The engagement ring

You never know what you might find in a car’s glove compartment. Forty-eight years ago today, a Monday, James took the day off from his summer grocery-store job in Chetek, a small town in northwestern Wisconsin, and drove to the Twin Cities—about 90 miles distant—to see me for a few hours after I finished my day’s work at a large insurance company in downtown Minneapolis. After picking me up at work, we drove to Como Park in nearby St. Paul, where James parked his 1960 Chevrolet Impala convertible adjacent to Lake Como. About that time, I reached into the glove compartment for something—I don’t remember what—not knowing that James had purchased an engagement ring that day and was storing it in the glove compartment, with plans to give it to me a week later. And that’s why today is the 48th anniversary of our engagement, because you never know what you might find in a car’s glove compartment. This photo of James and me with two of our granddaughters—Sarah and Elsa—was taken about four years ago at almost the exact spot by Lake Como where we got engaged.