The New Jersey Romance Writers conference began today in Woodbridge, which is not far from home. I zipped up the Parkway to get there and crossed over the Raritan River on the Driscoll Bridge. The bridge was named after Alfred E. Driscoll who was governor of New Jersey from 1947 to 1954. The Driscoll Bridge has expanded over the years. It now has 15 lanes, making it the world's widest bridge.
The view from the top is impressive--though I always like the southbound view better. Maybe because that means I'm going home. :^)
I have a connection--sort of--with Alfred E. Driscoll. On the evening I was born, my father was covering an important press conference given by Governor Driscoll. The phone rang during the proceedings and my father was told my mother was on her way to the hospital. My father stayed for the rest of the press conference.
A few years ago, my father gave me the aging newspaper clipping that had the story he wrote that night. He described Governor Driscoll as a "tall, lanky man dressed in a light brown gabardine suit" and noted how the governor fingered a pair of rimless glasses as he talked to the newsmen.
My father could have been a romance writer. :^)
But he choose instead to be a romantic man who has always loved my mother devotedly--even now when she is so very frail.
I've learned about love from my parents. I'm sure that's why I became a romance writer. I believe in the magic of true love.
And sharing the weekend with a bunch of other like-minded romance writers is awesome--even if the conference is on the other side of a very wide bridge.