When I met Judy, I knew my life would be changed forever.
She was “The One.” I knew it after talking to her for only five minutes. And I thought I could tell that she knew the same thing. I wouldn’t have to prove her search was also over; she already knew.
Three years earlier, I had moved from the San Francisco Bay Area to my new hometown, about 90 miles north of Sacramento. It had taken several short-term jobs to find a permanent one at a retail nursery. It didn’t pay much, but for the first time since my move, I knew I was committed to staying here. I was also fine with the pay because the job was at least related to my Forestry degree from UC Berkeley.
Working at a nursery isn’t what I had planned for my degree. I had several jobs during my upper-division college classes and a couple of temporary forestry jobs after graduation. Things had gotten a bit weird: trying to find forestry jobs, being laid off after the season, collecting unemployment while trying to get jobs unrelated to forestry to satisfy unemployment insurance requirements…
On March 19, 1983, I was filling in for a coworker who was out. I had just finished with a customer and returned outside to the sales area. I saw a flash of red hair to my left. I had always had a thing about redheads. And this redhead looked like she needed help. Of course, I got over to provide that help before any of my other coworkers got to her. I only ignored three other customers on my way to her.
She was looking for a white camellia in bloom. It had to be blooming because she needed proof it really was white. I didn’t blame her. I knew that we had gotten mislabeled plants from wholesale nurseries before. We didn’t have anything blooming in the main sales area. I told her I had seen some white camelias in our “growing area.” I told her to follow me, and I would find one for her.
This nursery was one of the older ones in town, and it had an extremely narrow sidewalk from the front sales area to the lath house, our growing area for camelias, so we had to walk single file. On the way, she asked me a question. Without thinking about this or how important it was to our potential future together, I flipped around and walked backward as I attempted to answer her question.
Continuing to the camellia area, I found several white camelias in bloom and, at her request, chose the one I thought was the best. It was labeled as “Snow White.” She was happy. I was as well. I just knew she was interested in me. There was one problem, though… I hadn’t thought through how or when I would ask for her phone number. Ah, I had it. I would ask her when I carried her plant out to her car.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I walked, and this isn’t that much to carry. I don’t live far from here.”
I had blown my chance. She gave me cash for her purchase. While I waited briefly for my turn at the cash register, I saw that she was writing something on a piece of note-paper she had asked another employee for. I rang up the sale and walked back to her, giving her change and a receipt. She put her change away, and before she turned away from me, she reached up and put that small piece of paper in my shirt pocket.
“Who was that, Richard. Do you know her?”
I took the paper out of my pocket, unfolded it, and saw her name, address, and phone number. I held it up to show my coworkers and said, “I do now…”
It all seems like it happened yesterday. It was 43 years ago, last March 19th.
My mom took this photo of us a few months later. Our time together was magic.
She passed away 7 years ago, after 36 years together.
She had many health issues in the last few years of her life. One of those things impacted her memory. But one thing she never forgot was how I walked backward on the day we met, while I was taking her to find a white camelia in bloom.
Both of our lives were changed that day.
Memory is the Key 