I first started thinking about proposing in the summer of 2005. The fact that we were coming up on our five-year anniversary first made me start seriously thinking about it, beyond both of our assumption that it would happen eventually.
My first date was our anniversary itself, Nov. 5. We have been looking at rings ever since we started dating. We go up to random jewelry stores, stare at the rings and I have to pick the one she’ll like best. So I knew she wanted a filigreed, white gold ring that sparkled a lot. We had looked at a place in Lake Oswego that had a lot of old-fashioned rings and I originally set my sights on them.
But I never got one from them. In September, while walking through the mall she works at, we stopped at a Helzberg and bought a ring. We had no plan to buy a wedding ring at that point. I hadn’t even proposed. But she saw the one perfect one, the one-that-could-never-be-beat. So we applied for credit and reserved ourselves a ring. We had three months to pick it up or return it, with the assumption that I would come under the cover of darkness and then surprise her.
While we were getting the credit, one of the saleswomen pulled me aside and asked me, “Do you have a date you plan to give it to her?” And I did. But by this time it had moved, from Nov. 5 to sometime in December. Why December? Not because of Jesus, not because of crass commercialism. But Because in August we found out that we were going to Paris.
So know I had a ring, a date and a willing proposer, and I assumed a willing proposee. But it was only a few weeks until we decided that we had acted a little too hastily and decided to return the ring. We figured if it was still there when we were ready it would be a sign.
So I was back to finding a ring myself. Unfortunately, many factors contributed to my eventual downfall. I decided that taking 18 credits would be a good thing to do while I started working at the school newspaper. I was at the paper around 30 hours a week while trying not to fail my classes. I was mentally and physically exhausted; though Nicole’s support made me sure I wanted to marry her, so all around a good decision for us all. At Thanksgiving my Mom, sensing things, hinted with an expanded Oxford Dictionary that THEY MAKE THOSE claddagh RINGS YOU TOO LIKE WITH DIAMONDS! But I wasn’t really paying attention.
So the week before we left for Paris, the week before Christmas as well, I spring on her that I’m thinking of proposing gin Paris and that I don’t know what to do for a ring. We talk about it and decide that this may be too late and there’s no reason to rush it just so I can do it in Paris. It’s too soon and a big cliché, and how could I enjoy a trip with a $2,000 diamond ring in my luggage and on the streets of Paris? Only an idiot would do it in Paris.
But then, divine inspiration. My Mom remembered that we have a lot of my Grandma Helen’s old costume jewelry from when she died. It would be sentimental, but if I lost it, it wouldn’t be a devastating loss. She got them out to see if there was one that would work, and I found a filigreed ring with an opal, Nicole’s birthstone. It was exactly what I was looking for (except it was gold and, as it turned out, my Grandma Helen had big fingers).
With all of this set up I set on my next task: Asking her father. She and her dad, Lonnie, had talked about whether or not I needed permission before asking her, and since he had never asked he didn’t see it as fair to make me, though it did seem the right way to do it. I emailed him, vaguely asking to talk about something for Nicole. It’s Christmas-time, it could be anything. Apparently I wasn’t that hard to read. He sent the email to Nicole’s Mom. He also sent it to Nicole’s sister, who would be accompanying us on our trip. Technically we were accompanying her, since it was a tour group sponsored by one of her art teachers. She is also incapable of keeping anything to herself, and told every man, woman, child, animal, vegetable, mineral, fruit, mythical creatures, figments of her imagination and any other piece of matter or mental construct she could find. This included everyone she worked with and everyone on our tour group once we got to Paris. But I digress…
I ended up meeting him for Lunch at Athens, a burger joint in Dublin. After awkwardly eating for about 15 minutes I finally asked, and was not disappointed. I hadn’t expected him to say no, but I’m also too superstitious to assume anything. Besides you know what happens when you assume. I forget how it goes, but it has something to do with a donkey.
So I packed. I rigged a pack of floss James Bond-style to hold the ring, so it would fit around the middle and you could still get floss out of it, so I could keep the ring nearby without anyone getting suspicious. One of the coolest things I have ever done, and now it was on. Except for the fact I knew nothing about Paris and had not a clue where or when to propose. I had talked to one of my editors who had been to Paris, and he suggested a park by Notre Dame as the sun was setting, so that was my only idea. I hoped something would just come to me, like the ring.
I realize that was a lot, so let me explain quickly. No, there is too much: let me sum up. We are in Paris from Dec. 27 to Jan. 5, and I have to find a way to propose, in a city I have never seen and surrounded by people who can’t speak English. Let’s continue.
I quickly realized New Year’s Eve would be my best bet. Our tour guide, a crazy Danish/English/French/chain smoker/alcoholic and incredibly knowledgeable woman, used to live in the Montmartre district in Paris and knew of a good pizza place and a hill where you could see the city and the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. She made it sound like the city did some kind of big firework thing and everyone climbed the hill up to this church, the Sacre Coeur, to see it. So we went out to the pizza place, which seated 15, tops, and were told we had to wait. But the owner took us across the street to a bar and bought our first round (there was around eight of us), and a creepy 40-something French guy hit on Nicole’s sister. Good time had by all.
After we tired of that we checked in on the pizza place and ended up standing outside waiting. Somehow me and Nicole got into a little fight (I can’t remember what it was about now, I’m not sure I knew then), but it subsided and we went in to eat. It was good, and after we went looking for another bar as some of our companions were in desperate need of moe-HE-toes. We found a suitable place, and they were served what looked like lawnmower clippings in vodka, and which I am told tasted that way as well.
As it got closer to midnight we started making our trip to the hill. The walk up is around a thousand steps (we stopped counting after a while), but there is also a nice little tram, of which a third of the population of the city was standing in line for. So we took the stairs. But around 20 steps from the top Nicole was done, and we found a spot on a dirt path off the staircase and claimed a spot. I ran up after everyone else then and told them where we were, and to grab us when they left.
So we sit and watch the people run around us and try not to lose feeling in our hands and feet, waiting for the New Year. From where we were we could see the Eiffel Tower on our right and most of the city. There was one tree between us and the Tower, but being December it wasn’t that big a deal. So we waited for our two signs of the New Year; a sparkling tower and a big fireworks display.
The crowd noise got bigger and bigger the longer we waited, but I thought that was just because more people were showing up. I had in my mind this perfect scene a huge countdown, fireworks going off in the sky around us, the sparkling tower and then me getting down on one knee. But suddenly the tower started sparkling. No fireworks, no countdown. Apparently the city doesn’t do fireworks and the French can’t count. But what they do is shoot bottle rockets at the crowd. Lovely. It took us a few minutes to realize that it was now actually 2006. At that point I grabbed the ring out of my pocket and while we were hugging I whispered in her ear, “Nicole…”
I paused just a little longer than I wanted to because the ring was stuck on my finger.
This gave her time to say “Yesssss?”
I really don’t remember clearly a lot of what happened next. I have one picture in my mind of looking up at her but I don’t remember clearly her saying yes. I was back up quickly and I picked her up as well as I could standing in mud, and we did that for I can’t remember how long, but I’m still sad we stopped. Just holding her at that moment is at this point the best memory I have of that night and probably my life.
There is a lot more to the story. We never met up with everyone else, including Nicole’s sister. We missed the last train and walked for around an hour through Paris until we found a cab. We stayed up talking (with me telling her most of this story) in a stairwell in our hotel.
And I have no ending. It hasn’t happened yet.
