little black journal

I guess the Schnells are one year closer to becoming an old married couple, as May 20th marked our fourth anniversary.  Lucky for me, Shane was feeling exceptionally romantic and booked us an overnight getaway in a secret location – my only instructions were to meet him at the ferry terminal at noon on Thursday.  His plans were revealed as we boarded the Bainbridge Island boat – he had reserved us a night at a little cottage tucked away on the island.  It felt nice to look back at the Seattle skyline with my husband, to know that we were cruising away from work, from the house, and from the daily grind, so that we could spend the next 24 hours focusing on each other.  We were due for some ‘us’ time.

Any good getaway includes plenty of indulgent food, so after fish ‘n chips and beer at the Harbour Public House, we zipped right over to Mora for ice cream.  They have 48 flavors there.  My lifelong dream is to try them ALL.  Post-ice cream, we headed over to Fort Ward Park for a little afternoon nature walk.  The sun was shining, the wind was whispering the trees, the woods were rich with just about every imaginable shade of green, and so the stage was set for a perfectly sappy hand-in-hand anniversary stroll.  Lovely.  A snake temporarily startled me out of my bliss, but he seemed much more interested in the slug he was trying to devour than he was in us, so we continued on our way.

After our walk, we were ready to check into our cottage, crack open a bottle of wine, and spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing.  Our accommodations were perfect – cozy, quiet, and nestled in among the trees…  Ten minutes there, and I was ready to move in.

We had a fabulous dinner at Agate Pass, and after a spontaneous 20-minute detour to check out the casino we passed on the way back to our place (I won $15 at my first slot machine and decided to quit while I was ahead), we were ready to call it a night.  Turning in at 10 pm is another sure sign that we’re on our way to becoming an old married couple.

Sleeping in is also a crucial part of a good getaway, and so we did just that on Friday morning, rolling out of bed in time to devour the delicious homemade breakfast that was delivered to our door.  Fresh-baked scones and French-press coffee, enjoyed from a little table next to a window that looks out into the forest?  Yes, please!  I really was enamored with the woods – ferns and moss and green, green trees as far as the eye can see.  I can feel myself becoming more and more of a Northwestern-er every day.

And then it was time to bid the island farewell and cruise back toward Seattle.  And yes, that means heading back to work, and the house, and the daily grind, but it also means heading home with the man I love.  Candles and wine and afternoon walks in the woods are all good things, but I suppose there’s also romance to be found in an evening spent on the couch together watching a baseball game, or a quick kiss good-bye on our way out the door in the morning.  So until May 20th rolls around again, I will be savoring the goodness of the day-in, day-out, which is really what’s gotten us through the last four years, and will carry us through the next forty.

Yes, I have been a bit absent lately – I gave this ol’ blog a big heap of makeover love, then I up and left it.  Haven’t felt much like posting lately.  Truth is, I have been stuck in the midst my quarterly (semi-annual if I’m lucky) F-U-N-K.  I’ve been generally kind of ‘ick’ over the last couple of weeks.  We had a nice Easter weekend with my parents, but even as I enjoyed their company, I wasn’t fully present.  Work has been tough, with some disappointments and frustrations, my body refuses to shake this mucus-y bug that has been buggin’ me for over a week now, I haven’t done any art-ing since coming down off the high of my encaustic workshop, and Shane and I have been exceptionally snippy with one another.  And my mojo is totally lost when he and I aren’t clicking.  There haven’t been any major blow-outs (ok, there have been one or two big blow-outs), but what drains me more than any sort of fighting is a general inability for us to really connect.  I’ve felt it for several days, but I’ve had so much self-indulgent satisfaction wallowing in my funk that I haven’t made any effort to get us back on track.  And unfortunately, Shane’s been under the weather, too, and hasn’t felt driven to steer the ship back towards the marital ‘bliss’ that we usually enjoy.  Boo.

But today, the clouds parted.  I don’t know if it’s the thought that we leave for Mexico in a week, or the fact that my work situation seems to be on the upswing, or simply that I realized today how tired I was of having a roommate rather than a husband, but we had a really good night together, and I am revived.  We didn’t do anything special, just cooked dinner together, watched a little tv, then sat on the couch and talked for a couple of hours.  And once again, things feel like they’re supposed to.  I have my best friend back.  Yes, surely we’ll derail again at some point in the future, but that’s ok.  We’ll get over it.  ‘Cause there’s really no other way.

When Shane and I were dating, Valentine’s Day was always a big deal – he would make reservations at some fancy restaurant and drive down to visit me at college, usually arriving at my door with a bouquet of flowers or special gift in hand.  I would look forward to our evening together, thankful that when someone asked me, “Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”, I actually had something good to say.  After we got married, our zeal for Valentine’s Day waned a little bit, but we still celebrated the day, usually with a special home-cooked meal and an exchange of cards.  We started talking last week about what we wanted to do for this Valentine’s Day, knowing that I would probably be spending most of the day at the office, as I have a big deadline at work tomorrow.  I flipped through one of our cookbooks, gazed into our well-stocked fridge with a total lack of motivation, and finally we looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders with a simultaneous, “eh.”  Valentine’s Day can be a great excuse to go out for a nice dinner or indulge in a fancy box of chocolates, but I’ve decided that if you’re not feeling moved to do anything special, just let it go.  And so, I am not ashamed to admit that I had cereal for dinner tonight, and after a long day of work, nothing felt better than hanging out on the couch with my husband, playing a round of Tetris, catching up on Project Runway, eating a bowl of my favorite ice cream.  As Shane rubbed my feet and asked me about my day, I was reminded that I don’t need a dozen roses or a stuffed Cornish game hen to know that I am loved.  I am married to a man that stayed up until 2:30 last night fixing a glitch on my laptop’s photo software, a man that let me watch the latest Project Runway tonight when I know he’d rather have flipped it to the newest episode of 24, a man that has already offered to get up early on his day off to drive me into work tomorrow morning, so that I can sleep in just 10 minutes later and avoid the rainy walk to the lightrail stop.  Now if that’s not love, what is?

It was almost exactly a year ago that Shane came home one night and told me that he thought he wanted to run in a 5k race that would be taking place near our house in late October.  I raised my eyebrows when he told me this – I hadn’t seen Shane run for at least a couple of years.  He was in good shape from biking a lot that summer, but whenever I asked him to join me on jogs, he always told me that running ‘wasn’t really his thing’.  But he continued to talk about the 5k, and when he headed out the door for a training run, I thought he might be serious.  Then he came home and told me he couldn’t finish the 3-mile jog, and I began to have my doubts about whether or not he’d really follow through with this out-of-the-blue-interest.  Shame on me – my skepticism was put to rest when he finished the 5k Pumpkin Push race in late October with impressive speed.  Then he ran the 5k Turkey Trot in November.  And the Mercer Island 10k in March.  And the Kirkland Half Marathon in June.  Holy cow – this guy could run!  And then the marathon talk started.  I tried to be supportive, but I inwardly cringed at the pain I knew he would have to endure to train for and complete a 26.2-mile run.  I admit that I secretly hoped he would decide not to go through with it – I loved that he was dreaming big and aiming high, but I was also envisioning shin splints, sore muscles, and lost toenails.  Then in August he registered for the Portland Marathon, and he was officially committed.  So he ran.  And ran.  And I watched him hobble around the house after his 16-mile Saturday training runs, feeling sorry for his hurting body, but eventually letting my pride in him outweigh my concern.  Yes, this would be hard, but he was strong and driven and dead-set on finishing this thing.

This weekend was the weekend that all those months of training would pay off.  We arrived in Portland yesterday afternoon and enjoyed hanging around downtown with friends and family that had come in for the race.  The day ended with a carbo-loading session at a small Italian place in Northwest Portland.

We were up bright dark and early this morning to get Shane to the starting line before his 7 a.m. race time.  My mom and I dropped him off, I gave him a quick kiss for good luck, and then my man disappeared into a sea of runners.  He was on his way.  (I was on my way, too, to Stumptown Coffee for a latte and a scone.)  I had some anxiety about whether or not we’d be able to catch sight of him along the course, but we headed down toward the waterfront in hopes of finding him somewhere around mile 2.  And voila, a few minutes after claiming our spot on the sidewalk, there he was, running fast, smiling, hardly breaking a sweat.  He was off to an amazing start.  Then we saw him again as he looped back for mile 6, and he was slightly sweaty, maybe breathing a little harder, but he was still bookin’ it, and he still had that same happy look on his face.  I was relieved to see him doing so well.  But I also knew that he was facing a major hill right around mile 17, and that a lot of people had told him that mile 17 is also the same point in a marathon when your body really starts to give out, so we jumped in the car and headed across the river so that we could be there to cheer him on right at mile 17.5, as he was coming off the St. John’s Bridge.  We found a good vantage point to watch him approach, and I was ecstatic to see him still bookin’ it and still smiling when he came off that bridge less than three hours after his race had begun.  We cheered like crazy, I snapped photos like I was the paparazzi, and Brian jumped right in to run with him for a few minutes to offer some support.  I tried to run with him for a little while too, but even at mile 17.5, he was still too fast for me to keep up.

From there, we hopped back in the car and headed back across the river to catch Shane at the finish line.  We found a spot on a ledge where we could stand and watch the runners come in, we unrolled our ‘Run Shane Run’ signs, and held our breath.  Would he meet his time goal?

Of course he would.  Shane crossed the finish line with a stellar time of 3:58:44.  One minute less than the 4 hour time he was hoping for, and many minutes less than the 4 hour-15 minute time he was actually expecting.  He was beat, to say the least, but he was also so proud of himself and so thrilled with how the entire experience played out.  I am also quite proud, and sorry that I ever doubted that his body or mind could handle the challenge.  This man is a rock star!

Exactly ten years ago today, Shane drove over to my house in his bright blue Dodge Neon and picked me up for our very first date.  We went to the movies and saw Notting Hill, then grabbed milkshakes at a little restaurant down the street from the theater.  I remember feeling relieved that conversation flowed so easily between us, thinking that Shane was really cute, wondering if he was going to kiss me goodnight as our evening together came to an end.  He did not kiss me, which I appreciated as the sign of a gentleman, but he did call me the next day and ask if I’d like to go out again.  Yes, please!  We spent much of that summer together, watching movies in my living room while my dad waited up and kept a distant eye on us from the kitchen, wanting to make sure this new guy in my life wasn’t up to no good.  We went out and shot pool at the local pool hall, played miniature golf at the little amusement park, and drove out to Turlock Lake to walk along the water and escape the heat.  And then, as Summer came to an end, the very first questions about our future together arose.  Shane was due to return to Minnesota when his internship was over,  so I began to prepare myself for saying good-bye.  But when he was offered a full-time job in California, he decided that his days as a Minnesotan were over, much to his family’s surprise.  He stayed in town, and we stayed together.  Then I began my senior year of high school, and started applying to colleges three or four hours away from home, and more questions about our relationship came to light.  Did I really want to get involved with someone, knowing that I would be going away and starting a totally new phase of my life in the Fall?  Would I be missing out on some part of my final year of high school by dating someone who had already completed that part of his life, who didn’t know my friends, or care about our school’s football team, or want to go to high school parties or dances?  Shane and I did keep seeing each other throughout that year, but I was cautious.  I kept my heart under lock and key.  When he first told me he loved me, my response was, “No, you can’t.”  Ouch, that must have hurt him.  But I had never been serious with anyone before, and I found it hard to tread through these unfamiliar waters.  Thankfully, patience is one of Shane’s strongest virtues, and he gave me time and space to figure out what I wanted for our relationship.  And one year after our first date, I told him that I loved him.  I would be leaving for Cal Poly in September, and the thought of having a long-distance boyfriend was scary, but I knew that this guy was just too good to let go.  We decided to give it a try.  Shane put a lot of miles on his car during those few years, frequently making the 200-mile trip down to San Luis Obispo, and I went through a lot of calling cards as we spent endless hours on the phone.  It was hard at times, but we got through the hard times and reveled in the good times.  We were making it work, and I was falling deeper in love.  But during my fourth year of college, when I was studying in Paris, those pesky questions about our future began to arise again.  Shane came to visit me in May of 2004, and I was ecstatic to see him.  Being in Paris with the man you love is enough to put anyone on Cloud 9.  But then, one afternoon as we were sitting along the Seine, talking and dangling our feet near the river, Shane threw me for a loop when he reached into his pocket, pulled out the most beautiful diamond ring I’d ever seen, and asked me to be his wife.  To say that I panicked would be an understatement.  Yes, of course I loved this thoughtful, generous, wonderful man, but was I really ready to commit to forever?  I had spent the previous eight months living alone in Europe, embracing my independence and freedom.  Marriage was not at the forefront of my mind.  And so my answer was, “I can’t answer you right now.”  Double-ouch.  Shane was hurt, and my heart broke as I saw his heart breaking.  But I just knew that I wasn’t in a place where I could make that kind of commitment.  The next year was a tough one, as we both wrestled with discerning God’s plan for our relationship.  I kept waiting for that moment everyone talks about when “you just know”.  It didn’t come.  And although Shane is patient, that question can only be kept on the table for so long.  I had been offered a job up in Seattle and knew that the indecision timer was running out.  Finally, after much praying and talking and counseling and growing, I decided to take a leap of faith, and in July of 2005 I asked Shane to please put that pretty little ring on my finger.  We got married the following May, and now, a couple of weeks after our third wedding anniversary, here we are.  And “here” is a very good place to be.  Bit by bit, I have given my heart to this man, and he has treated it unbelievably well.  So, cheers to our first of many decades together – can’t wait to see what the next ten years will look like.

I love this man.  Three years of marriage, and he still makes me smile every single day.

My all-star husband completed his first half-marathon today, with an impressive time of under two hours!  I, on other the hand, sat in a cafe and polished off a latte and raspberry scone in record time.  Seriously, though, I am so proud of Shane.  He had some anxiety going into this race, but when the time came, he manned up, proudly pinned on his race number, and gave it his all.  Trying to connect with him a couple of times along the course was trickier than expected, but I did manage to track him down somewhere around mile 9, where I ran with him for one block (whew!), and then I caught him again at the finish line, happy to see that he was still going strong.  Nice job, honey!  You rock.

Ooooohhh, yesterday was a rough day.  I went to bed around the usual time on Sunday night, fell asleep within 30 seconds of putting my head on the pillow, and then awoke to feelings of uncomfortable nausea around 2 am.  Discomfort quickly turned into pain and by 4 am, I was running to the bathroom and emptying my stomach.  So glad that I scrubbed the toilet and the bathroom floors on Saturday, because I spent the much of the next 6 hours laying on the cool tile of our bathroom floor, hoping with each bout of gagging that it would soon be over.  Was it the slightly undercooked chicken I ate for dinner the night before?  Had I picked up the flu from someone?  Whatever the reason, I felt terrible.  I spent the entire day in bed, doing whatever I could to make myself comfortable, which wasn’t much.  Fever and achy-ness set in around 4 pm to add to my misery.  Thank God Shane had yesterday off of work.  He gets a gold star for nursing his whiny, sick wife back to health.  He did whatever he could to make me feel better – setting up the computer in bed so that I could watch a movie, rubbing my back as I tried to fall asleep, monitoring my fluid intake to make sure I avoided dehydration, even baking me applesauce muffins when that was the only thing that sounded good to me (and baking is not one of Shane’s favorite pastimes).  I don’t know what I would have done yesterday without him.  Today I was at about 80% – well enough to go into work, though there were times today when I was tempted to crawl under my desk and take a nap.  I hope to be back in full force tomorrow.

The really fantastic thing is that now I know that Shane can bake – I’ll be taking advantage of this little tidbit in the future…

Today was a hot one, especially by Seattle standards, with temps topping 90 degrees.  So when the kids a few doors down from us invited Shane to participate in their watergun fight, he couldn’t resist.  He was clearly living out his James Bond fantasies, ducking behind trees, nailing people with his super-soaker left and right.  He showed no mercy, which is why I chose to watch from the safety of our second floor window.  Boys will be boys, I guess…

Shane got back last night from his 5-day business trip down to Tuscon, and it is wonderful to have him home again. While I enjoyed having some time to myself, and appreciated being able to spend my Saturday afternoon watching chick flicks instead of the NCAA tournament, I was starting to get a little lonely. Spending a few days on my own has caused me to appreciate all over again just how integral Shane is to my day-to-day life. He keeps the blankets from falling off the side of the bed in the middle of the night. He is that shoulder I need to lean on after a stressful day at work. He doesn’t let me spend all morning watching reruns of Beverly Hills, 90210 (I found I need someone to call me out on my trash-TV binges). He makes sure that I laugh deeply and regularly. He remembers to always close the garage door and turn the heat down at bedtime. He keeps me from being freaked out by the noises that the house makes at night. He takes the garbage out when it’s cold and raining outside. He makes certain that I always feel loved, appreciated, and pursued. He leaves his socks on the floor and his empty glasses on the coffee table (wait – that might be another post…).  Anyhow, I’m happy he’s home.  Life is so much better when he’s around.