We had planned on taking a drive up Provo Canyon that Saturday, to see glorious Autumn and the changes it was bringing to the trees on the mountain. That mountain had become a special place for us, already full of memories.
I suspected the possibility, but not too seriously.
We followed the winding road up toward the top, talking and admiring the beauty all around us. We stopped at one of the turnouts, and after a bit of kissing in the car, we got out for a little hike.
The trail wasn't the easiest, but I happily followed him, taking careful steps down a steep incline until we ended up in a clearing of tall grass.
He stopped to hug me. It seemed strangely deliberate, but I obliged of course.
And then, as we embraced I looked over his shoulder, and there it was...
A red rose, lying in the tall grass.
My first thought? "Oh no. We've happened upon someone else's romantic gesture."
And then it dawned on me.
He was smiling. I picked up the rose. A long, thin piece of paper was curled and tucked carefully into the bloom. Written on it was one of our special memories together.
He led me along a trail through the tall grass, and I kept finding them, red rose after red rose, all with a note, a memory.
I was beginning to cry.
After passing through a gathering of trees there was another clearing, looking out over the hills and valleys. It was dusk. It was beautiful.
There stood a table with a white cloth and a vase full of more roses. Red, and one white rose in the center.
That rose held my last note...a wish that today would be one of the most beloved memories of our lives.
And then Ryan dropped to one knee, held out a ring and asked me the question that changed my life forever. I cried, dropped to my knees too, and said yes without a single doubt in my mind.
8 years ago today.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The other day I stayed up late into the evening to watch the lovely and gloriously long film featuring the gentleman above. And then today I watched it again, but fast-forwarded through to my favorite parts.
It was a joyous thing.
Oh, Mr. Darcy.
Do you ever feel sad that fictional characters are...fictional? Its easy to convince myself the man might have actually existed when his story is set 200 years ago and half a world away. But the sad truth is that a Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley never wooed a Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He is the captivating figment of a brilliant woman's imagination, and nothing more.
Fiction breaks our hearts. Why do we like fiction? Its lies, all lies I say! =)
Friday, September 11, 2009
Today is a busy day like any other day. I had the luck of getting both of my boys napping at the same time and I have a million things I could be doing, but there's a part of me that feels it would be wrong not to acknowledge the significance of this day.
I still find it surreal that such a horrifying and atrocious act of terrorism happened 8 years ago today. I remember exactly where I was when I first heard of the events of that morning. I was in college and not yet married, and I was driving in my car. I flipped on the radio for some music and every station was people talking animatedly. When I began to gather what they were talking about, I couldn't believe it...it was like "War of the Worlds." It didn't seem like it could be real. As soon as I arrived home at my apartment, I ran inside and turned the TV on, yelling for my roommates to come and watch. I was incredulous. I didn't know anybody in New York, but one of my roommates did, and we were terrified for her...she spent the day frantically trying to reach family members and friends while the rest of us were glued to the TV. The rest of the day is a blur to me, but I'm sure I cried.
It baffles me how anyone could commit such an awful crime against humanity. As I sat watching a documentary about 9/11 two days ago, the same feelings of incredulity washed through me as the footage flashed before my eyes again. I cried again. I cried, thinking about how people in those towers phoned their spouses and families to say goodbye, knowing they would die. Thinking about the people who discovered their loved ones were on one of the highjacked planes, and finding out they had died from a newscast. Thinking about the heroic firefighters and so many others who rushed into those buildings to save people, not knowing they were doomed to collapse, and lost their own lives. Thinking about the hundreds and hundreds of missing people flyers, whose families could only hope and pray for the unlikely chance that they were alive. So much loss, so much grief. I give my love and condolences to all those who suffered the loss of friends and loved ones that day.
But even after such a deep blow to our nation, it brought me new pride and confidence in my country as I watched the people of New York City working to help one another, and as I watched our nation band together in strength and pride. We would not let this horrible act of terrorism suppress our American spirit...rather, it reignited it.
I realize our nation is not perfect. There is a recession, there is dissatisfaction with our government in many ways. But despite its flaws, I believe this is a blessed nation, and a promised land. I love my country, and I am proud and grateful to be an American. May all those who seek to harm our country and its people be brought to justice. And may God bless the USA, now and forever.
And I will never forget.