Blessing #7

 If you've been on social media anytime in the last 20 years, you have no doubt seen some beautiful, heart wrenching wedding proposals involving hot air balloons, soldiers on leave from places like South Korea or Belgium, even outrageously expensive skywriting or banner trailing. All visible demonstrations of a couple's deep deep love.

Our wedding proposal was nothing like that. 

Mostly, because at the ripe age of 32, I had no idea how to go about arranging one. I couldn't ask Deb's friends or the jig would have been up. I couldn't ask my friends, lest one of them blurt it out in a drunken stupor. And there were no Youtube videos to provide helpful instructions, like the million that are available today, including:

1. How to remove an under-the-sink P-trap

2. How to cook the perfect sous vide Beef Wellington

3. How to defuse a 1/2 ton Laser Guided Bomb (LGB)

Everything except... 

4. How to propose to Debbie Weinblatt and sweep her off her feet.

So I did it in my own inimitable way. It was during December and people were celebrating Christmas/Hanukkah, etc. So I suggested we get out of town for a weekend. I told her it was a surprise destination (that was the romance part, I knew instinctively that surprise equals romance.)

We packed for a long weekend, hopped in my Pathfinder and headed up PCH to Northern California.

We had been dating for a few years and lived together for a year and a half. I never doubted for a moment that she was the one. Never. And she knew as much. Consequently, I think she suspected what was about to transpire. 

Maybe.

Because, just a few hours north of Los Angeles, I pulled off the highway and we stopped at Pea Soup Anderson's, known not coincidently for their amazing pea soup. We had an incredible lunch, though I passed on the peas because of some childhood trauma and aversion to my mother's canned peas. 

"Isn't this great?" 

"Great"

"I also booked us a room here so we can explore Buellton and Solvang, a special destination built to look like a Danish village."

"This is the big surprise? We're here for the weekend?"

"I know, isn't this cool?"

I mercilessly let her disappointment build, but Deb was too graceful to show any signs of discontent.

"Great."

When the prank was on its last breath, I said, "I'm just kidding, we have a few more hours to go."

Later, we arrived at our true destination, a beautiful oceanfront cabin in Cambria in the heart of Central California.

There was a bottle of chilled champagne waiting for our arrival and even a bouquet of flowers. Deb's preconceived notions were back on track. At least temporarily. 

When it was time to exchange Hanukkah gifts, she insisted I open mine first: A ski sweater, a leather travel bag, a manicure kit. To be honest, I forgot what she gave me. She never forgot the cavalcade of gifts I got her.

A new wallet.

A Mammoth Mountain T-shirt.

Some new ski mittens.

And some novelty socks.

Again, like a total unromantic schmuck, I let the disappointment rise to a crescendo. Had I given it another minute I'm sure she would have started crying. And then I dug into my carry-on luggage and said,"Oh wait, there's one more thing."

The thing was the ring.

She said, "Yes", knowing full well that she was agreeing to a life of childish pranks, raucous laughter and an endless supply of love and oneness.

After the tears of joy, we went to town to celebrate and have dinner. Unable to hide my ebullience, I introduced Deb to the Maitre De, the waiter, the busboys, the couple at the next table and even people passing in the parking lot.

"This is Debbie, my fiancé." 

That uncontainable joy never faded. Ever.