* * * Short(er) version of this available here. * * *

This is one of the reasons that I haven't written anything for quite some time: I've been involved in a massive, secret, planning process, with the aim of Sweeping Pamela off of her feet. And it truly has been a good month of planning.

The first step was to find a ring. (OK, there were Pre-Steps to take first. But what I found out in these pre-planning discussions, was that Pamela wouldn't work with me to create a proposal together. All the times I brought it up, she didn't want to talk about it, and said that there was still much time for us, and that anyhow, it's something that she shouldn't have an active part in, until the very end. So, I couldn't get her to generally agree to marry me, then go shopping together for a ring, and then after become officially engaged.)

So, the First Step in the Secret, Surprise Proposal was to get a ring.

This, however, is no easy step.

There are more than a handful of styles of rings out there in the world. And even if one decides on it being gold, with few or no jewels in it, there's still a horrendously huge selection. And I've always been one to spend ten minutes weighing the value of Ice-cream flavours. Here I was, faced with the most important... Choice, (of this type,) that I've ever made, and Pamela had refused to help me make it. -By "Choice", I mean a choice of taste. It had to be perfect, of course. Obviously, it had to be perfect. It had to represent my love to her. So. Not only did it had to be perfect, but it had to be wearable... every day, with everything she might wear. If the culture works the way that I understand it, then she could be wearing this ring on her finger for the rest of her life. -So it couldn't be too big, unwieldy, or showy. One doesn't do grocery shopping, knitting, flea-market browsing, berry picking, sun-tanning, hiking, or come around for tea with a great, gleaming, imposing rock on one's finger.

And though I saw a number of nice, beautiful, wonderful rings... I could only picture them being worn with evening dress. -And only evening dress that matched their colours.

No, I needed something refined, versatile, not too showy, but still showy enough to make anyone who looks at the ring go "oooooh!!! He must really love you!"

And after a week of tortuous searching, I found one. -But still felt uncertain. It was certainly beautiful. I fell in love with it, and had a feverish vision of it before my eyes day and night. I had heart pounding fantasies about putting it on Pamela's hand. (And all of this couldn't be so much as Hinted at with Pamela, who I talked on the phone with every day.) The thing was, it was more expensive than all the others that I sort of considered. -And it was... perhaps too big. Too beautiful. -Too much something that would only be in place, when Pamela was in an evening gown.

Anyhow, I was uncertain. So I asked many many many people what they thought, and what They liked for rings, and how big a ring was comfortable to wear, and weather such a ring was too showy, and on and on. After another week of agonising over it, I decided that the ring was the right one. The man at the shop had been nice enough to reserve it for me, (and be patient as I brought in council after council to see it, and council me. -and as I photographed it, to show to Pamela's best friends, so I could have their advice too.)

In the end, what with all of the people going "my GOD, that's a beautiful ring!" I decided that it was, indeed, perfect. -As perfect as I could find. So I borrowed it from the shop, and made sure that it's size could be changed, (as it's an antique ring, and Pamela's fingers are fine and thin.) And I understood that the man was still reserving it for me.

And I continued with the next step: deciding how to Ask Pamela. This turned out to be a bit easier than I thought it would be. I'd been so much in love with her, and thinking of her all the time, and dreaming of asking her... that my mind was full of words of proposal around the clock. The problem was less "How will I ask her?" as it was "How will I refrain from asking her before I'm ready?"

Now, what happens to me, when I've got thoughts going through my head, connected with powerful feelings, is that I need to talk about them. But when I can't talk about them, (because the object of these thoughts will not allow talk about them,) then I start writing poetry. It was just like in high-school, with all my teen-aged angst. The mind gets full of confused, but powerful feelings, and finds no outlet but the written word.

So in two days I composed my Proposal. In Verse. Four verses of seven lines of iambic pentameter, (Rhyme Royal, I've hear it called,) after each of which is four longer lines of the chorus, the last of which is modified. To have a better understanding of it, you could read it all here: Proposal to Pamela. This is the finished version though. As soon as I'd finished writing it, (or, in fact, even before it was finished,) I was already changing things in it, and improving aspects of it. When I was Mostly happy with it, I sent it by e-mail to a few select friends, who have been critical of my poetry in the past. I gave them the pleasure of being the first to see it, and the responsibility of telling me every thing that could be changed for the better.

I have to say, unfortunately, that they disappointed me. From the four of them, the only correction I got was, "meter's a bit funny somewhere, but I can't pinpoint exactly how." -Now, How much am I able to fix, with input like that?

It wasn't that I didn't get feedback though. They all were astounded with it, and said that it was a wonderful, touching, great poem, and that Pamela was going to be the happiest girl in the world when I read it. "-Oh. Good." I thought. "But how can I make it still better?" And I had to go to the old axiom, "If you want something done correctly, you'll just have to do it yourself." -And I picked apart every little bit of that poem that seemed unnatural, uneven, unclear, imperfect, and less than sublime. -At least, every bit like that which I could find. If you happen to be interested in all the corrections that I made, and the process that I went through writing this poem, then you can try to understand the workings of my mind here, where one can see all the steps I took.

I knew from the beginning that it had fine, great, and heart-grabbing parts. I was certain, because the very first time I read it, tears came from my eyes at the end. there were in fact tears at the end, the first 20 times I read it. Only with the routine of memorising it, did the tears eventually cease.

So I'd decided on the ring, and I'd written the poem, the third step, was to get the right moment. Some people had said I could take her on a weekend to Holland, or Denmark, (they're really not all that far.) Or an extravagant, fancy dinner. But all such things would be too much a give-away. I wanted it to be a Surprise! So it had to come suddenly in the normal flow of things. The image I'd thought of, was sitting on my couch, perhaps after dinner, with a bottle of wine, and a couple of candles, (this is a fairly normal thing for us to do, so it wouldn't have raised suspicions from Pamela.)

The other thing I had to prepare for the moment, was to Memorise these 36 lines of poetry. Not just memorise them, and make them sound presentable. -But to have them stay in my head, when my heart is pounding like mad, my head feels light, my mouth is dry, and I'm on the path to fainting. -Because that was how I could see myself feeling, when actually reading them to her.

In the middle of the memorising process, I thought that Pamela might like to read the poem herself, in the years to come. Or, more accurately, in the weeks to come; when we are freshly engaged, and painfully far from each other. So I decided to copy the poem out for her, -And to make a beautiful, perfect gift out of it. So I took nearly a week to turn it into a scroll, written of fabric, rolled onto two wooden dowels, and in an old English font. (I then decided to sew a gold border on it too.)

And I'd decided on the date as well. We would be together in Lüneburg the weekend of the 11th, and could be in Detmold, at her parent's place, the weekend after that. -This would mean, that I could be with her when she told her parents, and she wouldn't have to go through that... possible ordeal, alone. I fear that... I may not seem serious, prosperous, or... proper enough for Pamela in their eyes. (What young man is EVER good enough for an only daughter though, in the parent's eyes?) -In truth, Pamela and I don't really know if the parents think I'm right for her or not. But this very uncertainty... makes us uncertain. Right now, we just hope that they will cry out with pleasure, when they hear the news. (-and not cry out other things. :-)

Now, I would have liked to propose to Pamela as soon as she got here on Saturday: then we could take the ring to be resized that very afternoon. Otherwise, she'd have to try to find a jeweller near where she works that would resize it, or leave it with me, and get it, to keep, only next week. (I said to myself hundreds of times: this is the penalty she pays for not picking the ring out With me.) Yes, I could have got the ring resized without her. But... If she didn't find the style nice, then I wouldn't be able to return it, once resized. However, Saturday was the official start of Carnival. In some cities in Germany, it's when people dress up, party madly, and act entirely silly. Now that's something that I didn't want at all even thought of in connection with my proposal, so I would have to wait for Sunday, and get the ring resized over the week, while she was away.

On Friday, I went to the antique store, with a wad of cash in my wallet, ready to get The Ring. And how his face fell when I entered! He was a bit astonished. "Well," I thought, "He's shocked to see that I'm finally ready to buy it. I took long enough deciding!" Even the first thing he said was to that effect: "I didn't think you were ever going to come back!"

But I told him, "Here I am though. I'm ready to buy the ring!" Then he made some wise crack about having just sold it. I was thrown from my stride, but kept smiling, and tried to laugh at his none too funny joke. And then he repeated himself, and made it clear to me that he wasn't joking. The ring I'd dreamed about for the last month, had been sold two days before.

I was, needless to say, stupefied with shock.

"What do I do with my telling him my plan for proposing now? What do I do with all the money in my wallet though? What do I do with the poem, which I only need to sew a little more gold border on though? Do I sit down in the chair to talk with him now? What do I do this weekend then? Is it really gone? Then, WHAT DO I DO???????

What could be done? It had been sold. As I'd been in the store three times a week for three weeks in a row, when I hadn't been there for ten days altogether, he was sure that I was never coming back. It had just been a major failure in communication. I thought it was clear that I was buying it, and he thought it clear that I was undecided, -and that I then disappeared.

I tried to make myself feel better, by saying that many of the people I'd asked, replied that it was too big, and showy to be a wedding ring as well. -Which the shop-keeper vehemently denied. He said that it would have been lovely, and wasn't at all to big to have on the finger every day of one's life. Hm. He didn't realize that I was trying to comfort myself. He told me about how the lady had come into the store two days ago, and right away wanted that ring, and how she hadn't haggled with him, but gave the asking price right off. -That was another hope for me: the price he'd just mentioned was 50% more than what I thought that I'd be paying for it. So I said to him, "It's just as well; I wasn't ready to pay that much money for it anyhow. I thought that you had said This much." -Once again, he misunderstood my trying to console myself. He explained that it WAS sold for 50% more than he'd have asked from me. I was a special case because he liked me, could see that I wasn't loaded with money, and would have been happy to give me a better price. (And the cynical side of me now says, that he knew if he'd asked the full price, I wouldn't have even considered buying it.) So, There was no comfort there. If anything, there was more disappointment, knowing that if I'd bought it, I'd have been getting a very good deal. What could be done? It was gone. I looked through the few other rings he had there, but couldn't find any of them... Right. I told him that... that... I needed thought. That I'd look at the other couple of stores. And that I really meant to propose in the next couple of days. I left my poem-scroll there, so that I could look around the other stores unencumbered. (My plan had been to buy the ring, and then sit there, chatting with the guy, while I finished sewing the border of the scroll, so that's why I had it with me.)

I went to one antique store I'd only glanced in before, because it was too, Too much tobacco smoke inside. And it was smokey this time too, but I forced myself through it, and scrutinised all the rings they had. -And could sort of consider a couple of them. But none jumped out, and looked brilliantly perfect to me. I then went on to the antique store in the town square, and looked in the outside window. -And met the owner coming out, because he was closing up for the afternoon. But... after thinking about it, I decided that I liked the options in the previous store better anyhow. I went back it it then, and asked if I could look at this one, that one, and that one too.

One of them... could work.

It was nice.

It was not too big. -probably not.

It was not too heavy.

And it was just a little, little bit modern. -which I thought I might be able to accept.

So I gave the shop keeper a deposit, explaining to him that I needed to take it to a goldsmith, to be 100% certain that it could be resized. When I got to the goldsmith though, he wasn't in just then. His lights were on, and the sign on the door said he was at work, but that door was locked. Hm. I thought I'd wait a bit. But while waiting, I'll sit in the store where the other ring was sold.

So I went back in there, and showed him the ring. I was very, very VERY glad to get an unbiased opinion of it then. He took out his polish, and shined the ring up, he checked it all over, and got the funny magnifying thing in his eye to inspect the diamond. He could tell me that it was a good ring, and that the price I'd been told wasn't too much. He said that I could still talk him down from it a bit if I tried though. We discussed that for a few minutes, because I have no confidence in my ability to convince others. Especially where prices are involved. In the end he convinced me though, that by telling him I would have to pay to have it resized, and so on, that I could get up to 15% less. But I should first ask for 25% less, so that we could then meet in the middle.

I'd decided that it was the right, -the next right, ring to get. And the goldsmith was back from wherever he'd popped off to for ten minutes. He too said it was a fine ring, and that it could be changed to the right size. It would all work! Back I went to the shop I'd gotten the ring from. I explained that the goldsmith had been out for a bit, and that I'd taken a right liking to the ring. Good then. Onto the price. I said my bit about how I'd have the costs of resizing it, and could I perhaps get the price... as... -And I pretty much chickened out. There was no way that I could ask for 25% less. It would feel like I was insulting him. So I asked for 20%, and thought that I'd happily settle for 10% less.

The man haggled no further though, and in no time at all, I was outside the shop again, with the ring, at 20% less than the price he'd asked for! I couldn't believe it! I was back in the Race! -The Race to have everything ready and perfect to make the proposal within the next 48 hours.

Talk about bloody stress though!

The whole time, as my world, my plans, and the dreams I'd had for weeks crumbled before me, I needed nothing in the world so much as to talk with Pamela, and have her shoulder to cry on. And that was the one thing that I could in no way do. It was all a secret, that she must not know. So I was alone in my pain, worry, and suffering. It was absolutely terrible. (And convinced me more than ever that I needed her in my life; I needed her to always be there, so that if I ever had the misfortune to be so unhappy again in my life, I would be able then to tell her all. To rely on her support, and caring. I need her to be there, for me, and with me, for the rest of my life.)

This crisis had shaken me, but I rallied as much as I could after it. I did indeed sit with him in his shop, talking a bit, and finishing the golden border of the scroll. Asking once more for his confirmation that the ring I'd just bought was a nice one, with quality, and a good diamond in it.

And so that stage ended. I'd memorised the poem, I'd gotten the ring, I'd finished the scroll, and I was ready for her to arrive the next day, at which point I wouldn't be able to prepare a single thing more.

Now, how much do I tell about Sunday, November 12th? Should it be partially, somewhat, mostly, or completely private? I'll write whatever I feel like, and then decide if I want to change it.

Knowing that I would ask her on this day made me... nervous with anticipation. From the moment we woke up, I was looking for the right moment. I had the thought of asking her running through my head each minute, and was more than a bit eager to decide what we would be doing with our day. My first plan was to find a nice moment, when we were snuggled up next to each other on the couch; I could start telling her the poem, and sit there looking into her eyes, and then at the end, slide off the couch, onto my knee, and pull the little box out from underneath the sofa. But if she felt like going some place, than I could just as well conceal the box in my jacket pocket, and ask her when we'd taken a pause in a walk to look at some lovely scenery...

We got up in the morning, and went out shortly to get our bread rolls from the bakery. Back at home, we sat together on the couch, still a bit sleepy, and just enjoying the fact that we were together. I was about to ask her then, it was perfect, except for there being a helicopter flying overhead, making a bit of racket. -and seconds before the helicopter was gone, and I was ready to ask... Pamela got up, and said we should get the day going. Hm. Well. Ok, I guess.

First thing was a shower, and with a bit of persuasion, I got Pamela to take the time to wash her hair. And I then took the blow-dryer into my room, so that she could so comfortably sit on the sofa while she was drying her hair. Naturally, being completely in love, I sat with her, just so that I could be in her company.

Snuggled next to her, with her head leaning on my shoulder, I started to recite, in a gentle, low voice. And she thought, "what's this? Oh, a poem. How nice!"

And I went on, and finished the first verse. As I continued, she started to wonder "But what book did he get it from? Who is there that uses such words?" And I finished the second verse, and kept going. She then realized that it was I who had written it, and that it was a love poem, for her. And she was pleased. I hope that she was also flattered.

And then I got to the fourth verse. -where things truly get serious. And she realised what was actually going on. I think it was then, that she got the smile, this softest smile on her face, which expresses, "Oh! How sweet! How dear!"

And I got to the last chorus. And by the end of the end of the first line, my voice was breaking, the tears were starting in my eyes, and my whole body started to quiver.

By the second last line, the rhythm of the poem was nearly lost, from my sobbing for breath, my whole body shaking like a leaf, and too many tears for me to see her clearly through.

And in the last line, I went down onto my knee before her, deftly pulled the box out from underneath with the process of kneeling, flipped it open with one hand, met her eyes as best as I could through the tears, and asked her to marry me.

(Then flung myself about her knees, the emotion was so intense. I could not survive another second without embracing her.) Needless to say, our breakfast was then for some time delayed; we had much too much to talk about. -I particularly had so much to say: to tell her of everything I'd been through, of all the tortuous decisions, hopes, and uncertainties. (As you have here read! I had at least that much to say!)