while more. Neither of us wanted such a beautiful night to end.
"I better let you go in," he finally said. He leaned over and kissed me. We got out of the car. He walked me to the door and he kissed me again.
"Thanks for going to the party with me," he said. "I hope we'll go out again." I said I hoped so, too. I went into the house smitten, but oblivious to the fact that I'd just met the love of my life.
Tonight we sit on our porch. A full moon shines through the branches of an old oak tree. Crickets chant the mantras from decades past. The air is crisp and cool against our skin. We talk about the economy, the presidential election, and our grandchildren. Every so often, his hand brushes mine. I look at him and think about our extraordinary Saturday in 1969. Much has changed since then, but much remains the same. I still love his sparkling-brown eyes and the way the moonlight dances in his hair.