Anniversaries

Yesterday was a special day for me. It was the three year mark of being speed free. I haven't gotten a ticket for three years! Hooray. Today is an even more special anniversary. It is my three-year wedding anniversary, and I'm pretty darn excited about it and about my marriage, which totally rocks. My husband is absolutely wonderful and life with him is all I could have ever dreamed. Reaching this milestone has made me a little nostalgic, and I wanted to share a letter I stumbled over recently that I had written to Paul on his mission during our early days together.

January 23, 2006

Hello, Ploomper!

How the hell are Ya? Marriage is wonderful. I've only thought of leaving Hiram a few times—mostly because he has the worst gas I've ever smelled in my life. I take that back—Roger Houser's gas is worst—but Hiram's is pretty darn bad. It's especially awful at night when I'm trying to sleep. Imagine that you are sleeping soundly, dreaming that you're frolicking in a field full of daisy's and little bunny rabbits. All of a sudden, the sky darkens as the sun is covered not by clouds, but by a thick, noxious, green gas that causes the flowers to shrivel up and die and the little helpless animals to experience severe body spasms. You wake choking and gagging on that same thick, noxious, green gas and realize that it was emitted by the large sleeping mass beside you…your husband. That will give you some idea of what my life is all about. I guess it could be worse. I could be living in a van down by the river.

Hiram is typically immune to his own powerful fumes—able to sleep through the worst of it, but the other night, as I myself lay choking and gagging, I noticed that my husband was lying prostrate, face-down in his pillow. "Oh my gosh! He's dead!" I thought in a panic and nearly shook him to be sure when I heard him breathing—the deep, peaceful breathing of those lost in dreams. I was relieved to find he was still alive but a little pissed that he could still be in his beautiful field, frolicking with the wildlife, basking in the sun. It's not all daisies and bunny rabbits for Hiram, though. His dreams are sometimes much darker. I'm now going to tell you of the night I nearly lost my life…or at least my nose as we know it. I had been sleeping soundly, dreaming I don't know what, when I was suddenly awakened—not by stinky farts this time, but by something quite different—something more like what we call a "spiritual prompting." I felt Hiram stir next to me, and as I was rolling over to see why, I beheld a disturbing scene. My husband was leaning up in bed on his right elbow; his left hand was balled up into a fierce fist which was rapidly descending upon my face! I moved just in time, and his fist only grazed my forehead and hit the pillow behind my head. "Honey! What's going on?! You just punched my forehead!" Hiram fell back onto his own pillow, obviously still lost in dreamland, and I was too tired to pursue the matter further, but I did not sleep quite so well the second half of the night, constantly worried there might be a second attack.

A couple weeks ago, as we were going to bed, Hiram told me, "Babe, I have a scared feeling tonight." I told him I was sure it wasn't a prompting or anything because I didn't think the Lord worked that way, but sure enough, the next morning he came in after his early classes declaring to me that, "someone tried to break into the Rodeo." (There had apparently been a set of footprints leading to the door of our truck, which didn't belong to either of us.) "Are you serious?!" "Yeah, and there's a broken-off key in the driver's side door. I had to crawl in from the passenger's side." Maybe there was something to his "scared" feelings the previous night after all. I didn't know, but as the day wore on, I was able to fit our own key further and further into the lock. When I informed Hiram, though, that I had been successful in unlocking the driver's side door and that I believed he might have been mistaken about a theft attempt on our vehicle, he simply concluded that the "thief" had come back and retrieved his broken key.

Anyway, like I was saying earlier—marriage is wonderful. I am very, very happy. I don't know that life could get any better. I ought to send you pictures of our little home. It's actually not that little at all. We live in the downstairs of a house recently purchased by my very good friend, Marnie Favero. We have a bedroom, a living/dining room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a computer/TV room, and with the help of the DI and numerous generous family members, we've been able to furnish the place quite nicely. We would someday like to own a table and chairs, but for the time being, we don't mind eating on different bits of floor or perched on various countertops. It's all quite cute and cozy.

Well, it would be cozy if not for the extremely cold temperature. We pay $100 for rent per month plus whatever utilities etc there are for the house. Last month, the gas bill alone was over $300. We had been keeping our place a pleasant 70 degrees or so, but as soon as Hiram saw that bill, he made drastic changes. Our house is now usually warmer than it is outside. (On some find days outside, it is actually still snowing in our living room.) Hiram keeps the thermostat at exactly 52 degrees and can tell if anyone has adjusted it even a couple degrees. He told me one afternoon that somebody had turned our heat up. "Oh yeah?" "Yes. I was standing in our computer room when all of a sudden I heard the heater BLAZE on. I went upstairs to check, and sure enough—it was turned up to 54 degrees!" In addition to the change in temperature in our apartment, there has been a significant change in our water heater operations. We now turn it on only once a week—to take quick showers and wash our dishes. Because we are only ever warm in our home when we're showering or sleeping, we've spent increasing amounts of time over at Adam's little abode. He, however, has recently received HIS gas bill, and we feel no need to continue our almost daily visits. It is now as cold at his house as it is at ours.

It's funny how we don't understand why our parents are the way they are until we, ourselves, are in the position of responsibility. It is fun to be an adult.

I must bid you farewell for now, dear brother. Hope you've enjoyed hearing from us.

We love you,
Ashley & Hiram