Saturday, May 06, 2006

straight from the horse's mouth

Here is a story to warm your hearts. The following words are those of my Uncle.

It was a big surprise. All Monica knew was that I was
taking her away for our fifth anniversary. We got in
the car and drove for hours, arriving at the hotel,
which I found on Travel and Leisure's list of the
"best 500 hotels in the world."
We stayed in the same room that you see on the
homepage:

http://www.mirrorlakeinn.com/

When we checked in, I took her to the hotel spa and
said "This is Monica Drake. She has a massage at 7pm."


She grinned from ear to ear.

As she was getting massaged, I hurried back to the
room and put candles everywhere, then ordered a bottle
of champagne. When she came back, thinking that the
lakeside suite and massage were her presents, she saw
the room aglow with candles and the champagne
chilling. We took two glasses out on the private
veranda to watch the sun set. Then, I turned to her
and said, "so are you ready for your presents now?"

"What," she said. "There's more?"

She loves surprises, so I made a scavenger hunt for
her. Her first clue, I said, was "this is the thing
you always want me to stay on longer..."

"The phone," she screamed, and ran to find the room's
phone. Under it was a card telling her that she was my
best friend. It also included two coupons, each to be
redeemed when she wanted me to stay on the phone
longer, even if I wanted to get off. She howled with
delight.

We took another sip of champagne and looked out at the
lake.

"OK, you ready for the next one?"

"There's more," she said. "This is the best day ever!"

The next clue led her to a card with a long message
and two more coupons: one for the chick flick of her
choice, the other for the dinner of her choice. She
danced around some more.

Then more champagne, more views of the lake. A few
more minutes go by....

"OK, time for more presents," I said. She screamed
"this is better than Christmas!"

The third clue led to a card with what she thought
must be the final present: a coupon for a night out on
the town of her choice; and another coupon for a
weekend getaway of her choice.

She jumped up and down. More champagne. More lake
views. A few more minutes.....

There's still one more card, I told her. "No way.
That's impossible," she said, but beaming.

With the help of another clue, she dug up the final
card from under the pillows, and it had a picture of a
caramel colored baby on the front. Inside, I told her
that I thought she would be a wonderful mother. There
were two more coupons inside: one for "a honeymoon";
one for "one family."

"huh?" she said.

Then I got down on one knee and pulled a diamond ring
from my pocket.

The instant she saw it, she started to cry, so much so
that I started crying too. Then she began jumping up
and down, and tackled me on the bed. She pinned me
down and pumped her arms in the air like a champion.

It was such an emotional time. We both laughed and
cried at the same time.

Friday, May 05, 2006

the way I want to remember it

Sometime during the fall of 2003, I stumbled across my Uncle's journal. You're probably thinking, "Yeah, 'stumbled' is right." Well if you must know, the story goes, while encouraging me to catalog the books I've read, my uncle shared with me his own testament to self-edification (title, author, date read) housed in the unlined pages of his journal. As I approached the end of the list and the bottom of the page, I turned it, expecting a continuation. Instead, however, I found an awesomely alluring bit of poetry. The first indication, though, that my uncle had not intended it to be a "poem" was the rather unpoetic formatting. The second was the date that possessively hovered above the text like a title. It couldn't be a letter because it wasn't addressed to anyone, though it definitely had a sense of audience. It began something like, "I was so ready to love her...." I won't risk doing his words a disservice by attempting to recreate the rest of it from memory, but the gist was a conscious vulnerability with a recent crush. It was most certainly a journal entry, either inspired by or written on the date with which it was apparently associated. It was beautiful, laden with tension, longing, unrequited— He snatched it out of my hand.

"Don’t read that."
“Did that really happen? Like that?”
“Maybe.”
“You made it up?”
“No. I just told it the way I wanted to remember it.”
“Did this even happen on that day?”
“I don’t remember. I guess it did.”
“Well, is a journal fiction or non-fiction?”
“You decide.”

Not to be over dramatic or anything, but I literally changed the way that I journal that day. An account, my account, I often found boring to recall, tedious to write, and rarely worth rereading. But a story—now that has the makings of something artful, full of characters, conflict, and most importantly artistic tension.

Basically, this is roundabout way of explaining my blog. This is my life. But also, insofar as it is a story I consciously succumb to the inevitability of perspective and tell it the way I deem it worth remembering.