A Samurai Engagement

Just when I thought that our love story could not be anymore of a fairytale this happened...

On Friday afternoon, as we prepared to go to the Samurai Exhibit at the Denver Art Museum, John suggested I wear a Chinese silk cocktail dress with intricate stockings he bought earlier that day to wear that night (he knows I love fancy stockings). All dolled-up and ready to leave, having put in an extra effort to arrange my hair in a beautiful up-do (which I very rarely do these days) to show off the elegant style of the back of the dress, he looked at me strangely. Uncertain of his feeling, I asked if he liked my hair, showing him how it showed off the dress so nicely. To my total shock he somewhat nervously said he would prefer my hair down, after checking that it was not too much effort to do so. Surprised he did not like the elegant look, I took it down but honestly did not think twice about it afterwards as we were both so looking forward to this exotic exhibition that we had been talking about attending for months and had bought tickets to weeks in advance. Well, it was worth the wait. This private collection of Samurai armor, antiquities and artifacts were nothing less than exquisite. Roaming the halls as if floating in slow motion, listening to the eloquently described and sound effect filled recorded explanations, I was in my element taking in every ounce of the rich cultural experience.

Mid-way, John suggested we take a picture together but rather than looking at the camera, held by our friend Kevin, he turned to me and started to explain that I could not wear my hair up earlier because I was not yet engaged. I was so confused. All of a sudden John bent down on one knee and asked me to marry him! Speechless, it hit me what was happening. As he pulled out a little black box I began to quiver in joy. After placing the engraved engagement ring on my finger and giving me a matching one to place on his finger, John went back to speaking about my hair, and took out a Chinese gift box my mum had sent me from Shanghai which held a gift of a wooden Chinese hair pin which is only to be worn when a woman is betrothed. John had been "hiding it", ok. holding on to it, for the past two months! As per the Chinese tradition, now being betrothed to my beloved, I could wear the pin, so John, as he perfectly planned it, sweetly rolled my hair up in a bun, securing the pin ever so gently.

By now my heart was pounding, my eyes filled with happy tears and I was sniffling through uncontrollable giggles. All I wanted to do was rejoice in delight but being in a quiet, dignified exhibition, I had to contain my excitement. A security guard near by, who came over to congratulate us, must have told his colleagues through his radio because as we walked through the rest of the exhibit, me hopelessly trying so hard to be quiet and concentrate on the rest of the collection, the museum staff congratulated us on our engagement. You can imagine the shrills that came of me for the next 4 hours as we bought souvenirs for our family in the gift shop to commemorate the evening and then on to a Japanese dinner with our friend Kevin visiting from Arizona who helped make the surprise just perfect.

John Masters, the man I cherish, respect and adore with every fiber of my being who brings out the very best in me, planned and pulled off brilliantly the most thoughtful, unique, perfectly us and romantic evening of my life. Hopelessly in love and blissfully happy I am thrilled to say we are engaged!

Tennessee Love Story

It was as romantic as the lake scene in the The Notebook. At a picnic in rural Tennessee, where the local Church people - including Pastor Jerry and his wife - welcomed us “Denver folks” warmly, as only a charming Southern twang can do, John and I were happy for this idyllic getaway to a place where swaying trees hover over the country back roads and fields reach up high with dancing gold wheat, rich green corn stalks and thick blankets of soy bean shrubs.

Children, singing trills and squeals of excitement, playing enthusiastically in the creek, many covered in mud (best way to happy in a creek), others swinging off the raised shore line on a make-shift handle bar, like Tarzan charging through the jungle, jumping into the water splashing all the other children whose laughter and joy of innocent play was amplified by the thrill of being soaked once again on cue. The expected splash was just as deliriously amusing as if their little friend had jumped in by surprise.

A saint with children, “Uncle John” was eager to be down at the creek with all the munchkins, lifting them up in the air and on his back one handed (easy to do when his muscles are as big as melons), playing games of adventure. A true romantic through and through he proposed he take me in a canoe down the creek. Well, how can a girl resist such a sweet proposition, especially when that means I would be swept up in his arms, carried down the hill and placed ever so carefully into the canoe onto a towel so not to dirty the pretty white and green dress I had chosen for this unique occasion, a modern scene that might have easily been one in Gone With The Wind decades past. So, like Scarlett O’Hara, with flirty eyes and swooning heart (only missing a parasol, which I did say I should have had with me) I sat lady-like, prim and proper while John paddled us down the creek, passing the cheers of children teasing a crush in the playground at school.

Oh how beautiful it was, the calm quiet water glistening where the sun snuck through the overhanging trees that arched out from both sides of the shore. As only my beloved John does, he told me how beautiful I looked in my pretty dress and how grateful he was for our love. Cheeks flushed and sighs heavy, I took it all in. And then, just like in The Notebook, it started to rain. John removed his white shirt, bearing his muscular arms that look even more manly in a tank top, handing it to me so I could cover my hair and stay warm. Paddling now more mightily to rescue his damsel to safety, we snuck underneath a thick canopy of leaves where we would snuggle for a while, enjoying the love story scene of the rain drops dancing, lost far away from the rest of the world, blissfuly happy in our romantic adventure.

On the drive back, drenched but unbothered, in the middle of nowhere in rural Tennessee, a cute wooden arrow, pointing in the direction we had to turn, caught John’s eye and read “Wedding.” He softly said, “It’s an omen.” And so we drove on, madly in love, happily ever after.