Turkey Sandwich When I was Sick

After about 8 months of marriage, one of us was bound to get sick, and I was the first. I was about 4 months pregnant, and had the flu, so, I was quite exhausted. I remember the look on your face. You were concerned. You wanted to help. You kept asking me if I wanted something, anything. I lay there in bed, really not wanting anything, but you looked at me with “puppy-dog eyes” and practically begged me to let you do something. I said, “Well, I guess I would like a turkey sandwich. (insert dramatic pause) a roasted turkey sandwich.” You asked me to explain and I said, “Make the sandwich with 2 slices of bread, a piece of turkey on one side and a piece of Swiss cheese on the other side, then you stick them in the broiler for just a minute and then you bring it to me.” Not too complicated, right? You had never cooked anything for me before that time, so I felt a bit spoiled and anxiously waited. I started getting worried when it took longer than I thought it should. Finally, after about 30 minutes, you brought me my lunch. NO KIDDING, NO EXAGGERATION: It was black, burnt to a charcoal on both halves. Your puppy-dog eyes explained that you tried. That was more than 20 years ago, and I don’t think you have ever cooked a thing for me since. (We both prefer it that way)

First Argument

We were poor, new to BYU student housing, and our car had broken down. But, no problem, we had our bikes. So we donned on our back packs, you with your big Army back pack and me with a smaller day pack and we rode off to the nearest grocery store. There we bought the basic essentials and made sure we had enough money left over for one special treat. We decided we would splurge on a carton of ice cream. The entire ride to the store I kept imagining the cool refreshing comforting chocolate ice-cream we would be buying. Maybe it would be Rocky Road, or Burnt Almond Fudge. How about Chocolate Chip Mint. Yummy. All our shopping was done, and all that was left was selecting which kind of ice cream we would get. I saw the smile on your face. It matched mine as we looked in the freezer. “Well, should we get Rocky Road? OR Chocolate chip mint?” I asked. You scrunched up you nose. “Rocky Road? I was thinking Vanilla.” “Vanilla” I replied in shock. No one actually ate vanilla ice cream did they? I knew you would take my side, because I was your wife and you loved me and you wanted me to be happy so I was sure that explaining to you that I only like chocolate ice cream would bring to pass the obvious choice without further discussion. You replied “I don’t like chocolate.” We were at an impasse. Suddenly I realized that my happiness wasn’t the only one that mattered in our relationship. I still remember thinking: “First Argument-ice cream”

First FHE

It amazes me that we had the where-with-all to have Family Home Evenings right from the start. Just you and I. I get so thrilled when I read the notes I took (as acting secretary) of the discussions we had. Those first FHEs were a time for us to acknowledge our goals and our desires for our life together, for our family, together. Together we shared our dreams and our ideals of who we wanted to be.

First Apartment

First Apartment
Thank you, Marshall. Your sweetness in making a great effort to find, and pay for such a fine place for us to start out our lives together meant a lot to me. I loved standing on the balcony and looking into the trees of Fort Lewis, knowing you were there, hard at work. I loved having a “slumber party” by the fireplace. And I loved cooking our first meals in that sweet little kitchen. I always laugh when I think of the glass pie plate that I cleverly used as a frying pan exploding, flying hot glass everywhere. But the funniest memory is when you took all of my clothes and all of the towels out of the bathroom while I was showering, forcing me to make due with a single washcloth to preserve my modesty as I ran through the apartment in search of my robe.

First Kiss

Journal Entry January 22 1987: I am excited for the opportunity of being a mother some day. The world is so tough, and I know that so many of the children who are coming to earth are going to go through some hard times. I know that Marshall and I will have a good home with the gospel as its core. I feel so honored to know that I have the responsibility of nurturing His children in Righteousness. I I pray that as a mother I will always listen to the spirit. I am so excited!

The anticipation of the first kiss would cause my heart to skip a beat, partly for nervousness and partly for excitement. When would it happen? How would it happen? Would it ever happen? We had already been engaged for about 5 weeks, and kissing was yet to take its place. I wondered: Would it be in the car? A good night at the door? Would you just grab me and place one on me? Or would you move in slowly and would I need to cock my head to one side or the other? How would I know which side? I mean if I went left and you went right, well, that could be confusing. Were you as nervous about it as I was? Or would you maintain your calm persona and act like Humphrey Bogart? We were sitting on the floor of the playroom in the Gleed home, where I was employed as a Nanny. I remember thinking how ironic it was that you and I, about to enter into a serious, grown-up commitment like marriage, were sitting together, laughing on the floor of a “Playroom” We were sitting side by side, only in opposite directions so that my legs, sprawled out in front of me, were in the opposite direction of yours, which were sprawled out in front of you, yet behind me. We were just talking, and laughing and I turned my head to glance at you, ready to say something brilliant, and suddenly, unexpectedly, you leaned forward and gently, quickly, softly, pressed your lips against mine. It was a magical moment. All the world fell silent, my heart stopped beating, I looked into your eyes and raising my eyebrows in wonder quietly said “You’re pretty brave”. Your classic response will be cherished forever: “I can be braver.” A few days later, came kiss number two and yes, you were braver.

First Hug (At The Airport)

Journal Entry December 8, 1986: Marshall and I are engaged. I am so happy. I know he loves me. When we said good-bye tonight he said in such a beautiful and loving way, “I have so much to be thankful for.”

It is funny now, looking back, to see how slowly and timidly the physical contact between us developed. We had been engaged for nearly 4 weeks. You asked me to marry you, I said yes, and a few days later you were off to Jackson, Michigan for 3 weeks of leave from the Army. We barely knew each other, we only went on maybe 3 dates, we never held hands, or cuddled, or even brushed up against each other. I didn’t miss your warm embrace, your gentle caresses, your sweet snuggles, because we never had those things in the first place. I was basically just bored while you were gone during those weeks because I couldn’t date anyone else, and I was pretty sure you didn’t really miss me either. So what was I to do? Should I go running up to you, tears streaming down my face and jump into your arms where we would express our undying love and terrible pain at being apart for those few weeks? No, we would not do that. I would just smile, and sweetly say “Welcome Home.” I had on my best casual clothes, and spent extra time on my hair and make-up. (First impressions for a second time) I stood tall and as confident, (ok, “proud”) as I could and proceeded to walk to the airport gate. It was late at night. The lights in the airport were dim because it was so late. There were no other people in the great hallway I was walking down and my steps echoed on the walls and off the ceiling. Then I saw you. Your plane was a little early and you were coming to meet me. My heart stopped. “Will he love me still?” I wondered. I slowed my step and tried to read your thoughts and calm my heart. “Just calmly walk up and say, ‘welcome home’” I kept telling myself. You smiled, your perfect teeth shining through your gently curved lips. Your eyes softened, your shoulders, always up tight and straight suddenly relaxed and you cocked your head to one side. We walked toward each other, just silently looking at each other. I thought “My, how handsome he is.” I walked up next to you and without a word you placed your arm around me, you hugged me and held me, and warmed me through, deep into my soul. You were home, with me. I was where I wanted to be, and that was with you, my friend, my soul-mate, my Marshall. “Welcome Home” I softly whispered, and you just smiled, and we walked arm in arm down that long, quiet hallway in a silent embrace.

Jackson Map (First Love)

Journal Entry November 18, 1986: I may be needing to get a new job-which would mean “leaving” Tacoma, and Marshall. I always thought I shouldn’t plan my life around a guy unless it was for marriage, but Marshall hasn’t asked me-so there are no guarantees except for what I felt in prayer that one night. Tonight I felt so concerned, so confused and a bit depressed. I got on my knees and poured out my heart, fears and worries in prayer. And then, for just a second or so, I felt this wonderful assurance that yes, indeed I needed to act with assurance with faith on the answered I received to my previous prayers. I just felt so much love from my Heavenly Father. Then the feeling was gone. I know that I must act on faith. . .

Our second date. We were in your little grey Chirico car and you were trying to describe your home town to me. You said something of lakes, and parks and showed me the Michigan Mitten on your hand. I was not really “seeing” what you were trying to describe so you pulled over the car and opened your glove box. You pulled out several maps, and found the one you wanted. You carefully unfolded your map and said, “See? Here is Detroit, and here is Lansing, and right here is Jackson. This little blue spot here is Vandercook Lake and my house would be riiiiiight here.” You pointed to something. I looked at your map, and I looked at your finger, and my heart dropped. I felt empty and alone. Suddenly, you were a thousand miles away at a place I have never been to, a place that was such a huge part of your life, and yet I was not a part of that place. You were not a part of me. I was not a part of you. I was just a small moment in a big life and this moment would pass, your life would pass, possibly without me in it. Me. Just a passing memory. I knew then that I was falling in love.

First Dance

Journal Entry November 13, 1986: While in prayer several days ago, I felt this huge feeling come over me and I really believe that our Father in Heaven was telling me not to give up on Marshall, that he is and will be a significant part of my life. I truly believe that I received this as inspiration and that inspiration carried with it a strong conviction that lasted for 2 days. I can not deny what I felt. . . The past 10 days have been wonderful. I have been able to talk to Marshall many times, have spent some time with him and I love who he is, what his goals and ideals are and how I feel while I am with him. He is really helping me to continue serving the Lord, and keeping high standards, and always striving to better myself. I would love to be his wife. I would always honor him, and help him to achieve his goals. Through all of this I always remember “The will of the Lord be done.”

Ya, I had a Hollywood moment. How else can I describe it. It was in the most un-romantic place, (the church gym) at the most un-romantic time (a Stake Young Adult Dance) You asked me to dance. I supposed you were bored, and could sense that I was waiting for you to ask me to dance, which I was, and you did. It was all kind of ordinary, blasé, predictable. We danced a simple swing, hand in hand when I noticed things around me started disappearing. First the chairs, then the people, then the walls and finally the music. We were there, just you and I and everything else was gone, it was just gone. You were wearing your white shirt, neatly pressed. That’s all I saw, was you in your white shirt, looking deeply into my eyes as we spun around the room in complete silence. “How is this possible?” I kept asking myself over and over, “This is all so real, yet so not possible.” The dance ended, you walked me back to my spot on the wall where I stood for a few moments, dazed and confused. “What just happened?” I kept asking myself over and over. We still dance, and the world still disappears, and there is still just you, and it is wonderful.

Nice Physique

Journal Entry November 2, 1986: I have met many nice people here in Tacoma. In all honesty, I am a bit nervous. I can’t explain myself, but I think there will be someone in my life soon. Yes, a serious someone. I just pray that I can and always will listen and obey the spirit of truth.

Yah, I looked. Can you blame me? I mean, really, there you were in your snazzy dazzy sweat suit, (brilliant dark blue) doing your snazzy dazzy jumps, (spiking the ball) and I looked. It was volleyball night for a combined Stake Young Adult activity. You were there, and so was I and so were some of our friends from our stake and so were a number of other people we had never seen before. I saw those girls watching you, wondering about you. I knew their thoughts. They were thinking you were a nice guy, someone they should introduce themselves to. Perhaps you were “the one” they had been looking for. I knew they were talking about you. I could see it in their eyes, in their glances, and in their smiles of approval. I was watching you too. I saw how you split your time between playing volleyball, socializing and working on something for a class. You were studying in the hallway. When it was your turn to play volleyball, you would run into they gym and play a mean game until it was your turn to rotate out, then you would leave the gym and study some more. You had a charming smile that you shared with everyone. Your eyes would light up as you greeted your team members and introduced yourself to the many people who were there. I was glad that I had gotten a ride with you so that I would be one of the last people you would see that night. I knew those girls would be jealous if they knew that I was special, because I would be getting a ride home from the cute, athletic, smart guy. I actually went up to talk with them. OK, they were nice, yah they were talking about you, and they weren’t too interested in including me in their conversations. I stepped apart from them. I glanced at all the other Young Adult men in the gym. There were a lot that night, a lot that I didn’t know, and there was you. I didn’t dare look at you though. I knew what I would see, and, well, I just shouldn’t look at you right then. I avoided glancing your way. I could see from the corner of my eyes that you were there, jumping and spiking the ball, digging down and diving for your team, but I didn’t look. I had never before looked at a guy for the sole purpose of seeing how he was built. And I wasn’t going to do it now. I refused to lessen myself as a person just to see what kind of shape you were in. But after wrestling with myself about it for several minutes, I decided to just give in and look. Not just glance, but really look at you as I never looked at you before. And I saw it. Exactly what I thought I’d see. Time stood still and I saw you, in slow motion, jumping up for the ball. Your arm stretching high above your head in perfect form, your white and blue t-shirt forming tightly around your chest and your stomach showing incredible form and muscle definition. Your silky blue sweat pants waved gently around your amazing quads and your toes pointed nearly two feet off the ground. Yah, I had seen it. The figure of Michelangelo’s “David” just jumped before me and spiked the ball. Wow. Pretty Cool. I can’t believe I looked.

Singing "Abide With Me"

Journal Entry September 28, 1986. I FEEL SO DEPRESSED, and lonely. I’ve decided that I probably will never get married. All of the eligible guys are at BYU and here I am in Tacoma, Washington. . .I am trying to find meaning to my life. . . There are probably many people here who feel maybe just as lonely, or even lonelier than me, so I’m going to try to take some of that loneliness away. I pray that I will have help with this. . .

Even now, as I write this, I can hear the sweet sounds of a young, humble man singing in a clear, warm tenor tone, the pleading words of the hymn “Abide With Me”. Our good friend, and my potential suitor, thought it would be a brilliant idea if the Young Adults in our stake got together a choir and our debut song was to be “Abide With Me.” (Mostly because it was one of the few hymns I could play flawlessly). The “choir” was a group of 4 of the Young Adult men, and I gladly accepted the invitation to be pianist. I had already set my eyes on you, and knew this would be an opportunity to get to know you better. (Yea!) We practiced sometimes as a choir and sometimes you and I alone (so you could learn the tenor notes). Your voice was amazing, warm, tender, real. Hearing you sing the beautiful, solemn tenor notes in the song brought such a peace and a calm thrill to my soul. It still does. I still strain to hear your voice every time that song is sung. I love the sound of your voice.

(It was during one of these practices, when you and I were practicing alone, in the chapel together, that your Bishop walked in on us and decided that you needed to “Marry that girl!”.)