Guest commentary: 10 years later, column gets finished, love story continues

I recently discovered an article I began writing 10 years ago: Jim and I make our way up the grassy slope, sidestepping Canada geese droppings, on our way to our neighbor's studio. Jeane has invited us to another of her wonderful musical events. As we work our way to one of the long dining tables, I recognize a guest but struggle to remember her name. "It's Carolyn," she says, knowing a blank look when she sees one. There's barely room for two more at the table, but Jim and I squeezed in. "I'm moving to England," Carolyn says between bites. Her eyes twinkle behind rimless glasses. "Moving?" She must mean "Visiting." When I watch a British series and see actors battling the pelting rain, it immediately squashes any urge for me to return to my native England. "I'm going in February," Carolyn continues. "I'm getting married over there to an English guy, and we'll be living in Manchester." "Did you meet him over here?" I ask, too polite to question her move. "We met in England at an Ian Hunter concert, the frontman for the Mott the Hoople rock group," Carolyn responds. Now I remember her. We met at another of Jeane's events, and Carolyn mentioned this Mott the Hoople group that originated in Hereford, England, in the late '60s. Hunter developed a cult following, and devotees, which included Carolyn, would follow the band all over the world. A core group of fans traditionally meet at a club near the venue for pre-concert drinks. It was at one of these gatherings in a Leeds pub that Carolyn met her husband-to-be, Dave. "I liked him when I first saw him," she said. "During one of our conversations, he mentioned he enjoyed being single. I thought, 'Oh well, so much for that.' The next time I saw him, I was staying overnight at his house with a group, following one of Mott's concerts in Manchester. As I was climbing the stairs to the guest room, Dave appeared and asked if I would like to spend the night in his room. I was taken aback, having thought he wasn't interested in me. I told him 'no,' but I was secretly pleased he'd asked. The next morning, Dave apologized for coming on to me. 'I'm so embarrassed,' he said. I assured him I wasn't offended - it simply wasn't the right time. I reminded him he'd once told me he enjoyed being single, and that I'd taken it as a hint that he didn't want to get involved. He laughed, and said he meant he was happy, and single. "Dave and I were getting serious, but we knew only meeting at these concerts wasn't a real-world environment, so I'd go over to Manchester, hang out at his house and we'd shop and garden together. We got along great, although we agreed that before we moved in together, Dave would buy another television so he could watch football, and I could watch Downton Abbey." Carolyn talked about her wedding plans. "Dave said he's happy to leave all the arrangements to me. Neither of us likes to dance (which I thought was ironic since they traveled the world to listen to rock music), but we agreed we'd have one dance and just hold each other and move from side to side. His only request," she continued, "was that I select a wedding dress that has cleavage, and I thought, I can handle that." (I winced at this revelation). Carolyn's eyes twinkled again. Several weeks after the musical event, I bumped into a friend at a local grocery store. Susan mentioned seeing me talking to Carolyn at Jeane's and did I know Carolyn was immigrating to England. I said that I did. Susan moved her cart closer. "If anyone deserves a little happiness, it's Carolyn," she whispered. I was intrigued. "Carolyn," she continued, "took care of her mother and her disabled brother for years." She was about to continue when a woman rolled her cart up beside us and spoke to Susan. My article from a decade ago ended here. Now, 10 years later, I wondered if Carolyn had moved to England. I located her via a mutual friend. Carolyn married Dave and is living in Stockport, a few miles south of Manchester. Via email, she writes, "I got my British citizenship in 2020, but still have my American accent." Carolyn is happy she made the move, although she wrote that it rains too much (surprise!). Despite that, she prefers the rain to the threat of California wildfires. She reads the online Loomis News and misses friends and relatives. Zoom cereal and Baker's Joy cooking spray can't be found anywhere, and she craves old-fashioned doughnuts like the buttermilk bars and apple fritters you get from Jasmine's in Rocklin. She tried driving on the left side, just once. I bet it was raining. Pauline Nevins is the author of the memoir, "Fudge The Downs and Ups of a Biracial, Half-Irish British War Baby," and two collections of personal essays: "Bonkers for Conkers" and "The Last House Before Spain." She can be reached at paulinenevins.com.