It’s funny how life can suddenly change without any planning or effort. You walk out the door with no expectations whatsoever, and before you know it, the paradigm shifts, completely rearranging your focus and priorities. This is one of the features of life that keeps things interesting, is it not? If the outcome of each and every day is scheduled and/or predictable, what’s the point? That predictability can certainly provide comfort and security as we go through our daily routines, but the excitement of life often lies within the unknown and the unexpected. These unforeseen occurrences can transform an otherwise typical day into a long lasting memory, perhaps even a date that will hold significance for the rest of your life. I don’t know about you, but as much as I appreciate the comfort of routine, the unanticipated highs and lows that the world throws our way are the things that make life worth living.
There are many such dates highlighted in bright red on my mental calendar, but one in particular has had a significant and permanent impact on my life. The event that occurred on August 25, 1999 was neither planned, anticipated, nor sought after.
Let me fill in some of the blanks here. It was an otherwise typical Wednesday evening spent with friends and acquaintances making some music at a dumpy little bar that no longer exists. A few of the aforementioned friends were trying to get a weekly Blues jam off the ground at this particular establishment, and I was doing my part to support the effort by joining in as much as possible in the hopes that the owner would commit to a continuation of this event. In addition, it also afforded an opportunity to hang with my friends, and play a few tunes.
Musical get-togethers and jams happen in towns and cities all over the world, and, for the most part, are fairly uneventful. That’s not to say they’re no fun – they absolutely are – it’s just that they can be somewhat predictable. The same regular patrons will be in attendance, usually interacting with the same group of friends. You’re likely to see the same local musicians playing and singing the same songs on a regular basis. Though the weekly jam is an ideal place to try out new material, some of the jammers do tend to stay in their comfort zones, and that’s okay too. Every now and again, a new or notable musician will drop in unexpectedly and treat the regulars to a novel experience, but weeknight jams in small towns rarely present any surprises.
The night in question was shaping up much like every other Wednesday evening that summer, with many of the same familiar faces both on the bandstand and in the audience. That is until she walked in … In situations such as this, it’s rare to see new folks wander in, so when it does happen, it doesn’t go unnoticed. When that person happens to be a beautiful yet unaccompanied woman, let’s just say there were more than a few heads turning in her direction, mine being one of them. Musicians of the male variety tend to have a sixth sense – a radar, if you will – when it comes to this sort of thing. Being unattached at the time, I was no exception.
Now the last thing I was expecting that night was an interaction with a beautiful stranger, but that long, brown hair, pleasant smile, and beguiling southern drawl all combined to become an irresistible siren’s song which I could not ignore. (And the fact that her blue jeans fit just right didn’t hurt a bit.) Not being one to push back against hereditary instincts, I made it a point to strike up a conversation with this particular individual. After a brief period of chatting, I heard my name called from the bandstand, and I excused myself in order to do a few tunes with the house band. Naturally, as soon as I moved up to the stage, the beautiful stranger was immediately approached by some of the other scallywags and rascals who were waiting for an opportunity to chat with this attractive newcomer.
After singing my allotted three or four tunes, I retired from the bandstand to find the object of my attention engaged in conversation with one of the other knuckleheads – umm, I mean musicians – in attendance that evening. Not at all excited about the notion of having to wait my turn, I started to walk past her when she abruptly interrupted her parley with the other party to tell me that she “really enjoyed my music.” The door to continue our early discourse was flung wide open, and, of course, I walked through it without hesitation.
Gwenda, as I learned was her name, and I had more than enough common ground to chat about. I learned that in addition to a mutual affection for Blues music, we both had children from a previous marriage, both worked in the trades – I was a carpenter, and she was employed doing art and historic restoration – plus we were almost the exact same age, having been born a mere 16 days apart. We both seemed to enjoy the brief encounter.
I carried on with my usual interaction with the other friends and acquaintances in the room. As the night dwindled to a close, my intention was to see if she might be receptive to getting together again while she was in town. I learned that hers was a travelling gig, and the project that brought her to the area would only last a couple months, so I wanted to make the most of the opportunity at hand. When I looked for the chance to chat one last time before I left, I found she was more or less surrounded by several other cats, all vying for her attention. Less than enthusiastic about joining the queue, I let out an exasperated sigh, gathered my gear, and headed for the door, resolved to the notion that I would never again see this pretty woman with the enchanting southern drawl. When I got to the door, however, I turned to find her right by my side. I had obviously made an impression. (Years later, Gwenda told me that I looked to be “the safest option” as she made her way to her car.)
We chatted for a while longer in the parking lot, both enjoying the extended interaction. I mentioned that there was another little jam the following night just down the road, and that I would likely be there. She thanked me for the info, but was noncommittal in her response. As it turned out, she did eventually show up the next night, and we had a great evening enjoying one another’s company. The parting of ways in the parking lot that night led to a memorable first kiss, but I’ll keep those details to myself for now.
Gwenda and I were married a year and a half later. It’s hard to believe that 25 years have passed since that first chance encounter, yet here we are. And to think that it all came about due to an unexpected and unintentional meeting at a random place and time, or for that matter, may not have happened at all for a number of reasons, well that does give me reason to ponder. At the onset of that night’s occurrences, I had no expectations whatsoever – just another chance to hang with some friends and make a little noise. By the end of the evening, a new priority had rocketed to the top of my list. I cherish our every moment together since that night, and I anticipate each one we have yet to share.
Without any planning or effort, my life changed decidedly for the better that night during the waning days of the 20th century. (You’ll have to ask my wife how things worked out for her …)
Love the mating ritual description, along with fighting off competitors!