It's kind of late. It's probably a bad time to make confessions. But here goes... I fell in love with another man. A man not my husband.
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If you know me at all, you probably know I'm married to
jim in IA, have been for more than thirty years. A solid marriage, happy and solid, I can't imagine being married to anyone but him.
But I give my heart easily, get attached quickly. I love my family, my friends, with my whole heart. And I fell in love.
Jim knows. He watched it all play out. We talk about it now, laugh about it. But it was rather startling at the time, for both of us.
Join me for my love story.
Even for fall it was an amazing day, crisp and clear, the sky almost vibrating with the evening light. We eagerly entered the gate at the Kalona Fall Festival, paying the nominal fee. Families wove back and forth in our path, mothers pulling small children back against their thighs, calling to older ones about where to meet. Fathers doled out dollars for treats. Fiddle and banjo notes rose from the stage on the left. The tents were filled with vendors, the air filled with the scent of grilled pork and fried pastries. Museum buildings, the one room school house, the grandparents' house, lined the north side of the fair grounds.
I was determined to see the blacksmith at work and to enjoy the quilt museum. But the antique farm equipment, old diesel engines rattling and backfiring, belching up acrid smoke, drew us to the back of the fairgrounds.
The last building on the north was a grain shed, its sturdy clapboard walls painted barn red. On the far side of it we spotted a wooden crate, approximately a five foot cube, attached at two corners across from each other to a metal stand. The stand held it like an axle, tumbling and turning the cube in an uneven fashion, powered by one of the old engines and a set of belts.
We were puzzled. What was the purpose of the tumbling box? I looked up in the shed, its floor about two feet off ground level. Two men stood in the calm of the wide, open doorway, arms folded, watching the activity around them. I called to one of the men, "What's in the box?"
He moved toward the edge of the floor, squatting down near me so we were face to face. "It's a corn feed mixer. It turns until the feed is mixed. Then it'll be emptied. It's actually empty now. It's just turning for show." As he spoke I noticed his eyes, bottle green, a color I'd never seen before.
I asked more questions and at a point, he took his cap off and ran his broad hand through the thick hair underneath. A shower of fine grain dust fell across the shoulders of his burgundy sweatshirt. He leaned closer to me to keep talking.
He was handsome with a gap-toothed smile, warm and personal. His hair was grey, his face lined but pink. I had worked with a lot of older men, have always loved older men. I guessed he was in his mid-eighties.
We continued to chat, moving slightly closer all the time, looking into each other's eyes. For a moment I imagined leaning in to kiss him, wondering what his reaction would be. Surprised by my thought, I looked for Jim; he was still there but the rest of the festival had fallen away. Jim grinned a little, raising his eyebrows, seeing what was happening. I felt helpless, drawn to this man I'd never met before. Physically, magnetically drawn. Helpless. Helplessly in love, if only for a moment.
Finally I pulled away, climbing out of the pools of green where I was drowning. I reached for Jim and thanked the man for his time, wishing him a good evening.
"That was weird," I said to Jim, as we stepped back from the shed.
"Yes, that was weird," he agreed. He put his arm around me, pulled me close and led me away from the other man.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
And what's on your plate tonight?