February 14, 2006

"Love is in the air..."

Happy Valentine's Day to you all!

I got two very sweet cards and a big ol' sack of peanut butter and chocolate hearts from Miss Reba. I would have gotten an even better gift last night, except for having to find a bunch of junk on the computer for Jonathan about skating, and a list of simple Italian phrases, AND if Miss Reba had not had to go out to the Dollar Tree last night at 9:00 to buy a bag of lil' kid Valentines for Catherine to give to the kids in her class today. And if a certain mother of Reba's would leave her alone about a certain upcoming anniversary.

Such a combination doesn't make for a highly charged romantic atmosphere, let me tell you.

ANYway, it is still quite a nice day, and marks the 15th anniversary of my engagement to my lovely bride. Many years ago now, I wrote a long post that details how our lives became entwined, and every year since I have reposted it (with the necessary update to mark the number of years), for the simple reason that I can't think of anything I would say any different.

She's a keeper, that's for sure.

For those who've not read it, if you will indulge me, the post is in the extended entry.


I never really remember meeting my wife. We more or less grew up going to church together, so I’ve sorta always known her. We went to different grade schools and high schools, and we never socialized outside of church, but we always were friends. She is two years older than me, and with my immense adolescent awkwardness and shyness, I never worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date. But she would always save me a seat in Sunday school. And I would always sit with her. Her name is Reba.

The first time I ever had one of those pubescent rush-of-hormone moments was because of her. One Sunday when we were waiting for class to start, she was standing at the door talking to her dad. She had on a sleeveless blue dress. Just a plain, A-line, to the knee, homemade, God-fearing polyester church dress. But I couldn’t look away from those soft, pale, naked arms. I can still feel my ears turning red, and trying to make sure my Bible was firmly placed across my lap to cover the embarrassing results of my wandering eyes and the machinations of my limbic system.

We grew up together, through junior high and high school, and my mom would pester me to ask her out. I always scoffed and said it would be like dating my sister. Reba went off to college at Jacksonville, and then I graduated a couple of years later and eventually went off to Auburn to study architecture. Whenever we would meet up again in those years, it was always at church. We would talk, although I can’t remember any of our conversations. She would always sit on the pew behind my mother and me. In my third year at Auburn, I got to spend a quarter studying in Europe, and my mom told me that she would ask about me every week. But, I was still in school, and semi-stalking another girl, and well, you know.

I finally made it out of Auburn with two degrees and a minor in business, after going to school for five straight years—twenty complete quarters, breaking only for a two week respite in my very first quarter there, due to my father’s death. I moved back home; bone-tired and lonesome.

I started my first job two weeks after I got back and started the next chunk of my life, which was centered on passing my licensing exam. Not much time for socializing, although some of my well-meaning coworkers would allow their wives to use me as a test case for their unmarried girlfriends. There had to be something better.

Since I was back home, I had started going back to our old church again with my mom. My wife-to-be had gotten a job at a local hospital, and wasn’t around a lot. But I had finally decided that I even though I was still awkward and shy, dadgummit, I was going to ask her out. Then I learned why she had not been around much.

Seems she had starting dating an acquaintance of mine, and he had asked her to marry him.

I went to their wedding, which was held right there at our old church. I have no remembrance of it at all; even watching the video of it I cannot remember anything of it. I guess I was trying hard to forget it. She and her husband left and went on their honeymoon. When they got back, they moved to the other side of the county and moved to another church. A few months later, she was pregnant.

I was at work one day when I got a call from my best friend in high school. “Rick died.” I couldn’t say anything except to keep saying ‘no.’ 29 years old. Married six months. Baby due in five months. Dropped dead of a heart attack.

The funeral, I do remember. There was a group of us who had all run around together in high school, and Rick had been one of the group. When I got there, all of the rest of the guys were just standing there, silent and somber. Reba sat back behind a curtain with her girlfriends on either side of her. She had a wad of tissue in her hands, which were crossed across her small pregnant belly. I didn’t really know what to say—what came out was something like “This may sound stupid, but no matter how bad you think this is, it will get better.” I reminded her of her family, and the folks at church, and that I would help watch out for her, too.

Some time passed, and she started coming back to church at our old place. She grew and grew, and I made a point of finding her every Sunday she was there at church to talk to her. And to flirt. She tells me now that she thought I was crazy for telling her she looked good pregnant. Despite all that had gone on over the years, to me she was still that girl in the blue dress, leaned up against the door of the classroom. And whether I had ever wanted to admit it to myself or not, I was, and had always been, very deeply in love with her.

On March 27, 1990 her baby was born. From then on, I had to flirt with both of them. Which I did, rather shamelessly.

In December of that year, the moment finally arrived. It was time for my office Christmas party. A couple of weeks before time, I sidled up to Reba at the card rack at church and pretended to be looking for something. I asked her to the party. She said yes. We went, and had wonderful time. A week later, we had a second date, ostensibly to look for a kitchen table for me. After that, we have rarely been apart for longer than a day.

15 years ago today, I asked Reba to be my wife. Since then, we’ve been through a lot. Another wedding. Passing my registration exam. Three more kids. Two houses. Eleven vehicles. Moved to three different school systems. Five job changes between us. More college for both of us. More deaths in the family, and more births. A couple of wars. Three presidents. We even moved to a different church. 15 years, but it seems like only yesterday.

And to this day, I still have to be very careful when I see that she is wearing a sleeveless dress.

So Mrs. Oglesby, Happy Valentine’s Day. And thank you for saying yes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at February 14, 2006 09:18 AM
Comments

Still a great post-- year after year.
My wife came up with the idea for us to time shift Valentine’s Day. We will be in Wilmington NC and staying here. I don’t know how she could think this would be a more romantic spot than good old Greenville.

Posted by: jim at February 14, 2006 09:59 AM

This is still the absolute sweetest post.

Posted by: Sarah G. at February 14, 2006 09:59 AM

i meant to say we would be there next week-- sorry.

Posted by: jim at February 14, 2006 10:00 AM

Thank you both--I like her a whole bunch, you know. And Jim, I see where they will accept pets for a $75 fee--is your puppy going to get to go, too?

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at February 14, 2006 10:17 AM

He could present my paper for me. However he’s saving up for chew toys so he doesn’t eat all the deck chair at the house. For those that don’t know the “puppy” is a mixed golden who is about 10 months and 80 pounds.

Posted by: jim at February 14, 2006 10:28 AM

The story is, as always, wonderful.

The idea of Peanut Butter in a sack is less so. Especially since I imagine the sack to be made of burlap.

Two great tastes... Well, one great taste that would go much better without the other.

Posted by: skinnydan at February 14, 2006 11:00 AM

Well, Dan, I think I might be hamstrung by my language skills--they were heart-shaped chocolate covered peanut butter candies, in a plastic bag.

I guess we should be grateful I didn't say she'd given me a pokeful.

Posted by: Terry Oglesby at February 14, 2006 11:08 AM

Depends. How does the pig in the poke feel about peanut butter?

Posted by: skinnydan at February 14, 2006 02:27 PM