Proposal 2.0
The lovely Marcy over at The Glamorous Life Association has asked the entire bloggy interwebs to write a post about love, marriage, or weddings, or all of them, and then link up in her awesome little (or not so little) love carnival. How could I say no? Well I couldn't.
Recently Megawatt asked me how I "knew" the hubby was THE ONE? She wanted to know what made him stand out from the rest, the one I trusted my heart with, the one who I knew -- from the tip top of my head, to the bottom of my toes -- was meant to be.
Actually, I didn't...not for the longest time. Although, if you ask the hubby, he says he always knew...despite two failed marriages, the death of a child, and my penchant for kissing toads; he always maintained that eventually I'd tire of kissing frogs and realize Prince Charming had been standing there all along.
If you've been reading Barking Mad for any length of time, you might sort-of know how he and me, how we came to be. The hubby, who was, wayyyy back more than 25 years ago, simply a childhood pen pal in Great Britian. It was a miracle that we even got matched because the program that his school in England and mine here in the states belonged to had pretty strict rules about matching up girls with girls and boys with boys. Somehow, perhaps it was the Powers That Be, managed to match us up and we became constant writing companions, who would someday be destined to be soul mates and life partners.
But how did I know he was the one?
A long time ago, when I first visited the Portland Headlight in Cape Elizabeth, here in Maine, I sat under that light for the longest time. I was frustrated with where my life had been and wasn't sure I'd ever find, "the one" and didn't even know if I was meant to have any one special person in my life. I looked out over the inky blue Atlantic Ocean and watched the salty whitecaps slam against the rocks that buffet this part of the Maine coastline and then looked back up at that light...a light that had guided thousands, if not millions of mariners, over the last 200 years, and had illuminated the coast for them, preventing tragic and fatal shipwrecks.
My love affair with that light is legendary. Anyone who reads me, or knows me personally, can tell you that not only does it's beauty captivate me, but it serves as a beacon...not only to mariners, but in some small way, in my own life. It has stood the test of time, the elements and the intrusion of man, yet it still stands, majestically, beaming it's guiding light, out across this small area of the Atlantic Ocean. It is a constant and as long as we always take care of it, tend to the grounds, and polish the light, it will remain a beacon for mariners and possibly lovers, for another two centuries.
So as I sat there under the light and let the cool sea air wash over me, and felt the slight tingles of salt-spray against my skin, I knew; I knew that if I was lucky enough to ever find the one, I'd bring him here and somehow, some aspect of being near the light, would let me know whether he really was the one.
In the summer of 2002, as the then English boyfriend and I grew closer via phone calls, and at this point, emails, he asked if I'd like to accompany him on a holiday of New England and the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. He knew I was familiar with New England and would make sure to show him not only all of my favourite haunts, but some of the more popular tourist areas as well. I jumped at the chance to spend two entire weeks with a man who was rapidly becoming someone very important to me. I had no idea what the future held, if anything. I didn't know how you go about having a serious relationship with someone who lives in England when you're still residing in the midwest. I just knew I wanted to spend time with him. Bear in mind my luvlies, that from 1980 to 2002 we'd only exchanged letters, then emails, IM's and then from the summer of 2002 through October 2002, almost daily phone calls. We did exchange pictures over all those years, but had never met in person. Granted, we knew there was something there, yet we still had to get over the hurdle of meeting, face to face for the first time.
It's funny, looking back to that very first meeting at a small airport in the midwest. I can't even recall the number of times I checked my reflection in my compact. Every time I'd hear a plane land my stomach would do a little flip flop. Every person who would walk by would look at me, and I'm sure, wonder why I looked almost panic stricken. And then...there he was. I can still remember my heart beating and hearing the constant rapid thump-da-bump in my ears. Instantly I was in his arms and the years faded into the background, my nerves were washed away and this little flame, this tiny little spark that had always been there, was now rumbling deeply in my heart.
We rented a car and drove to Niagara Falls. We spent time walking and talking and laughing. We slept in cozy little bed and breakfasts along the New England coastline. We laughed as we watched diners at local seafood restraunts order "Twin Maine Lobster" dinners. We reminisced over childhood letters and giggled about things that seemed so very important back then, but we barely remembered them now. He held me as I cried when I recalled his letters and cards after Joshua's death, my divorce, and all my other little heartaches that I had shared with him over the years. I let him lay his head in my lap as he recalled some of his fondest memories of his late mum and how sorry he was that I'd never get the chance to meet such a lovely woman.
We laughed, probably too hard when we accidentally got the rental car stuck in a huge drainage ditch (we were trying to turn around, after becoming hopelessly lost just outside Old Orchard Beach, ME; and the car slid into the ditch), and were eternally grateful for the two burley Maine lobstah-men who literally pushed and heaved the car out of the ditch.
Most of all we talked. We talked and talked and talked. It seemed, even after more than two decades of letters (and sometimes mine were long, very long), we never ran out of things to talk about.
It was during our second week of the holiday that I took him to the Portland Headlight. It was a blustery autumn day with a cold wind blowing off of the Atlantic. We probably spent two hours walking around the grounds and talking and just staring out over the ocean. It couldn't have been any more than 45F yet I was warmed, from the inside out. That little flame was now constantly burning bright.
I looked up at the light and right at that moment a huge gust of wind blew me backwards into the English Boyfriend and it was as if this small voice came out from the wind, across the smudgy purplish-black cloudy skies and over the indigo waters of the Atlantic and whispered to me; "He is the one."
The rest is really a fairy tale. My own fairy tale that's still being written.
One thing I realized that day was that all those hundreds, if not thousands of letters he wrote to me, served as little lighthouses in my life. They bolstered me, they were a light during some of my darkest hours and guided me out of the depths of my own personal hell. The English boyfriend, who is now affectionately referred to as The Hubby, is still my lighthouse. My rock. He is my strength when my heart is broken. He carries me when I can no longer carry myself under the burdens, physical or emotional and in short, he is the one -- the one who was meant to be, with me.
Fast forward to today, the reason I'm writing this.
I have these two friends who I have come to adore out here in the blogosphere. She is funny, compassionate and a wicked-awesome writer. She's been through her own share of loss and heartache and come through with this spirit that is incredibly bright and beautiful. She is a single mommy to a darling little girl and I am so blessed to know her.
He has recently come back into her life. They've known one another for many years. He's very witty and was even christened, in somewhat of an unorthodox manner, into the blogosphere -- typically surrounded by tens, if not hundreds of other mommy-bloggers who want to know every little detail about him -- with class and an unending sense of humor.
Something guided these two beautiful souls back together. I kind of like to think of it as each being the other's personal lighthouse.
All the best you two. May your love for one another weather the storms of life. May your trust in one another guide you through the winters and into the springs. May your humor bless your lives as richly as it has blessed those of us who know you.
May you love long and with every part of your body, heart and soul.
Recently Megawatt asked me how I "knew" the hubby was THE ONE? She wanted to know what made him stand out from the rest, the one I trusted my heart with, the one who I knew -- from the tip top of my head, to the bottom of my toes -- was meant to be.
Actually, I didn't...not for the longest time. Although, if you ask the hubby, he says he always knew...despite two failed marriages, the death of a child, and my penchant for kissing toads; he always maintained that eventually I'd tire of kissing frogs and realize Prince Charming had been standing there all along.
If you've been reading Barking Mad for any length of time, you might sort-of know how he and me, how we came to be. The hubby, who was, wayyyy back more than 25 years ago, simply a childhood pen pal in Great Britian. It was a miracle that we even got matched because the program that his school in England and mine here in the states belonged to had pretty strict rules about matching up girls with girls and boys with boys. Somehow, perhaps it was the Powers That Be, managed to match us up and we became constant writing companions, who would someday be destined to be soul mates and life partners.
But how did I know he was the one?
A long time ago, when I first visited the Portland Headlight in Cape Elizabeth, here in Maine, I sat under that light for the longest time. I was frustrated with where my life had been and wasn't sure I'd ever find, "the one" and didn't even know if I was meant to have any one special person in my life. I looked out over the inky blue Atlantic Ocean and watched the salty whitecaps slam against the rocks that buffet this part of the Maine coastline and then looked back up at that light...a light that had guided thousands, if not millions of mariners, over the last 200 years, and had illuminated the coast for them, preventing tragic and fatal shipwrecks.
My love affair with that light is legendary. Anyone who reads me, or knows me personally, can tell you that not only does it's beauty captivate me, but it serves as a beacon...not only to mariners, but in some small way, in my own life. It has stood the test of time, the elements and the intrusion of man, yet it still stands, majestically, beaming it's guiding light, out across this small area of the Atlantic Ocean. It is a constant and as long as we always take care of it, tend to the grounds, and polish the light, it will remain a beacon for mariners and possibly lovers, for another two centuries.
So as I sat there under the light and let the cool sea air wash over me, and felt the slight tingles of salt-spray against my skin, I knew; I knew that if I was lucky enough to ever find the one, I'd bring him here and somehow, some aspect of being near the light, would let me know whether he really was the one.
In the summer of 2002, as the then English boyfriend and I grew closer via phone calls, and at this point, emails, he asked if I'd like to accompany him on a holiday of New England and the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. He knew I was familiar with New England and would make sure to show him not only all of my favourite haunts, but some of the more popular tourist areas as well. I jumped at the chance to spend two entire weeks with a man who was rapidly becoming someone very important to me. I had no idea what the future held, if anything. I didn't know how you go about having a serious relationship with someone who lives in England when you're still residing in the midwest. I just knew I wanted to spend time with him. Bear in mind my luvlies, that from 1980 to 2002 we'd only exchanged letters, then emails, IM's and then from the summer of 2002 through October 2002, almost daily phone calls. We did exchange pictures over all those years, but had never met in person. Granted, we knew there was something there, yet we still had to get over the hurdle of meeting, face to face for the first time.
It's funny, looking back to that very first meeting at a small airport in the midwest. I can't even recall the number of times I checked my reflection in my compact. Every time I'd hear a plane land my stomach would do a little flip flop. Every person who would walk by would look at me, and I'm sure, wonder why I looked almost panic stricken. And then...there he was. I can still remember my heart beating and hearing the constant rapid thump-da-bump in my ears. Instantly I was in his arms and the years faded into the background, my nerves were washed away and this little flame, this tiny little spark that had always been there, was now rumbling deeply in my heart.
We rented a car and drove to Niagara Falls. We spent time walking and talking and laughing. We slept in cozy little bed and breakfasts along the New England coastline. We laughed as we watched diners at local seafood restraunts order "Twin Maine Lobster" dinners. We reminisced over childhood letters and giggled about things that seemed so very important back then, but we barely remembered them now. He held me as I cried when I recalled his letters and cards after Joshua's death, my divorce, and all my other little heartaches that I had shared with him over the years. I let him lay his head in my lap as he recalled some of his fondest memories of his late mum and how sorry he was that I'd never get the chance to meet such a lovely woman.
We laughed, probably too hard when we accidentally got the rental car stuck in a huge drainage ditch (we were trying to turn around, after becoming hopelessly lost just outside Old Orchard Beach, ME; and the car slid into the ditch), and were eternally grateful for the two burley Maine lobstah-men who literally pushed and heaved the car out of the ditch.
Most of all we talked. We talked and talked and talked. It seemed, even after more than two decades of letters (and sometimes mine were long, very long), we never ran out of things to talk about.
It was during our second week of the holiday that I took him to the Portland Headlight. It was a blustery autumn day with a cold wind blowing off of the Atlantic. We probably spent two hours walking around the grounds and talking and just staring out over the ocean. It couldn't have been any more than 45F yet I was warmed, from the inside out. That little flame was now constantly burning bright.
I looked up at the light and right at that moment a huge gust of wind blew me backwards into the English Boyfriend and it was as if this small voice came out from the wind, across the smudgy purplish-black cloudy skies and over the indigo waters of the Atlantic and whispered to me; "He is the one."
The rest is really a fairy tale. My own fairy tale that's still being written.
One thing I realized that day was that all those hundreds, if not thousands of letters he wrote to me, served as little lighthouses in my life. They bolstered me, they were a light during some of my darkest hours and guided me out of the depths of my own personal hell. The English boyfriend, who is now affectionately referred to as The Hubby, is still my lighthouse. My rock. He is my strength when my heart is broken. He carries me when I can no longer carry myself under the burdens, physical or emotional and in short, he is the one -- the one who was meant to be, with me.
Fast forward to today, the reason I'm writing this.
I have these two friends who I have come to adore out here in the blogosphere. She is funny, compassionate and a wicked-awesome writer. She's been through her own share of loss and heartache and come through with this spirit that is incredibly bright and beautiful. She is a single mommy to a darling little girl and I am so blessed to know her.
He has recently come back into her life. They've known one another for many years. He's very witty and was even christened, in somewhat of an unorthodox manner, into the blogosphere -- typically surrounded by tens, if not hundreds of other mommy-bloggers who want to know every little detail about him -- with class and an unending sense of humor.
Something guided these two beautiful souls back together. I kind of like to think of it as each being the other's personal lighthouse.
All the best you two. May your love for one another weather the storms of life. May your trust in one another guide you through the winters and into the springs. May your humor bless your lives as richly as it has blessed those of us who know you.
May you love long and with every part of your body, heart and soul.
