Love, Happiness Open The Pressure Valve

It was about a year ago during a routine annual allergy checkup, one required in order to continue prescribing to the magic nose potion that blissfully ended nearly four decades of allergy injections (including a decade of self-injection), that the wide-eyed nurse wagged her finger in my face and told me my blood pressure was out of control.

It was the latest in a long line of unpleasant pressure reports that had started a year or two earlier and continued inching me closer to the idea that the worsening condition was irreversible and would require medical intervention.

Life's circumstances and crushing stress conspired to play a part, and proper diet, exercise and a 30-pound weight loss in a year failed to course correct.

The stress factor that nearly broke the camel's back came in the form of a lightning bolt that struck my Beaumont rental property, frying almost every appliance and ceiling fan, downing a tree and briefly driving out the tenant I so desperately needed to keep the full weight of the mortgage off my shoulders.

By the time I arrived at the allergist's office for the checkup in August 2012, the blood pressure had a achieved an all-time high, putting me well into medication territory. The nurse ticked off a list of horrifying effects such as arterial damage, aneurysms and organ failure. Something needed to be done.

But I did nothing, believing that time's healing of wounds and stress reduction were the best medicines for blood-pressure relief. The old saying about the darkness preceding the dawn rings true. Surely the rogue bolt of destruction from the heavens marked the bottom of the latest dark period, with something better just waiting around the next blind corner.

And then there she was.

Having exchanged a few pleasantries through Facebook, Beth and I met Aug. 31, 2012, on a night of a spectacular blue moon. She was out with some mutual friends at a local nightclub. We chatted and danced, and I walked her to her car and asked permission to download her digits from her Facebook page. I was smitten from the get-go after having spent a few weeks watching her life play out on Facebook. Little did I know that she, out in the real world, had seen me before I'd seen her, before I threw out a Facebook friend request.

The dating mold was broken from the start. Our first outing involved the children, with mine acting rather rotten, a whiney hike around the lake