Misc


Devil's Den State Park

Image via Wikipedia

Skimming back through the spring of 2007, I realized that I never really wrote about Rob proposing to me over Spring Break that year. If I have written about it, I don’t recall or perhaps the references were in passing from one idea to another in a blog entry that was likely totally unrelated to the event.

We spent the March vacation together in Arkansas mostly at Devil’s Den State Park though the week began with us taking Dee to my parents’ home in Dubuque.

Actually, the week began on a Thursday with Rob meeting Dee.

I’d stayed home sick from work. It was just conferences and being one of the drop out prevention teachers, I expected no one in particular to show up. I left a sign up sheet for anyone who did on my desk, asking for name, number or email with the promise to get in touch right after the holiday. I think there were two names – parents I was already in regular contact with anyway.

But I was exhausted and worried about Dad, who had just discovered a tumor in his lower intestinal tract and had yet learned if it was cancer or not (it wasn’t that time) and Rob was due to arrive that afternoon.

And I wasn’t packed.

I am never packed.

The Dubuque leg of the journey went smoothly. My parents and sisters were highly suspicious of this long distance, too quick for their liking romance but were keeping their stronger opinions to themselves. Partly because I had made it clear that I wasn’t polling the audience for input and also because my history with dating was such that they knew I brought no one home to meet the family unless I was sure. Case in point? They’d only ever met one boyfriend – Will.

I was not worried about them meeting Rob and he was completely zen.

St. Patrick’s Day was on a Friday. We drove back to Des Moines in the late morning and spent the afternoon “catching up” before getting ready for a dinner date with BFF and her husband.

The dinner was another meet and greet for Rob. He knew BFF because they emailed too.* Her husband was a high school buddy of Will’s, one of the very few friends who bothered to visit Will when he was ill, at home or in the nursing home. He made an effort to be helpful after and was good to Dee – the only one of Will’s friends who bothered about her at all.

But he liked Rob, in spite of himself I think. I would imagine it difficult to see your friend’s wife in love and happy with someone else, but he rose to the occasion with grace and a smile.

After dinner and a show at the local comedy club, it was home rather early because we still had to grocery shop and pack the truck for our drive on Saturday.

We were crawling into bed when the subject of the future came up and Rob wanted me to know that his intentions were serious and life-long. He rummaged through his suitcase and pulled out a ring box.

As he took out the ring he said, “I can’t say the words yet but I want you to wear this.”

I tried to assure him I didn’t need the ring until he was ready because I knew we would get married, but he insisted.

“It’s stupid that I can’t just say it,” he said, “but I will ask formally. Please wear it.”

So I did.

It was Sunday night when he asked. We were in bed again. So many important moments in my life have found me supine.

“Remember what I said when I gave you the ring?” he asked. “Will you marry me?”

And now its four years later. No time at all really and yet at this point with Will, he was dying and absent from our relationship in every way that really counts.

Not a Hallmark moment. More Judd Apatow rom-com perhaps. But outcomes are what make up bottom lines and the sum total of ours is healthy and in the black.

*She had wanted to check him out a bit, so he began including her in some of the notes he sent me when he had a funny vid or joke to share.


Stalking Tiger

Image by Martin_Heigan via Flickr

Occasionally, my stat counter puts up crazy one or two-day page view surges that indicate someone new – usually widowed – has stumbled across my blog and is reading nearly everything I ever wrote. Fine. The blog is hardly a “how to” on the subject of coping and certainly heretical in terms of my opinions on all topics death, but I am confident that these readers will figure that out and move on or not as their needs dictate.

But this week, someone is trolling my archives for all the posts I have written about my experiences and observations about the area where I live.

And the creepy thing is that this someone lives in a nearby town.

I know this because Rob installed a program that allows me to track IP addresses and general locations of the people who land here.

This individual is  quite specifically reading only posts about things that are happening or have happened locally and deliberately working back from the homepage to try to disguise his/her intentions. The tracker lets me know how long they spend on each post though, so I know which ones are being read and which are being skipped over.  I can’t help but wonder if something sinister is up because honestly, people who spend time and energy trying to figure out who and where you are probably are up to no good.

If I had a big readership, I wouldn’t notice at all. But my dear readers, you are a wonderful, though not particularly numerous, bunch. The person behind the IP gives off a malicious vibe, and the fact that he/she is back for a second day – jiggles my spidey senses.

A little detective work of my own is in order.


Freshman college girls between classes. By sta...

Image via Wikipedia

Current bloggy conundrum hypothetical debate:

If you could be transported back to 1900 with your current income, would you take the deal? The answer is almost certainly no. Sure, your current income would go a hell of a long way in 1900, but you’d still swelter in the summer because all the money in the world couldn’t buy you an air conditioner. Ditto for plane travel, penicillin, automobiles, etc. etc. Even with a lot of money, 1900 looks pretty crappy.

And I think we’d have to agree with this assessment. In 1900 they didn’t have tampons and women dropped dead young and in alarming numbers. Enough said.

But what about 1973?

Again, your income would go a lot further (about 5x further, in fact), which means you’d be pretty well off … Obviously you’d miss your cell phone and the internet and your HD television with 300 channels. But a car would still basically be a car, and interstate highways are about the same as now. Ditto for plane travel, antibiotics, air conditioners,
etc. etc. So what do you say?

Now, I remember 1973. I was nine most of that year and in grade four. Too young really to notice the politics, the economics or the social inequity. Not probably stellar in terms of being female, and I remember chafing under the gender yoke even at nine, but in terms of standard of living – not bad either.

Movies theatres were still awesome with big screens and wide cushy seats. Okay, no cup holders. Anywhere. But a person could sacrifice that tiny modern amenity for a kick ass standard of living.

Clothing was ugly. You got me there and it was spandex free, so those of us who are accustomed to buying too small and counting on elasticity would be shit out of luck.

Music was good. Even the bubblegum pop has stood up better than Katy Perry or Justin Bieber ever will.

And this time, you get the added bonus of living 1973 as an adult* – if you weren’t then. I suspect the 70’s was quite different for those of legal age.

So, what do you say? 1973? Who’s with me?

 

*Rob pointed out that as an adult, he would be dead in either scenario due to the whole “heart thing”. Which is a good point. People with medical issues that only recently made great strides in cure/maintenance should probably pass on the time machine.