After much thought—and some interesting suggestions from friends and coworkers—I decided to incorporate two of Emily’s loves: reading (her graduate-school pursuit) and pigs (her favorite animal since childhood) into a storybook proposal. My dream was to create and publish a children’s book in which two little pigs, Emmy and Matty, would parallel the story of Emily and me.
I was working in public relations for a school district. I asked an art teacher if she knew any students skilled in cartoon illustration. Without hesitation she put me in touch with Jeremy, a tenth-grader who excitedly showed me his portfolio. I hired him on the spot. Page by page, I sent the manuscript to Jeremy for custom drawings. And I began to write.
I wrote about two little pigs that meet in a college computer lab, just like Emily and I. My story detailed Emmy and Matty’s journey through the years. On page eight, the two little pigs find themselves in front of a sunset.
“One fall evening, Matty had an important question for Emmy,” the page read. The proposal page followed.
Upon completion of the illustrations, text and layout of the story, my creation was ready to be printed. It came back in the form of a real book, hardbound. I had done it. I successfully produced the entire book in complete secrecy. After all these years, I would surprise Emily.
On a random Thursday, I told Emily I had found a couple of cute children’s books on sale for her collection. Naturally she wanted to take a look, so the first one I gave her was The Story of the Two Little Pigs.
As she read the first couple of pages, she started to catch on that I had written a book for her, but had no I idea it would change both of our lives forever.
As she approached the proposal page, I asked her to stand up. I bent down on one knee as I watched her eyes follow the words on the paper that simply said, “Emily Suzanne . . . Will You Marry Me?” She was speechless as she looked up and saw me with a ring in my hand.
Stunned, she closed the book and gave me a big hug. “Yes, yes and yes! Of course. I love you!”
We hugged for a couple of minutes and I wiped the tears from her eyes. I urged her to turn to the last page of her storybook proposal—an illustration of pigs dressed in wedding gown and tuxedo.
It read, in appropriate storybook fashion: “Emmy and Matty lived happily ever after.”
Matthew Cummings
Reprinted by permission of Kathy Shaskan.
Love Is in the Air
I love you. I want to be together all the time. When I think about us, I am thinking about forever.
Willis Newton
in the movie The Newton Boys
John and I were on our way to St. Louis, Missouri, for a quick trip of job interviews and apartment hunting. His job promotion required him to move, and, even though we weren’t engaged yet, he asked me to move with him.
We had discussed getting married and already looked at rings. John even asked my parents for their blessing (a little old-fashioned, but it scored points with the soon-to-be in-laws). Everything was set, though we weren’t officially engaged.
As we boarded our plane, I found our seats and put my bag into the overhead bin. Behind schedule, we sat waiting for departure and noticed one of the pilots leave the plane. When he returned we were ready for takeoff.
About twenty minutes into the flight the captain made the usual announcements: altitude, weather, arrival time, my name.
What? Did I just hear my name? My heart started pounding. Did I do something wrong? Did my bags not make the flight? What was going on? Even with all of these thoughts racing through my mind, I somehow heard every word:
“Attention please. Attention Lynette Baker. Lynette, John Helms would like to know if you would spend the rest of your life with him. If you accept, please press the ‘call’ button and the attendants will be with you shortly.”
My heart continued its thumping and my eyes filled with tears. When John opened a small ring box and smiled, I whispered, “Yes.”
He placed the ring on my hand and we embraced as the other passengers cheered. But wait . . . I was supposed to push the call button. I couldn’t reach it with my seatbelt still fastened, so my new fiancé gladly pressed it for me. All three attendants responded, one carrying a bottle of champagne.
As we landed and approached our gate, the captain again included us in his announcements.
“Congratulations to the newly engaged couple. On behalf of the entire crew, let me wish you the best.”
As we exited the plane, John thanked the flight attendants for helping with his plan. It was then that we learned that the pilot had left the plane earlier to get our bottle of champagne!
Lynette Baker Helms
Hidden Treasures
My love is deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, both are infinite.
William Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet
Ike was closed-lipped about our Valentine’s weekend getaway. I was to be ready to leave from the Air Force base where we both worked by 6:00 P.M. He gave no other clues.
A few hours after our departure, we arrived at the beautiful cabin he had rented near a Northern Georgia mountain town. Valentine’s Day morning, we had breakfast, exchanged gifts and cards, and then headed into Helen for some sightseeing.
After a full day, Ike informed me he had brought some work he needed to do. Knowing him to be a workaholic, I was neither surprised nor disappointed. He went to the bedroom while I curled up on the couch to watch a Doris Day movie.
Sometime later and half asleep, I felt Ike gently shaking my shoulder to rouse me.
“I forgot to give you a few presents,” he said, sitting down next to me. I sat up, groggy but curious.
Ike handed me several small boxes and told a story about each present as I opened them one by one.
I unwrapped delicate pearls from Hawaii and listened as he painted a picture of turquoise water and white sand paradise. Next was a pair of exotic gold earrings from Saudi Arabia and I listened as he described the stark deserts of the Middle East. I opened box after box of jewelry and enjoyed Ike’s descriptions of the distant places where he’d found them.
Then he pulled out several sheets of paper—the “work” he had been doing. A list of everything he liked about me. A beautiful love letter. A letter that reduced me to a blubbery, weepy mess.
“Michelle, each one of these gifts I’ve given you were all purchased on different occasions, in many different locations during my ten years in the Air Force.” Ike paused. “They were all purchased with my future wife in mind.”
As I tried to process it all, he slipped down on one knee, took my hands in his and asked me to marry him. I drew him into a passionate embrace with my equally passionate answer.
Today, a beautiful jewelry armoire cradles those wonderful, worldly gifts. But my most cherished treasure is the man who so lovingly thought and planned and shopped for his future wife. My jewel of a husband.
Michelle Isenhour
A Trail of Love
Because April had been planning “the happiest day of her life” since she was twelve, I felt pressured to plan a romantically resplendent marriage proposal to precede our wedding.
I began by making a list of the things needed to create a memorable atmosphere in which to pop the big question. It included the certainty from God that April was “The One,” our parents’ approval, a diamond engagement ring, some flowers, the perfect location and some creativity.
With the list completed, I set out on my mission. Since April and I loved hiking, I picked and prepared a worthy location in the hills.
The day before, I hiked the trails loaded down with a backpack of flowers and a wooden sign that read: “On this spot, July 4, 1997, Shad Stewart Purcell and April Dawn Smothers were engaged to be married.” After a time, I located a cove of trees with a beautiful scenic overlook. There I planted the flowers and hung my sign.
I carried several large stones to the spot, setting them in the shape of a heart. Not t
otally satisfied, I added more to the center in the shape of a cross, symbolizing our love as complete with Christ at the center of the relationship.
The next day, April and I drove to the hills. We hiked and splashed in the streams along the trail, as I checked my front pocket every ten yards to make sure the ring was still there.
As we approached the cove of trees, I told April how much she meant to me and how thankful I was to God for giving us the wonderful gift of love to share with each other. When she noticed the flowers and the stones, she looked at me and made the sweet awww sound girls make. I knew then the day was ours and I had done something truly romantic.
But suddenly April tugged on my arm, stopped and looked around. “Wait, Shad.” Her voice hushed. “Look around. I think someone died here!”
Well, that was a response I hadn’t put on my list. With no Plan B in place and feeling panicked, I pointed out the sign. “Uh, April, let’s walk a little closer and see what it says.”
She read the sign aloud and turned to look at me.
“Are you kidding?”
“Of course not,” I said, dropping to my knees with the ring in my hand. “I love you. Will you marry me?”
“I will! I will! I will!”
Six years later, and happily married, we still laugh about our so-called tombstone. The irony of what initially appeared to be the end of a life was just the beginning of one for us. Soon after our engagement, we hiked back to that special spot to find that only a small piece of our sign remained.
The piece of wood is now a priceless souvenir, not only in our home, but also in our hearts.
Shad Purcell
Taking Care of Business
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!
I’m half crazy, all for the love of you!
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
I can’t afford a carriage,
But you’ll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle made for two!
Harry Dacre
Luckily, Randy never minded being a pack mule for our outings, holding all the stuff I brought along.
The first three grueling miles of our hike in Armstrong Grove went straight up a rocky trail. But the breathtaking coastal view at the top would make it worthwhile. While an ever-willing Randy hauled our over-stuffed backpack onto his shoulders, I drank in the scent of pine trees and fresh air.
We didn’t talk much on the way up; instead there was a lot of heavy breathing. Much of the ground was covered in leaves, which made some parts slippery and precarious. After some time, we successfully made our way to a grassy glade for our picnic lunch. While Randy set down the backpack and pulled out our blanket, I got out the bottle of wine, plastic cups, crackers and cheese.
It was almost one o’clock now and I was starving. But when I asked Randy to open the wine, he looked away.
“Uh . . . honey . . . I have a little business to take care of.” He nodded toward the trees behind us.
“Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead.” I grinned and gave him a knowing look.
A cool breeze feathered my hair and I sighed with contentment. I opened the wine and filled the cups. I arranged cheese and crackers. I admired the view and the perfect day. I was tempted to start eating but I wanted to wait for Randy to return. So I waited. And waited. And waited.
The “business” Randy needed to take care of was taking longer than usual.
My goodness, he didn’t even take any tissue or a napkin with him. I grimaced at the awkwardness of the situation and continued to wait. Should I look for him? Or, maybe I should holler and ask if he . . . needed anything? Yes, that might be better.
Just as I started to call his name, Randy reappeared unapologetically wearing a self-satisfied expression.
“My goodness, honey, I was starting to get worried about you.” I patted the blanket. “Come on. Sit. I’m starving.”
Ignoring the spread of food, Randy knelt in front of me. “You mean everything to me.” He smiled into my eyes. “I love you so much and don’t want to live without you.” He held my hand in his. “Will you marry me, grow old with me, share your life with me?”
My heart leapt as I gasped at the suddenness and blurted out, “Yes! Oh Randy! I love you. Yes, yes. . . .”
Randy reached into his pocket. Tenderly, gingerly, he slid a dainty ring onto my finger. And it was then that I realized what “business” had taken so long in the woods.
My “engagement ring” was a delicate strand of dried grass tied into a circle.
The poor, patient man had tried over and over to form fragile native grass into this eternal symbol. Touched, I hugged him tightly as he whispered that we would get a “real” ring after our hike.
We had our lunch and toasted each other. I giggled and laughed, loving the world, the man who wanted to marry me and the romanticism of the moment. I wanted the day to last forever.
When it was time to head down the trail, I sang and danced. Randy shook his head and laughed at my antics, still hauling the backpack. But now he carried even more.
He carried my heart.
Leigh P. Rogers
Popping the Question
It was so much fun, we proposed to each other all day long.
Melissa Errico
It was a typical Tucson winter day, cool and sunny. I met my boyfriend for lunch at a sandwich shop near the college I was attending. We had limited time so we ate quickly. Jeff had to get back to work; his afternoon would be busy. Before parting, Jeff asked if I wanted to go to Happy Hour that evening. I agreed and we kissed goodbye.
That afternoon biology class was dismissed early. I jumped into my car to drive home, change clothes, and freshen up before our date. As I headed up the ramp to the freeway, my cell phone rang.
“I’m off early. Had to go to the post office and bank,” Jeff explained. He was in his car only minutes ahead of me.
“Isn’t this great? We have plans and we both got out early!”
“Where are you?” Jeff asked.
“Still a couple of miles behind you.” I gave him my cross streets.
Jeff suddenly interjected, “I’m sorry I haven’t been very romantic lately.”
“No, I guess you haven’t,” I agreed. “But we’ve been busy, it’s okay.”
“Valentine’s Day is coming up. I promise to do something romantic, at least get you a card.”
“That’s a start.”
“Where are you now?” he asked, more impatiently. I looked at the street signs and read them off to him. “Well, hurry up. I want to get to Happy Hour.”
We had plenty of time. Why the hurry? He was acting so strange.
“I can meet you at the restaurant if you prefer,” I suggested. “Or, if we meet at the house we can ride together and catch up on our day.” He agreed, and we hung up again.
My cell phone rang again.
“Beth, I just got home. What happened to the garage door? Did you break it this morning?” The garage door was our main entry to the house.
“It was fine when I left. Maybe your automatic opener isn’t working?” Minutes later I pulled beside Jeff’s car in our driveway. I repeatedly pressed the button on my garage opener. Nothing. With a shrug, I walked up to the front door and turned the knob.
As I stepped into the living room my jaw dropped and my eyes grew big. A camera flashed.
I was swimming in a sea of balloons. Balloons on the floor. Balloons on the ceiling. Dozens and dozens . . . hundreds of colorful balloons. Jazz music played in the background.
After my eyes adjusted, I saw Jeff sitting on the couch, camera in hand. He said, “You agreed I wasn’t very romantic, so I decided to whip something up.”
Still in shock, I trudged through the balloons to hug him. I felt like I was in slow motion.
Jeff nodded toward the coffee table. “You have something to open.” There sat a bucket with a champagne bottle on ice, two crystal champagne flutes, two candles and a blue ribbon . . . tied around a little blue box.
I picked up the box and slowly pulled the ribbon. Inside was a ring box. I lifted the lid and found . . . a gold stickpin? I looked at Jeff with raised eyebrows.
He folded his arms across his chest, settled back and grinned. “It looks like you have some popping to do.”
“What?” I looked around the room. “Oh!”
Not wasting a moment, I grabbed the pin and began sticking balloons. Laughing all the while, I searched for “the” balloon. But there were so many, I finally started shaking them and throwing them to the side.
“Don’t forget there are balloons on the ceiling,” Jeff reminded me. I looked up.
After an eternity, I shook a red balloon. Something rattled! When I poked it with my gold stickpin, shiny heart-shaped confetti cascaded around me. A blue ring bag fell to the carpet.
Trembling, I tipped it open until a ring fell into my hand. Jeff gently took it and urged me to sit on the couch.
“You know me. I have to do this the traditional way.” As he lowered himself to one knee, his brown eyes gazed into mine. He asked me to be his wife and slipped the princess-cut diamond on my finger.
After my eager “Yes!” and many kisses later, Jeff said, “Oh . . . and . . . by the way . . . we are not going to Happy Hour.”
Elizabeth L. Blair
A Friend, Indeed!
Friendship often ends in love, but love in friendship— never.
Charles Caleb Colton
“Mom . . . it’s over!” I wailed into the telephone. After being wined and dined for two years, I’d been dropped like a hot potato. My first heartbreak.
In the following days, tears gave way to a blank sadness and the bitter taste of betrayal. By Wednesday evening, I was lying on the living room floor curled in a ball, trying to ease an inner pain that would not cease. Then I heard a voice in the distance.
“Julia . . . come on . . . get up! Get dressed! We’re going out.”
I looked up with glazed eyes, dazedly recognizing my old friend Alex, whom (guiltily, I realized) I had not made much time for during the past couple of years.
Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul Page 5
