{blah blah blah blah blah (Ryan is cutting spices while he dictates to me.)
So you may be well aware that
Thursday was our 2 month anniversary.
Now that isn’t quite right.
Although the date says we’ve only been married 2 months, Hannah and I
are sure that it’s been more like 6 months-2 yrs. We have made way too many adult decisions for
it to be merely 2 mos. We bought a
microwave last night. Then we made the
adult decision to put all of our wedding pictures into a wedding album while I
read The Hobbit to Hannah. That is
completely an adult decision, and couldn’t possibly be made on the experience
of only 2 months. In fact, just last
week Hannah made the adult decision that we needed to eat more vegetables and
I made the adult decision to agree with her. (To be fair that isn't true. Although it is funnier to say it that way.)
Clearly we should be credited
with extra time. Therefore, Thursday
might have been our 2 month anniversary, but Friday was our triple-awesome
anniversary.
I asked
Hannah what to write next, and she said “Mr. Ryan, this is your blog.” So I have made
the decision to follow her advice and tell you about our 2-month anniversary
date.
 |
| Our latest grown up decision was to buy an ironing board. |
Now on Friday night Hannah and I
decided to skip the BYU-Hawaii game (we don’t have a TV and didn’t know it was
happening until we were partway up the mountain [by the way BYU trounced
University of Hawaii]) I don’t know if you’ve ever hiked the Y. It is a nice, pleasant stroll up. It’s only a mile and a half. Straight up the mountain. With a ten-degree temp difference. And less air than you could keep a bird alive
on. Most of the way up you’re not sure
if you left your lungs behind. And your
legs keep attempting mutiny, and you feel like you’re going to fall on your face,
but the mountain keeps catching you every time.
The great thing about hiking the Y is that after you get to the top, and
have been up there a while, you promptly forget the trek up and think to
yourself “Wow! That was a great hike! I want to do that again.” It’s probably the lack of oxygen. We enjoyed ourselves a love, so we’re
planning on doing it again in the Spring, when the weather turns warm again.
Hannah is
calling me Mr. Dictator. She probably
doesn’t want me to mention that I’m dictating to her, while I’m off
lollygagging {doing the dishes}. I just
asked Hannah if she’s adding stuff. She
won’t tell me.
However, I digress. The hike up was pleasant. We took up with us an entire Little Ceasar’s
pizza, wrapped in tinfoil. Divided and
lovingly placed in our daypacks. At the
top, we tenderly laid a blanket just above the foot of the Y and watched people
below leave the massacre that was the BYU-Hawaii game. It was pleasant sitting up there, seeing the
unending line of red brake lights and white headlights, with the distant peal
of victory bells far below. I am unsure
of how long we were up there (2 hours), however I enjoyed myself immensely, for
I got to sit far away from the world with my wife in my arms, eating lukewarm
pizza and ignoring our cherry turnovers.
To be short in writing {too late!},
let me conclude with the story of the Englishman who went up a hill, but came
down a mountain. Or something like that.
Hannah tells me it’s a great movie and I need to see it.
As I sit here trying to decide how
to conclude this, Hannah has reminded me that I need to include the word of the
day.
Orphan: A person who has lost his
parents
Often: Frequently
When
you said “orphan”, did you mean “orphan” – a person who has lost his parents,
or “often”, frequently? –Major General Stanley
So the moral of the story is Hannah and I are doing well. We love each other, and are glad to be here.
It is even more fun to look at photos of our parents,
grandparents and great-grandparents. When we view these photos, we see things
about our parents that we never knew before. We learn who they were. Which
teaches us how they became who they are now. If we want to be like our parents,
we must not only observe the lessons they taught us. Also, we should understand
the lessons they were taught, and the lessons they learned themselves.
