The first time I fell in love I was 16 and a half. A red-haired farm girl with green eyes and a contagious laugh took my heart. She kept it for a couple of years and then returned it despite my pleas. I wondered if life would go on and I would ever fall in love again.

Both happened.

On New Years Eve, 1977, I picked up the blind date my friends had been insistent I meet. My life, and world, changed immediately. Over our dinner salads I calmly said to her, “I think I’m going to marry you.” She gave me a coquettish smile and said warmly, “I do too.” Every morning I look at the mother of my kids, the love of my life, and am thrilled she has kept my love since.

When I was 30, worldly and possessed of strong, seemingly unchangeable, opinions, my friend Bob Alford invited me to go fly-fishing with him on the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River. I was a poor-but-enthusiastic fly-fisher and gladly accepted his offer. On opening day I walked to the hitching post at the Harriman Ranch with a motley crew affectionately known as “The Hell’s Anglers.” I geared up and confidently began flogging the glass-calm water, perpetually changing my dry fly as my pals sat on the bank watching and verbally harassing me. After a half hour they started moving and preparing to fish. By that time my shoulder was nearly worn out from my 10,000 casts to uninterested fish. At 10 o’clock the water began to boil. Green Drake flies hatched and lay on the water, their wings drying so they could fly off the surface, actively pursued by huge Rainbow trout. Within a couple of minutes my rod bent and a battle began between a wild trout and me. On that morning I began a lifelong love affair with fly-fishing and the Henry’s Fork.

At f45 I was cajoled into playing golf. It seemed like an old complainer’s game to me. Hit. Walk. Find fault with the shot. Hit. Walk. Find fault with the shot. My friend asked me to join him and, despite my misgivings, I did. Some time in the round a surprising thing occurred: I hit a good shot. The ball actually went the direction and distance I wanted, just like Tiger Woods’ shots. During our walking, between each stroke, there was wonderful dialogue. About sports and politics, family and friends. When our round ended my friend asked, “It was fun for me. How did you like it?” My answer came quickly: “Can we play tomorrow?” Fourteen clubs and hilly, undulated courses grabbed a big part of my heart, and still firmly hold it today.

In 2000 I went to Ireland and was knocked off my feet by the history, people, scenery and golf courses. I have now been to The Emerald Isle six times. A seventh trip is in the works. The first two weeks after my return I think about traveling other places. Fifteen days after my return I am saving change for another vacation in Eire. To see the stone forts, pubs, Celtic crosses, friendly, exuberant people, the pot-bunkered, gorse-edged fairways, the rain and wind and barely-one-lane roads. I am deeply in love with a European island 6,000 miles from Poulsbo.

Late in 2008 Laurie and I learned we would become grandparents in late June. Though my contacts with my grand-daughter are only, at this point, visual, she is already an important part of my life. I am deeply in love with a baby-to-be. My granddaughter. A new branch on the family tree, and my heart.

Keep your mind open to the possibility that today, or next week, or next month, you may fall in love again with a new person, place or activity. It can happen. Unexpectedly. At any time. I know. It has happened to me many times. From being a 16-and-a-half year old boy to a middle aged man to a Grandpa-to-be. Hopefully it will again. Soon. To me. And you.

Happy Valentine’s Day.