Lucky Clover: In Which He Held My Hand

He goes for a run but I stay behind and walk instead. We spent the afternoon wrapped up in each other…it’s our anniversary.

My skin tingles as I walk. It remembers.
Toby comes with me; he’s doing well on his program. He’s lost two pounds already. He snorts along, but I’m not bothered—my head is filled with poetry.
The first time he held my hand we stood on the bank of River Lake. He wanted to show me his childhood home. Wonder—that’s what I felt, with my hand in his. And I thought that maybe I could love this man.
I do.
I find a four leaf clover by the creek and I pluck its green; it is warm in my hand. I’m always finding four leaf clovers. The pages of my journals press them flat—they are always slipping out when I remember.
The sun shines gentle through the trees, evening coming on. We walk down the bank and I crouch low beside the creek. Dappled beauty flowing by…grasses bend under water caress. I sigh.
We turn around.
As we turn to go up the hill, I see him. He’s slowing to a walk. My heart does a flip-flop at the sight of him, and I know he will walk down to join us for the remainder of the way home.
It was windy on our wedding day. We married outside and afterwards, the picture-taking was frustrated by the breeze. I have a photograph in my white album of him shaking my skirt our like a sheet in the breeze. We are laughing.

I don’t believe in luck. I know what got us here. There were times I wanted to give up. But I didn’t.

And luck had nothing to do with it. 

The breeze today is even sweeter than on our wedding day. I slip my hand in his and we walk.
I don’t believe in luck. I believe. I believe in a Love deeper than my heart can conceive. That’s what I believe.

Thank God for that. Thank God.

The New House Guest

I thought I’d never fall in love again.

After Argus left us, I thought I should better guard my heart. Then I remember what I told Jeffrey about not letting fear keep us from loving.

And I thought we should try again.

Enter Toby. This overweight, pig-like dog who snorts and snores; who annoys Lucy Mae by snarfing all her food, who looks at me with woe-filled eyes and begs for love.

He misses his family.

And he needs us.

We’re looking for a forever home for this sweet buddy-boy. But in the meantime, he’s teaching us to love again.

Love Story

My crazy friend, Amy, has tagged me to tell the story of how I met my husband.

I always have a tough time doing these tags (because my life just isn’t that interesting), but one of my favorite, favorite things in the world is to hear “How We Met” stories…so, turnabout is fairplay, right?

This is actually a difficult story to tell, because, well…some might call it a bit scandalous.

The first time I met Jeff, he was the professor of my Adult Clinical Psychology course in graduate school.

He was also in a relationship at the time.

Jeff was the coolest professor we had. At age 27, he was closer in age to the students than he was to the other professors, so we all became pretty good friends with him. He was a musician, so he occasionally had parties where he invited the grad students and faculty over, and he would make some sweet music. It was a lot of fun.

Everything changed in my second year of the program.

I worked a couple jobs to pay my through school, so I had to stay in town over all the holidays to work. When Thanksgiving break rolled around, almost all of my classmates went home to be with family except me and the only male member of our class, Joe. Joe happened to be the fiancé of another member of the class. There were only ten of us in the program, and over the course of the semesters, we all had grown very close. Because Joe was the only male in our program, he had bonded with Jeff. He would frequently go to Jeff’s office and they would have long talks about…well, guy stuff, I guess.

Anyway, Joe found out Jeff would be alone for the holiday and he decided the three of us should go out on the town.

We had an amazing night. We went dancing at a local alternative club…which played some really weird music and had even stranger patrons. We were all in a silly mood, so we just danced like crazy.

That night, Jeff and I talked for several hours about relationships, and life, and just got to know each other better. I found that he was one of the most sincere, kindest, and interesting guys I had ever met. He was reeling from the failure of his recent relationship, and spoke earnestly about his broken heart. I was coming out of a long relationship too, and was still hurting quite a bit at that time. When Jeff said he would like to get to know me better, I kind of told him it wasn’t a good idea.

In addition to the timing (with our recent breakups), I was concerned about how others would perceive our relationship. Psychologists have a strict code of ethics, and dating a professor who had direct supervision over me would be a very bad idea. So, I should mention that, at this point, all of my classes with Jeff were completed, and we would have no further classroom contact. He pointed that out. But I still didn’t think it was a good idea.

Over my last semester, however, we spent a lot of time together. At first, I tried to keep him at arm’s length. I remember one particular night when he called me to see if I wanted to go for a drive. We drove all over town. He then took me to a neighboring city, which happened to be where he grew up. We got out of the car and walked around the small lake that was adjacent to his old neighborhood. He told me how it used to be his job to mow the grass there, and how he once discovered a nest of baby ducks whose mother must have died. So he cared for these little ducks until they were mature enough to go out on their own. They followed him around like he was their mother. Isn’t that sweet?

Somehow, during the course of that evening, we started holding hands. I remember looking down and thinking, “I’m holding Dr. Boggess’s hand!”

That night, when he dropped me off, I kissed him on the cheek. He still talks about how that tiny little kiss affected him. I was just trying to be careful, but he thought it was one of the sweetest things he had ever experienced.

At that time, there was a local tavern in our college town that hosted an open mic night. Every Tuesday night, Jeff would play his guitar and sing at this little dive. While he sang, he frequently would catch my eye, and hold it. I knew that he was singing just for me.


It wasn’t long before I was head over heels. My last semester of grad school is a blur. Because I was falling in love.

Jeff had a meeting with the Chair of our program and told him how he felt about me. The Chair appreciated his openness, and they worked together to make sure that we didn’t break any rules and proceeded in an ethical fashion. I knew that we succeeded when, one year later, the Chair of our department came to our wedding and smiled his congratulations over us.

I have never regretted it. Sometimes I marvel at the miracle of it all!

That’s my love story…well part of it anyway. It’s still being written, and I am always surprised at the chapters after they’ve been recorded.

Thank you, Dear Friends, for sharing this very special part of my life!

You are a blessing to me!