For Me and My Carol, the Bell is Ringing

I don't know whether I can rightly say that I fell in love with her on first sight (I was 9; she was 7). But I can say I think such could have been the case. For she was a mighty cute lass: in shorts, showing off her well-tanned legs and lush blonde hair atop a sexy smile, a trait I've never otherwise applied to any female under age sixteen.

She was staring at the candy counter of our new grocery; Pate's it was uniquely called.

I decided to show off my authority and told her she should go ahead and pick the piece of candy she wanted. She questioned my authority. with a quick glance my way. But I assured her she could do as I suggested: I was a son of the owners.

She chose a Hershey bar with almonds.

"Great choice!" I immediately told her. She smiled and went away.

I was two grades ahead of her in school, but I kept up with her goings and comings, noticing all the while during succeeding years how she grew in beauty and in grace.

By the time I was 18 and she, 16; I was absolutely sure I was in love with her.

To no avail, however, for the next five decades, until in or around 1993, when we were both divorced (I was living in Galveston; she, in San Antonio. Fortunately, a friend gave me her phone number. I called, with awesome results; Carol answered. I invited myself to San Antonio. She agreed. We were off and running. and were married two years later.

Then for 25 plus years, until her passing at age 87, in 2024, I lived the happiest and best years of my life.

I'll be 90 in a little over a week. The Bell is ringing (only one is needed). And I am ready.