This conversation began by discussing the seventeen (17) Godzilla T-shirts Jimmy wants for Christmas. Seventeen, people. I'm not even discussing the Jerry Lewis DVDs, because then I get flustered and need to lie down.
ME: I guess I'd better get used to it, unless you've changed your mind about tomorrow.
HIM: Tomorrow?
ME: A year from tomorrow, that is.
HIM: Oh yeah! It's tomorrow!
ME: 366 days to go.
HIM: No, of course I haven't changed my mind.
ME: Unless we postpone again.
HIM: ... No.
ME: It was your idea. You said if I needed the vacation days for touring we should consider postponing to 2015 -
HIM: But you said you probably won't need the days, so I changed my mind, so NAH.
ME: So nah?
HIM: So nah.
ME: You realize that with us being exactly one year from doing this, we're actually going to have to get serious about planning this damn thing?
HIM: Yup. Instead of just hanging around wedding shows, where they all recognize us now.
ME: I'm afraid to go back to any of the shows, even for the discounts.
HIM: Not me. Free cake.
ME: ... Okay, this is stupid.
HIM: What?
ME: I'm actually nervous about how nervous I'm going to be a year from now.
HIM: *sporfle* Me too!
ME: Oh thank God.
HIM: I'm going to have butterflies in my stomach.
ME: Wait, why are YOU going to be nervous? This whole thing was your idea!
HIM: Because I'm the groom and that's my job!
ME: If you're going to be all nervous and everything, I guess we don't HAVE to...
HIM: HUSH. Don't SAY that.
ME: *giggle*
HIM: I love you.
ME: I sure hope so, otherwise this whole getting married thing is probably a bad idea. Of course, love and marriage often being mutually exclusive, but -
HIM: Hush, woman!
ME: Hee.
HIM: I love you and I'm going to marry you by God or Godzilla!
ME: *facepalm*
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
The edge of what we know
When I was ten years old, my family spent a week at Cape Cod. We shared a little cottage with another family, but the other kids were not my age - and I was shy, anyway.
I kicked myself all week because I had only brought one book. It was titled Thirteen, a coming-of-age novel totally foreign to me because it was clearly written by an adult who had been thirteen in my mother's era. What the heck is madras, anyway?
Now, I'd like to go back in time and kick myself. That little cottage was all of two blocks from the Atlantic beach in West Dennis. I think I walked to that beach maybe once, taking in the beauty of the ocean, but not really experiencing it. I spent most of that week reading and rereading that one novel and moping in my room, which was my main luxury since I had to share a room with my sister at home.
When I was fourteen, my best friend Carrie and I went to Assateague Island with her family. I didn't feel all that well - my stomach was sensitive even then - and the island was rife with giant biting horseflies. Because duh, Assateague Island is where the ponies live. I remember the beach, but only vaguely.
From age fourteen to sixteen, I saw the Chesapeake Bay whenever I wanted. We lived in Baltimore, after all. And when I was sixteen, there was San Francisco Bay, on vacation with my family. I saw the Pacific Ocean whenever my parents could manage it, on our family vacations in California. When we buried my grandfather, I stayed with my cousin two blocks from the sea and visited it to say goodbye on the day we left.
The water always speaks to me, whether it's rivers or lakes or oceans or ponds. In A River Runs Through It, Norman Maclean states that he is haunted by waters. I never saw it as haunting. The water speaks to me, and I am drawn to it, even when I barely notice it.
This comes to mind today*, because I am on a double-decker bus and it's making me a little bus-sick. It could be that I've eaten nothing in six hours and probably won't get to eat for another six hours, which was very poor planning. It could be the rocking of the bus, or my attempts to write while riding it. Jimmy texted me to give it time, let me get my sea legs.
But there's a woman nearby who is blaring whatever music she loves in huge earphones, which for some reason are not clamped over her ears but wrapped around her neck. That way we can all enjoy her music. It's fine enough, but distracting, especially since it seems to be one song oer and over with the same two lines of music. It never ends. Who records songs like that?
So I put on my own earbuds, with my white noise app: sea sounds. The sound of the ocean is on a timer to let me sleep.
I close my eyes, and instantly I see the ocean. But it isn't the Chesapeake Bay or San Francisco. It isn't the Pacific as it was the day after Granddad's funeral, or the island of Assateague, or the Mississippi, or even that long-ago West Dennis beach.
All beaches are Cocoa Beach.
It was the beach a block away from the Florida condo that my folks rented last summer. Shining white sand in brutally hot Florida sun, or shimmering silver in the full moonlight, it doesn't matter. It was the beach where I showed Jimmy the ocean for the first time in his life, and the delight in his eyes made me see it fresh as well. It was the beach where we watched the fireworks explode, and the kids built sandcastles. The beach where we drank overpriced margaritas in the moonlight and listened to the house band.
We sat on the sand the night after we got engaged, talking about all the sappy goopy stuff you talk about on nights like that, things that you never put in blog entries or tell other living souls, because the sunlight hurts them. It drags them out into the blaring light of What Other People Think, and it diminishes them. It is the things whispered in the moonlight that mean the most, and are reduced the most by examination in the light of day.
On the day we left, we visited the beach last. We were alone except for the birds, the three of us. Jimmy drew a valentine in the sand, and we watched the tide come in before we drove away.
All beaches have that magic to them. They force us to stand on the edge of what we know and contemplate something much larger than ourselves. But Cocoa Beach now has become all beaches to me, the edge of what I knew and a vast adventurous unknown before me. When I think of the sea, I think of that beach, of our names written in the sand, and his face when he saw the ocean.
All beaches are Cocoa Beach. And you know what? I'm just fine with that.
* This blog entry was written while I was traveling several weeks ago.
I kicked myself all week because I had only brought one book. It was titled Thirteen, a coming-of-age novel totally foreign to me because it was clearly written by an adult who had been thirteen in my mother's era. What the heck is madras, anyway?
Now, I'd like to go back in time and kick myself. That little cottage was all of two blocks from the Atlantic beach in West Dennis. I think I walked to that beach maybe once, taking in the beauty of the ocean, but not really experiencing it. I spent most of that week reading and rereading that one novel and moping in my room, which was my main luxury since I had to share a room with my sister at home.
When I was fourteen, my best friend Carrie and I went to Assateague Island with her family. I didn't feel all that well - my stomach was sensitive even then - and the island was rife with giant biting horseflies. Because duh, Assateague Island is where the ponies live. I remember the beach, but only vaguely.
From age fourteen to sixteen, I saw the Chesapeake Bay whenever I wanted. We lived in Baltimore, after all. And when I was sixteen, there was San Francisco Bay, on vacation with my family. I saw the Pacific Ocean whenever my parents could manage it, on our family vacations in California. When we buried my grandfather, I stayed with my cousin two blocks from the sea and visited it to say goodbye on the day we left.
The water always speaks to me, whether it's rivers or lakes or oceans or ponds. In A River Runs Through It, Norman Maclean states that he is haunted by waters. I never saw it as haunting. The water speaks to me, and I am drawn to it, even when I barely notice it.
This comes to mind today*, because I am on a double-decker bus and it's making me a little bus-sick. It could be that I've eaten nothing in six hours and probably won't get to eat for another six hours, which was very poor planning. It could be the rocking of the bus, or my attempts to write while riding it. Jimmy texted me to give it time, let me get my sea legs.
But there's a woman nearby who is blaring whatever music she loves in huge earphones, which for some reason are not clamped over her ears but wrapped around her neck. That way we can all enjoy her music. It's fine enough, but distracting, especially since it seems to be one song oer and over with the same two lines of music. It never ends. Who records songs like that?
So I put on my own earbuds, with my white noise app: sea sounds. The sound of the ocean is on a timer to let me sleep.
I close my eyes, and instantly I see the ocean. But it isn't the Chesapeake Bay or San Francisco. It isn't the Pacific as it was the day after Granddad's funeral, or the island of Assateague, or the Mississippi, or even that long-ago West Dennis beach.
All beaches are Cocoa Beach.
It was the beach a block away from the Florida condo that my folks rented last summer. Shining white sand in brutally hot Florida sun, or shimmering silver in the full moonlight, it doesn't matter. It was the beach where I showed Jimmy the ocean for the first time in his life, and the delight in his eyes made me see it fresh as well. It was the beach where we watched the fireworks explode, and the kids built sandcastles. The beach where we drank overpriced margaritas in the moonlight and listened to the house band.
We sat on the sand the night after we got engaged, talking about all the sappy goopy stuff you talk about on nights like that, things that you never put in blog entries or tell other living souls, because the sunlight hurts them. It drags them out into the blaring light of What Other People Think, and it diminishes them. It is the things whispered in the moonlight that mean the most, and are reduced the most by examination in the light of day.
On the day we left, we visited the beach last. We were alone except for the birds, the three of us. Jimmy drew a valentine in the sand, and we watched the tide come in before we drove away.
All beaches have that magic to them. They force us to stand on the edge of what we know and contemplate something much larger than ourselves. But Cocoa Beach now has become all beaches to me, the edge of what I knew and a vast adventurous unknown before me. When I think of the sea, I think of that beach, of our names written in the sand, and his face when he saw the ocean.
All beaches are Cocoa Beach. And you know what? I'm just fine with that.
* This blog entry was written while I was traveling several weeks ago.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Running rings around each other
Poor Jimmy. He proposed to me last year at the Castle in Disney World, remembering an offhand comment I'd made years ago. It was magical and beautiful and supremely sappy, all the things he is. And for the last six months or so, he's been making payments on an engagement ring for me, which means he had to put it on my finger again. So how do you top a proposal at the entrance to a castle?
We went ring-shopping not long after we were engaged. This was a comedy worthy of a sitcom: my taste in jewelry tends toward small, elegant, understated. The giant freaking rocks they hauled out not only cost more than our combined salaries, but I think they could be used as lethal weapons for hand combat. How do you type with four pounds of rock on your finger?
The jewelers were perplexed by me, as I kept saying, "Do you have anything smaller?" At one store, I started the conversation with, "What's the smallest diamond you have?" At another store, they cracked a joke with us after I kept looking for smaller rings: they suggested that I might shop at Victoria's Secret for a present for Jimmy, and they'll deal directly with Jimmy on the ring. I took it in the spirit it was intended and laughed my ass off; Jimmy was less amused, feeling like they were dismissing me. In many ways, he's more of a feminist than I am, though he would probably protest that statement.
At another jeweler, I was trying to find lower-cost rings and the saleslady leaned over with a conspiratorial wink: "Oh honey, let him spend a little money on you. You're worth it." Yeah, lady: I might be worth my weight in diamonds, but we can't freaking afford them. I couldn't live with myself walking around with a $5,000 rock on my hand; hell, that's a used car! That's a semester of college tuition! That's seven months' rent!
And the fact is, I don't really like diamonds. I mean, they're okay, but they're kind of boring. I think diamonds work best as accents for other, more interesting stones. So I was really looking at settings more than the rock itself. And we weren't seriously looking at first, mind you; Jimmy was laid off not long after we got engaged, so we knew buying rings even on layaway would have to wait until he was re-employed.
One day in January, we had concluded another session - this time at Jared Jewelers. It was more successful than most, as we'd narrowed down to two choices for Jimmy's ring, but I had yet to find anything affordable that I really liked. We were actually on our way out when I stopped at the sapphire display; dark blue is my favorite color.
There it was. A glorious natural sapphire cut in an oval shape, with a delicate white-gold setting and two tiny accent diamonds. The scrollwork on the sides seemed to be nearly in an infinity symbol. That's a very important symbol for us. In the early months of our relationship, we got lost on the back roads of Tennessee, and joked about crossing over into another dimension. The plot we came up with as we wandered the hillsides turned into my novella Infinity, in which the infinity symbol is vitally important. We had already decided we would engrave infinity symbols inside our rings, and here was an engagement ring with the symbol already there!
I wrote down the ring's SKU number, but in my mind it was already decided. No other ring we saw was anywhere near as beautiful. And there's no law that says your ring has to be a diamond; in fact, sapphire engagement rings are traditional in England. Jimmy was quite pleased, not only that we'd finally found a ring I liked, but it was about half the cost of a diamond ring. I was pleased, because it seemed to be uniquely mine.
Months went by. I eventually paid off his ring, which is currently in a box awaiting the wedding. It is a beautiful and intricate quasi-Celtic design, and made out of a durable stainless steel, which meant I got the better deal on the price, let me tell you.
Jimmy paid on my ring for most of the year. Then a few weeks ago, we stopped by the store to make a payment and discovered it had gone on sale. With that discount, he was able to pay off the whole amount. We picked up the resized ring two days later.
But he couldn't just put it on my finger; oh no! There are two proposals in this modern world: the one where you find out what she's going to say, and the one with the ring. So I told him that if he was going to ask me again, he'd have to top the Castle.
Let me be clear: I was kidding. Short of winning the lottery and whisking me away to Nantucket, there's no way to top the Castle. Hell, the miniaturized model of the Castle is now on my wish list, because of that special moment. I was also kidding when I said maybe I'd have a different answer this time, like, "Can I have a few days to think about it?" He said that would be mean. I replied, "Hi, have we met?"
That Sunday, he managed to top the Castle.
We had a guest priest serving at our church, and Jimmy was scheduled to read the lessons. After the passing of the peace, the priest asked if there were announcements. Then he said, "Jimmy has one."
I blinked. Twice. What announcement would Jimmy have? Then I saw him heading down from the altar to where I was sitting in the pews, and I figured it out. "Are you kidding?" I asked, blushing terribly. He smiled and drew me out into the aisle.
Because Jimmy is Jimmy, he was still shaking and emotional as he told me before the entire parish how important I was to him and how much he loved me. He went down to one knee and said, "So I am asking you again, to please be my wife and allow me to be your husband."
I wish I could have thought of something better to say than, "Yes." I was totally unprepared, and I shouldn't have been; I should have known that ring was burning a hole in his pocket. I should have said something profound that we would always remember.
But I couldn't think of anything beautiful or sweet or funny. I just said, "Yes," and he put the ring on my finger and kissed me and the whole church applauded.
As Jimmy went back to the altar, the priest said, "Good thing she said yes!" Jimmy replied, "Amen!" and everyone laughed. The ladies sitting around me all clustered to look at the ring, and I think I turned about six shades of red. They asked if I'd known what he was up to, and of course I hadn't a clue. Later I told him that it really was a good thing I said yes; if I'd said anything else, I think there would have been seventy hymnals flying at my head. Ow!
It was a wonderful moment, and yes, it tops the Castle. God trumps all, and sharing that moment with our church family was a wonderful corollary to sharing the original proposal with our family-of-blood. My only regret was that Jimmy's kids couldn't be there for either moment, but I know they will be with us when we (finally) marry, and that's the most important part.
And now I wear the most beautiful ring in the world, placed there by my fiance. Thank you, love.
We went ring-shopping not long after we were engaged. This was a comedy worthy of a sitcom: my taste in jewelry tends toward small, elegant, understated. The giant freaking rocks they hauled out not only cost more than our combined salaries, but I think they could be used as lethal weapons for hand combat. How do you type with four pounds of rock on your finger?
The jewelers were perplexed by me, as I kept saying, "Do you have anything smaller?" At one store, I started the conversation with, "What's the smallest diamond you have?" At another store, they cracked a joke with us after I kept looking for smaller rings: they suggested that I might shop at Victoria's Secret for a present for Jimmy, and they'll deal directly with Jimmy on the ring. I took it in the spirit it was intended and laughed my ass off; Jimmy was less amused, feeling like they were dismissing me. In many ways, he's more of a feminist than I am, though he would probably protest that statement.
At another jeweler, I was trying to find lower-cost rings and the saleslady leaned over with a conspiratorial wink: "Oh honey, let him spend a little money on you. You're worth it." Yeah, lady: I might be worth my weight in diamonds, but we can't freaking afford them. I couldn't live with myself walking around with a $5,000 rock on my hand; hell, that's a used car! That's a semester of college tuition! That's seven months' rent!
And the fact is, I don't really like diamonds. I mean, they're okay, but they're kind of boring. I think diamonds work best as accents for other, more interesting stones. So I was really looking at settings more than the rock itself. And we weren't seriously looking at first, mind you; Jimmy was laid off not long after we got engaged, so we knew buying rings even on layaway would have to wait until he was re-employed.
One day in January, we had concluded another session - this time at Jared Jewelers. It was more successful than most, as we'd narrowed down to two choices for Jimmy's ring, but I had yet to find anything affordable that I really liked. We were actually on our way out when I stopped at the sapphire display; dark blue is my favorite color.
There it was. A glorious natural sapphire cut in an oval shape, with a delicate white-gold setting and two tiny accent diamonds. The scrollwork on the sides seemed to be nearly in an infinity symbol. That's a very important symbol for us. In the early months of our relationship, we got lost on the back roads of Tennessee, and joked about crossing over into another dimension. The plot we came up with as we wandered the hillsides turned into my novella Infinity, in which the infinity symbol is vitally important. We had already decided we would engrave infinity symbols inside our rings, and here was an engagement ring with the symbol already there!
I wrote down the ring's SKU number, but in my mind it was already decided. No other ring we saw was anywhere near as beautiful. And there's no law that says your ring has to be a diamond; in fact, sapphire engagement rings are traditional in England. Jimmy was quite pleased, not only that we'd finally found a ring I liked, but it was about half the cost of a diamond ring. I was pleased, because it seemed to be uniquely mine.
Months went by. I eventually paid off his ring, which is currently in a box awaiting the wedding. It is a beautiful and intricate quasi-Celtic design, and made out of a durable stainless steel, which meant I got the better deal on the price, let me tell you.
Jimmy paid on my ring for most of the year. Then a few weeks ago, we stopped by the store to make a payment and discovered it had gone on sale. With that discount, he was able to pay off the whole amount. We picked up the resized ring two days later.
But he couldn't just put it on my finger; oh no! There are two proposals in this modern world: the one where you find out what she's going to say, and the one with the ring. So I told him that if he was going to ask me again, he'd have to top the Castle.
Let me be clear: I was kidding. Short of winning the lottery and whisking me away to Nantucket, there's no way to top the Castle. Hell, the miniaturized model of the Castle is now on my wish list, because of that special moment. I was also kidding when I said maybe I'd have a different answer this time, like, "Can I have a few days to think about it?" He said that would be mean. I replied, "Hi, have we met?"
That Sunday, he managed to top the Castle.
We had a guest priest serving at our church, and Jimmy was scheduled to read the lessons. After the passing of the peace, the priest asked if there were announcements. Then he said, "Jimmy has one."
I blinked. Twice. What announcement would Jimmy have? Then I saw him heading down from the altar to where I was sitting in the pews, and I figured it out. "Are you kidding?" I asked, blushing terribly. He smiled and drew me out into the aisle.
Because Jimmy is Jimmy, he was still shaking and emotional as he told me before the entire parish how important I was to him and how much he loved me. He went down to one knee and said, "So I am asking you again, to please be my wife and allow me to be your husband."
I wish I could have thought of something better to say than, "Yes." I was totally unprepared, and I shouldn't have been; I should have known that ring was burning a hole in his pocket. I should have said something profound that we would always remember.
But I couldn't think of anything beautiful or sweet or funny. I just said, "Yes," and he put the ring on my finger and kissed me and the whole church applauded.
As Jimmy went back to the altar, the priest said, "Good thing she said yes!" Jimmy replied, "Amen!" and everyone laughed. The ladies sitting around me all clustered to look at the ring, and I think I turned about six shades of red. They asked if I'd known what he was up to, and of course I hadn't a clue. Later I told him that it really was a good thing I said yes; if I'd said anything else, I think there would have been seventy hymnals flying at my head. Ow!
It was a wonderful moment, and yes, it tops the Castle. God trumps all, and sharing that moment with our church family was a wonderful corollary to sharing the original proposal with our family-of-blood. My only regret was that Jimmy's kids couldn't be there for either moment, but I know they will be with us when we (finally) marry, and that's the most important part.
And now I wear the most beautiful ring in the world, placed there by my fiance. Thank you, love.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Popping the Question...Again!
I finally paid off Elizabeth's real engagement ring about a week ago. Through a stroke of good luck, we were able to get it sooner than we thought because the price had dropped on the ring and we were able to collect the discount on it.
Elizabeth and I were very happy the day we picked up her ring from the jeweler after it was sized to fit her finger. Elizabeth joked with me that when we got her real engagement ring, I would have to ask her to marry me again. AND TO TOP WHAT I DID LAST YEAR!
How in the hell do you top proposing in front of a freaking castle? In Walt Disney World, at that? That moment was just so special and perfect, there was no way I could ever in a million years top that! I kept trying to think of some way I could even come close to what I did last year. Everything I could think of just did not measure up to it.
But then, I realized that I didn't have to surpass it, I just had to make it as special and as beautiful as the first time I asked Elizabeth to marry me. But the only thing I could think of that could come close was to bump up the sap level and yes, the embarrassment level. In order to do that, I would have to call in a pretty big gun.
What would be the most special and wonderful place I could ask her? Our church, that's where. St. Andrew's is a wonderful little church that we go to, and I love all of the people there. My church family means so much to me, and I love serving God in my way as a cup bearer for communion.
The day that I decided to throw myself on the 'altar of dignity' was not only a Sunday that I was serving the church, but that we had a priest visiting us to lead our service that day. I met him before church started and showed him the ring that I brought with me and told him the story of Elizabeth's wish for me to ask her again to marry me. I told him that sharing this moment in the house of God and with my church family would be the best way to make this just as good as the Castle from last year.
He asked me what Elizabeth would think about it, and I told him that she would be sure surprised about it. He thought that it was a wonderful idea, and we agreed that when it came time to ask if anyone had to make an announcement that he would call me from the front to say that I had one to make. I thanked him, and went and got my robes on for the service. I had the ring hidden in my front pocket of my shirt; that way I could reach it quickly when the time came. I did my reading from the Bible, and when the time came I did Prayers for the People. And I didn't flub it this time either. Shocking, I say, because of what I had planned to do soon.
The time came for the Peace, and then the visiting priest asked if there were any announcements. He said I had one to make. I could hear a little murmur going through the crowd as I walked down from the front of the altar to where Elizabeth sat.
She looked at me and in her Elizabeth voice said, 'Really? Are you serious?' I helped her stand and slowly took her promise ring off her finger. I then looked at her and smiled, and holding back tears and choking up on emotion, I said these words:
"You are the most important thing in the world to me. I love you more than anything else in this world. So I am asking you again..."
I then went down to one knee. Which was a real trick to do wearing vested robes. I held out the ring to her, and in a voice cracking with emotion and love I said:
'Will you please marry me?'
Elizabeth smiled.
'Yes,' She answered.
I stood and we hugged and kissed, and the entire church erupted in applause. I placed the ring on her finger and kissed her one last time, and walked back up front to do my duty for the day.
As I walked by the priest, he said, 'Thank God she said yes!'
'AMEN!' I answered.
It turned out to be just as special and beautiful as the first time I asked her. But this time it was done in the house of God and in front of my fellow church members. I guess this means I'm stuck now. You know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
Elizabeth and I were very happy the day we picked up her ring from the jeweler after it was sized to fit her finger. Elizabeth joked with me that when we got her real engagement ring, I would have to ask her to marry me again. AND TO TOP WHAT I DID LAST YEAR!
How in the hell do you top proposing in front of a freaking castle? In Walt Disney World, at that? That moment was just so special and perfect, there was no way I could ever in a million years top that! I kept trying to think of some way I could even come close to what I did last year. Everything I could think of just did not measure up to it.
But then, I realized that I didn't have to surpass it, I just had to make it as special and as beautiful as the first time I asked Elizabeth to marry me. But the only thing I could think of that could come close was to bump up the sap level and yes, the embarrassment level. In order to do that, I would have to call in a pretty big gun.
What would be the most special and wonderful place I could ask her? Our church, that's where. St. Andrew's is a wonderful little church that we go to, and I love all of the people there. My church family means so much to me, and I love serving God in my way as a cup bearer for communion.
The day that I decided to throw myself on the 'altar of dignity' was not only a Sunday that I was serving the church, but that we had a priest visiting us to lead our service that day. I met him before church started and showed him the ring that I brought with me and told him the story of Elizabeth's wish for me to ask her again to marry me. I told him that sharing this moment in the house of God and with my church family would be the best way to make this just as good as the Castle from last year.
He asked me what Elizabeth would think about it, and I told him that she would be sure surprised about it. He thought that it was a wonderful idea, and we agreed that when it came time to ask if anyone had to make an announcement that he would call me from the front to say that I had one to make. I thanked him, and went and got my robes on for the service. I had the ring hidden in my front pocket of my shirt; that way I could reach it quickly when the time came. I did my reading from the Bible, and when the time came I did Prayers for the People. And I didn't flub it this time either. Shocking, I say, because of what I had planned to do soon.
The time came for the Peace, and then the visiting priest asked if there were any announcements. He said I had one to make. I could hear a little murmur going through the crowd as I walked down from the front of the altar to where Elizabeth sat.
She looked at me and in her Elizabeth voice said, 'Really? Are you serious?' I helped her stand and slowly took her promise ring off her finger. I then looked at her and smiled, and holding back tears and choking up on emotion, I said these words:
"You are the most important thing in the world to me. I love you more than anything else in this world. So I am asking you again..."
I then went down to one knee. Which was a real trick to do wearing vested robes. I held out the ring to her, and in a voice cracking with emotion and love I said:
'Will you please marry me?'
Elizabeth smiled.
'Yes,' She answered.
I stood and we hugged and kissed, and the entire church erupted in applause. I placed the ring on her finger and kissed her one last time, and walked back up front to do my duty for the day.
As I walked by the priest, he said, 'Thank God she said yes!'
'AMEN!' I answered.
It turned out to be just as special and beautiful as the first time I asked her. But this time it was done in the house of God and in front of my fellow church members. I guess this means I'm stuck now. You know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Sometimes you just have to wait a little longer...
Well,
Today is the day that I went down on one knee and asked Elizabeth to marry me. Last year I was so nervous that she would have said no. But when I asked her and she said yes it made me the happiest man on earth. Since then, we have been trying to plan our wedding and get the money together to pay for it. We were wanting to get married next year on June 20th. That date means a lot to me for very many reasons. But, with me getting laid off last year for a few months really hurt our money situation. I have gotten another job, but it pays less and I can barely help out around the house let alone help save up for the wedding. Hopefully I will get hired on full time or find a better paying job to be able help out more. We also have found out that a friend of ours who I really want to be in the wedding won't be able to be free in June to attend. We need this person in the wedding and I will not do it without him there. Plus, Elizabeth's father and step-mother are moving in the month of June and it would really make it hard on them to have the wedding in June also.
So, it has come down to us having to postpone the wedding. I will let you know that I HATE having to do it. I have waited so long already that postponing it hurts a lot. I want the honor of being her husband so badly that I can feel it make my heart ache that it will have to be moved up. But I also know that there is really no choice in the matter. We need the extra time to put money back and we want and need our friend there to be a groomsman. Plus it will make it easier on her folks. So we have decided that the wedding will be moved up at least to November. I wanted it to be earlier than that but it looks like that will be the month it will happen. I know that the day will get here, but sometimes the wait can really hurt. But she is more than worth the wait for it.
Today is the day that I went down on one knee and asked Elizabeth to marry me. Last year I was so nervous that she would have said no. But when I asked her and she said yes it made me the happiest man on earth. Since then, we have been trying to plan our wedding and get the money together to pay for it. We were wanting to get married next year on June 20th. That date means a lot to me for very many reasons. But, with me getting laid off last year for a few months really hurt our money situation. I have gotten another job, but it pays less and I can barely help out around the house let alone help save up for the wedding. Hopefully I will get hired on full time or find a better paying job to be able help out more. We also have found out that a friend of ours who I really want to be in the wedding won't be able to be free in June to attend. We need this person in the wedding and I will not do it without him there. Plus, Elizabeth's father and step-mother are moving in the month of June and it would really make it hard on them to have the wedding in June also.
So, it has come down to us having to postpone the wedding. I will let you know that I HATE having to do it. I have waited so long already that postponing it hurts a lot. I want the honor of being her husband so badly that I can feel it make my heart ache that it will have to be moved up. But I also know that there is really no choice in the matter. We need the extra time to put money back and we want and need our friend there to be a groomsman. Plus it will make it easier on her folks. So we have decided that the wedding will be moved up at least to November. I wanted it to be earlier than that but it looks like that will be the month it will happen. I know that the day will get here, but sometimes the wait can really hurt. But she is more than worth the wait for it.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Almost...a year.
Tomorrow it will be almost a year. A whole year since I went down on one knee and asked Elizabeth to marry me. Wow. Hard to believe that it has been this long. I will talk more about that tomorrow, but until then have a Happy 4th of July.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Calendar Confusion
Last night I had the terrible sensation that I was forgetting something. As is standard when I have this feeling, I checked my calendar.
Oops.
I put this particular bridal shop on my short list solely because they sponsored a bridal-gown fashion shop at a bridal event I attended, and fully half their models were plus-size. This is a rarity in Bridal World, where every woman is a size eight. I thought perhaps this store might have some dresses that might actually fit me.
I set up an appointment for late May and promptly forgot about it. I realized approximately two hours after my appointment that I'd been a nitwit. So I called, and apologized profusely. They were kind and understanding, and rescheduled me for a Sunday in July. That wouldn't be a problem, right?
Oops.
When our annual camping trip with friends was rescheduled to the weekend before the Fourth instead of the weekend after the Fourth, I neglected to note the conflict in my calendar. I was sweating like a pig taking down my tent in a field when I was supposed to be strapping myself into silk and lace.
I have been a no-call, no-show twice for the same bridal shop.
This is so embarrassing. To the poor workers in this shop, I am either a raging Bridezilla with no appreciation for others' time, or I have approximately the IQ of a Mr. Clean sponge mop. Either way, I can't bring myself to call them again.
In fact, if we see them at the next bridal show, I may have to duck and cover. I'll hide behind Jimmy. They never look at the grooms anyway.
Oops.
I put this particular bridal shop on my short list solely because they sponsored a bridal-gown fashion shop at a bridal event I attended, and fully half their models were plus-size. This is a rarity in Bridal World, where every woman is a size eight. I thought perhaps this store might have some dresses that might actually fit me.
I set up an appointment for late May and promptly forgot about it. I realized approximately two hours after my appointment that I'd been a nitwit. So I called, and apologized profusely. They were kind and understanding, and rescheduled me for a Sunday in July. That wouldn't be a problem, right?
Oops.
When our annual camping trip with friends was rescheduled to the weekend before the Fourth instead of the weekend after the Fourth, I neglected to note the conflict in my calendar. I was sweating like a pig taking down my tent in a field when I was supposed to be strapping myself into silk and lace.
I have been a no-call, no-show twice for the same bridal shop.
This is so embarrassing. To the poor workers in this shop, I am either a raging Bridezilla with no appreciation for others' time, or I have approximately the IQ of a Mr. Clean sponge mop. Either way, I can't bring myself to call them again.
In fact, if we see them at the next bridal show, I may have to duck and cover. I'll hide behind Jimmy. They never look at the grooms anyway.
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