How I met JJ

This is the beginning of a story I often told my children about meeting their father. more will follow as I work out the tale in print.

When I was eighteen years old, I was majoring in ballet at a small women’s finishing college in Southwestern Virginia. Their were about 700 students at the time and since the school had decided a couple years earlier to admit men, there were about 50 students of the male persuasion. I didn’t go to college to find a man but I was in full youthful bloom, it was the end of March and daffodils, dogwood blooms and small baby leaves were appearing on every brown stick my eyes had trundled past during the long winter of my freshman year. The uniform for ballet majors was variations on a leotard skirt and bun theme. I was wearing a red circle skirt over pink tights, a pale blue leotard with long sleeves and safety pins. The pins weren’t to emulate the new punk rock look that was creeping into the art savvy fashion of the late 70 s and early 80’s, the pins were functional and held my bra straps in place. I did fancy myself as artistically savvy but in retrospect I realize that I didn’t have a clue about art. I didn’t even know that most of the songs I liked were about sex and that sex is the reason for art in the first place. My hair bun reflected my ignorance. It was severe and was held in place by elastic and bobby pins and sweat because for me art was a severe endeavor.
So there I was in my seriously artistic uniform standing on a set of stairs outside the dining hall after dance class. I was looking out over the campus when I saw him. He strode with determination across the lawn. He had beautiful long flowing blond hair that lapped at his shoulder blades while flowing out from beneath a black leather hat. This was no ordinary hat, it was hand made and stitched. The hat looked as if it were purchased from some back to the land hippy. The hippy must have returned from out west to live in the mountains. This hat maker was no doubt “into leather” and living off land, love, craft and marijuana sales. The hat wore like an old friend that had been taken in the rain and snow and through the morning dew via motorcycle to concerts, friends’ homes, piano lessons, long hikes and schools. This hat was not bought off the shelf and the man wearing it did not look like anything that could be bought off the shelf either. He carried a black leather brief case like some sort of businessman. The contrast was stunning and seductive. I had to find out who this man was. So my quest began.
I found out his name was Carl and he was a music major.
I began loitering in the music building on campus.