Usually I go through the winter months in a fog. It rains, it sleets, it snows, I really don’t care. I just know that each day brings us one day closer to spring, to warmer weather . . .and more rain.
My memories of certain occasions don’t include what the weather was like, unless it was particularly bad or surprisingly good. I remember going to a Super Bowl party in the snow 5 or 6 years ago. I remember the mess of a March blizzard we had during spring break one year in college. I remember that the weather on our wedding day was bright and sunny and almost 70 degrees . . .in November.
I also remember what the weather was like ten years ago today. It rained all day and then got increasingly colder, so that by the time I was leaving work, the rain had turned to sleet. It was a mess getting home. I ran from my car into my apartment, my hair getting soaking wet just in the few minutes it took to get in the door.
I changed into flannel sleep pants and one of Mike’s Pitt sweatshirts and put my hair up in a ponytail. I was looking forward to a night in. Mike was coming over later and I figured we’d just watch a movie or something.
Mike came in the door half an hour later, still in his shirt and tie, and with a bottle of wine. He took me into the living room, got down on one knee, and proposed.
It wasn’t a surprise, really. We already had our whole wedding planned for that November–the church was booked, the hotel was booked, the DJ was paid for, and my gown was ordered. We planned our wedding without getting officially engaged, and it really hadn’t bothered me a bit. I didn’t need a ring to know that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
The first thought that crossed my mind was, “Crap. I’m a mess.”
But I didn’t really care.
If he could ask me to marry him on a night when I was wearing his baggy hand-me-downs, hair in a ponytail and crunchy stiff from the mousse that I had used that morning, and with mascara streaking down my face from my mad dash in the rain that I hadn’t bothered to wipe off, well, then, at least he could see me at my worst before we were married!
We ended up going out that night, in the ice and eventually snow, to a little bar near my apartment called the Pour House. It was Irish, it was small and dimly-lit, and it was–understandably–empty. We had a few drinks, maybe even some food, and quietly celebrated our engagement .
I will always remember the weather from that night.
By the way . . .I said “yes”.