‘Love is more a process than an event’: Couple met in their 70s, moved in together after less than a year

On a snowy December day in 2022, Ginny Taft surveyed the men sipping beverages at Starbucks in Coeur d’ Alene.

Which one was Bill Irving?

She’d written a poem about climate change and shared it at a writers’ group that met in the Coeur d’ Alene Library. They liked the poem and shared it with Bill Irving, a new member writing a book about the topic. Taft wasn’t at that meeting, but members encouraged Irving to interview her. He reached out via email and arranged the time and place.

Taft asked how she’d know him.

“Seventy years old, balding, gray hair and glasses,” he replied.

Upon arriving at Starbucks, she saw two men who met that description in conversation and a younger balding guy with glasses.

She approached the solo guest and asked if he was Bill.

Nope.

So, she ordered a mocha and waited. And waited.

Thirty minutes passed before Irving walked into the coffee shop and approached her.

“I got stuck in my driveway,” he said. “My son had to help shovel me out.”

Though irritated, she did notice two things.

“I thought he had a wonderful smile,” she said. “And I really liked the sound of his voice.”

He told her that he was interviewing longtime residents for a book he was writing, “Losing Home: Grief and Hope in a Changing World.”

“It’s written out of love for my grandfather. Every summer, my identical twin brother and I visited him,” Irving said. “We swam in the lake (Coeur d’Alene) from sunup to sundown.”

Taft’s poem resonated with his topic about the effects of climate change. When the interview concluded, they moved on to more personal topics.

“She was very engaging,” he said.

Two hours passed.

“Later, when I got in my car, I thought, ‘Oh no, I overshared!’ ” Taft said.

Knowing she’d be traveling, Irving called to secure another meeting.

“I asked if she’d like to go out when she returned, and she said she’d be honored.”

He also sent her a chapter of his book to critique.

“She was very helpful.”

Taft had recently published “The Memory Box: Creating a Memory Legacy.”

Weeks passed, and when she returned from her trip and needed a ride home from the airport, Irving volunteered to drive to Spokane to get her.

“It was March 2, 2023,” she said.

Neither was looking for love, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that’s what they’d found.

“We’d both been married and divorced twice,” Taft said. “When we met, I told him what you see is what you get. I’m not going to try to change myself to meet someone else’s expectations, and that goes both ways. Not having hidden agendas makes life so much easier.”

Irving said he hadn’t been in a relationship for a few years. That made her chuckle.

“I hadn’t been in a relationship for more like 20 years! I was a single mom raising two kids and taking care of my mom.”

Years ago, Taft watched a television interview with a 100-year-old woman who was getting married.

“She said, you’re never too old to love, and I always held onto that,” said Taft, 72.

By October, Irving, 73, had moved in with her.

“Moving in together went really easy,” Irving said. “We’re both independent and self-reliant. It’s never too late. Age isn’t a big deal – I feel young!”

Taft smiled.

“Bill’s a vegetarian, and I consider myself an opportunistic vegetarian.”

She did have one concern.

“You never know how long you have,” she said. “I told him not to sell his trailer. If something happens to me, I want him to have a place to live.”

Irving remains involved with environmental causes in the community and Taft with social causes. They both work part time – he’s an alcohol/drug counselor, and she’s an occupational therapist, and they both continue to write.

“My friend said we’re the busiest ‘retired’ people she knows,” Taft said. “We decided to pick one or two days each week when we’re here, just hanging out. Companionship is so important.”

He agreed.

“When I come home from work, she listens when I tell her what happened. She’s safe, not judgmental.”

Irving doesn’t have grandchildren, but he enjoys spending time with Taft’s 15-year-old granddaughter who comes over each day after school.

“She calls him Grandpa,” Taft said. “He’s been a blessing to her.”

The simple joys of laughing together, discussing their days and sharing a meal continue to delight them.

“I think love is more a process than an event,” Taft said. “Now, over two years later, it feels like we met yesterday and 100 years ago. Love a long time coming makes it even more precious.”