May 28, 2006

Our Engagement

Six years ago, on May 26, 2000, my husband proposed to me. I remember the night as if it were yesterday.

We had gone to dinner at our favorite restaurant, Water Street Grille. We loved that place. We knew the owner Craig very well. He always seated us at our “regular” table and if it was in use, he’d buy us a drink at the bar until it was ready. When we sat down to order, our waitress, Karen asked if I was going to have “the usual”. This was the Baby Back Ribs with garlic mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables and the starter salad with ranch dressing. I nodded and she looked over at Doug. He ordered the blackened ribeye. We had a wonderful dinner. We talked about the weather, about my volleyball team that played on Wednesday nights at Zenoff park and we discussed going to Lake DuBay for Memorial Day as Doug’s friends were camping up there for the weekend.

After dinner we went back to my father’s tavern to have a few drinks and see other friends of ours. Deb was bartending and I sat on the corner of the L-shaped bar and talked to her, while Doug participated in a game of darts with three other patrons, Rusty, Tom & Jimmy.

As we were all mingling, Doug sat down by me for a moment and his pal Rusty said, “So, Doug when are you gonna get married?” Doug looked at him and sarcastically said, “I’m never EVER getting married. What for?” He always joked about the topic and that night I’d had enough of it. I looked at Doug and said, “We’ve been dating for two years! Seriously, if we don’t get married, we should just break up now!” He didn’t flinch, he didn’t crack a smile. He just got up and walked to the dart board for his turn.

This frustrated me and I felt like a complete idiot. I got up, grabbed my purse and walked out. I only lived two doors away and decided to go home. Doug followed me out and said, “What the heck is your problem? I was only kidding!!” I didn’t believe him. “You didn’t sound like you were kidding…” I said. “You sounded pretty darn serious to me.”

He begged me to calm down and to come for a walk with him. At first I refused. I was really mad. He convinced me to “just come on, let’s walk to the park.” I agreed.

Pfiffner park was about four blocks from the bar. As we walked, I began to tear up. Millions of thoughts ran through my head. He doesn’t want to marry me. I’m not good enough for him. He’s got someone else. What a waste of two years. I really love him. This went on for what seemed like forever. He tried to hold my hand but I pulled away.

“How was your dinner?” Doug asked.

“Fine.” I said hotly.

“Dana, you know I love you.” he said, as he grabbed my hand again.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” I retorted.

We got to the park. It was dark, about 9 p.m. and I sat down at a picnic table. Doug sat next to me and I looked away from him.

“Look at me…” he said. “I love you.”

I didn’t move. Suddenly he knelt down before me. I panicked. He’s gonna propose now? I thought. That son-of-a-bitch. He cant’ do it NOW.

“Dana, you’re the only girl I’ve truly loved and I do want to spend the rest of my life with you.” he said.

I started crying. I felt him grabbing my right hand. “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just want to hold your hands.”

He took my right hand in his and leaned forward to kiss me. Suddenly, he slipped something on to my left hand that was on my lap. I panicked. I freaked out. I was still mad at him. I was still MAD at him for being such a jackass earlier.

“Either that’s a piece of tin on my finger or your in BIG trouble.” I said.

“Dana, will you marry me?” he asked. Silence, followed by crying on my part. I just sat there crying.

“I can’t believe you just pissed me off and then proposed to me? What am I going to tell my grandchildren?” I cried.

“So, is that a yes?” he asked. I nodded. But it was dark and he couldn’t see it.

“I’m nodding.” I said.

We hugged and kissed and walked back to the bar. He told me along the way that his plan was to ask me at Lake DuBay on Monday, but he didn’t want me to wise to his idea, so he thought that making the joke about not getting married would throw me off. But he realized he couldn’t wait that long and decided to ask me that moment in the park.

Pretty crazy story, huh? I still can’t believe he made me MAD first. How nuts! This is why we’re perfect for each other. We’re both a little goofy.

May 27, 2006

Happy Holiday Weekend

It’s Saturday! That doesn’t mean much to me when I work every Saturday, however. Ten long hours. I’m not going to whine. I promise.

I dropped Dawson off at Grandma’s this morning. He didn’t even care that his “Mumma” was going to work and that he wouldn’t see me until tomorrow. My parents offered to keep the Doodlebug overnight again, so they could spend time with him over the holiday weekend. Dawson loves his grandparents so much, and I’m happy for that, but part of me wishes he would have at least been a little bit sad to see me go. Oh well. It’s not like he’s gone for a week or anything. And I admit I do need some me time.

Doug works until 9 p.m. tonight so I won’t see him until then. I think I will take the Murphster for a walk when I’m done with work. I’ve neglected to take him the last few times because he nipped at a passer-by on Tuesday and that scared me. I’ve never seen Murphy be aggressive with anyone. Hyper, yes. He likes to jump an lick and play. He’s a dog for goodness sake. But I’ve never witnessed an incident of nipping. I don’t know if he was being protective over Dawson in the stroller, but he didn’t like the gentleman who passed by and wanted to pet him. I was so embarrassed and sad. The good news is the guy is okay and Murphy didn’t bite him. -Wiping the sweat off my brow- That’s a relief.

Another thing I’d like to do after work is clean the house. With the Bug around, things get messy quickly. Toys all over, unfolded laundry in baskets waiting to be put away. A kitchen floor that needs mopping. Maybe I can get that done.

But the best part of the weekend is that I get to sleep IN tomorrow. Hooray!

May 26, 2006

Gyros, Greeks, and Generosity

Last night, Dawson and I went to the Gyro & Kabob House restaurant in town to pick up dinner for us and Doug. The smell of the gyros and chicken tandoori kabobs was lingering into the street, causing my mouth to water immediately and my nose was in love.

The man who opened this restaurant is an Indian gentleman and I admit I find him adoringly handsome. He has the most interesting accent and dialect. I couldn’t help but smile when he took our order.

I gazed at the menu (with wonderful Greek and Mediterranean dishes) for a bit and I knew 2 Gyros was a necessary request. I once worked at a restaurant/bar called Joe Mama’s on the square. Joe served gyros and I remember making the delicious pita creations. Unfortunately, Joe closed his shop a few days ago. I wonder if it had to do with the competition from G&K or perhaps Willy’s Chicago Eatery that was in the building before it? Willy moved into another part of the city, but his business is still growing strong.

I almost felt guilty ordering a gyro from a man not Joe, but when I saw that G&K had kabobs, I immediately fell in love. I placed my order for the gyros and kabobs and gave the proprietor my credit card. He tried to scan the card but his machine was acting funny. He told me it may be the phone lines. I didn’t have any cash or my checkbook and I felt horrible to have to cancel the order. He said to me, “No, you take food. Don’t worry! I write total on ticket, you come back and pay. You order Gyro, yes?” I nodded. “Ah, you’ll be back! Don’t worry. Phone lines must not be working.”

I was so in love with this little man at that moment. To have such faith, to allow me to take the food and come back and pay. I’ve never witnessed such generosity before.

Dawson and I set down on a little bench to wait for our order. I looked around this little eatery and the decor was brilliant. It had a combination of Greek and Middle Eastern flair. There were several tables with pictures of Greece laminated on the table tops, and a section of “booth” type tables that were lower to the floor with pillows and cushions for the seating, beneath a canopy of the most sheer and elegant fabric. It was just beautiful. In the center of the room along the wall was a fountain. The sound of the water was very calming.

It was just a wonderful atmosphere. Our order was ready and I thanked the man for his generosity and I just know I’ll be back.

Today, actually. I’m going to order the Falafel. I’m dying to try it!

I Look Like My Mother

98. I’m told I’m just like my mother. In looks and manners.

I look exactly like my mother. So much, that people often mistake me for her. It can be irritating at times. How someone doesn’t know this, when we are 28 years apart is beyond me. Sometimes I don’t know if their error is a compliment to me or to her. It usually happens at church picnics. I’ll be polka dancing with my father and after a dance, someone will come up to my father and say hello.

“Frank! How you been ol’ buddy? Good to see you!” they’ll say. Then the offender will turn to me and say, “Monica! You’re looking beautiful as ever.” I usually turn a few shades of red, smile and say, “Actually, I’m Monica’s daughter, Dana.” They usually become embarrassed, but I’ll shake hands and have a conversation with the person until my mother comes over to talk as well.

I guess it’s a trait in my family for generations. I look like Mom, she looks like Grandma Alice and Grandma Alice looks like her mother. And if I do say so myself, they are some gorgeous ladies.

My mom has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She has a warm smile and a light complexion. Growing up I remember how she wouldn’t like to sit in the sun for fear of sunburn because of her light skin. She’d slather the sunblock on us because she didn’t want any of us to get skin cancer. I have my moms facial features. Her oval face, her narrow nose, her jawline. But I have my father’s blue eyes and my hair is light brown. But I can tell it’s getting darker. I bet it will be black by the time I’m 35.

I don’t really remember what Grandma Alice looked like in her younger days. The pictures I look at are either in black and white or faded color. But I’m pretty certain she had light brown hair, too. Perhaps that is where I got that trait.

All three of us have a widow’s peak. I hated that damn thing when I was in junior high because when I curled my bangs, the widow’s peak was more like a freakin’ cowlick and my bangs wouldn’t hold up. I once tried to shave it. BIG MISTAKE! It grew in all funny. My grandmother would tell me that I should be proud to have this trait like Vivien Leigh. I don’t think Scarlett had a widow’s peak, not that I can see.

I denied my resemblence to my mom for a long time. It wasn’t until 1999 that I had some of those “Glamor Shots” done and I realized I am my mom. When those pictures came back I nearly passed out. It was like looking at my mom and not myself. Everyone I showed them to, said I looked like Monica. It was a little strange at first.

When I became a mother, I really became my mom. I say some of the same things she says! For example, “Don’t jump on the furniture!” “Stop yelling, you’re driving me crazy!” “I’m not sleeping, I’m resting my eyes…” the list goes on. It’s uncanny. Genetics I can understand, but behaviors are completely strange. Do we really pick up on the manners of our parents?

I suppose that’s just the way it goes. I love my mother very much and if I’m destined to be just like her, than I’m okay with that.