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Ah love. What wouldn't I do?! So there we are, New Years eve and nothing to do. I sit in front of the television and he, my love, is in the garage working on the car. I'm so excited about a recent purchase of mine and can't wait any longer to share it with him! And who wants to sit home alone on New Years Eve? Not me! So I beg him to come in, get cleaned up, and go somewhere, anywhere! As he gets cleaned up, finally, I hear on the television that there will be fireworks at midnight in downtown St. Paul. It being 11:15 p.m. I "nudge" him to hurry up, hurry up! He quickly drives us to St. Paul, taking the first exit that looks like it will take us downtown. I pull him out of the car and make him hurry up the hill so we can get a good view of the fireworks (two minutes left). It starts to get cold outside. We pass the helicopter pad for the hospital and I mention that it would be the most perfect place "to watch the fireworks". He passes on the idea, saying we might get in trouble. The sky suddenly fills with soft white snow. I ask him to share one of his gloves with me, since I "forgot" mine in the car. He gives me his left hand glove. PERFECT, I think to myself. As we find a cozy spot, the fireworks start to explode! I hop up on a nearby building's step (so that I'm the same height as my love) and as we kiss I pull out my recent purchase. His eyes tear up and he smiles. He puts on the ring I got him and takes the liberty of asking me if I will marry him!
Kara Schmitz, Minneapolis, MN
I have been married five times: two Gemini's and now, a glorious Scorpio. I had never paid attention to the "stars" - though I was in love with Gwyneth Paltrow for a time - in consequence I spent most of my life among the enemy; constantly at war, one hand bound tightly behind my back and tongue firmly bitten. I watched fanatical Muslims in Iran beating themselves with chain flails and knew at some level we each understood how the other felt; I sat in my life like the monkey with his hand in the coconut idly wondering when the fruit was going to fall out, which it would not do.
And then, on the last of my last legs, I laid on the bed, in the middle of a vast woods beside an ancient waterfall upholstered in laurels, and with my face in my pillow I prayed. I prayed to no God in particular only any that might be passing and not too busy, then fell into a deep, deep sleep. When I awoke the phone was ringing and my dear old friend invited me to a party at a woman's house who lived in the mountains opposite mine and, of course, I went - I'd invited myself for goodness sake. I brought her a little wild rose from the front garden and a sea-shell filled with wax and a wick, I had no idea what I was doing only tried hard not to be late and wasn't.
Mary Elizabeth and I had a few dates thereafter, which were all walks in the woods or meditations, and eventually she kissed me, which was a good thing since otherwise I wouldn't have had the courage, so I took her to my woods and the big old waterfall and we walked around in the woods for quite a while until we came to a broad stream. I took off my boots and told her to climb on my back and I would carry her across, which she did, but I didn't. A casual observer would say she probably weighed 110 lbs at most, and I've hauled twice that much on my back many, many times. But by the time I was mid-stream she had grown in my estimation and slid precariously to port, until we both finally fell over into the freezing cold water.
"I don't want this relationship to be all about sex?", says she, "There's little fear of that now?" says I.
A friend of mine remarked to me recently that she appreciated the Buddha even though he was represented to weigh 600 pounds. I told her that he wasn't really a fatso, that was more of a description of the man's moral weight-and then it occurred to me: there's a good deal more to my beautiful, funny wife than meets the eye
Dave Winslow, Vienna, VA
I first saw him on July 4th. He sat with his back resting against the wall of the Anchorage train depot, reading Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens and laughing out loud. As I sat on the bus that would take us the first part of the way to Prince William Sound, I told all that tried to sit next to me that the seat was taken. He was one of the last to get on and took the seat next to me. Tom was from the Twin Cities and traveling with his two brothers. I was on a three week backpacking trip in Alaska, an escape from the heat of Kentucky where I lived. As we talked, I fell head-over-heels in love with Tom.
I travelled with Tom and his brothers for two days on a ferry, stopping in port towns. We parted in Seward as their itinerary took them to Denali National Park about 400 miles to the north. I couldn't stop thinking about Tom and the next morning decided to find him.
I hiked the railroad tracks to the nearest town, Moose Pass, and caught a van heading for Anchorage. At a rest stop, I saw a sign posted, "One Way ticket to Minneapolis: $100, Leaving July 13". I bought it, just in case I couldn't find Tom in Denali.
Once in Anchorage, I thought if I found him, I would need a reason to explain why I had come back. His brother's birthday was July 9th, so I went to a bakery and bought a 3-layer German cake. My backpack and cake boarded another van for the 250 mile trip to Denali. In Denali, I found out from the park rangers where Tom and his brothers had gone backpacking- Area #42 near Wonder Lake, a 9 hour trip into the park. I caught the last shuttle bus and rode with the cake in my lap, my eyes scanning the mountains for Tom.
I arrived near midnight at Wonder Lake, put the cake in the food locker, set up my tent, and kept looking. I didn't find him that night or the next day. Feeling rather hopeless, I got back on bus and headed back for base camp at park headquarters. At the base camp, I went to put the cake in a food locker-- and there, in the food locker, was Tom! He took me into his arms and said, "There must be a God looking out for me." (He and his brothers came back early from their Wonder Lake trip because the mosquitoes were so fierce.)
Then, we all celebrated his brother's birthday (only one day late). The night I got back to Kentucky, I wrote up my resume, got a job in the Twin Cities, and now we've been married more than 16 years.
Mary Jean Fenske, Shoreview, MN
Courting Nancy
Roger Aschenbrener
The events related in this story happened over fourty years ago. To the best of my recollection these events, except perhaps some minor details, are true. Keep in mind we were children of the fifty's, when schools had no fences, and dirt wasn?t filthy.
Of all my memories of early childhood the one most vivid and clear is that of the sun rising in the eastern sky and my shoes crunching on the gravel path as I made my way to school.
The route I took followed a narrow path through 8 square blocks of chest high weeds smelling distinctly sweet in the autumn dampness. The weeds were full of singing birds nervously trying to resist the onset of winter and the instinct and rumor of a long flight south.
In the summer we played Army and Cowboys and Indians in those fields. We built forts, dug bunkers, and buried treasures, some of which were never seen again.
In one unfortunate situation the treasure I had buried, and forgotten the location of, turned out to be my great Grandmothers ruby broach, a family heirloom for which my mother spent two weeks searching.
Thinking that I could clear my conscience I finally admitted to having a hand in its fate, but seeing my mother frantically digging holes in places I?d pointed out to her, and knowing darn well that I had no idea where I?d buried it, I realized that this would be a burden I would bear forever.
To avoid any further burdens of conscience I began burying bones along with my treasures. By doing this my dog Abe could be enlisted to remedy any minor mislocations.
As well as being a welcome safeguard against lost treasure, Abe was a tireless bunker builder more worthy than a platoon of entrenching tool toting regular Army. Abe, a mixture of beagle and something larger, attacked bunker building with a fury that raised such a cloud of dust, it would often attract groups of moms to the back fence to make sure that we kids hadn?t somehow gotten a hold of some stray piece of machinery. Being enterprising boys of the fifty's our motives and tactics were always suspect and strictly monitored.
But this isn't the story of Abe. Abe's story is a volume all it's own. This is the story of my first true recognition, of that different emotion I felt for the boys I chased the girls with... and the girls we chased.
The "hint" of difference showed in our play of course.
When I tackled a boy in real or imagined conflict no reserve kept me from locking my legs around his torso and attempting to pry his head from his shoulders, and though the strength wasn?t there, the will was.
It's not that I was a bully. Nor do I stretch the truth, ...in this case. That was just the way boys of my era played. It was the fifties. A time when an NFL tackle could carry all of his pads in one hand and still hold a pen to sign autographs.
Yet if the situation were to arise that I became similarly tangled with a girl, and it often did, my reaction would likely be to hold her tight and maybe touch her nose... with mine. This urge was unnerving though, especially if I didn't much care for the girl, and even more so if the girl didn't like me.
On the morning I speak of my lunch box was full... of golf balls. Tom Sletvolt met me on the path and we divided the balls scuffing the knee?s of our jeans as we knelt in the gravel.
The golf balls were booty from the golf course we often stalked in summer but because Tom had mistaken some storm windows for targets, he wasn't allowed to have golf balls. I, therefore, was the keeper of the balls that we used to play marbles in an over sized pit.
Recess is bonding time for children. For Tom and I this had a special meaning. I checked out a jump rope and got a stern warning look from Mrs Rose.
On the blacktop Becky, a chubby little red haired girl, joined us jumping and singing until Tom and I got distracted by nothing in particular, just distracted. We switched sides quickly, catching Becky in the loop of the rope. Becky was a excellent jumper though and she easily slipped out of the loop and took off squealing toward the baseball diamond. Her whinny like squeals inspired us to whoop like cowboys. Catching up to her easily we herded her into the backstop and tied her there with her arms spread out to the sides. Tom danced around like an Indian while I pretended like I was building a fire at her feet, and she squealed.
This wasn't the first time that we'd played this game and there wasn't really much more to it once we had her tied up so Tom wandered over to the marble pit I wandered back to the blacktop and Becky squealed.
Becky never seemed to mind being tied up. She didn't even seem to mind us leaving her there, and as an adult I've often wondered if she still play's that game.
I found Nancy jumping rope in the front of the school. Nancy was "The Girl". Nancy was the main character in my superman dreams. Nancy was the real reason I checked out a jump rope at recess. Nancy was the reason I quit carrying mummified creatures in my lunch box. It was because of Nancy that I told my mother I thought I had a heart problem like grandpa Podd. Every day I tried to find some reason to talk with her, but other than a couple of no's and an ick we hadn't really found any common ground.
What happened next nearly ruined any hope of ever marrying her.
I began bouncing a golf ball and catching it. Higher and higher each bounce. I considered catching it in my mouth like Abe did but if I missed I knew I'd cry and that would be embarrassing. When the fifth bounce had attracted no attention from the girls I stretched my arm up as far as I could and from the tips of my toes I SLAMMED the ball onto the blacktop!
There must have been a pebble there. More likely a grain of sand miraculously blown in from the Gobi desert. Only a miracle of that magnitude could have guided that ball in such a pure trajectory. I watched, horrified, as the ball reached its apex and fell downward. I tried to turned away before it landed, I couldn't.
The ball landed squarely on top of Nancy?s head. I must have mentally blocked the actual impact. All I remember is that ball arching back up and out toward the street. I had no Idea a golf ball would bounce like that off a head.
I walked back to the baseball diamond and untied Becky. Nancy cried in the distance.
After school Tom and I walked home down Longfellow street. Nancy, Vicky, and Maria walked a half a block in front of us. Tom said something about Nancy getting hurt.
I just said "I dunno" and changed the subject.
We had gotten back on the subject of Nancy when Vicky, and Maria turned down Rich street.
Without any real plan in mind I said "Betcha can't kiss her."
"Can too" he replied.
"Do it then" I said.
He did. He ran right up, wrapped his arms around her and tried to kiss her.
Nancy screamed, put her hands on his chin and pushed. When I ran up to them Tom was still hugging Nancy but she had his chin pushed back so that his still puckered lips were starring straight at the sky.
We wrestled and fell, he got up first and started running. Tom could easily out run me so after chasing him about a half a block I jogged back to Nancy.
"You all right" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Thank you."
I'm sure I blushed.
"He's mean," she said.
"Yeah," I said "he's mean to cats too."
We walked in silence for a bit, our hands almost touching.
"How's your head," I asked cautiously.
"It's ok," she said, touching my hand.
A chill on my neck made me shiver.
Roger Aschenbrener, Loon Lake, WA
In the winter of 1970, I was hopelessly enamored with the girl who is now my wife of 31 years. I was going to school at Iowa State in Ames, IA and she was in nursing school in Madison, WI. I felt I had to see her but I had no car of my own. A very trusting friend let me borrow his car, an unsexy sedan. I left Ames under cloudy skies but drove into light snow after passing Cedar Rapids. At Dubuque the snow was heavier and roads were snow covered but still drivable. As I drove into Wisconsin, it became apparent that I was driving into a blizzard but kept going, town by town. I bought gas in Platteville, still 60 miles from Madison, and the gas station attendant know only that it was snowing all around but did not know what the highway situation was toward Madison, so on I went.
I made it all of 7 miles into tiny Belmont, WI, and decided that I needed professional advice. I stopped at the police station and they told me that chief was across the street getting a haircut. Now, you have to remember that this was the turbulent years of protest and politics of the late 60's/early 70's, and I was a fairly typical college student with thick hair that was well over my collar, and the mustache and goatee that was so symbolic as radical, no matter how short or light the facial hair as mine was. I walked into the barbershop, a one-chair old-time operation, and in that one chair was the chief. Bull-necked, getting his already short buzz-cut shortened down to GI length, massive upper body girth perched on legs dressed out with black military boots. It was a confrontation of the ages. I asked my question about how the roads were toward Madison, and he stared through me and said two words: "Go back." Not how far or where to, but just "go back".
I went back to Platteville, now a significantly longer 7 miles with blowing snow, and stopped at the Platteville Hotel and asked for a room. The rate was $4, which left me with about $10 for the rest of the weekend including gas back to Ames. I asked them to wake me when the roads were plowed open, which they did at 4 AM. It was too early to call my girlfriend to let her know I was finally on the road again because I knew that I would never penetrate the Maginot line of defense that the housemother maintained to protect her ?girls?. I hit the road and was almost the only car on the road for the entire 60 miles, an icy solitude at 65 miles an hour. At 5:15 AM I was at the outskirts of Madison and decided to call and take my chances. Apparently my girlfriend had softened the target regarding my plight, because not only did they take my call but went immediately to get her up. We met for a 5:30 AM breakfast, at Country Kitchen. It was one of a number of occasions in our relationship where we had taken advantage of the recklessness of youth to cover the several hundred miles that separated us until we married.
Mark Miller, Lakeville, MN
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