The following was written by my late wife Elaine. She wrote a long book, a diary really, from which this is one passage:
The Beginning of Courtship
He gave me “the rush,” as we called it then, coming over and calling all the time, and taking me places.
One evening I was talking on the phone to Jerry – he was still calling almost every evening – when I heard Dave’s rattling old ’36 Chevy coming down my street. He used this old hand-me-down car with ladders on top for his neon sign repair business, and he usually came at unplanned and unannounced times. I wasn’t used to such casual “dates” and if they were all like the one I’m telling you about now, I wouldn’t have gone on very long with this new friendship.
I had a minute or two before he got to the door, and I have squeamish memories of taking the phone with me, behind the big chair next to the phone, planning to not answer the door. Yes, he looked in the window, saw the phone without the receiver, cord going behind the chair, and the window-peeper waited and waited until I emerged from behind the chair. I have no idea where my mom was at the time and why she didn’t rescue me, or what he said or what I said. What could I say? And he returned! Over and over! Every night!
We dated regularly, and he devised a plan (an excuse) for coming to my house most evenings to work on an oil painting he was doing for me, a scene of a lake, trees, etc., and it’s on our bedroom wall now, approximately 50 years later, and the oil is beginning to dry and flake away. (Like us! I’ve heard that most of the “dust” in all our houses is our own skin flakes. Lovely!)
So he appeared almost every evening, and painted. Mom was a kidder, and one time she came out with a rifle when she thought he’d been there a lot longer than usual, and just stood there with the gun propped up. (She and Dave got along well, and before too long his nickname for her, whenever he talked to her, was “Blue Eyes.”)
Dad was still on the night shift so he wasn’t there for these weeknight activities, but they both approved of him because of their years-long association with his parents, and because he was “a Christian.” Note: I knew a few “Christian” fellas at my church who had less than admirable reputations, and I’ve known some people who did not say they were “Christians” but who exemplified that life anyway! I believe that it isn’t what we call ourselves, but it’s how we live, and what examples we set for others. Do you agree?
To be continued…
About the Author: RD Blakeslee is a nonagenarian in West Virginia who built his net worth by only investing in that which can be enjoyed during acquisition and throughout life, as opposed to papers in a drawer, like stocks and bonds. You can read more about him here.
Photos: Courtesy of the Blakeslee Family