Naked no more.
Hiking in Wyoming is amazing, like pretty much everything else in Wyoming. Let me tell you something about The Cowboy State: it's deserted. Wyoming is a gorgeous state, with Great Plains and mountains and real live cowboys and antelope roaming the streets. I am not lying when I tell you that Cheyenne (which, with a population of about 50,000, alternates with Casper as the largest 'city' in the state) cuts its city grass by loosing large herds of goats onto the roads. So any trip in the state is a lonely adventure. Once, we drove for about 4 hours west of Cheyenne, through actual ghost towns (towns which were deserted, generally in the Depression, which still have old storefronts and cars parked in fields, which are slowly being eaten away by Time) and nothingness. We passed six cars the entire trip. I had my TBNH pull over at a rest area, and I swear to you, I've never seen one so clean. I'll bet I was the first person to use it in years. Wyoming is bizarrely desolate, and very lonely, yet it provides an amazing glimpse into America's past.
So we drove up to a hiking area. We parked the car. We hiked up the path, enjoying the fact that we had not seen anyone and secure in the fact that we would not see anyone on the trail. At one point, Joe decided he needed to pee. I stood on the trail as he walked a few feet into the brush. When he came back, he said, "I think I almost just got killed."
"What?!" I exclaimed, thinking he had seen a man with a gun.
"I was standing there, doing my business, when all of a sudden, I heard a low, long growl," he said.
"Oh! What did you do?!" I asked.
"I did what the Discovery Channel tells you to do. I backed up slowly and got back on the path, backwards," he whispered.
I was impressed at his ability to have rational thought at his time of wilderness crisis, but still scared at the thought that a mountain lion with kittens lurked nearby.
"They won't hurt you if you leave. She's just protecting her babies," he reassured me. "Let's go."
I hesitantly turned my back to the woods and continued up the path.
When we got to the top of the trail, which provided a grand vista into a beautiful valley, we found a large, flat rock. I climbed up it and sat contentedly, sipping on a bottle of water.
Joe didn't climb up with me, but hesitated.
"C'mon up!" I said, patting the rock.
"I -- I wanted to ask you...." he began.
Confusion gave way to panic. He's proposing, I thought. He's proposing! What do I do? I love our life! I don't want things to change! Why?! How did he sneak this by me? What do I do?
"Will you be my wife?" he asked.
I looked at him. "Yes," I said quietly. "Of course." And I meant it.
"How did you afford this?!" I asked him. The diamond was big, to me.
"It was my great-grandmother's. She and my great-grandfather were Russian Jews. It was an arranged marriage. They were introduced, then boarded the boat that would take them to Ellis Island," he explained.
I reared back. An arranged marriage? Good Lord! The misery that that ring must hold!
"What happened?" I asked.
"Well, my mother remembers them. She says that they were uncanny in their happiness, even in old age. Grandma never wanted to be without Grandpa, even if he was in the next room. And he was the same. They were inseparable their entire lives. Occasionally, my mother said that Grandma would need an 'afternoon nap', and she would leave the room, only to have Grandpa follow with a smirk five minutes later. She says that even when they were elderly, they insisted that they be together. They wouldn't sit apart in the same room. If she sat on the couch, he sat beside her. That was just the way it was," Joe told me.
"Wow," was all I could muster. I was skeptical, but Joe's mom later assured me that it was all true.
The ring was (and is) stunning. It's platinum, with several diamonds. Recently, one of the tiny side diamonds was lost, and I decided I wanted to put the ring away. I don't want anything worse to happen to it.
So I ordered a plain band for everyday wear.
In the meantime, I was without a ring.
I never knew how often my thumb moves left to feel the bottom of my ring finger.
I never knew how often I looked down at my hand.
I felt like I was missing a part of myself, a part of Joe-Cathy, a part of us.
My band came in the mail. It's awesome, it's beautiful, and, like a newly engaged girl, I find myself looking down at it in admiration, and grabbing for things with my left hand so that people will notice it.
It's just a plain white gold band. It's certainly not platinum and diamond-encrusted. (Times have changed. I'm not a Russian heiress. I'm an average American.)
Oddly, it doesn't feel different. I thought it would, but I found something out.
It's the presence of the ring, not the ring itself.
And I'm glad to have it back.
posted by Cathy @ 6/17/2006 11:12:00 PM
