By Norma Kirkpatrick
I confess I am an incurable romantic. I am in love with love. Give me a chance to explain what I mean before you form a hasty opinion of me. There are all types of love in the human experience since the word “love” is used so loosely. Sometimes we mean it deeply, sincerely and forever. Other times we should have said “like” or “really enjoy” instead of love.
When my husband and I first sighted one another across the crowded cafeteria at college so many years ago, cupid shot the arrow in his bow of love straight into the heart of each of us. That was romantic love. We had never met and did not know one thing about one another, but romantic love upon sight has no common sense at all and nothing matters but feelings. That’s why it is called “falling in love.”
I have been known to say I love lemon ice-box pie, I love sea-salted roasted almonds, I love to travel to new places and have new experiences and I love living in Opelika! I could have said I really, really like all of those things. In the truest sense of the word, love is all about people, how we feel about them and how we treat them. I love my children and grandchildren, I love my friends and I still love the ones from that group who have left this life as we know it; like that young man I sighted across the cafeteria so many years ago. Not only was he my Valentine, but he shall ever be my true love.