When I reminisce about memorable moments in my life, I find that it has been a string of moments, some more memorable than others.
One that stands out as the most memorable, though, is the way my husband proposed to me in 1979. We had been dating for about three months, living together for six weeks, and the vacation was kind of a litmus test for our relationship. If we survived that, we were good to go. At the time, I was going through a divorce from my first husband from whom I had been separated for almost a year, and I was surprised to find myself falling in love again and trusting this man enough to be in a relationship.
We had traveled with a group of friends to Campitello in the Dolomites, in Italy, for a week of skiing and to celebrate the holidays and the new year together. We arrived in the middle of a snow storm so severe that the lifts were closed until after Christmas. It was just beautiful, new snow, great food, lots of parties, and just hanging out in this beautiful region in the Italian Alps.
It was the last day of the year, and our merry group had hiked up to a cabin above the village, through freshly fallen, deep snow, and each couple was equipped with a bottle of Williams Christ for the way up. Spirits were high, there was lots of laughter, teasing, and nudging to climb faster. After all, it was pretty cold and dinner was awaiting us with more drinks, music, and dancing. It took the better part of an hour to reach the cabin, and after taking off ski jackets, mittens, and hats, we settled in.
Soon enough dinner was served and jokes flew across the tables, more Williams Christ Pear was served and I had just about reached my limit of alcohol, and my partner and I were debating to hike back to the hotel before midnight – we just had enough to drink, and we were already pretty silly with him wanting to borrow a bright-red sled that was parked in the mudroom by the front door of the cabin. I managed to distract him and pulled him with me outside, where we slowly but surely descended downhill.
Nature took over and my man needed to relieve himself (I kind of worried about the exposure of valuable private parts, but only briefly) and after everything was safely tucked away into the snow suit, I noticed that he had managed to outline a bright yellow heart into the snow, and turning towards me, with a sheepish grin on his face, he proposed. At the exact moment, I said ‘yes’, the church bells in the valley below started ringing in the New Year.
No, we didn’t have fireworks, but just writing about that night, the butterflies start to dance again inside me.
Hiking Poet 