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Love
you never know when or where you'll find it
This is the week I'm beginning to look for "love" stories
for our Feb.13 issue. How many of us remember Otmer and Andy
Meiner, the brothers to Anna Schelle. Those two literally lived together and
died together. Brotherly love.
Right after I got on the Internet, I had an e-mail from
"David" that said, "What difference does it make who we love as long as we love
rather than hate?" You can do as I did and make up your own story here, but it
kind of made me stop and think.
Then, I saw a preview of an upcoming movie about two
women in love, and the uproar it was causing. Now, this isn't necessarily for
me, but I had to agree with the producer who argued about the fact that anyone
can produce movies of sickos murdering, raping and molesting children, or
splattering someone' s brains allover a wall, and air them at prime time, but
not about two people caring for each other ... I'm kind of like my seven year
old grandson Morgan ...I just cannot comprehend ...
I expect that opened a whole new can of worms, but worms need love, too.
Makes me think of the year Grandma Speck gave one of my
boys a tee shirt for some occasion. I didn't pay any attention to the shirt; it
looked like a turtle sitting on an army helmet to me. He wore it to school the
next day and was sent home immediately to change his shirt. Seems it wasn't a
helmet! Turtles need love, too
Grandma Black wasn't too sure about Ed for the first
two or three weeks she knew him, but after she got to know him better, she would
always have him stand in front of her, then tell him to turn around a couple of
times, which he would
do as she would exclaim, "Ain't he the grandest man!?" Another kind of love.
The day the family watched as Ed gave a chipmunk little
pressure pushes on its chest and would blow into its mouth until the
chipmunk came back from wherever it had gone momentarily. Love.
And I love to watch Taylor when her daddy walks into
the room and she squeals and yells, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," as she grabs his leg
or raises her arms for a lift and a hug. Now she does it to me and Granddad.
Love ... it's everywhere, we don't even have to look.
Where does this come from??? I think when you turn 55,
your mind must do a 180, or something. Anybody who knows me knows this can't be
me talking! No, I don't drink, but come to think of it, a hundred years ago when
Ed and I used to party with the best of them, I would just mellow out (God I
hated to let my guard down like that!) and fall in love. That would be about
four drinks after I'd get my right leg drunk so I could dance. That leg loved
beer (is that love?) and would not budge until it was soused, then it could even
jump over divider walls, but that's another story. There you are ... another
kind of love!
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