What’s Next?

~ JodiLea ~ 1 Comment

A Guest Post by Susan

Well, after 43 years of marriage, you’d think I’d know what to expect.

I am a golf widow 5 days a week, sounds great, but he’s up at 4am to tee off at dawn and home by 10 am about the time my day is beginning, otherwise known as NO TIME TO MYSELF! It’s OK, I’ve adjusted. What I have not gotten used to is what he brings home at 6am!

One time an escaped dog, I had to find it’s owner while he went back to finish his game.

Another time it was an injured rabbit which I had him put in a box and cover so I didn’t have to face the bunny while I drove him to the humane society so he could recover?! And yes, he went back to finish his golf game.

Next time, he woke me up with an injured duck, seems he just crash landed on a green and couldn’t walk, this time he didn’t go back to his game cause someone had to keep the duck from struggling to get up while I drove to the humane society so he could get fixed!

The last time he surprised me early in the morning with a towel full of eggs (duck eggs) he found and was worried they were exposed! I asked him what he wanted, an omelet? Of course he was offended, I called the humane society to find out what we should do with them. I’m sure you would have done what they suggested, ‘PUT THEM BACK!’  After some discussion and protesting, he put them back.

I’m waiting to see what’s next…

Anybody need a bleeding heart golfer?

After The Wedding

~ JodiLea

A real treat today…

DJMatticus has graced ‘Not Pretending’ with a guest post! On Sunday I re-blogged his post about his wedding. Now is the follow-up you’ve been waiting for…

The snow capped peaks rolled into the pristine sky. The air was so clear you felt like you could see to the ocean if those same peaks weren’t resting on the horizon. The icy chill of the morning snapped out at the exposed flesh of our cheeks, noses, lips, and we didn’t care. Though, we are getting ahead of ourselves a bit.

The queen and I were married in April, in Mammoth. The end of the season, the start of spring, and yet, when we stepped out onto the snow at the top of the mountain (11,000 feet) for our champagne toast there were still eighteen feet of packed powder below our polished shoes, suit, and wedding dress. The day was cool, and the queen put on the little jacket she had made to accompany her gown, but as long as we were walking around we never felt cold. The vast mountains of the California Sierra thrust out of the ground around us. Banner, Ritter, and The Minarets watched on us we danced across the snow, jubilant, giddy. It was a perfect day.

After the wedding we had to drive home to unpack, do some laundry, repack and then catch our plane off to our honeymoon. There was quite the disconnect as we drove away from the mountains, away from the cool clean air, through the deserts. We skirted past Death Valley. We drove straight through the Mojave. We melted. It was miserable. It was silly and we laughed at ourselves. We married on the snow, to drive through the desert, to honeymoon on the snow.

We landed in Vancouver, got on a bus, and headed up to Whistler. There we spent four days enjoying the majesty of the Canadian Rockies. We enjoyed the icy chill in the air. We reveled in the scope of the rolling mountains. We cut some trails and tested our limits and endurance. We were never apart. We never wanted to be. Sadly, reluctantly, we packed up once again and headed for home. We wished we could take the coolness with us. We wished we could somehow stay forever, lost in our perfect conditions and stolen time away from responsibilities, the real world, life. We daydreamed about the life we could carve out if we didn’t return home.

Going on five years later, I have to say that while we haven’t yet returned to Whistler, some of the magic we felt while we were there has stayed with us. The coolness has tempered our emotions. The beauty has never left our eyes. The adventure urges us on. We added a little prince to our family this year. We’ve already taken him to Mammoth and let him experience the wonder that is the Top Of The Sierra. Soon enough he too will be joining us as we strap ourselves to pieces of plastic and throw ourselves off the side of mountains. Soon enough he too will know that living life with adventure in your heart is the only way to live.

Better Late Than Never

~ JodiLea ~ 1 Comment

A Guest Post by Jennifer Windram

My husband and I can’t be bothered with things like time and dates. We are above them, beyond them and oblivious to them.

It all began with our engagement. My husband planned to propose on an early morning hike, which of course was a surprise to me. Well, hiking in Colorado usually calls for some forethought, some planning. My soon to be fiancé took care of all the details (food, location, gear) but thought nothing of time. We slept in, lingered at breakfast. I was ready to give up the prospect of hiking–it was already past seven in the morning. But he was insistent and we went. We were too late to get good parking, the storms rolled in by the time we reached the top and the day was long gone by the time we descended. Lesson learned we told ourselves. We will never run late like that again.

Skip to our wedding day. We decided to elope in the San Juan Islands. The ceremony was in the afternoon so we went hiking. There was plenty of time right? Soon we were partway up the mountain, just a little more to go. We reasoned that it would be quicker going down. We’d have plenty of time. Nope. We were 30 minutes late to our own wedding.

A couple of years later and we can’t remember any of our anniversary dates. Our first date was some time in July, after the fourth is all I know. We finally head to the restaurant where we first wooed each other in August, maybe in September, because we can’t remember the exact date and forget about it anyway.

Last year, on our wedding anniversary, my parents sent us well wishes before I even realized the importance of the day.

This year, though, was the most embarrassing. We were on vacation in Colonial Virginia, staying at a lovely B&B. Guests were gathered on the patio, enjoying appetizers. We took turns sharing tidbits about our trips and why we chose to stay at this B&B.

The couple sitting next to me explained that they had gotten married at this B&B, a year ago to the day. It was their one-year anniversary. I nodded and congratulated them.

Then my husband elbowed me and said under his breath, “what day is it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Sunday?”

“No, the date,” he whispered. “I think it’s our anniversary.”

I looked at the calendar on my phone and sure enough it was. Everyone seemed amused, maybe somewhat sorry for us–the poor couple that can’t even remember their own anniversary.

But that’s now how I see it. I feel like my life with him is one big blur of happiness. Time just flies. In my mind, there was no start date, it has always been. There is no need to count, or keep track, because just as we have always been, we will always be. Forever. When people ask me how long I’ve been married, I stumble over my words, quickly trying to do the math. I usually end up saying something like, “I don’t know. Around six or seven years. Who’s counting anyway?”

I’ll admit, though, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for our tenth or twenty-fifth anniversary. Those are biggies. Maybe by then we’ll have added the date to our calendar or at least have learned to always leave thirty minutes early. Even if we think we have time to get down the mountain, then get dressed, do our (my) hair, buy flowers, find the ceremony location…

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