As I sit here, thinking of you on our wedding anniversary, many thoughts and memories come to mind.
I think of that fateful night we took a walk together. It was Monday, August 25, 2003 - the evening I had arrived at Burningman that year. I had arrived at around 10pm that evening, setup my tent, donned some zebra print pants and my light up EL wire fairy wings, and proceeded to walk to the nearest party, which was at your hopping Mojito hut. You had neon orange hair, shorts that matched, and a smile that made your eyes twinkle. It was a warm, mild night, unusual for the desert once the sun went down. After the party died down, many of us proceeded to your chill space under your lovely parachute shade structure. We all talked, relaxed, and eventually you said you were going for a walk. I caught what I thought was a quick glance at me and joined you, along with a few other people. Eventually the others seemed to drop off and it was just you and I, walking into the desert. We sat down and were wonderfully alone in the deep playa. That was back when Burningman was smaller... back when you could be totally alone in the deep playa early on in the week (which isn't the case now). We talked, gazed upon the moon and the Man, cuddled some, and walked some more. The wind picked up and it began to get a bit dusty and crazy in that wonderful Burningman way. Eventually we found ourselves standing, kissing, wind and dust all around us, which just made us feel that much more together, that much more alone from everyone else on the planet. I remember you sliding your arms under my camelback and holding me close, and how much I completely melted into you, fell into you, lost myself in you. I remember feeling safer in your arms than I had ever felt before. We walked, held each other, and kissed that night, which somehow turned into the next day, which somehow turned into a week of bliss together. I fell in love that week and will always cherish the memory of falling in love in the most romantic way possible - in the desert with blinky light up clothing, dusty boots, goggles, a camel back, amidst dust storms and the most wonderfully creative people in the world.
As I sit here, I also think of those next couple months together. I remember how we fell into a pattern of spending every night together... how easy and natural it all was. I remember you buying me my first pair of real hiking boots, my first gortex jacket, and taking me on an overnight hike to Surprise Lake. I could sense then that it was the first of many many camping trips together, and that I had deeply endeared myself to my NW native sweetheart by loving the NW camping experience. I remember you treating me to a trip to Victoria, on the clipper ship, and how we layed around half the time ordering room service in the hotel. I remember you asking me to move in with you after we had been together just 2 months, and how I said yes in an instant. I felt safer, more comfortable, more myself, more grounded, more in love with you after 2 months than I had with other boyfriends after 1.5 yrs. A month later (the day after Thanksgiving), I moved into your home. Our possessions seemed to fit together naturally, as if to indicate the life that was to come. We expected some conflict over who gets to keep their comforter or their dishes or couch or whatever, but somehow such conflict was absent.
Then, December 20, you said you wanted to take me out for a nice dinner. We dined at the Waterfront Grill. You seemed so happy, so alive, so twinkly during the meal Afterwards, we walked along the water at Myrtle Edwards park and you asked me to marry you. You were so happy, so alive... I could tell that every cell in your body, every bit of your soul wanted to be with me, and I felt the same way. I said yes without even looking at the ring, because it could have been a piece of tin for all I cared. Saying yes to you was the easiest decision I've ever made.
I remember how much we wanted to make a baby together, how we could barely wait to create life together. We threw away the birth control pretty soon after getting engaged. It wasn't a decision, really, but rather a force of nature... something beyond our control... a primal instinct to connect, share, and create in the deepest way possible. We decided to get married quickly, knowing that we couldn't hold back from the joy of baby making much longer, and thus planned a wedding for a few months down the road - April 17, about 4 months after our engagement, 7.5 months after that fateful walk in the desert. Just a couple of days before our wedding we found out we were pregnant and couldn't have been happier.
I remember all of the craziness around planning the wedding... how there were all these family members that wanted us to wait until it was more convenient for them to fly out, but we knew we couldn't wait, knew we had to create life together, new that we just wanted to be married and start our life together.
I remember walking down the aisle, seeing your glowing face, exchanging the vows we had written ourselves, and how it was all more romantic and perfect than I could have hoped for.
I remember the months that followed, my growing belly, how every day you would come home, touch my belly, and smile this twinkly happy smile. I remember feeling like mother earth, feeling like I couldn't possibly be sexier to you while growing your child inside of me.
I remember our extremely difficult birth experience, and how we were partners through it all. You protected me, took care of me, stood by me every moment. And then after Isabella was born, you did everything - cooked, cleaned, helped with her care. You did everything while I layed in bed, nursed, and recovered. Frankly, I don't know how you did it all. You were everything I could have asked for.
Then there were all those early mornings once we both started working again. There you were, my husband who loves sleep more than anything in the world, my husband who can't be dragged out of bed before 10am without serious pain. There you were, waking up with Isabella at 6, 7, 8am as I got up at 5am and taught 6-9:15am before you went to work. You never complained, were always supportive. You knew how important it was to me to teach yoga, and so you did what you had to do to make it work, even when it was very painful for you.
As if that wasn't enough, there were those 8 months after your paternity leave when you worked on the house every night, every weekend. You did all the finishing work on our addition so that we would save money, so that I could have my dream yoga studio and so that we could have our dream master bedroom. You did all of this without complaining - morning duty with Isabella, daytime at Microsoft, evenings in your woodshop and on the house.
I remember all the special moments, watching you and Isabella together. Times when I was at my end and you lovingly took her into your arms. Times when you would sing "Tom the Toad" to her over and over again to soothe her to sleep. Times when I would walk into the room, the two of you cuddled up asleep, my 2 favorite people in the world all content and happy.
I remember how in April of 2006 you insisted all of the sudden that we buy a VW camper van, and how a week later we owned one. I was a bit skeptical, but you showed me what it was all about and we proceeded to go camping every other weekend that summer. It turned out to be an avenue for amazing family time, and the camper van made it all workable with a toddler. I remember how every time we went camping you get a spring in your step, turn into nature boy, and take care of everything - the wood chopping, the fire, the cooking, camp setup. Every time we go camping you remind me that I married the most wonderful, adorable, NW nature boy out there.
Somehow I never stop being amazed at how I was able to find someone so into nature, so handy around the house, so intelligent and technical, and so gentle and loving at the same time.
John, I love you. I will never stop loving you. I commit to being your partner forever. Thank you for doing the same. Thank you for putting up with me, all of my quirks, all of my neuroses. You teach me to be a better human being.
I have never for a moment doubted our union. I look forward to being married until the day we die.
All my love, forever
Holly
If this cuddle fest doesn't make you melt, I don't know what will.
