SassyBlonde

(Get it out of your systems now... "This one time, at band camp...")

"Summer lovin' had me a blast,"
"Summer lovin' happened so fast,"

Growing up in Alabama, I found myself a big fish in a small musical pond, and by my junior year in high school was chafing to get into the big leagues and test my mettle against other clarinet players from far flung places like say, Tennessee and Georgia and even (*gasp*) New York, so I worked my keester off to be able to attend a big time music camp, one of those six-week intensive practice-'til-you puke summer institutes. the only person I knew when I got there was my OCD flute-playing best friend, but as is usually the way at these camps, before long I had pal-ed up with another clarinet player my age who was a sassy Texan and certifiably boy-crazy. That's how I ended up sitting across from our friend TinyFred and his best friend at the town pizza joint on our Saturday release into town. At that point, I was interested in another boy, so I didn't think much about the TinyFred's cute be-freckled best friend sitting in front of me with the velvet voice and beautiful green eyes, but he noticed me.

"I met a girl crazy for me,"
"Met a boy cute as can be,"
"Summer days driftin' away, to uh-oh those summer nights..."

Every night, campers were required to attend concerts given by other ensembles or big-wigs who come in to perform, sitting on the grass or in the orchestra pit in little circles peering up at the stage, conveniently out of sight of the audience. I was interested in a sleazy Chicago genius named Rob, whose stake-out was a perch high on the grass hill overlooking the stage. Future-hubby and TinyFred always sat in the orchestra pit, and he asked me to sit with them one night. I refused and said I as sitting with Rob, and he politely took his righteous indignation to the pit where, scowling, he told his best friend of his determination to win me over from this guy and fumed. Meanwhile up on the hill during the first half, I learned exactly how much of a sleaze Chi-boy was when he turned his attentions to the girl sitting next to him as I watched and made plans for a practice-room tryst later that night. Wise I may not have been at the age of seventeen, but I knew enough to cut my losses, give him the finger, and move on, and at intermission I sashayed myself down to the pit. (Maybe that's why I love being a pit musician so much?) D was surprised to say the least, but scooched over and let me squeeze in next to him, grinning. During one of the songs he kind of shyly reached over and grabbed my hand, and a shock ran through my whole body and I sat bolt upright.

Somewhere deep down, a little voice had just told me that I was going to marry this guy someday.

Now, I don't know about you, but this freaked me out more than a little. I felt it in my bones, people, down to every cell. This was not one of those little adolescent crush voices, but something deep and visceral and earth-shaking and certain. And really scary to a 17-year-old girl with ideas of going to Juilliard and taking over the world with her clarinet. I shied away from him so hard it wasn't even funny, and stayed away for the better oart of two weeks, much to his consternation. But D was so charming and sweet that I couldn't stay away forever, and before the end of the camp I had become his first kiss and we were inseparable.

At the end of the camp, we went our separate ways, him back to Maryland and me back to Alabama. We lost touch for a couple of years, but then he looked me up again and the rest is history. He's been with me through depression, disease, and disaster and through joy, surprise, and triumph. And it's still just the beginning. Happy anniversary, D.