After a few laps around the shopping mecca that is National Airport, I decided to grab a beer and a bite. Having noticed that T.G.I. Friday’s had the World Cup on the television, I parked my butt on a bar stool and ordered a very large glass of Guinness. While I waited for my tasty beverage, my eyes wandered to the football match on the screen (a taped replay of the Italy / South Korea match I had watched earlier in the day, only with a much clearer picture), and I barely noticed the barmaid had returned with my humongous Guinness.

After downing the rather large double-pull, I settled my tab and headed for the assigned gate. As I entered the short queue at the security checkpoint, I noticed a sign that indicated that only ticketed passengers were permitted past that point. For a split-second I was concerned, and decided to ask the bored-looking security person if all the passengers arriving at this terminal had to come through this corridor. With a roll of her eyes and a sigh she said “yes.” I thanked her for taking time out of her busy schedule of sitting and walked over to the waiting area to secure a spot at the edge of the rope line. I stood as close as I was permitted, and hoped that I wouldn’t have any problems finding her.

Knowing that the arrival time was fast approaching, but unable to see the gate, I took the sign I had made out of the bag in which I had been concealing it, and held it chest-high. She wasn’t expecting me, so I thought the best way to catch her attention was a sign with her logo and nom de plume (or is that nom de plane?) on it.

Moments later I caught a glimpse of her as she materialised from behind some other taller passengers. She caught my eye almost immediately and smiled a tired grin. Our eyes remained fixed on one another, and I smiled broadly as I flipped the sign over to display the other side. Her brow furrowed a bit as she squinted to read the elaborately decorated poster board. Then her eyes widened noticeably and locked onto mine, but there was still no indication of an answer to the question posed: “WILL YOU MARRY ME?” Her eyes never left mine, and when she got close enough to hear me, I whispered “please?”

She said …

YES!

However, as my web design skills increased, I eventually decided to clear up the clutter, find my voice, and join the Blogger Revolution.^TM I wasn’t chatting any more, and with the exception of a few friends with whom I still maintained contact, I didn’t communicate with many of the people on my taper’s page.

So it took me by surprise when my friend John’s girlfriend, Erica, told me that they had met because of my taper’s list. Erica told me a beautiful story about how she had found my list of tape traders, and contacted John to ask if he would record a few shows for her. John, being the sweetheart of a person he is, complied with her request, but rather than simply popping the cassettes in the mail, they made arrangements to meet. John and Erica were married in December of 2000, and at their wedding they made a speech thanking me for my role in their love story. It touched me deeply.

John and Erica’s love story came to mind because lately I have had reason to wonder if I am somehow being rewarded for my role in their lives. Recently an online—and real life—friend introduced me to the woman with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I can’t thank you enough, Skarlet. You may not have known what you were doing when you invited Sarah to Atomic that night, but I certainly appreciate that you did. Thank you.