By Patricia Grenelle
I wasn't looking for love when I signed up for active duty in the Army Reserve. If anything, I was running away from it. With two marriages behind me—the second ending with my husband's parting words, "Ok, just don't come back"—I had already kissed enough frogs to last a lifetime. Or so I thought.
When my handler offered me a choice between three months in Nova Scotia or Camp Edwards before returning to my job as a Tennessee Parole Officer. I heard the rustling of maps in the background before she revealed that Camp Edwards was on Cape Cod. As a woman planning her escape to a new life, three months on the Massachusetts coast seemed like the perfect intermission.
My previous stints of active duty had taught me that military men could be surprisingly good company—congenial, hospitable, and intellectually stimulating. Still, I wasn't prepared for what awaited me at Camp Edwards. As the only woman assigned to supervise the Evaluation Teams, I encountered my share of attention, including from a married colonel who served as my supervisor. When I received a fortune cookie message reading, "You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet Prince Charming.” I dismissed it with a laugh. After all, I had already dated three different men on post.
Then came the second rotation and with it, a major named Ed. He arrived early, catching me off guard with the comment, "I was told by the members of the last team to check you out." I froze, mortified at what might have been said about me. But there he stood—immaculately pressed uniform, gleaming boots, and an electric smile that could dazzle even the most hardened heart. His obsessive-compulsive attention to detail was evident in everything from his appropriately short blonde hair to his sparkling blue eyes.
That evening at the Officer's Club lobster dinner, despite my supervisor's warning not to invite "that major" (which I had already done), something magical happened. As Ed regaled us with stories about growing up on his father's Florida orange grove and jokes about a fictional "Roadkill Restaurant," I found myself laughing uncontrollably. One by one, our dinner companions excused themselves—first the captain's husband, then the captain herself, and finally the Officer in Charge. But Ed and I remained, lost in conversation that flowed as naturally as if we'd known each other for years.
What started as shared laughter evolved into something deeper. We discovered parallel lives—both Army veterans, both survivors of failed marriages, both seeking something genuine. That night, under the stars, his kiss ignited a fire I thought had long since burned out. Our connection transcended the physical; it was spiritual, emotional, and intellectual—a perfect storm of compatibility that left me breathless.
He asked me to call him George, his middle name, reserved only for those closest to him. We spent our free time exploring Cape Cod towns, singing songs from decades past, and getting carded at bars—which only made us laugh harder. In Woods Hole, we sat at an elegant restaurant, so lost in each other's eyes that I can't remember if we ate anything at all.
Our relationship deepened through weekend rendezvous—a Roger Whittaker concert in Boston, bookstore adventures and a particularly memorable weekend in Albany that included Mass at a Catholic church. There, I had a vision of myself walking down that very aisle in a wedding dress, though I kept this premonition to myself.
When my tour at Camp Edwards ended, fate intervened. Faced with a choice between immediately starting my job in Tennessee or following my heart to Upstate New York where Ed was stationed, I chose love. Ed helped me move to a cute apartment near the mall, and I found work directing a teen runaway program while pursuing my master's degree.
His Christmas proposal led to an April wedding in 1991, followed by a formal ceremony in Florida where my vision came true—I walked down the aisle in a white wedding gown. That fortune cookie had been right after all; I just needed to kiss the right frog.
Now, celebrating our thirty-third anniversary in 2024, I realize that true love isn't just about finding someone who makes you laugh or shares your interests. It's about discovering a person who intuitively understands your thoughts before they're spoken, who embraces both your strengths and vulnerabilities, and who shares your vision for the future. Sometimes, it takes a military assignment on Cape Cod to find it.
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