Looking back it doesn’t seem like my future husband and I courted for 2 years before our one year engagement. It was a slower start than it feels like now.  My first rose came Valentine’s day during my Junior year of high school. He “had an extra one” and asked if I wanted it. Umm…I guess so. He has since admitted that there was nothing extra about it.

The whole next year, from December to December, was when we built a friendship. Even though we grew up together we never really talked, and there was a lot to learn about each other. The notes from that time are filled with get-to-know-you party type of questions. What color do you like? Where do you want to travel? What is in your dream house?  The notes were folded in all kinds of crazy ways, taped, stapled, and one was even duct taped! 

My first present from him was a 3 cell Maglite. Bear with me, it was more romantic than it sounds. The spring of my Junior year of high school was when I applied and was hired for my first job as a caverns tour guide. I had excitedly told him that they provided the uniform shirt, but I had to buy this certain flashlight. Soon it appeared in my school desk with a congratulatory note AND a belt holder for the flashlight. That belt holder was the envy of many a tour guide. Okay, maybe it still doesn’t sound romantic, but it was really special. I also have to admit that he knew what he was doing because I would use the flashlight almost every day and think of him. [Read more...]

From bought cards to bits of scrap papers.  From “Dear friend” to fiance.  From formal Happy Birthday to mushy wedding count downs.  Two shoeboxes full of letters and notes linger from the 3 years of our courtship.  We still remember the letter that started it all…

My husband is one year older than I am, but he graduated high school 2 years ahead of me because his birthday is in the beginning of September and mine is in the middle of December.  He left for college and I went back to my junior year of school thinking I was better off without him around.

Then a strange thing happened. I missed him. How could that be? He was a thorn in my side, the pain in my neck, the itch that wouldn’t go away.

He had always been there. Then he was gone. We had barely talked to each other for years, but if I really needed something he helped me. I remember one teen outing in particular that was a rough night for me. Some things were going on, and he seemed to sense that I was having a rough time. I still don’t remember actually talking to each other; just doors held, dropped things picked up, small chilvarous actions that helped me through a night that still stands out as one of the roughest of my life.

So now he was off at college where there were lots of girls. It surely wouldn’t hurt to write him. I remember that I thought about it for almost a week before I sent the letter.  I expected him to never write back and that would be that. In fact, I didn’t put my name on the envelope, only the address, just in case he saw my name and threw the letter out. When my letter turned up in his mailbox he was totally surprised. He thought that was my address, but never thought I would actually write to him. He remembers that he picked up his mail on the way to a class and had to wait to open it.  He wrote back! That started a flurry of letters that continued when he came home around Christmas time. Every time I wrote he would write back.  That is pretty incredible if you know my husband.  He just doesn’t have the card/letter writing gene.

Neither of us can remember what that first letter said.  My husband said that the letter itself was the amazing thing; the content was not important.  I dug out the boxes trying to find that first letter  [that was a job!] but didn’t see it. The notes revived some memories to share with you next time.

The links for the rest of the story are on My Romance page.

Sometimes at parties the women take turns telling how they met their mate. I would have to say, “I don’t remember.” Sounds bad doesn’t it, but I was about 5 years old. Give me a break!

The first memory I have of the boy that would someday be my husband is from first grade. I was laying on the couch in the school hallway waiting for my mom to pick me up. I had thrown up but I wasn’t really sick, even then my gag reflex was strong. He was walking in line with his class on the way to their room and the boys taunted me with cries of “sickie.” Now that’s the way to meet the future love of your life.

Pile that on top of the fact that he was a yucky boy and I really did not like him.

A year later we were both attending a small private academy. He was able to torture me further with spit balls, getting me out in rousing games of kickball, and narrowly beating me in the Bible reading competition. By 4th grade I had a crush on him; by 8th grade I hated him.

We both recall a time  in our early teen years when we called a truce on the animosity. My mom was working in the school office and I would wait for her to be done after school was out. He hung around and played Frisbee with me. Neither of us can remember how it got started. He would show up with a Frisbee after school and we would stand on each side of the field throwing it back and forth. We didn’t even speak 5 words to each other. It was just catch and throw, catch and throw. I didn’t want the other kids to know that I was playing Frisbee with him. When they found out, I quit.

On it went through high school and youth group. He hit me in the face with a mud ball; I pulled the plug dumping his supersoaker tank and drenching him. He would hold the door for me, but when I grudgingly said, “Thank you” he’d reply with, “You’re not welcome.” I perfected the art of ignoring his existence.  No one would have been able to call us friends. 

So how did we ever get married? I’ll continue if you’re interested in hearing more.

The links for the rest of the story are on My Romance page.