Something special happened to me about a week ago:
It started with a grumpy, stressed, slightly-put-out face on a Monday.
I
was tired and out of sorts. My person had asked me to come up to hang
out with him and his sister. A special treat for her, he said. She
really wanted to see me, he said.
I did not want to go. I
wanted to see his sister, and him, of course, but I did not want to
expend the effort to make it happen. But because he asked so sweetly,
and because I love him, I went, even though I knew I would probably
regret it later, as I had a big test for work I needed to study for, and
the trip up there was eating into my precious study time -- the test
was in three days.
I left work late, due to circumstances beyond my control. Then, traffic was terrible, of course.
Upon
my arrival, the house was in disarray. There were children running
about and nerf wars happening and pizza left semi-unattended in the
oven, but no sign of my man.
Grumpy cat-face came out. I
was peeved: after taking the effort to drive in traffic almost fifty
miles, he was not to be found in the house. Neither was his sister.
Annoyed, I took over the pizza watch from the oldest nephew, who was
doing homework, and stewed inwardly. "You could be studying for the
test. Go out and get your study materials." I boiled a little. "Why are
you even here? Why is he NOT here? He doesn't even have the decency to
be here!" (I must have been really hungry about this point.)
And
then he came home and said his sister had been called away to help a
friend set up an event. I was practically eye-rolling at this point.
Then, a few slices of soggy pizza later, he says that he wants to go
check out what his sister has been working on. Suspicious. But I get in
the car, even though it's almost bedtime for the kids and I am bemoaning
the fact that I even came up at all, feeling it hadn't been worth the
trip.
We parked and I saw only one car: his
sister's. This was my first clue. Then he got a backpack out of the
car. A second clue. Then we walked for forever with no sign of anyone. A
third clue. The last clue I needed was when we got to a muddy patch and
he said, "This is the only place where it's muddy." I thought, "Hmm, he
has been across this path, and recently, too. I bet he doesn't realize
he just gave himself away."
The stars were so bright. We could see Orion hanging low.
Then
I saw some lights flickering through the trees. He had set up a mini
wonderland...candles in large mason jars and twinkle lights on
ivy-covered trees, along with music piped through a portable speaker. I
was walking along, trying not to expect anything, and honestly a little
unsure how I felt, as just that morning I had been conflicted and
although I knew I wanted to be with him, I was waiting for a final,
settled feeling that to say 'yes' was the only course -- and that
feeling had not yet come.
We continued to walk along
and then he tugged my hand. I was freaking out inside, looking
everywhere and nowhere at the same time, especially not at him -- and
then as I turned he got down on one knee and murmured lovely things and
asked if I would be his forever love, his wife, his always companion, as
he slipped a ring on my finger.
I burst out
crying. I was completely overwhelmed. I couldn't even say anything. I
couldn't even breathe. Then I tugged him off the ground, thinking of his
knees, buying me time so I could gather myself before I whispered "Yes!
You silly man, yes!" And then of course I apologized for calling him a
silly man, which made him laugh. Then we danced to the music and then I
realized his poor sister was probably hiding in the bushes somewhere,
waiting for the all-clear signal, and then I yelled for her to come out,
which was good, because her phone had died. We gathered a lot of the
things up, including a dozen roses which were lovely and I hadn't even
noticed before. Then I looked at the ring.
Sometimes,
one night can change everything. I knew he was going to ask me to marry
him, but I didn't know when, and the talking about it and the saying yes
are two very different things, let me tell you!! Not in a bad way, but it just surprised me.
Look at the look on his face! Aww. It melts me every time.
Also, a cheesy MV for your delectation and delight.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
dragons
You know, I used to think dragons were cool.
Giant lazy lizards that were rich, feisty, fiery, and pretty much impossible to kill. Very few weaknesses, except perhaps one loose scale somewhere and a ridiculous fondness for treasure.
The ones that can talk are even better. Dragons that can change forms back and forth between human and dragon are less cool.
Slumberous eyes, rumbly gravelly voices, gleaming claws and teeth, breath that could shrivel even the most stout of hearts with its fetid potency. [How do dragons kiss, one wonders? Perhaps that's a reason there seem to be so few dragons.]
I even got a dragon for Christmas, I thought they were so cool. Mine is wooden, so he's still all right...but all other dragons, forget it.
Why the change of heart, you ask?
It started with a germ. A germ that my immune system could not suppress before it spread. It lodged in my throat and nose. I don't know what was going on -- swelling, perhaps, from the rapid regeneration of sickly cells? In any case, it felt like my nose and throat were on fire. FIRE!
As my discomfort level rose, so did the frequency of my thoughts about dragons.
I came to the conclusion that being a dragon would be no good:
* you're a dragon, therefore living a solitary life, probably in a cave, or an abandoned mine, with no company except gold and errant knights, princesses, or trolls...and then you would probably eat the company, which is BAD FORM, so then you'd go back to being lonely. Not fun.
* your throat is always on fire. Always. Not just when you have a cold. My throat being on fire for even 24 hours for the second time in two months was enough to make me wish I never became a dragon, even in a dream.
* when you're a sick dragon, you have to drink lots of tea. So your sense of smell and touch and taste is all off, so the likelihood you will burn your tongue on said tea goes up about 1,052%. Then you're even more like a dragon. An irritated dragon with a burnt tongue. [How do dragons not burn their tongues when they belch forth their fiery flames, I wonder? These are the important questions that inquisitive minds demand be answered.]
I mean, really. How do dragons, who are cold-blooded (one supposes), muster the incredible amount of energy it would take to produce a flame? And do they have to keep swallowing flint and tinder in order to allow the strike necessary for the flame to come out? Or is it more like a flamethrowing trick and they just have a little nozzle that looks like an errant whisker at the corner of their mouths?
That would make more sense, and would also make most of this blog post irrelevant. I sense a science fair project coming on!!
Giant lazy lizards that were rich, feisty, fiery, and pretty much impossible to kill. Very few weaknesses, except perhaps one loose scale somewhere and a ridiculous fondness for treasure.
The ones that can talk are even better. Dragons that can change forms back and forth between human and dragon are less cool.
Slumberous eyes, rumbly gravelly voices, gleaming claws and teeth, breath that could shrivel even the most stout of hearts with its fetid potency. [How do dragons kiss, one wonders? Perhaps that's a reason there seem to be so few dragons.]
I even got a dragon for Christmas, I thought they were so cool. Mine is wooden, so he's still all right...but all other dragons, forget it.
Why the change of heart, you ask?
It started with a germ. A germ that my immune system could not suppress before it spread. It lodged in my throat and nose. I don't know what was going on -- swelling, perhaps, from the rapid regeneration of sickly cells? In any case, it felt like my nose and throat were on fire. FIRE!
As my discomfort level rose, so did the frequency of my thoughts about dragons.
I came to the conclusion that being a dragon would be no good:
* you're a dragon, therefore living a solitary life, probably in a cave, or an abandoned mine, with no company except gold and errant knights, princesses, or trolls...and then you would probably eat the company, which is BAD FORM, so then you'd go back to being lonely. Not fun.
* your throat is always on fire. Always. Not just when you have a cold. My throat being on fire for even 24 hours for the second time in two months was enough to make me wish I never became a dragon, even in a dream.
* when you're a sick dragon, you have to drink lots of tea. So your sense of smell and touch and taste is all off, so the likelihood you will burn your tongue on said tea goes up about 1,052%. Then you're even more like a dragon. An irritated dragon with a burnt tongue. [How do dragons not burn their tongues when they belch forth their fiery flames, I wonder? These are the important questions that inquisitive minds demand be answered.]
I mean, really. How do dragons, who are cold-blooded (one supposes), muster the incredible amount of energy it would take to produce a flame? And do they have to keep swallowing flint and tinder in order to allow the strike necessary for the flame to come out? Or is it more like a flamethrowing trick and they just have a little nozzle that looks like an errant whisker at the corner of their mouths?
That would make more sense, and would also make most of this blog post irrelevant. I sense a science fair project coming on!!
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