The Real Proposal

“How did Daddy propose?” asked my eighteen-year-old daughter a couple of weeks ago.

My husband smiled at me and answered, “We were on our way up Little Cottonwood Canyon when I said I’d be willing to take you…”

“No, no,” I interrupted. “You’re thinking of that other time. That wasn’t the proposal. You proposed in front of the fireplace at your mom’s house. It wasn’t even a real proposal,” I explained to my daughter. “He just said, ‘What would you say if I asked you to marry me?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’”

The time in front of the fireplace happened two weeks after our drive up the canyon and one month after we met. It was nice, but it wasn’t as meaningful, powerful, or romantic. I never let the canyon experience count because at the time I was in a very serious relationship with someone else. Roger and I started going out during one of the times I tried to break up with the other guy.

My memory is faulty and my perceptions are often worse. After our conversation, I kept thinking about the fireplace proposal versus the canyon experience. I dug through old journals. Eventually, I decided he’s right. It was on the way up Little Cottonwood Canyon, on a clear, starry night that Roger proposed.

On December 12th, 1988, Roger and I had dinner together at my parents’ house and then watched a movie at his. After the date, I wasn’t ready to go home. I knew I needed to be open and honest about my feelings, so I suggested we drive up Little Cottonwood Canyon and see the stars. As the car wound up the twists and turns of the canyon, I unwound my relationship with the other guy. I explained some of our problems. Roger impressed me by the way he listened.

“My mom said she’s okay with him as long as he is willing to take me to the Celestial Kingdom,” I told him. I’d made it clear it was doubtful that would ever happen.

Quietly, Roger said, “I’d be willing to take you there.”

I went silent. I felt tingly and overwhelmed with surprise. I’d been chatting away about this other guy, all the while failing to realize the level of Roger’s feelings for me. For a long time, I said nothing. Eventually, I told him how much I was beginning to like him.

The other guy evaporated. Time disappeared. We’d driven as far as we could go, up to where the gate was locked, the road blocked because of snow. We got out of the car and walked into the cold, clear night and gazed at the stars for a long time. We hugged to stay warm. We played the game where whoever sees the most falling stars wins. He won. Then, he drove me home.

When I got out of the car, I felt light and happy. I leapt across the irrigation ditch in front of my parents’ home. As I crunched across the snowy front lawn, I felt like I was surrounded by little angels crowding in to hug me. I felt they were my future children, rejoicing.

Six days later, I found the courage to permanently break up with the boyfriend. Two weeks later, Roger “proposed” in front of his mom’s fireplace. Less than two months later, we were married. It all began with that timeless moment on our way up Little Cottonwood Canyon.

Worth Emulating

Wonder and awe. 
I love them.

Every Day

Day after day after gray day

Missing warmer days:

Biking to the lake,

Riding through wildflowers.

Those days will come again.

And thankful for every day

I spend with you.

You Gotta See This

My sister Jennilyn is very talented and she has awesome friends.   http://myfriendlikely.blogspot.com/2010/01/special-project-for-my-special-friends.html

Creative Truth

I turned in the cycling stories to my teacher.  I'm waiting for the grade and working on the next lesson.  The new lesson is all about truth in nonfiction.  For the sake of a story, authors of nonfiction sometimes find themselves distorting the truth or making things up.  Sometimes it's disturbing to find out something presented as truth isn't true.  Sometimes it's not necessarily untrue; we remember events differently than other people; we all have our own perspectives.  Sadly, some people outright lie and call it a memoir.

For my next assignment, I'm supposed to write about a memory that is hazy; if someone else remembers the experience differently, all the better.  Roger and I remember the day we met differently.  He says, "Love at first sight."  I say, "He was not impressed.  In fact, he seemed a little disturbed."  I may write about that experience.  I'd like more childhood memories if anyone wants to remind me of one.  Honestly, most of my memories feel hazy.

I'm embarrassed to say I did some truth-distorting in my last assignment.  It was hard not to, especially when I was writing other people's stories.  I wasn't there.  I had to approximate and interpret what they might have seen, the dialog they described, and their feelings about the events.  I had to fill in the blanks.  Even in my own tales, I said I have a "friend" named Maxim, when he's really just a person I quoted from the internet.  I promise, if I met Maxim we'd be instant friends!  I liked what he said that much.  And then there's the story where I combined two turtle-sighting biking experiences.  One turtle (the one in the picture above) survived.  The other didn't.  Both stories are true, so the whole thing feels true to me.  I was trying to make a point.  Two separate turtle stories wouldn't have worked. 

I need to practice being as honest as possible in my nonfiction writing. On the other hand, sometimes a creative retelling feels closer to the truth than freezing facts.

January Rain

It's supposed to get up to 56 degrees today.  Right now, it's raining, melting all the snow.  Not what I expected. 

People I love are suffering.  It's difficult for me to understand why.  These are faithful, loving, obedient people.  I know that Heavenly Father blesses us when we keep His commandments and ask Him for help.  I know we don't always know what is best for us.

Knowing that doesn't make the problems go away.  It's not easy to be patient.  Sometimes it's difficult to endure, especially when we are doing everything we know to do and still don't receive the blessings.  It challenges my faith and my hope.  If I'm not going to receive the blessings, why pray for them?  When I pray without expectation it feels faithless and hopeless.  I want to have faith and hope.  Faith and hope are motivating.  

I know Heavenly Father loves us.  We talked about that in Primary yesterday.  The children drew beautiful pictures that represent how they know Heavenly Father and Jesus love them.  I have plenty of evidence of Their reality and Their constant love.  I know sometimes we suffer because other people misuse their agency.  Sometimes there is something to learn.  Sometimes bad things just happen.  I guess I don't really need to know why. 

I do need to figure out how to hang on to faith and hope. 

True Story

Roger was ten. His mother asked him to clean the basement. He usually hid under the bunk bed. This time, he said, “No.”

His mother stormed to the kitchen for the wooden spoon.

Roger ran outside. He hopped on his bike, escaping the mad woman who chased him waving the spoon.

He rode fast, down the street to the neighborhood school.

It was a remorseful return trip. Riding slowly toward home, he braced himself to face the spoon. Instead, his mother gave him a hug.

After that, he never complained when his father took him and his two younger brothers to buy wooden spoons for their mother for Christmas.