The Story // Chapter Three

Our first official date was perfect.  We spent the afternoon at the mall, had coffee at our favorite Starbucks (it's an old cobblestone house that has been restored. So very cozy.), and ate dinner at Bonefish Grill.  I ordered chicken.  Even though I knew him fairly well, I felt like there was so much to learn.

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com
Our first date

The next three months were filled with dates at new coffee shops and cafes, dinners with my family, hiking adventures.  I was falling more and more in love with this man with every passing day.  On one of our dates we went to Ithaca, a quaint town east of us.  We sat at the edge of Cayuga Lake, talking, skipping stones, and laughing.  If he asked me right now, my answer would be yes, I thought.  He didn't ask.

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com
Our last date before engagement

 Mother's Day was fast approaching.  In fact it was only two days after our date in Ithaca.  We had decided to cook a meal at his house, my family would join us once it was ready.  I was in no rush to get over to his place.  I still needed to stop for a few groceries to complete the menu.  We had all morning.  I finally arrived at his place and took the groceries inside, I was ready to get started.  Let's go on a walk first, he said, grabbing my hand.  As we walked on the pathway through the field toward the creek in the woods, I kept stopping to look at flowers, commenting on this or that.  He was practically dragging me along.  What was his rush?  We had all morning.  When we entered the woods, I understood why he was dragging me along.  This wasn't about Mother's Day at all.  He had set up a doorway, with a path leading up to it.  Would you be willing to walk through the door and continue on this journey with me?  I nodded.  He was down on one knee and reaching into his pocket.  The ring was beautiful, it sparkled as the filtered sunlight caught it.  Sarah, will you marry me?  I tried to speak, but no words would come.  After what seemed like eternity to him, I found my voice.  Yes!  Yes, I will marry you!

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com

September 21st couldn't come soon enough.  Four months isn't a long time to plan a wedding, or so I was told.  But it was perfect.  After three months I felt like the major details were in place.  My dress had arrived, the guests were invited, and the venue was booked.

The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com

The twenty-first dawned bright and clear.  It was an answer to prayer.  The venue of choice was the farm I grew up at; a vineyard.  There are always risks involved in an outdoor wedding, we realized that.  But it was our dream, we were willing to trust on this one.  We chose not to see each other before the ceremony.  However, as I was getting ready inside, I noticed him outside greeting guests as they arrived.  He was so handsome.  My heart beat faster.  Finally it was time!  He was standing there, waiting.  Waiting for me.  My dad was preparing to give me away.  It was beginning to rain, oh but I didn't care.  Let it rain, I was marrying the man I loved!  Nothing would quench that joy.  As my dad and I made our way down the aisle, the sun broke through, the rain stopped.  It was glorious, a moment of heaven on earth.  We read our vows to each other, we were pronounced man and wife.  We kissed.  We celebrated.  We laughed.  We danced.  This was our forever.


The Story, Chapter Three || sarahesh.blogspot.com

And it is only beginning.


The Story // Chapter Two

Where did I leave off?  Oh, that's right.  We went snowboarding...

It was a cold Saturday night.  The conditions were fair, nothing amazing, but decent enough to go for a few hours.  A group of us went together so we could get the Wegman's family night discount.  On the very first run down the mountain Herm collided with another snowboarder in our group. I knew it had to be a painful wreck, since the edge of the other riders board caught Herm's shin and sliced through his pant leg, but he didn't act as though it hurt too much.  In fact he rode for four more hours, included jumps on the terrain park.  We had a lot of fun together.  He sort of put his arm around me on the chair lift.  I was wondering when he would ever get around to asking me out.  As the evening ended and we were walking out to Herm's truck I noticed that he was limping a bit.  I asked to see his leg.  That's when I almost passed out.  The gash was nasty; so deep that I could see bone!  You need stitches, I told him.  He said he would just go home to clean it up, that it would be okay.  But then he looked at it himself and started to get light headed too.  There was no way I would let him go home alone.  You are coming to my house, I will clean it up for you.  And don't bother telling me no.  I won't take no for an answer.  At my house I gathered all of the medical supplies I could find: alcohol, gauze, a razor, butterfly bandages, Epsom salt, and went to work.  I shaved the area around the wound, cleaned it out as best I could, and put butterfly bandages across the cut, trying to pull the skin back together.  I also contacted my neighbor, who is a nurse, asking her what else I should do for it.  She was out of town that night, but told me that she would come look at his wound the next morning.
(When my sister found out about the ordeal, all she said was "That sly fox!"  She was convinced Herm had planned this, just so I would shave his leg.)

The Story, Chapter Two || sarahesh.blogspot.com

The Story, Chapter Two || sarahesh.blogspot.com
The Story, Chapter Two || sarahesh.blogspot.com
Not to be gruesome, but this is what we were dealing with.  Ouch.

The following morning Herm came back to my place.  It was Sunday, my mom and siblings had left for church, my dad was out of town.  After making sure that Herm was comfortable, his leg elevated, I started packing for my week-long trip to Jamaica.  I was leaving early the following morning.  Sometime mid-morning, Wendy, our wonderful nurse-neighbor stopped by.  She looked at the gash.  Yeah, you should have had stitches, she said.  It was too late for that now, so she cleaned it up again.  In the days that followed she checked up on Herm multiple times to make sure the wound didn't get infected.  She is an angel, of that I am convinced.  Herm spent the rest of the day at my place.  He got to know my family, I could tell they all liked him.

Who is driving you to the airport, he asked.  At that point I was planning to drive there myself and pay for parking.  I wasn't about to ask my mom or anyone else to make the trip there, especially in the wintry conditions.  Let me take you, he said.

I drove on the way to the airport; his leg probably needed as much rest as possible.  He silently prayed for protection.  I tend to be an aggressive driver, especially when I feel rushed.  The snow covered roads didn't slow me down.  After parking the car and grabbing my luggage, I took off in a sprint, forgetting that he was injured.  Limping painfully behind, he finally asked me to slow down.  With plenty of time to spare, I printed my ticket and got into the line for security.  That's where he gave me a quick hug good-bye and said that he would like to come pick me up when I returned if he could.  My heart was melting - this man!
As I was waiting to board the plane, I got a text from Herm. Check the notes on your phone, he said.  He had written a letter to me!  I don't carry my phone with me all of the time, so he was able to get a hold of it at my place the day before after I had left it in the living room while I was packing.  He had taken the time to thank me for all I did for him and his leg, and to bless my trip back to the tiny island.  I read and reread that note many times throughout the following week.

My vacation was so refreshing, catching up with my Jamaican friends and those precious children was a delight.  But my mind was constantly back home, I couldn't wait to see Herm again.  A couple of days before I was to return, Herm sent me a message on Facebook saying that he had talked to my dad, and that my dad wanted to pick me up, so he wouldn't be coming to the airport for me.  Why did he talk to my dad?  He didn't even know my dad... could it be?  Oh, I hoped so!

The Story, Chapter Two || sarahesh.blogspot.com
The view from my home in Jamaica.

The Story, Chapter Two || sarahesh.blogspot.com

On the way home from the airport, my dad and I were chatting about my week.  After a while, he told me that he got a phone call from a man, requesting to meet with him for coffee.  Before he even finished I was grinning from ear to ear.  Herm? I asked.  Yes, how did you know?  How did I know he asked.  How did I know?

I went to work the next day, pretending everything was normal.  But it wasn't normal.  Herm was sitting at his catty corner desk, how could that be normal?  About half way through the day, he Skyped me and asked if I would be into going out for coffee after work.  Yes!  Heck yes!

Four-thirty came and we were out of there.  There is a nice coffee shop in a town about 20 minutes south of our workplace, so we went there.  Closed.  It looked like Dunkin Donuts would have to do.  He bought two lattes and we began to chat.  In the midst of conversation he asked if I would be willing to go on coffee dates with him for the next 75 years.  It wasn't a proposal, per se, but we both knew it would lead to that.  Before he could even finish the question, I was smiling.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!

The Story // To be continued


The Story // Chapter One

Our love story was the story of choice.  Although to be fair, I think this should be a how we met and fell in love story, because I truly believe that our love story is only just beginning and will continue to be written the rest of our lives.

Now where to start?

It was late August in 2011.  Less than two weeks prior I had moved back to the States after spending a year in Jamaica working at a children's home.  I wasn't exactly sure what life would have in store for me, but I was checking out a few colleges and exploring my options for a fill-in job in the mean time.  The transition to life back in the States wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.  I suppose I had assumed that everything would be just as it was before I left, but things had changed.  A few of my closest friends had started dating or were engaged, finding a job didn't happen as quickly as I would have liked, learning how to drive on the right side of the road again was a challenge, and be honest, is it really ever easy to move back in with your parents after being gone that long?  I felt like a stranger in my own neighborhood; the ache in my heart for the children I had left behind in Jamaica was intense.

But it was a Saturday night, and some of my friends were getting together to play volleyball and grab pizza afterward.  Even though it had been over a year since I had played, I decided to join them.  It was a good chance to catch up on friendships if nothing else.  Towards the end of the second game someone I didn't recognize had walked into the gym - he must be the guy my friends kept talking about, the guy who was in process of buying a house and moving up from Pennsylvania.  By now the game was finished.  Don't ask me if my team won, I don't remember, all I know is that guy came up and started a conversation with the girl I had just been talking with.  He didn't say hello to me.  I, of course, took matters into my hands and introduced myself.  He and I ended up sitting across from each other at the pizzeria.  He was really good looking, with grey-blue eyes, and so easy going, and really good looking.  We chatted for a while.

The following afternoon I attended a friends wedding.  He was also invited.  Fate would have it that, er, somehow he was seated directly across from me during the reception.  We hit it off, there was an obvious connection.  I won't lie, I was intrigued.  I even had a 'he's the man I'm going to marry' moment.  Although I knew if that was going to happen it would require a lot of prayer because he asked my age and was shocked when he found out I was eleven years his junior.

A few months passed.  He was still living in Pennsylvania.  The company he was planning to work for when he moved to New York was in need of a fill-in until he arrived.  I was hired as that fill-in.  During this time we really didn't have contact with each other.

In late October I attended a youth weekend retreat in southern Pennsylvania.  My heart skipped a beat as I walked into the service on Friday night and noticed that Herm was there!  He found me as soon as the worship service had ended; we talked for at least 30 minutes.  He asked my age again. I think he was secretly hoping that I had gained about 5-8 years in those two months, but I was still just 19.

I continued to pray.  My feelings for him were growing stronger and stronger.

Then one snowy Sunday in December he started to chat with me on Facebook.  That conversation consumed most of the afternoon.  I was blown away by his character, his passion, and his insight.  I knew he was the one.

New Years Eve was spent with friends from church.  Herm had moved to New York just after Christmas, and had also attended the party.  I was delighted.

In the weeks that followed hardly a day went by without seeing him.  By now I had been hired full time, and would continue working for that company.  Herm's desk was catty corner with mine - life couldn't have been more perfect.  We worked together, went to the same church, met at Lloyd's every Wednesday night for 25 cent wings, and weekends were always spent doing things together ... like hiking, going to the movies, and snowboarding.

And speaking of snowboarding...

The Story // To be continued


Writers Block

I think I've finally figured out why blogging and I haven't gotten along so well in the past.  I will spend hours trying to bring the inner nerd in me out (there isn't one) so that I can recreated all of the HTML of the basic template I've selected, to look exactly how I want it to be.  Move that margin .0076 inches to the left please... you get the picture.

Once I am partially happy with the look and feel of the blog I will begin to write.  One sentence will be typed in multiple ways, only to be erased and started over again.  Or I will glance at my iPhone photos of all of the afters of a DIY project and throw in the towel.  What fun are DIY blogs if you can't see the before and the after?  I wouldn't read one like that.  In frustration, I will log out of the blog, grab my sneakers and head out for a run.  Race training is in full swing.  Three and a half months later, after another project is completed, it's the same story all over again.

But today, I'm giving you the choice.  What story would you like to read about?

The Kitchen Makeover and the Hand Painted Subway Tile

Writers Block || sarahesh.blogspot.com

Our Deck and Pergola Makeover

Writers Block || sarahesh.blogspot.com


Our Love Story 

Writers Block || sarahesh.blogspot.com

The story with the most votes by this Thursday wins.  Until then, I will be out running.  

The girl who thought she could blog.


The Third Time's the Charm

Blogging.  Its a love/hate relationship that I have with that thought.  I love reading blogs, there are even a few that I follow almost stalkerishly.  (Sorry spell check, but I just made up that word.)  But when it comes to actually keeping a blog myself I fail miserably.  Every. Single. Time.  First it was an Xanga site, back in the days before Facebook.  That one was filled with cute pictures of weekend road trips and volleyball games. Once in a while I'd share a story about my life adventures.  At fifteen, every thing in life needed to be an adventure or else it was b-o-r-i-n-g.  Fast forward about six years or so to my Wordpress site.  Young and newly married and spending every bit of free time working on DIY projects around our fixer-upper home with my husband.  Once a project was finished we would high-five each other, only to realize that we were so excited to tackle those said projects that we forgot to take before/after pictures.  So I started a blog.  My hopes were to become the next Sherry and John from Young House Love.  After 1.5 years and only three blog posts to speak of (none of them had anything to do with home renovations) I knew there wasn't much hope for me. But this time, my intentions for the blog are different...

This blog will be filled with life moments, stories of my sweet little boy, and on occasion a DIY project, favorite recipe, or whatever else inspires me.  My goal for the blog is to motivate me to use my good camera more often, instead of just taking iPhone shots all of the time. This blog will be a place were I organize my thoughts and memories in chronological order, so that someday when I tackle the dreaded photo albums, the little details hopefully won't be forgotten.

To the third time.  The charm.  Cheers!