past summers

Every morning I walk by the Provo High School going to campus. This morning's walk took me down memory lane as I saw and heard their marching band marching around the track. The band was small and pathetic looking, but these kids were out there at 8 to practice doing what they loved.

My summers in high school were full of marching and drumming. I remember going to the high school at about 7:40 am to get my drums and music ready to warm up with the drumline by 7:45 am. The marching band didn't even arrive until 8. For the next two hours we marched around the track, marched around a parking lot, and marched around the side streets of Spanish Fork playing cadences and practicing our marching music. The ancient T shaped drum carrier dug into my shoulders and back, and I always got a beautiful T-shaped sweat mark on my t-shirt. At 10 am the band was done with practice and went home. If it was a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday the drumline stayed another 2 hours to practice. I gained some sweet skills with all that time. I could stand in one spot without moving for hours, walk around for hours, and do both of those things with a heavy set of drums on my shoulders. The sweat, pain, and time put into it made me proud of what I was doing.

And why was I doing it? My brother did it. Once Kevin brought home a snare drum to practice for concert band, and he let me play it. It was the coolest thing to hold the drum sticks and try to play what he just showed me. I think I even played a buzz roll (which is really easy), and I almost wet my pants with excitement. Also, when Kevin talked about drumming, marching, and competitions I got excited. At parades and competitions he looked so cool in his uniform and the drumline sounded powerful that I knew I wanted to do it, too.

So, my 4 high school summers were spent marching and playing in a band that probably looked just as pathetic as the one I saw this morning, but I thought it was the greatest thing in the world. It was hard. It was hot. And sometimes it was really long, but now I'm really glad I did it.

I liked it so much that I played for 2 years on BYU's drumline. And that is anything but a pathetic looking marching band. And the drumline rocked.

embarrassing? i think not

The funniest and most embarrassing stories always seem to be those that happen with future in-laws. Perhaps it's because the pressure to give them a good impression is abnormally high and that sparks situations that don't normally occur. Or the planets align just so and cause these normal occurrences to twist into some freakishly hilarious event. I don't know the reasons, and I don't have an embarrassing story that has happened with my future in-laws in the last 12 days that I've been engaged. But, the weekend before I proposed is another story. A story that I'm now going to tell.

The crackling of the fire filled the night-time sky of May 30th. I was seated around the campfire with a bunch of Lisa's friends laughing and enjoying ourselves. They were friendly and funny. We talked about many things, but eventually the theme for the night came out. Poo stories. The embarrassing type (is there any other type?). A few of the stories caused us to laugh hard enough to almost create new poo stories right then.

I didn't have a story to share with them. I felt like an outcast.

The next day, Lisa and I ate breakfast at her parents' house. Her parents asked us how the camp-out fared. I believe they were slightly shocked at the our response. I tried to contain my snorting laughter as Lisa retold a few of the stories. I tried hard to be more polite and contain my laughter; I mean, I was planning on proposing to their daughter and still needed to make a good impression! I couldn't be rolling on the ground guffawing over a poo story, and while they were also laughing, I felt ashamed at my own reaction. They waited politely for me to compose myself and asked if I had a story to share. This time when I answered that I did not have a story, I felt relieved instead of rejected. I didn't want to try and impress them with my own poo story.

The next day Lisa's parents and her brother's family were gathered together for a family BBQ. We were all outside enjoying ourselves and the beautiful weather when I felt a stirring within. I left the group and didn't announce my destination. No one noticed me leave, and Lisa's mom, who was in the kitchen, didn't notice me go downstairs. I completed my business in the bathroom, stood up, and flushed the toilet. My ears were alerted that something was wrong when they didn't hear the normal flushing sounds. That's when a quick flash of panic swept my body.

I confirmed the source of my panic after I lifted the toilet seat and peaked underneath. No worries, I thought, I'll just find the plunger and be done in a minute or two. I looked around the toilet, underneath the sink, and through all the drawers for a plunger. No luck.

Still being the optimist I am, I walked jovially down the hall and started up the stairs. The thought crossed my mind, "This could potentially be one of those really embarrassing moments that people dread." I wasn't dreading anything, but for some reason I still crept up the stairs and into the back bathroom so Lisa's mom didn't notice me. Quietly, I looked in every crevice for a plunger only to be disappointed. Once again using my stealth, I left the back bathroom and crept through the front room to avoid the kitchen (where Lisa's mom was) to go to the master bathroom. There, the treasure was found. I retraced my steps through the front room and down the stairs without the faintest sound to give away my presence.

Little more than 5 minutes had passed since I had left everyone, and I figured I would still complete the task at hand and get out without anyone knowing. With these thoughts, I stuck the plunger in the toilet and plunged. Nothing. Again I plunged. And plunged. And plunged.

I think it was about 25 minutes later that I realized that people might start to wonder where I was. The water level had only receded an inch, and I started to feel the panic return. Then I heard voices. Not just anyone's voice, Lisa and her nephew's. Feeling strangely afraid of Lisa and knowing her nephew's tendency to tell all, I felt a fear that is difficult to explain. I responded to their calls with a simple, "Yes?"

"Are you alright?" Lisa asked. "Yes, everything is fine," I responded. I was standing next to the door to prevent anyone from catching a glimpse of the horrific scene. I didn't trust the lock, and sure enough, the nephew twisted the doorknob and it opened. I stopped the door and gently pushed it closed. He asked if he could come in, and I said no. I told him the toilet was broken, but I almost had it fixed.

About 15 minutes later, I had the water almost completely out of the toilet and had a blister on my right palm. Tenderly feeling my blister, I leaned back to catch my breath, wiped the sweat off my forehead, and thought, "This will make a great story for my blog!"

I reached confidently to flush it again, pushed, and watched with horror as the toilet filled up again. I don't know exactly how much time I had spent, but I knew I needed help. If I kept trying by myself, I would end up in the hospital with my hand a bloody pulp. So, I put my shoulders back, lifted up my chin, and walked with a smile upstairs and outside to face Lisa's family. They were all gathered together around the new tree swing, and they simultaneously turned their attention on me as I walked up. This was probably the closest feeling I'll ever have to being in the front line during the Revolutionary War. I stood brave and tall and swallowed my urge to tuck my tail in between my legs and flee. I then explained my mysterious disappearance for over 45 minutes.

They laughed. And laughed. In fact, by the time Lisa's brother went down, plunged twice to fix the toilet, clean up, and walk back outside, they were still laughing.

At least I have a story now.

25 minutes

You know when time seems to drag on forever? You know that excited feeling you get on Christmas Eve? Multiply those feelings by 100.2, and you'll kinda know how I felt last night.

5:06 Arrive at Lisa's. I parked half a mile down the street to make sure that Lisa wouldn't see my car when she came home. I was on a mission, and I couldn't risk anything. This is also when I first noticed that I was shaking.

5:07 Twist the front doorknob. It was locked. My heart actually dropped into my stomach and stopped beating for a few seconds. In those few seconds, my mind ripped through thousands of alternatives (I've gotten good at this the last two weeks trying to keep secrets and figuring things out). For example: breaking a window, breaking a screen, hiding in the bushes, go down the chimney, ring the doorbell (I actually did this one), try the side door, etc... you get the point. No one came to the door after I rang, and I walked quickly to the side door to try it. I saw a vehicle in the car port and heaved a sigh of relieve. Someone HAD to be home. The side door was open, and I felt my heart crawl back into its proper place albeit exhausted and heaving.

5:07 and 30 seconds. The Navy Seals could learn a thing or two from how quietly and quickly I snuck through the house to Lisa's room so her roommate didn't notice me.

5:08 Connect iPod to speakers. It was difficult. Very difficult. Remember I was shaking, and now I was constantly looking out the window watching for Lisa's arrival. I gave up on the speakers because they put out a constant static noise when the iPod was on pause, and I didn't want that when she came in. Plan B- hook it up to her laptop. I couldn't find the cord as I searched her entire room (with one eye still looking out the window). Plan C- use the portable speakers she got from work. I found them and got it hooked up with no problem.

5:10-5:30 Sit on Lisa's bed cupping a little, velvety, black box in my hands. My entire body was still shaking. I replayed the upcoming meeting thousands of times figuring out responses and reactions and planning my counter-moves.

5:30 Lisa drives up. She texted me to tell her she was home (I had told her I was on my way to her house a few minutes earlier... it's very difficult to press the little buttons on a phone when shaking). She walked in, said hi to her roommate, and then I heard her walking down the hall.

5:31 She sees me sitting on the bed, jumps, and lets out a startled squeak. She said, "You surprised me!" and rushed me for a hug. I stood and hugged her holding the little box behind her back, and she said, "You're shaking." I responded, "Can I give you another surprise?" She nodded, and I pried her away from my body. I got down on my knee and opened the black box to reveal a beautiful, sparkling ring; "Lisa, will you marry me?" She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. She stood like that starring at the ring for a full 45 seconds. And there I was, on my knee, waiting for an answer. Finally, after an eternity of waiting (my heart was once again passed out in my stomach), she said, "mmmhmmm!" and pulled me up into another hug. I reached over to play the song that we heard on our first date (Unchained Melody) and kissed my beautiful fiancee.

June 4, 2008 at 5:31 pm I proposed to the love of my life and after 25 minutes, finally stopped shaking.