Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Marriage and Mono
So, I just found out I have mono. And I'm getting married in 17 days. Why? I wanna know why?! My doctor is not terribly optimistic and thinks I will still be in pretty bad shape on the day of my wedding--complete with the puffy eyelids that I've been sporting since the beginning of last week. Yeah. That would be cute in the wedding pictures. However, I refuse to believe I'll stay sick that long with my killer immune system. After all, of everyone that went to our ward's Halloween party, I am one of only about four other people that didn't come down with nasty stomach flu the next day. And if it was food poisoning from the drink like some people think, I am the only one who drank it and didn't get sick. I haven't been to the doctor since I was in fifth grade, and I eat my fruits and vegetables. That means my immune system is in pretty good shape, right? And to top it all off, I've got people praying for me and that's the most powerful medicine of all.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles!
Well, it finally happened. I'm engaged. No, hell has not frozen over. No, the second coming will not take place tomorrow (as far as I know). And no, Paris Hilton has not been invited to join Mensa. I realize this may come as a shock to some of you (I mean my getting engaged, not the thing about Paris) because most of you didn't even know I was dating anyone, so I apologize for not giving you some warning. But in a nutshell, I met my fiance, Peter, last spring. He came to some of our ward activities a couple of times because his cousin, Ryan, is in our ward. My first impression of Peter was that he was very kind, funny, and had one of the greatest smiles I've ever seen. After a while, though, we saw less and less of him, I got busy with my own life, and I nearly forgot about him. Then my friends Megan, Mary Ann, and I joined the institute choir, and who should we see over in the bass section, but Peter! He started coming over to my apartment a lot, he moved into the ward (into the apartment downstairs from me, actually), we started going on dates together in October, and after some brief turmoil when I couldn't decide how I felt about him, we started exclusively dating in December. That's how we got to this point, now on to the engagement story:
We've sort of been unofficially engaged since January (I mean, I knew he was going to ask and he knew I was going to say yes, and we had a date picked out and everything), but it took a while to get a ring because I have this annoying nickel allergy and they put nickel in white gold, so my ring had to be custom made using palladium instead. We even had the temple reserved because we were afraid the day we wanted would be completely booked before the ring came in. Anyway, Sunday night, instead of going to ward prayer (naughty us, I know), Peter suggested we go for a walk and we ended up at a park near our apartment building. I really love this park, except for the fact that the streetlights there don't stay on for more than two minutes each, so they're constantly going off and on. But moving on with the story, Peter and I swung on the swings for a while, and I could tell he was kind of nervous about something. After a while he said he was cold and needed to keep walking, so we headed for a stage area in the middle of the park. It was kind of a chilly night, but the sky was clear and the stars were beautiful. I stood there on center stage looking up and the stars, then I felt Peter take my hands and turn me around to face him, and he was smiling that great smile, and I knew what was about to happen. It took him a minute to get the ring out of his pocket, and no wonder! The box it was in was about the size of my fist! You'd think the jewelry stores would think to put engagement rings in nice little discreet boxes. It's a small miracle I didn't notice it in his pocket. Anyway, he opened the box and I saw something sparkly--that's about all I could see because the streetlight by the stage had gone off just moments before, but I didn't have to be a Mensa candidate to know what he was holding. It's important to understand that when a girl is getting proposed to, her mind is working at about four times its regular speed. According to Peter, when a boy is proposing, his mind is working at about 1/4 its regular speed. So here's what happened, with an inside view from my mind:
Becca: Oh my gosh! This is it! There's the ring! Why doesn't he say something? Is he going to say something? What am I supposed to do?!
*Pause*
Peter: "I love you."
Becca: Am I supposed to say yes now? Wait, he didn't even ask the question yet! He's still standing. Is he going to get down on one knee? What am I supposed to do?!
*Pause*
*Peter gets down on one knee*
*Becca covers her mouth with her hands and starts to cry*
*Pause*
*Pause*
Peter: "Will you marry me?"
Becca: "Yes!"
So there you have it. Now, please forgive me for waxing a little cheesy for a minute (after all, I am a girl that just got engaged), but the thing that stands out to me most about this whole thing is how quietly it has happened. I didn't see Peter for the first time and hear music playing or birds singing. One day I just realized, "Huh. I like Peter." Then later on I thought, "I love Peter." And now it's, "I want to marry Peter." None of this has happened dramatically with a lightning bolt or anything, and you know what? I don't mind. It reminds me of a song from a lesser-known musical called "Flora the Red Menace." Flora sings a song about landing her dream job that I think applies to this situation too. She sings:
When it all comes through just the way you've planned
It's funny, but the bells don't ring.
It's a quiet thing.
When you hold the world in your trembling hand
You'd think you'd hear a choir sing.
But it's a quiet thing.
There are no exploding fireworks.
Where's the roaring of the crowd?
Maybe it's this strange new atmosphere
Way up here among the clouds.
Happiness walks in on tiptoe.
Well, whaddya know.
It's a quiet thing.
A very quiet thing.
O.K., I'd better stop before I give people cavities or indigestion or something. But on June 3rd I'm getting married. Wahoo!
We've sort of been unofficially engaged since January (I mean, I knew he was going to ask and he knew I was going to say yes, and we had a date picked out and everything), but it took a while to get a ring because I have this annoying nickel allergy and they put nickel in white gold, so my ring had to be custom made using palladium instead. We even had the temple reserved because we were afraid the day we wanted would be completely booked before the ring came in. Anyway, Sunday night, instead of going to ward prayer (naughty us, I know), Peter suggested we go for a walk and we ended up at a park near our apartment building. I really love this park, except for the fact that the streetlights there don't stay on for more than two minutes each, so they're constantly going off and on. But moving on with the story, Peter and I swung on the swings for a while, and I could tell he was kind of nervous about something. After a while he said he was cold and needed to keep walking, so we headed for a stage area in the middle of the park. It was kind of a chilly night, but the sky was clear and the stars were beautiful. I stood there on center stage looking up and the stars, then I felt Peter take my hands and turn me around to face him, and he was smiling that great smile, and I knew what was about to happen. It took him a minute to get the ring out of his pocket, and no wonder! The box it was in was about the size of my fist! You'd think the jewelry stores would think to put engagement rings in nice little discreet boxes. It's a small miracle I didn't notice it in his pocket. Anyway, he opened the box and I saw something sparkly--that's about all I could see because the streetlight by the stage had gone off just moments before, but I didn't have to be a Mensa candidate to know what he was holding. It's important to understand that when a girl is getting proposed to, her mind is working at about four times its regular speed. According to Peter, when a boy is proposing, his mind is working at about 1/4 its regular speed. So here's what happened, with an inside view from my mind:
Becca: Oh my gosh! This is it! There's the ring! Why doesn't he say something? Is he going to say something? What am I supposed to do?!
*Pause*
Peter: "I love you."
Becca: Am I supposed to say yes now? Wait, he didn't even ask the question yet! He's still standing. Is he going to get down on one knee? What am I supposed to do?!
*Pause*
*Peter gets down on one knee*
*Becca covers her mouth with her hands and starts to cry*
*Pause*
*Pause*
Peter: "Will you marry me?"
Becca: "Yes!"
So there you have it. Now, please forgive me for waxing a little cheesy for a minute (after all, I am a girl that just got engaged), but the thing that stands out to me most about this whole thing is how quietly it has happened. I didn't see Peter for the first time and hear music playing or birds singing. One day I just realized, "Huh. I like Peter." Then later on I thought, "I love Peter." And now it's, "I want to marry Peter." None of this has happened dramatically with a lightning bolt or anything, and you know what? I don't mind. It reminds me of a song from a lesser-known musical called "Flora the Red Menace." Flora sings a song about landing her dream job that I think applies to this situation too. She sings:
When it all comes through just the way you've planned
It's funny, but the bells don't ring.
It's a quiet thing.
When you hold the world in your trembling hand
You'd think you'd hear a choir sing.
But it's a quiet thing.
There are no exploding fireworks.
Where's the roaring of the crowd?
Maybe it's this strange new atmosphere
Way up here among the clouds.
Happiness walks in on tiptoe.
Well, whaddya know.
It's a quiet thing.
A very quiet thing.
O.K., I'd better stop before I give people cavities or indigestion or something. But on June 3rd I'm getting married. Wahoo!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Next stop WNBA? Not on your life.
We won, 38 to 35, and I didn't make a fool out of myself. Okay, so I only touched the ball a grand total of three times. I still had a blast. And whaddya know--bad players get to experience the winner's high right along with the good ones.
Alright, Eleanor
Today I'm playing in the faculty vs. student basketball game in which the women faculty are going to be playing against the 9th grade girls' team. Now this wouldn't be an especially big deal if it weren't for the fact that I don't play basketball. At all. In P.E. I was always picked second to last (unless my best friend was absent, in which case I would be picked very last). I sometimes would play poison at lunch time, but that was in junior high and I can count on one hand the number of times I've touched a basketball since.
The thing is, I'm not that uncoordinated. I love dance, and I can confiscate a hacky sack from my students in mid flight. It's just taken me a while to get to this point. My older sister that I always wanted to be like hated P.E., so I hated it to. She didn't do sports, so I didn't either. I grew up thinking I wasn't athletic, so I would psych myself out. It even got to the point that I hated having teachers toss candy to students for giving the right answer, because I knew I wouldn't be able to catch it. Pathetic, I know. Then an amazing thing happened--one day I stopped caring whether or not I looked like an idiot and I actually caught it. Up to that point I hadn't considered the possibility that the problem wasn't so much in my muscles and reflexes and it was in my mind. Now if this were a story in "Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul," I would now say that this realization made me an incredible athlete overnight and I went on to lead the school basketball team to the state championship. But it didn't. A lifetime of avoiding sports hasn't exactly made me in touch with my athletic side. And I still get cold sweats when they announce that we'll be playing volleyball at the ward picnic. So when they asked me to play basketball, I wasn't exactly skipping though the halls with joy.
In hopes that they could help me not make a fool of myself, I had my friends Mary Ann and Ben give me a crash course in basketball yesterday afternoon. It went surprisingly well, and after we were done I was actually a little excited to play. Today though, my shooting arm is tired, my right buttock is sore, and the anxiety is starting to come back. Don't get me wrong, I know I'll suck it up and have fun with it no matter what, it will just be a lot easier to have fun if I'm not terrible.
So why, you ask, did I agree to play? Guilt, pure and simple. There were only four other faculty members that were going to play, so I would feel bad if the whole thing got canceled just because I wouldn't play. Stupid conscience. Well, I guess there's nothing for it but to play my guts out, not worry about what other people think, and laugh a lot. At least I know Eleanor Roosevelt would be proud of me--I'm doing something today that scares me.
The thing is, I'm not that uncoordinated. I love dance, and I can confiscate a hacky sack from my students in mid flight. It's just taken me a while to get to this point. My older sister that I always wanted to be like hated P.E., so I hated it to. She didn't do sports, so I didn't either. I grew up thinking I wasn't athletic, so I would psych myself out. It even got to the point that I hated having teachers toss candy to students for giving the right answer, because I knew I wouldn't be able to catch it. Pathetic, I know. Then an amazing thing happened--one day I stopped caring whether or not I looked like an idiot and I actually caught it. Up to that point I hadn't considered the possibility that the problem wasn't so much in my muscles and reflexes and it was in my mind. Now if this were a story in "Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul," I would now say that this realization made me an incredible athlete overnight and I went on to lead the school basketball team to the state championship. But it didn't. A lifetime of avoiding sports hasn't exactly made me in touch with my athletic side. And I still get cold sweats when they announce that we'll be playing volleyball at the ward picnic. So when they asked me to play basketball, I wasn't exactly skipping though the halls with joy.
In hopes that they could help me not make a fool of myself, I had my friends Mary Ann and Ben give me a crash course in basketball yesterday afternoon. It went surprisingly well, and after we were done I was actually a little excited to play. Today though, my shooting arm is tired, my right buttock is sore, and the anxiety is starting to come back. Don't get me wrong, I know I'll suck it up and have fun with it no matter what, it will just be a lot easier to have fun if I'm not terrible.
So why, you ask, did I agree to play? Guilt, pure and simple. There were only four other faculty members that were going to play, so I would feel bad if the whole thing got canceled just because I wouldn't play. Stupid conscience. Well, I guess there's nothing for it but to play my guts out, not worry about what other people think, and laugh a lot. At least I know Eleanor Roosevelt would be proud of me--I'm doing something today that scares me.
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