Hi everyone--thanks for checking in! I'm taking the night off from writing to let the last part of the story simmer. I think I know how I want to write it, but I need to spend some time mulling it over. :)
Thank you for reading. Seriously. You have no idea.
I'll be back tomorrow.
Becca
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Day 114: Fields of Gold, Chapter 23
"Will you be my wife?"
I felt like I was falling and flying at the same time. I don't think I could've remembered my own name if you'd asked me. But I was suddenly aware that I was repeating "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!!"
Grinning, he opened the box to reveal a thin gold wedding band, and explained that he hadn't wanted to wait for me to choose a ring. He wanted to propose. We could get a fancier ring later. He slid it on to my finger, and I don't think any 1 carat diamond has ever been more beautiful than that simple ring was to me that night.
Jumping up, he said that he had more surprises and that he would be right back.
While he was gone, I stood up and leaned against the railing and looked up into the still night sky. And I started to cry. Surely tears of happiness, but also tears of amazement. The unthinkable had happened, after all that time. I whispered, to myself, "I'm getting married..." and then uttered the shortest, simplest prayer of thanks.
Dave came back out with a bottle of sparkling cider and a dozen deep cream roses. Trailing behind him were Mike and Sarah and a camera. To this day, the picture that they took is one of my favorite of Dave and I. We are grinning like idiots, in the best possible way.
After they took our picture, Sarah said "Can I hug you now? We're going to be sisters!" That comment, that welcome, just completed the evening for me. I could not have been any happier.The only thing left to do was drive over to my parent's house, even though it was almost midnight, to show my mom the ring.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Day 113: Fields of Gold, Chapter 22
The month of February was, for the first time in my life, flying by. We had started to look at rings and kick around possible wedding dates in May and June. I met, for the first time, another one of Dave's sisters--Cyndi. She was enchanting in every way, and I was delighted to find another kindred spirit in this family. I almost couldn't believe how blessed I was at the thought of joining a family like this one.
I grew up in an absolutely fabulous home, with parents who did many things right. They had provided me with opportunities to learn, work, and serve. They had been unfailingly loving and supportive. To have been born to such a family is a rare and precious thing. To be able to marry into a family that is equally loving and accepting was nearly beyond my comprehension.
One night in the second week of March, I walked down the hill from school. I was wearing a long sleeved pink shirt and white overalls, and was in a great mood. I had been at my oil painting class, and Dave was spending the evening at a religion class. I didn't expect to see him, but hoped that he would call. I had just walked into my room when the phone rang--too early for it to be Dave. To my surprise, it was. He asked if I wanted to go hang out with Mike and Sarah that night. He was going to bring his guitar, so he and Mike could play. It wasn't like him to skip class, but--sure--I was always up for a date and some time with Dave's family.
He came by a few minutes later, and seemed a little edgy. I tried to bring up the issue of possible dates again, but he didn't really want to talk about it. I tried to figure out what his deal was, but couldn't put my finger on it. When we got to his parent's home, where Mike and Sarah were living while his parents were out of the country, he pulled his black guitar case out of the trunk and we went inside.
Sarah was there, watching the news of Elizabeth Smart being found. We talked about that for awhile, and then Dave asked me if I wanted to go out on to the balcony with him. It was a cool night, with a brilliant moon. Everything was peaceful and still, and--as soon as we were outside, all the edginess melted away. This was a place we had always loved. It was perfect for watching sunsets, or looking at the stars. Dave grabbed a couple of fleece blankets, and we sat down to enjoy the early spring night.
He told me he had a surprise for me, and opened a pocket on his guitar case. Surprised, I held out my hand, and he placed in it...
a Lindt dark chocolate bar.
I was thrilled. (Home from Switzerland mere months and still going through withdrawls.) I was so happy that he laughed and said "If I knew you were that easy to please... but that isn't your only suprise." Reaching into the pocket again, he pulled out two things: a picture frame and a small notebook. He told me that he had something he wanted to read to me--a journal entry from his time in Jerusalem, about a time when he had wondered if he would ever find the love of his life, and felt assured that he would find her, and she would be everything he had always wanted. The experience had been striking enough that he took a picture of the place he was sitting as he had written the journal entry.
He handed me the picture frame, which included that picture and, under it, the words "Everything I've always wanted."
I was so touched at how sweet Dave was, and--to be totally honest--kind of overwhelmed. I wondered if I really could be everything he'd always wanted. I wasn't even totally sure what that "everything" was. I was a little afraid.
As I considered those feelings for the first time, he pulled out his guitar and started strumming the familiar chords to "Forever and Ever, Amen." Only, as he started to sing, I realized that he had changed the lyrics to fit us. They were funny and delightful and romantic.
I wondered if this man was for real.
What a great date! What a fun night. Not bad, since I hadn't even been expecting to see him. I was tired and content. He laid his guitar down, and we talked a bit, then he knelt over to give me a kiss. As he kissed me, he slid something into my hand.
It was cool to the touch, smooth, and square. Looking down--I saw a rosewood ring box.
He leaned back on his heels, looked into my eyes, and said "Will you be my wife?"
I grew up in an absolutely fabulous home, with parents who did many things right. They had provided me with opportunities to learn, work, and serve. They had been unfailingly loving and supportive. To have been born to such a family is a rare and precious thing. To be able to marry into a family that is equally loving and accepting was nearly beyond my comprehension.
One night in the second week of March, I walked down the hill from school. I was wearing a long sleeved pink shirt and white overalls, and was in a great mood. I had been at my oil painting class, and Dave was spending the evening at a religion class. I didn't expect to see him, but hoped that he would call. I had just walked into my room when the phone rang--too early for it to be Dave. To my surprise, it was. He asked if I wanted to go hang out with Mike and Sarah that night. He was going to bring his guitar, so he and Mike could play. It wasn't like him to skip class, but--sure--I was always up for a date and some time with Dave's family.
He came by a few minutes later, and seemed a little edgy. I tried to bring up the issue of possible dates again, but he didn't really want to talk about it. I tried to figure out what his deal was, but couldn't put my finger on it. When we got to his parent's home, where Mike and Sarah were living while his parents were out of the country, he pulled his black guitar case out of the trunk and we went inside.
Sarah was there, watching the news of Elizabeth Smart being found. We talked about that for awhile, and then Dave asked me if I wanted to go out on to the balcony with him. It was a cool night, with a brilliant moon. Everything was peaceful and still, and--as soon as we were outside, all the edginess melted away. This was a place we had always loved. It was perfect for watching sunsets, or looking at the stars. Dave grabbed a couple of fleece blankets, and we sat down to enjoy the early spring night.
He told me he had a surprise for me, and opened a pocket on his guitar case. Surprised, I held out my hand, and he placed in it...
a Lindt dark chocolate bar.
I was thrilled. (Home from Switzerland mere months and still going through withdrawls.) I was so happy that he laughed and said "If I knew you were that easy to please... but that isn't your only suprise." Reaching into the pocket again, he pulled out two things: a picture frame and a small notebook. He told me that he had something he wanted to read to me--a journal entry from his time in Jerusalem, about a time when he had wondered if he would ever find the love of his life, and felt assured that he would find her, and she would be everything he had always wanted. The experience had been striking enough that he took a picture of the place he was sitting as he had written the journal entry.
He handed me the picture frame, which included that picture and, under it, the words "Everything I've always wanted."
I was so touched at how sweet Dave was, and--to be totally honest--kind of overwhelmed. I wondered if I really could be everything he'd always wanted. I wasn't even totally sure what that "everything" was. I was a little afraid.
As I considered those feelings for the first time, he pulled out his guitar and started strumming the familiar chords to "Forever and Ever, Amen." Only, as he started to sing, I realized that he had changed the lyrics to fit us. They were funny and delightful and romantic.
I wondered if this man was for real.
What a great date! What a fun night. Not bad, since I hadn't even been expecting to see him. I was tired and content. He laid his guitar down, and we talked a bit, then he knelt over to give me a kiss. As he kissed me, he slid something into my hand.
It was cool to the touch, smooth, and square. Looking down--I saw a rosewood ring box.
He leaned back on his heels, looked into my eyes, and said "Will you be my wife?"
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Day 112: Fields of Gold, Chapter 21
So we were "chilling." Not ring shopping or wedding planning or choosing a date.
Yeah, right.
If I know anything about myself, it's that I'm not the most patient person. Besides, having been engaged once before, and that engagement being BEFORE 18 months in Switzerland with it's chocolate, I had a size 6 wedding dress to fit into. I needed a timeline. Dave, however, was still chilling and getting used to the idea. So I'd just have to learn some patience and wait for him to actually propose.
In the meantime, I was looking forward to my first ever Valentine's Day as someone's girlfriend. (Well, except 6th grade when I was going out with a kid named Brock. Talk about a disappointment--he didn't even give me a box of conversation hearts.) That year, Valentines fell on the weekend, and it happened to be the same weekend as Preference--a girl's choice dance.
All anticipation and excitement, I taped tons of Jolly Ranchers to Dave's door with a note that said I'd be a jolly rancher if he'd go with me. (The cheesiness was half the fun.) His reply? A bouquet of tiny, bright pink tea roses left on my doorstep with a heart that said "YES."
I have never had so much fun choosing a dress for a dance than I did that one. A friend of mine had a whole bunch of beautiful formals, and I borrowed them all and decided to wear her deep brown satin gown with a beautiful sweetheart neckline and a skirt that rustled. I searched until I found perfectly matching brown ballet flats and a sheer shawl to go over the top. That day, I did my hair all in curls and pulled my hair back, weaving a ribbon through it, then decided on a simple floating pearl necklace for jewelry. I had never been so excited for Valentine's Day.
He came to my apartment, right on time, wearing a black suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers--all red, with one yellow for friendship. Then he instructed me to turn around and close my eyes. He removed the light necklace from around my neck, and then I felt a new necklace take it's place. A cool, heavy weight that rested perfectly. Reaching up to touch it, my eyes fluttered open and I looked down to see the most exquisite pearl necklace--a real one.
Besides my chai necklace, this was the first piece of jewelry Dave had ever given me. Before an engagement ring. Before a wedding ring. A simple, heavy strand of pearls. Suddenly, I felt so perfectly like Anne of Green Gables, getting ready to be all grown up, with my strand of pearls. I wanted to throw my arms around Dave and tell him how much they meant to me--how much the fact that he had gotten them, for me, for Valentine's Day, meant to me. But I couldn't really say anything. I just gazed up at him and smiled.
He took my hand and walked me over to the couch. Reaching behind to grab my roommate's guitar, he started to pluck the strings, and then began to sing. An old, familiar country song. It surprised me, really, since it was the kind of song that I would've expected to come from my grandpa, or my father. I hadn't expected something as old fashioned and lilting as this, even if it did make me feel completely secure. Completely at home...
I'm gonna love you forever.
Forever and ever, amen.
As long as old men, sit and talk about the weather,
As long as old women, sit and talk about old men.
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful,
I'll be happy to tell you again--
I'm gonna love you, forever and ever,
forever and ever, amen.
Yeah, right.
If I know anything about myself, it's that I'm not the most patient person. Besides, having been engaged once before, and that engagement being BEFORE 18 months in Switzerland with it's chocolate, I had a size 6 wedding dress to fit into. I needed a timeline. Dave, however, was still chilling and getting used to the idea. So I'd just have to learn some patience and wait for him to actually propose.
In the meantime, I was looking forward to my first ever Valentine's Day as someone's girlfriend. (Well, except 6th grade when I was going out with a kid named Brock. Talk about a disappointment--he didn't even give me a box of conversation hearts.) That year, Valentines fell on the weekend, and it happened to be the same weekend as Preference--a girl's choice dance.
All anticipation and excitement, I taped tons of Jolly Ranchers to Dave's door with a note that said I'd be a jolly rancher if he'd go with me. (The cheesiness was half the fun.) His reply? A bouquet of tiny, bright pink tea roses left on my doorstep with a heart that said "YES."
I have never had so much fun choosing a dress for a dance than I did that one. A friend of mine had a whole bunch of beautiful formals, and I borrowed them all and decided to wear her deep brown satin gown with a beautiful sweetheart neckline and a skirt that rustled. I searched until I found perfectly matching brown ballet flats and a sheer shawl to go over the top. That day, I did my hair all in curls and pulled my hair back, weaving a ribbon through it, then decided on a simple floating pearl necklace for jewelry. I had never been so excited for Valentine's Day.
He came to my apartment, right on time, wearing a black suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers--all red, with one yellow for friendship. Then he instructed me to turn around and close my eyes. He removed the light necklace from around my neck, and then I felt a new necklace take it's place. A cool, heavy weight that rested perfectly. Reaching up to touch it, my eyes fluttered open and I looked down to see the most exquisite pearl necklace--a real one.
Besides my chai necklace, this was the first piece of jewelry Dave had ever given me. Before an engagement ring. Before a wedding ring. A simple, heavy strand of pearls. Suddenly, I felt so perfectly like Anne of Green Gables, getting ready to be all grown up, with my strand of pearls. I wanted to throw my arms around Dave and tell him how much they meant to me--how much the fact that he had gotten them, for me, for Valentine's Day, meant to me. But I couldn't really say anything. I just gazed up at him and smiled.
He took my hand and walked me over to the couch. Reaching behind to grab my roommate's guitar, he started to pluck the strings, and then began to sing. An old, familiar country song. It surprised me, really, since it was the kind of song that I would've expected to come from my grandpa, or my father. I hadn't expected something as old fashioned and lilting as this, even if it did make me feel completely secure. Completely at home...
I'm gonna love you forever.
Forever and ever, amen.
As long as old men, sit and talk about the weather,
As long as old women, sit and talk about old men.
If you wonder how long I'll be faithful,
I'll be happy to tell you again--
I'm gonna love you, forever and ever,
forever and ever, amen.
Popular.
My friend Christina, who keeps a fun blog herself, was sweet enough to give me this:
My first ever "award" given by a fellow blogger! If that's not the nicest thing anyone's ever given me, I don't know what is. And since I'm a sucker for recognition of any kind, I'll probably have it framed and put on my wall. *grin*
The award came with some rules, though, and they are these:
Rules, rules, rules... list 7 things that you love, and then pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you love! Be sure to tag them and let them know they have won. You can copy the picture of the award and paste it on your sideboard letting the whole world know...you are Kreativ!!
7 things I love?
1. Pioneer Woman's Prune Cake. (DANG.)
2. "Sunshine on my shoulders, makes me happy"
3. Southern bluebird (they are rare and, oh, so beautiful)
4. Getting comments on my blog (I am so pathetically addicted to them. You have no idea.)
5. My Wednesday nights OFF. (Ah, the joy of the $1.00 theater...)
6. Something to look forward to. (Currently, a cruise next month with my own little family and my parents.)
7. Old stuff. (Cemeteries, books, cities, and on and on and on.)
Now. I get to pick 7 people to award?? Goody. I choose:
The lovely Tess. (Practically perfect in every way. I adore her.)
The invincible Michelle. (Seriously--check out her vinyl.)
The inspiring Stephanie. (I want to be her when I grow up.)
The beautiful Erin. (One of those people who is so lovely and talented, you think, "Are you REAL???")
The incredible Emily. (Seriously the nicest woman on the planet.)
The brave Sarah. (Brave because she's going to beauty school. Oh my lands.)
And my sistah, Jen. (I don't know how I got so lucky to have her. Truly.)
Happy award, guys. Loving you and your blogs!!!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Day 111: Fields of Gold, Chapter 20
Did you know that it's possible to walk, without ever touching the ground? It is. I know, because I positively floated up the stairs, into my apartment, and into my bedroom where I flopped on to my bed and whispered "He loves me." to the darkness and my sleeping roommate.
He's in love with me. He loves me. He's in love with me.
Meanwhile, he walked back down the stairs, across the grass, and did a somersault.
He loves me.
I slept restlessly and kept waking up. I wanted it to be tomorrow. I wanted it to be tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. I wanted to call him in the middle of the night and hear him say it again. I wanted him to repeat those words over and over and over, "I am in love with you."
I also learned that not only is it possible to walk without ever touching the ground, it's possible to feel beautiful every second of every day because the man of your dreams is in love with you. It's possible to smile first thing on a Saturday morning when you have to get up for work at 6:00 because of that. It's possible that flossing your teeth becomes fun because you're thinking of him.
I thought I had known love before, but this?! This was awesome.
The next night, Saturday night, we drove out to his parent's home to watch a movie I'd never seen. Shanghai Noon, actually. He told me it was hilarious. I don't remember a darn thing about it. I do remember, when it was over--we started to talk. And we really talked. We talked about our past--we talked about meeting on June 19th, 1999. We talked about the places we'd been since then, and the people we'd become. We talked about the two paths we'd been walking, which had been leading--ever so steadily--to this point. All this talk of our past led so very easily into our future. We didn't want different paths anymore. We wanted the same thing. So we decided that we were going to get married.
Thursday night he figured out he was crazy for me.
Friday night he realized that he was in love with me.
Saturday we decided that we were going to get married.
At this rate, we'd be married by Wednesday.
We left his parent's house and got in the car to drive home. It was pouring rain. As we drove, holding hands, neither of us quite knew what to say. It was going, and had gotten there, so fast, we didn't know what to do. So I asked him.
Me: "What do we do now?"
Dave: "Now? We chill."
Me: "We chill?"
Dave: "Yes. We don't go looking for rings. We don't set a date. We just get used to the idea. We chill."
I could do that. I could chill.
For maybe a week.
He's in love with me. He loves me. He's in love with me.
Meanwhile, he walked back down the stairs, across the grass, and did a somersault.
He loves me.
I slept restlessly and kept waking up. I wanted it to be tomorrow. I wanted it to be tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. I wanted to call him in the middle of the night and hear him say it again. I wanted him to repeat those words over and over and over, "I am in love with you."
I also learned that not only is it possible to walk without ever touching the ground, it's possible to feel beautiful every second of every day because the man of your dreams is in love with you. It's possible to smile first thing on a Saturday morning when you have to get up for work at 6:00 because of that. It's possible that flossing your teeth becomes fun because you're thinking of him.
I thought I had known love before, but this?! This was awesome.
The next night, Saturday night, we drove out to his parent's home to watch a movie I'd never seen. Shanghai Noon, actually. He told me it was hilarious. I don't remember a darn thing about it. I do remember, when it was over--we started to talk. And we really talked. We talked about our past--we talked about meeting on June 19th, 1999. We talked about the places we'd been since then, and the people we'd become. We talked about the two paths we'd been walking, which had been leading--ever so steadily--to this point. All this talk of our past led so very easily into our future. We didn't want different paths anymore. We wanted the same thing. So we decided that we were going to get married.
Thursday night he figured out he was crazy for me.
Friday night he realized that he was in love with me.
Saturday we decided that we were going to get married.
At this rate, we'd be married by Wednesday.
We left his parent's house and got in the car to drive home. It was pouring rain. As we drove, holding hands, neither of us quite knew what to say. It was going, and had gotten there, so fast, we didn't know what to do. So I asked him.
Me: "What do we do now?"
Dave: "Now? We chill."
Me: "We chill?"
Dave: "Yes. We don't go looking for rings. We don't set a date. We just get used to the idea. We chill."
I could do that. I could chill.
For maybe a week.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Day 110: Fields of Gold, Chapter 19
I floated on a cloud that entire day, trying to wrap my mind around the note I'd found that morning. We'd only been dating three weeks. It seemed too soon. Too fast. And while I was unequivocally crazy for Dave, it took my breath away that things could really be changing this quickly, after so much time.
That night we drove 45 minutes up to his boss' house for a work party, followed by a movie. We entered the beautiful home, taking in details and drifting among his coworkers and their families. It was the first night I remember feeling, distinctly, like a couple in front of the whole world. Even when Dave was across the room, talking to other people, I was physically aware of where he was. I would raise my eyes from a game I was playing because I could feel his gaze from another table. It was effortless and easy, as simple as breathing, to fit my hand into his or rest my head on his arm as he leaned over to kiss the top of my head, without thinking.
I had always thought that being in love meant work--you worked at love because you loved that person. At least that had been the belief that prevailed in my first engagement. But this? This required no work at all. This was like coming home.
After the movie, we drove back to my apartment. We sat for a few minutes in his car, talking quietly, but also just being silent. Just being together. He leaned over to kiss me (which still made my hands tremble) and then, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead on mine, he said quietly, "I am in love with you." To which I could only whisper, "And I am so in love with you."
Effortless.
That night we drove 45 minutes up to his boss' house for a work party, followed by a movie. We entered the beautiful home, taking in details and drifting among his coworkers and their families. It was the first night I remember feeling, distinctly, like a couple in front of the whole world. Even when Dave was across the room, talking to other people, I was physically aware of where he was. I would raise my eyes from a game I was playing because I could feel his gaze from another table. It was effortless and easy, as simple as breathing, to fit my hand into his or rest my head on his arm as he leaned over to kiss the top of my head, without thinking.
I had always thought that being in love meant work--you worked at love because you loved that person. At least that had been the belief that prevailed in my first engagement. But this? This required no work at all. This was like coming home.
After the movie, we drove back to my apartment. We sat for a few minutes in his car, talking quietly, but also just being silent. Just being together. He leaned over to kiss me (which still made my hands tremble) and then, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead on mine, he said quietly, "I am in love with you." To which I could only whisper, "And I am so in love with you."
Effortless.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Day 109: Chapter 18
We drove home from the park, and I was blissfully smiling to myself the whole time. As we pulled up to my apartment Dave said "So, we're dating." "Yes." "Okay."
But, we were DATING, with all that the word implies. This time was for keeps, and there was no going back. One way or the other, we couldn't go back to being just friends ever again. I could hardly believe it, and sometimes expected that I would wake up and find myself laying in bed in Switzerland.
But it wasn't a dream--we really were dating. And this guy--this best friend that I'd known for three years? He was turning out to be even more amazing than I could've imagined. He would stop by my work to say good morning, and send me little notes via e-mail while I worked on school assignments. We met up, every Tuesday, to walk to devotional together. While I would be sitting there, with one foot crossed up on my knee to take notes, he would reach over with a Bic pen and draw a little heart on my ankle. There were a million little things that made dating Dave different from just being friends with Dave, and I savored every single second.
Dave was also, in every way, a gentleman. He walked me home, or called to make sure I'd gotten there safely. We kept curfew. We went on group dates--the most memorable being "sock puppet" night with his roommates. We were rarely alone. Compared to my only other serious relationship, this was pure, unmitigated bliss. The sound of his deep voice on the phone would pitch me backwards on to couch grinning. The sight of his 6'4" self walking through the bookstore to come see me at work made me forget how to form sentences. I have never been more utterly content.
I was also loving more time with his family--dinner up at his sister Carolynn's beautiful home, or hiking with Mike, Sarah, and Nicole. His parents were serving a mission out of the country, and his siblings were keeping a close eye on their brother, even from a distance.
One Thusday night in January, we went up to campus to see their production of "Crazy for You." Afterward, we walked down the hill toward my apartment and ended up on the brick walkway next to a stream. All by ourselves, we alternated between talking and dancing to a made up song that Dave sang. I could've stayed there under the stars all night.
The next morning, when I went to leave for work, I found a sign on my front door. It was his handwriting, with a paper moon, that said "Crazy for You."
This was significant.
When Dave had been dating the Russian girl, one of their big deal breakers had been this simple truth: he was not crazy for her. (His words.) He and I had talked about that, and I knew everything that the note implied.
The fact that he had acted on the impulse to make the note and come back to my apartment, after getting home very late anyway, made my heart beat fast. Was it possible? Could it really be? Was he beginning to be, at least a little, crazy for me?
But, we were DATING, with all that the word implies. This time was for keeps, and there was no going back. One way or the other, we couldn't go back to being just friends ever again. I could hardly believe it, and sometimes expected that I would wake up and find myself laying in bed in Switzerland.
But it wasn't a dream--we really were dating. And this guy--this best friend that I'd known for three years? He was turning out to be even more amazing than I could've imagined. He would stop by my work to say good morning, and send me little notes via e-mail while I worked on school assignments. We met up, every Tuesday, to walk to devotional together. While I would be sitting there, with one foot crossed up on my knee to take notes, he would reach over with a Bic pen and draw a little heart on my ankle. There were a million little things that made dating Dave different from just being friends with Dave, and I savored every single second.
Dave was also, in every way, a gentleman. He walked me home, or called to make sure I'd gotten there safely. We kept curfew. We went on group dates--the most memorable being "sock puppet" night with his roommates. We were rarely alone. Compared to my only other serious relationship, this was pure, unmitigated bliss. The sound of his deep voice on the phone would pitch me backwards on to couch grinning. The sight of his 6'4" self walking through the bookstore to come see me at work made me forget how to form sentences. I have never been more utterly content.
I was also loving more time with his family--dinner up at his sister Carolynn's beautiful home, or hiking with Mike, Sarah, and Nicole. His parents were serving a mission out of the country, and his siblings were keeping a close eye on their brother, even from a distance.
One Thusday night in January, we went up to campus to see their production of "Crazy for You." Afterward, we walked down the hill toward my apartment and ended up on the brick walkway next to a stream. All by ourselves, we alternated between talking and dancing to a made up song that Dave sang. I could've stayed there under the stars all night.
The next morning, when I went to leave for work, I found a sign on my front door. It was his handwriting, with a paper moon, that said "Crazy for You."
This was significant.
When Dave had been dating the Russian girl, one of their big deal breakers had been this simple truth: he was not crazy for her. (His words.) He and I had talked about that, and I knew everything that the note implied.
The fact that he had acted on the impulse to make the note and come back to my apartment, after getting home very late anyway, made my heart beat fast. Was it possible? Could it really be? Was he beginning to be, at least a little, crazy for me?
Monday, March 23, 2009
Day 108: Fields of Gold, Chapter 107
Pardon me while I ramble a moment.
Some of you have asked me what Dave has thought about the stuff I'm writing. It has been fun for me to meander through my memories, picking and choosing the ones I want to share. I've referenced back to journals I kept at the time in an attempt to remember how I felt about everything as it was happening. When I finish, I drag Dave over to my computer and make him read the latest entry. He reads it, and then he gets this look. This look says "That's not quite how I remember it."
I then tell him to get his own blog.
Really, though, to be fair--he didn't much like where I left off last night. Because he says that he and his roommate invited that girl *together* even if he was the one that called her. He also still doesn't understand how I thought that he was asking me on a date. ("Hm. Maybe because you asked me if I wanted to spend New Years Eve with you while we were cuddling. But I can see how that might be confusing to you." is what I think.) Anyway, for the record, he didn't think that he was asking her on a date. He also didn't think he was asking me on a date.
Are we clear? Okay, good. Carry on.
**
New Year's Eve was great fun, although I was confused by the addition of another girl to our double date. Was she the fifth wheel? Or was I? I figured I had prior claim and decided not to worry about it. (Let Dave worry about it--he'd invited her, right?)
Shortly after New Years, I moved into my new apartment at BYU and started school. My schedule was rigorous: oil painting, ballet, stained glass, German, and religion. I didn't know if I would be able to handle the mental strain of that course load, but I decided to give it a try. I'd also gotten a great new job working at the campus bookstore in their art framing department, which I was working to learn and loving. I was in a good place, and in a perpetually great mood.
One day, after work and between classes, I was browsing cards at the bookstore and I came across a card that said "Good friends, like good meat pies, are hard to find." And on the inside it said "Hello, my little meat pie." It cracked me up, and suddenly I just wanted to share it with Dave. I wanted him to stop stressing about dating me or not dating me, and just be my friend. So I bought it, with some candy, and dropped it off at his work on campus.
The next day, a Tuesday, he asked me to come over to his apartment to try out the new blender he'd gotten for Christmas from his oldest brother Gary and his wife Melissa. We were going to make smoothies. I put on my periwinkle coat and walked to his apartment where we spent the night eating and chatting. It was a great night. He offered to walk me home.
It was a crystal clear night, and very cold. We were close to my apartment when I asked, jokingly, what he'd been thinking about lately. He said quietly, "You mean besides you?" That response took me by surprise, and I didn't quite take him seriously. Suddenly, he reached out and took my hand, sending shivers up my arm, and pulled me across the street to a small park.
He told me that he'd been thinking about me and about dating until he was tired of thinking about me and dating. When I had showed up at his work with that card and that candy, it had just stressed him out even more. He told me that he'd decided that he didn't want to date me, but then talked to a church leader who kind of said "What have you got to lose?"
My stomach was tied in knots. I couldn't tell which way this conversation was going. He was holding my hand, so that was good--right? But then he was telling me about the turmoil in his heart, and I felt like I was pushing too hard or twisting his arm somehow. We walked around the park, re-crossed the street, and ended up on the metal and concrete stairs outside my apartment. We tried to tie up the loose ends, but we couldn't--we left them open.
I walked into my quiet, dark apartment, leaned my back against the door, and slid to the ground. Throwing my arms around my knees, I buried my head and sobbed. I just didn't know how to think or feel. I had no idea why I was in love with a guy without even trying to love him, when it seemed so obvious that he just didn't feel the same way about me.
**
Friday night, he took me to see a John Schmidt concert at the Provo Tabernacle. After it was over, we drove to a nearby park. It was dark and cold, but--even though it was January--there was no snow on the ground. We got out of the car and played on the playground equipment for awhile when, suddenly, I tapped his arm and said "Tag! You're it!" I took off running across the park, dodging through huge trees in the light of the full moon. When I was nearly all the way across the park, I stopped to catch my breath and turned.
Dave was walking slowly toward me through the trees. The brilliant moonlight was met with a silver fog rising up from the ground. His eyes were focused intently on my face. Until the day that I die, I will never forget that moment in my mind. My heart started to race. I walked slowly up to meet him, laughing breathlessly.
He wrapped his arms around me. I said, "My heart is pounding" then, laying my head on his chest I said, "Your heart is pounding, too."
Looking up at his face, he looked down at me and softly said, "But I don't think it's for the same reason."
I had three years to imagine my perfect first kiss. I had envisioned them in every season. But, for me at least, none of my imaginings even came close to being quite as perfect as that one in a cold park on a January night.
We kissed. Then we laughed, and we hugged, and he said "That was a long time coming."
We both had lost time to make up for.
Some of you have asked me what Dave has thought about the stuff I'm writing. It has been fun for me to meander through my memories, picking and choosing the ones I want to share. I've referenced back to journals I kept at the time in an attempt to remember how I felt about everything as it was happening. When I finish, I drag Dave over to my computer and make him read the latest entry. He reads it, and then he gets this look. This look says "That's not quite how I remember it."
I then tell him to get his own blog.
Really, though, to be fair--he didn't much like where I left off last night. Because he says that he and his roommate invited that girl *together* even if he was the one that called her. He also still doesn't understand how I thought that he was asking me on a date. ("Hm. Maybe because you asked me if I wanted to spend New Years Eve with you while we were cuddling. But I can see how that might be confusing to you." is what I think.) Anyway, for the record, he didn't think that he was asking her on a date. He also didn't think he was asking me on a date.
Are we clear? Okay, good. Carry on.
**
New Year's Eve was great fun, although I was confused by the addition of another girl to our double date. Was she the fifth wheel? Or was I? I figured I had prior claim and decided not to worry about it. (Let Dave worry about it--he'd invited her, right?)
Shortly after New Years, I moved into my new apartment at BYU and started school. My schedule was rigorous: oil painting, ballet, stained glass, German, and religion. I didn't know if I would be able to handle the mental strain of that course load, but I decided to give it a try. I'd also gotten a great new job working at the campus bookstore in their art framing department, which I was working to learn and loving. I was in a good place, and in a perpetually great mood.
One day, after work and between classes, I was browsing cards at the bookstore and I came across a card that said "Good friends, like good meat pies, are hard to find." And on the inside it said "Hello, my little meat pie." It cracked me up, and suddenly I just wanted to share it with Dave. I wanted him to stop stressing about dating me or not dating me, and just be my friend. So I bought it, with some candy, and dropped it off at his work on campus.
The next day, a Tuesday, he asked me to come over to his apartment to try out the new blender he'd gotten for Christmas from his oldest brother Gary and his wife Melissa. We were going to make smoothies. I put on my periwinkle coat and walked to his apartment where we spent the night eating and chatting. It was a great night. He offered to walk me home.
It was a crystal clear night, and very cold. We were close to my apartment when I asked, jokingly, what he'd been thinking about lately. He said quietly, "You mean besides you?" That response took me by surprise, and I didn't quite take him seriously. Suddenly, he reached out and took my hand, sending shivers up my arm, and pulled me across the street to a small park.
He told me that he'd been thinking about me and about dating until he was tired of thinking about me and dating. When I had showed up at his work with that card and that candy, it had just stressed him out even more. He told me that he'd decided that he didn't want to date me, but then talked to a church leader who kind of said "What have you got to lose?"
My stomach was tied in knots. I couldn't tell which way this conversation was going. He was holding my hand, so that was good--right? But then he was telling me about the turmoil in his heart, and I felt like I was pushing too hard or twisting his arm somehow. We walked around the park, re-crossed the street, and ended up on the metal and concrete stairs outside my apartment. We tried to tie up the loose ends, but we couldn't--we left them open.
I walked into my quiet, dark apartment, leaned my back against the door, and slid to the ground. Throwing my arms around my knees, I buried my head and sobbed. I just didn't know how to think or feel. I had no idea why I was in love with a guy without even trying to love him, when it seemed so obvious that he just didn't feel the same way about me.
**
Friday night, he took me to see a John Schmidt concert at the Provo Tabernacle. After it was over, we drove to a nearby park. It was dark and cold, but--even though it was January--there was no snow on the ground. We got out of the car and played on the playground equipment for awhile when, suddenly, I tapped his arm and said "Tag! You're it!" I took off running across the park, dodging through huge trees in the light of the full moon. When I was nearly all the way across the park, I stopped to catch my breath and turned.
Dave was walking slowly toward me through the trees. The brilliant moonlight was met with a silver fog rising up from the ground. His eyes were focused intently on my face. Until the day that I die, I will never forget that moment in my mind. My heart started to race. I walked slowly up to meet him, laughing breathlessly.
He wrapped his arms around me. I said, "My heart is pounding" then, laying my head on his chest I said, "Your heart is pounding, too."
Looking up at his face, he looked down at me and softly said, "But I don't think it's for the same reason."
I had three years to imagine my perfect first kiss. I had envisioned them in every season. But, for me at least, none of my imaginings even came close to being quite as perfect as that one in a cold park on a January night.
We kissed. Then we laughed, and we hugged, and he said "That was a long time coming."
We both had lost time to make up for.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Day 107: Fields of Gold, Chapter 16
So where did this leave us? Were we thinking about dating, or were we dating? I had no idea.
The next afternoon, the phone rang. I answered and heard Dave's deep voice on the other end, "Hi," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice, as well as a slight nervousness I'd never heard before. I grinned. "You want to try dating?" he teased "Alright. Will you go on a date with me this Friday?" I certainly would.
We went on our first real date in almost 3 years. I had forgotten so much about those few weeks when we'd dated the first time, but I found it all coming back in waves. How he liked for me to reach over and unlock his car door after I got in the car first. How we each had a side of the sky, and how I teased him that the stars were better on my side. The topics of conversation we liked to dwell on, and the views that we both savored. It was so easy and utterly uncomplicated. One night, as we sat with our arms wrapped around each other, he said "Why does this feel so normal?" I replied "Because it's right." At least, for me it was.
We spent time together and went on dates, but I could tell that Dave was still conflicted and uncommitted. I signed a contract on an apartment in Provo, only a few blocks from his apartment. I decided that if we were ever going to really date, there needed to be no more than a short walk involved. I wondered what was holding him back. I wondered what in the world his was thinking, most of the time. It was so much easier for me, since I could see so clearly where I wanted us to be--what I really thought we could be. I could tell he wasn't sure.
I could tell because, three years later, and the man had still never kissed me. I won't go into what that will do to a girl's self esteem. I knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't going to do anything that implied he felt more than he did. He is true to himself, as well as honest with others. And unlike my impatient 19 year old self who just wanted a kiss before he left for Jerusalem, I found myself somewhat more content to wait. I knew that when, and if, he ever did kiss me--he would mean it.
But, then again, New Year's Eve was coming. New Year's Eve 2002-2003. I knew that things would change this year. They would go one way or the other, for better or for worse. I almost didn't want to know what he would choose. My choice was made.
He asked me what I was doing for New Years and we planned to go to First Night, this time in Provo. I didn't know, when he asked me if I wanted to spend New Year's Eve with him, that he would be inviting another girl along, too.
The next afternoon, the phone rang. I answered and heard Dave's deep voice on the other end, "Hi," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice, as well as a slight nervousness I'd never heard before. I grinned. "You want to try dating?" he teased "Alright. Will you go on a date with me this Friday?" I certainly would.
We went on our first real date in almost 3 years. I had forgotten so much about those few weeks when we'd dated the first time, but I found it all coming back in waves. How he liked for me to reach over and unlock his car door after I got in the car first. How we each had a side of the sky, and how I teased him that the stars were better on my side. The topics of conversation we liked to dwell on, and the views that we both savored. It was so easy and utterly uncomplicated. One night, as we sat with our arms wrapped around each other, he said "Why does this feel so normal?" I replied "Because it's right." At least, for me it was.
We spent time together and went on dates, but I could tell that Dave was still conflicted and uncommitted. I signed a contract on an apartment in Provo, only a few blocks from his apartment. I decided that if we were ever going to really date, there needed to be no more than a short walk involved. I wondered what was holding him back. I wondered what in the world his was thinking, most of the time. It was so much easier for me, since I could see so clearly where I wanted us to be--what I really thought we could be. I could tell he wasn't sure.
I could tell because, three years later, and the man had still never kissed me. I won't go into what that will do to a girl's self esteem. I knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't going to do anything that implied he felt more than he did. He is true to himself, as well as honest with others. And unlike my impatient 19 year old self who just wanted a kiss before he left for Jerusalem, I found myself somewhat more content to wait. I knew that when, and if, he ever did kiss me--he would mean it.
But, then again, New Year's Eve was coming. New Year's Eve 2002-2003. I knew that things would change this year. They would go one way or the other, for better or for worse. I almost didn't want to know what he would choose. My choice was made.
He asked me what I was doing for New Years and we planned to go to First Night, this time in Provo. I didn't know, when he asked me if I wanted to spend New Year's Eve with him, that he would be inviting another girl along, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
