In 1990, I was 24 years old and about to enjoy my acting career. I joined a local band on Sydney's northern beaches and played gigs up and down the NSW coast most weekends.
At the time, Ali seemed omnipresent as the cover girl queen of Dolly, Cleo, and Cosmo magazines. Every newsagent seemed to have a poster in front of it depicting her megawatt smile and sparkling eyes. One day, while I was visiting the publishing offices of those magazines for a photo shoot, I passed by her latest cover on the wall and commented on her beauty.
“Have you met her?” I asked the photographer I was with. “No,” I said, trying to sound cool. “Do you want to ___?” “Of course!” I blurted out, and my attempts to remain calm were quickly evaporated.
A week later, after canceling a live show, Ali and I (surrounded by three bandmates who also wanted to meet her) were being introduced at a nightclub. I was immediately struck by her glowing aura. She confessed to drinking several vodka tonics. We chatted for an hour and I promised to call her the next day, which I did. I don't think we spent many days apart after that.
She was kind and had a great sense of humor and as much as I enjoyed laughing with her, I loved her laugh the most.
After a month of dating, I invited Ali on a road trip to Yamba, my favorite hideaway. It's not so secret now, but back then it was a sleepy fishing town with access to great surf breaks and Fibro cottages for rent. We ended up celebrating her 21st birthday there.
Yamba was at its best and as we spent the afternoon fishing and boating on the Clarence River, the breeze started to freshen up and provide relief from the heat of the day. We headed home, crossing the channel and passing old oyster beds when the boat ramp came into view in the late afternoon sun.
We were traveling so fast that it was difficult to read the wind direction. One thing is for sure: the wind was blowing so hard that it was always a pain to get the boat back on the trailer.
As I got closer, I felt the breeze hit my back. One question stuck in my mind. “How do we do this?”
The plan was to jump off in shallow water, and Ali would hold the boat (my 18-foot wooden Riviera-style cruiser, a heavy beast) off the ramp while I retrieved the car and backed the trailer back down the ramp. (It was a challenge for my dyslexic brain). The wooden hull didn't want to be scuffed by the unforgiving concrete ramp, so we had to move quickly.
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So far, so good. Ali grabbed the bowline, waist-deep in water, and gave me a look of reassurance that he could do his part. After a few false starts and more luck than skill, I was able to swing the trailer down the ramp. But Ali was no longer where I left her. The unrelenting chop and wind drove her several boat lengths away from the ramp and she was fighting hard to keep the boat away from the rocky shore.
She naively but bravely placed herself between the boat and the shore, so much so that even the most stubborn man would have thrown a fit. Her slender body slammed against the hull as each wave crashed on the other side. I'll never forget the look of relief (or what was it?!) she gave me when I showed up.
We dragged the boat into deep water and swung the stern around. I struggled with every last ounce of strength I had to keep the hull upright while Ali attached the winch line and began hand-wrapping the boat onto the trailer.
We squealed with glee as we watched the old girl land in the cradle of a trailer that could no longer withstand the wickedness of wind and chop. Twenty minutes after landing, we miraculously climbed the gangway, secured the boat, and headed out into the sunset. I'm exhausted.
Later, at our accommodation, Ali was coming out of a hot shower and I saw her naked waist and back. It looked like a hot mix of purple and red welts.
“Have you seen my back?'' I cried. “When did you get them?”
“Please move the boat away from the ramp. You're welcome,” she said as she dried herself off. She didn't complain a word, she didn't even scratch the boat, but because of Ali's actions that afternoon, I realized that this wonderful, funny, brave, resilient woman was my person. was completed.
Still, the truth about falling in love with an ant is actually not about a moment, but a lifetime. And what a life! This includes living in Los Angeles for 25 years and raising three wonderful humans who make us all so proud. We've weathered storms, but we've also shared victories, growing friendships, and moments of wonderfully simple love.
We have been married for almost 33 years and I am so grateful and lucky to have walked this journey with Ali. I wouldn't trade it for anything. And her laugh remains one of the sweetest I know.
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