Thirty-seven years ago today, I met my wife Denise on a blind date. It wasn’t really a blind date, as much as it was a plot hatched by Denise’s cousin Paul. He had decided to play Cupid in spite of the fact that both Denise and I had said no thanks to his offers of “assistance” with our social lives. Paul wasn’t discouraged. It was 1985.
In 1985, I was having a bad year… a really bad year. My first wife decided she was bored, took the kids and left me. All I had left was my clothes, fishing tackle and a really old and ugly Chevy Nova with a quarter million miles. I had to put my mother in a nursing home earlier that year after being summoned home to Illinois by concerned relatives. Dad was having memory issues due to a series of mini-strokes and sometimes he forgot the stove or oven was on. I was living and working in northern Virginia, trying to build a civilian career after I had left the Air Force. Then, my company lost the contract I was working on and I was out on the street with no job. I packed my meager possessions in the Nova, headed back to Illinois and moved in with Dad, who needed the help anyway. It was a bad year.
Denise was also coming off a bad marriage and trying hard to make enough money to move out of her parents home and get a place of her own. With two young daughters, Jennifer and Stephanie, that was a tall order. She had a decent job in commercial insurance and a big dream. She didn’t need any guys screwing it up, especially an unemployed bum who talked of being a logistics engineer, whatever that was.
Paul hatched a plan. He knew we both loved music, so he invited both of us to see The Atlanta Rhythm Section play a show in Morris the Sunday night after Thanksgiving. He just forgot to tell either of us about the other, knowing we’d both say no thanks. It was a perfect setup. He introduced us and bought a round of drinks. The music was good and so was the company. Denise and I ended up at an all-night restaurant until about 4 AM, talking about kids and life. I have no idea how she went to work the next day.
Within a couple of days, I called her and she asked me if I’d be her date for her company Christmas party - a dress up affair up in Naperville, IL - just southwest of Chicago. I said sure and, at the appointed time, put on a coat and tie, got in the old nasty Nova and picked her up. As with most first dates, she wasn’t quite ready when I arrived and I sat in the living room of her parents house, patiently waiting and wondering how the night would go. Jen and Steph were about 5 and 7 at the time, and extremely curious about this new guy taking their mom out. There was a lot of giggling and corner peeking going on. Denise was finally ready, wearing a hot looking red dress that wasn’t near warm enough for a December night in Illinois. She filled it out nicely. We jumped in the Nova and were off to the party.
I don’t recall much about the party other than we both had fun dancing and she had a slight wardrobe malfunction which I won’t describe (but I didn’t mind a bit). We probably both had a little too much wine and got in the Nova to head back. It was maybe ten or fifteen degrees and unbelievably cold, about par for the course in an Illinois winter. We had driven maybe half a mile when the water pump went out and puked antifreeze everywhere. It’s something you just can’t MacGyver back to life, especially in a coat and tie. We totally froze waiting for the tow truck and had to call somebody for a ride. Feeling like a total loser, I held her close because, as I said, she wasn’t really dressed for being outside. Somehow she didn’t freeze to death and, even more surprising, she didn’t tell me to get lost.
That Christmas season, with no job, no money, no hope of seeing my kids and trying to figure out what’s next, I spent a lot of time at her folks house. When we went somewhere, it was always with Jen and Steph, except maybe one time where her earrings got lost somehow. Her mom and dad made me feel welcome, even though I was an unemployed bum with a crappy car. After all I’d been through that year, it finally seemed like I was catching a break. Thirty-seven years later, the kids are grown and we’re still together. We’ve hung mistletoe and decorated the house together since 1988.
About six or seven years ago, Denise asked me why I had never written a song about her. I took it as a challenge to do so and after about a hundred pages of torn up lyrics, I finally wrote the song “Under The Mistletoe” on Christmas eve. It’s based on our life together and it starts like this - “The first time that I kissed you, you had that red dress on. Baby it was cold and I just had to keep you warm. We both were lookin’ to avoid another broken heart. It was Christmas back in ‘85 when we first had our start.” It’s a pretty good song. I think she likes it. You can hear it here.
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| Somewhere about 1986 |
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