Opened coffee creamers, Adam Sandler movies and European adventures.
It was one hell of a summer. Never one of those silly girls who declare after a week of dating that she is “in love” I felt totally out of my element.
Because I was…
Undoubtedly…
In. Love.
After a mere two weeks of dating I knew this was it. This was the man I was going to marry, and Mr. Man knew it too.
But life is not like the movies. We knew to give our future the best chance at success we needed to wait. Our hearts may have said, go, go, go…
But our heads were much smarter.
After all, I was only in Europe to work and bum around for the summer. Then it was back to my studies at The University of Ottawa. I’d only completed 2 years of school and I still had 2 more to go.
Yup, I have never been blessed with good timing.
So after the requisite romantic weekend in Paris, it was time to say good-bye and brave the whole new world of…
The Long. Distance. Relationship.
Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnn.
It was a long two years, but thanks to surprise (and not so surprise) visits, really expensive long distance bills, choppy barely coherent webcam sessions and my summer work furloughs, we survived. We came out the other side knowing distance HAD made the heart grow fonder.
Watch out... I’m just full of clichés tonight!
We got engaged after our first year, and when I finally returned to Europe for good, we knew we needed a plan. See, in order for me to accompanying Mr. Man to his next station we had to have a marriage certificate (not to mention easing the whole immigration process), but being located in Europe a big wedding was out of the question. We just wanted to get “the piece of paper”, and have our “big day” later.
After a little research we knew that getting married in Germany was completely out of the question. The bureaucracy and complicated translation required was just way too much work! But how about eloping somewhere fun and new instead?
Finally we settled on Scotland. My maiden name being MacNeil and my Mom’s being McLeod, Scotland seemed perfect.
And FYI, as the title of this post suggests, it’s like the Las Vegas of Europe.
Well, minus the gambling and singing Elvis.
We simply sent in our required paperwork and documentation, with our requested wedding date, waited and few weeks and, VIOLA! One easy-peasy courthouse wedding.
We arrived in Edinburgh the day before our official day, and did the tourist thing. We scoped out the Royal Mile and the castle. Upon rising the morning of the big day we decided to cram in just one more attraction before the big “I DO”. Believing the tour was a mere 20 minutes we chose the creeptastic “Mary Kings Close”. A guided tour of a portion of the city that was walled up during a time of plague, it was reportedly haunted and definitely intriguing.
As we followed the Guide through the dusty twists and turns of another time, hearing one chilling tale after another, we lost all sense of time, and when we emerged an hour later squinting into the afternoon sun our only thought was, “Sh$t! We’re going to be late for our own wedding!”
Barreling into the hotel room we tore through our luggage, hauling on the bits and bobs of our simple wedding attire, and in 20 minutes we were back in a cab and hurtling towards City Hall. Out of breath and slightly sweaty we rushed into the appropriate office, and were greeted by the calm smiling face of our Justice of the Peace.
“Relax loves, we’ve got loads of time!”
She ushered us into her office, got us a glass of water and asked, “Do you have witnesses?”
“Umm…. we were told we could find them here?”
“Oh, absolutely! Shall I go find them, or would you like to?”
Pointing out that this was our first time and we didn’t really know how to go about finding witnesses, she told us to sit tight and rushed from the room.
15 minutes later she returned with two women.
“These will be your witnesses. Julie and Julie… they are on their lunch break.”
Greeting the newest members of our wedding party, we quickly went over the paperwork and having confirmed the details were correct followed our Officiate into a small room, with a podium. I gave our camera to one of the Julies, asking her to take pictures, and then took my place in front of Mr. Man.
We joined hands.
Simple vows were exchanged.
Rings were given.
A kiss was shared.
And in the blink of an eye I was officially Mrs. Man.
We celebrated in true Scottish style with a Steak and Haggis diner.
I still can’t believe that was 8 years ago. It was our first adventure as man and wife. We’ve had MANY MANY since, and I know we have MANY MANY more to come.
And I can’t wait!
Time flies when you’re having fun,
Mandy:)
Showing posts with label Military. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Military. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Boy meets Girl
In honor of 8 years of marriage, I thought I’d share, the crazy mixed up tale of how Mr. Man and I met, fell in love and eventually “made it official”.
Like most everything in Mandyland, the story is far from normal!
Mr. Man and I met in Germany. He was a serving member of the United States Air Force, and I was a Canadian Military Dependant. Mr. Man was stationed on the same NATO Base as my Dad.
Upon arriving the summer of 2001, to work and bum around Europe, my life changed forever.
We met the first day I arrived. Bleary eyed and fighting jetlag, I’d agreed to join my parents in attending a friend’s BBQ. When we arrived, my parents began introducing me to everyone, and amidst greetings and handshakes, I spotted Mr. Man across the yard.
It was NOT love at first sight…
But I was interested…. just not in that way. My first thought on spying Mr. Man was,
“Finally! Someone my age to hang out with!”
See, up until that point my sources of companionship were looking bleak. My choices were my parents, who although always a blast (see Oh, Oktoberfest? Um, Ya!), were… well… my parents. Or, my 18 year old brother and his stoner buddies…
I was 20… and not a stoner in ANY stretch of the imagination…
So…
Ya.
Now you understand my excitement.
My story of that evening is that Mr. Man and I chatted, and got to know each other a little bit. He talked about going to the clubs later, and I responded that I was totally jetlagged, but maybe another time. It was friendly, nice, and mostly normal.
I vaguely remember a line of conversation centered on wearing a fez and driving a tank…. So ya, definitely MOSTLY normal.
However, if you ask Mr. Man about his impressions of our first meeting… apparently, I was a bitch. Short, shutting down his attempts, cold…
I call bull and insist to this day I was charm personified… well, jetlagged charm at the very least.
As the evening wound to an end, I followed my parents to their vehicle and bid adieu to Mr. Man. I was secretly peeved he hadn’t asked for my number, but I figured we’d run into each other eventually. After all, the base wasn’t that big.
Fast forward about 5 days. Having not yet secured summer employment, and thereby lacking in further social introductions, I was BORED! In a country where the television was all in german and Facebook did not yet exist, I’d resorted to… puzzles.
Yup, you heard me… puzzles.
So, when the phone rang I was sitting at the dining room table attempting to assemble 1500 pieces of obscure European countryside, secure in my party-of-one status.
Imagine my surprise, when my Step-Mom called out that it was for me?!?
Well, I guess I wasn’t as repellent as he claims, because it was Mr. Man, calling to ask me out! After agreeing to call him when I was ready, I had just one question,
“How did you get my number?”
“Oh I asked Paul.” (A friend of my parents and his superior)
Hmmm, interesting. He got points for initiative!
Hanging up the phone, I turned to find my Step-Mom hovering right behind me.
“Who was that?”
“Umm, Mr. Man… you know from the BBQ?”
“How did he get your number?”
“Paul gave it to him.”
Cue Michelle, calling Paul, to rip him a new one for giving her daughter’s number out to strange men. I think she was joking… mostly.
About 45 minutes later, I was ready to roll, and called Mr. Man to pick me up.
“Great! Where do you live?”
“Gangelt, on Mecator Strasse, just off the traffic circle in Gangelt.”
Ha, that’s right! After only one week in Germany I knew exactly where to tell him to go. Just call me a master of directions! Drop me blindfolded in the middle of a field, without compass and map, and my keen sense of direction will guide me back! That’s right! I was practically a savant!!!
“Which traffic circle?”
Um, what? Which traffic circle? There was more than one? There are traffic circles all over the area? Oh, really? Oh, hmmm, well…
(I should probably confess this was only the first of many adventures resulting from an overly confident belief in my “keen” sense of directions. A story for another time…)
At this point, all the members of my family who had lived in Germany for MORE than a week, were out. It was just me and the dog. So, I cobbled together the best directions I could manage, which were generally useless, and had faith that Mr. Man would find me.
And thankfully, he did.
And we had ice cream and beer.
And I spilled my coffee creamer all over the crotch of my pants.
Which, although embarrassing, led to Mr. Man opening my creamer for me for the next 2 months.
During which time we were inseparable.
Which led to…
More to come,
Mandy:)
Like most everything in Mandyland, the story is far from normal!
Mr. Man and I met in Germany. He was a serving member of the United States Air Force, and I was a Canadian Military Dependant. Mr. Man was stationed on the same NATO Base as my Dad.
Upon arriving the summer of 2001, to work and bum around Europe, my life changed forever.
We met the first day I arrived. Bleary eyed and fighting jetlag, I’d agreed to join my parents in attending a friend’s BBQ. When we arrived, my parents began introducing me to everyone, and amidst greetings and handshakes, I spotted Mr. Man across the yard.
It was NOT love at first sight…
But I was interested…. just not in that way. My first thought on spying Mr. Man was,
“Finally! Someone my age to hang out with!”
See, up until that point my sources of companionship were looking bleak. My choices were my parents, who although always a blast (see Oh, Oktoberfest? Um, Ya!), were… well… my parents. Or, my 18 year old brother and his stoner buddies…
I was 20… and not a stoner in ANY stretch of the imagination…
So…
Ya.
Now you understand my excitement.
My story of that evening is that Mr. Man and I chatted, and got to know each other a little bit. He talked about going to the clubs later, and I responded that I was totally jetlagged, but maybe another time. It was friendly, nice, and mostly normal.
I vaguely remember a line of conversation centered on wearing a fez and driving a tank…. So ya, definitely MOSTLY normal.
However, if you ask Mr. Man about his impressions of our first meeting… apparently, I was a bitch. Short, shutting down his attempts, cold…
I call bull and insist to this day I was charm personified… well, jetlagged charm at the very least.
As the evening wound to an end, I followed my parents to their vehicle and bid adieu to Mr. Man. I was secretly peeved he hadn’t asked for my number, but I figured we’d run into each other eventually. After all, the base wasn’t that big.
Fast forward about 5 days. Having not yet secured summer employment, and thereby lacking in further social introductions, I was BORED! In a country where the television was all in german and Facebook did not yet exist, I’d resorted to… puzzles.
Yup, you heard me… puzzles.
So, when the phone rang I was sitting at the dining room table attempting to assemble 1500 pieces of obscure European countryside, secure in my party-of-one status.
Imagine my surprise, when my Step-Mom called out that it was for me?!?
Well, I guess I wasn’t as repellent as he claims, because it was Mr. Man, calling to ask me out! After agreeing to call him when I was ready, I had just one question,
“How did you get my number?”
“Oh I asked Paul.” (A friend of my parents and his superior)
Hmmm, interesting. He got points for initiative!
Hanging up the phone, I turned to find my Step-Mom hovering right behind me.
“Who was that?”
“Umm, Mr. Man… you know from the BBQ?”
“How did he get your number?”
“Paul gave it to him.”
Cue Michelle, calling Paul, to rip him a new one for giving her daughter’s number out to strange men. I think she was joking… mostly.
About 45 minutes later, I was ready to roll, and called Mr. Man to pick me up.
“Great! Where do you live?”
“Gangelt, on Mecator Strasse, just off the traffic circle in Gangelt.”
Ha, that’s right! After only one week in Germany I knew exactly where to tell him to go. Just call me a master of directions! Drop me blindfolded in the middle of a field, without compass and map, and my keen sense of direction will guide me back! That’s right! I was practically a savant!!!
“Which traffic circle?”
Um, what? Which traffic circle? There was more than one? There are traffic circles all over the area? Oh, really? Oh, hmmm, well…
(I should probably confess this was only the first of many adventures resulting from an overly confident belief in my “keen” sense of directions. A story for another time…)
At this point, all the members of my family who had lived in Germany for MORE than a week, were out. It was just me and the dog. So, I cobbled together the best directions I could manage, which were generally useless, and had faith that Mr. Man would find me.
And thankfully, he did.
And we had ice cream and beer.
And I spilled my coffee creamer all over the crotch of my pants.
Which, although embarrassing, led to Mr. Man opening my creamer for me for the next 2 months.
During which time we were inseparable.
Which led to…
More to come,
Mandy:)
Friday, November 11, 2011
The Poppy
Since I married Mr. Man and came to live in the United States almost 8 years ago, I’ve learned a lot about the differences between the country I now call home, and the country I will always consider my home. Despite basically being siblings of the same continent, there are cultural differences between the U.S. and Canada.
Besides hockey vs football, prime minister vs president and poutine vs chili fries, that is.
One, difference I was pleasantly surprised to discover was how celebratory Americans are of their Military members. Having grown up in a family deeply steeped in Military tradition, it’s always saddened me that more of my countrymen don’t recognize their service members. It has gotten better in the last few years, but sadly it took a war and fallen young soldiers to get the country’s attention.
It’s taken 8 years, but after checking with Mr. Man, I think I’ve finally straightened out the purpose of each of the Military-centric holidays around here….
First, they have Memorial Day, a federal holiday observed on the last Monday of May. Formerly known as Decoration Day, it originated among communities after the Civil War to commemorate the fallen soldiers. Southern ladies and schoolchildren would decorate the graves of the fallen. By the 20th Century it was changed to Memorial Day and was extended to honor all Americans who have died in all wars.
To my Canadian friends think May 2-4… only without the 2-4…
Next there’s Independence Day, commonly known as the Fourth of July. Thanks to the Will Smith movie of the same name, you’d have to live under a rock not to know about this holiday. It marks the day America finally declared independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain after a long fought struggle.
Canada Day or July 1st also recognizes independence from Britain. Only instead of fighting tooth and nail to claim independence Canada just waited about 90 years, and then asked nicely.
I think that’s originally where the idea of Canadian politeness comes from…
Finally there’s Veterans Day, formerly known as Armistice Day, and known to me as Remembrance Day.
Which is today.
Today I think about my family and the contribution they have made to their Country.
Grandfathers, Grandmother, Mother, Father, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins… they all served, or are serving in the military.
I live a long ways from my family, and seriously miss them every day, but especially today.
Most of all, I miss wearing my Poppy.
The United States, does not wear poppies for Nov. 11th. In Canada, we start wearing them right after Halloween.
For my non-Canadian friends here’s the story…
In the spring of 1915 there was a horrific battle in a place called Ypres. There were more than 100,000 Allied casualties and over 6000 Canadians died there in less than 48 hours. As a lasting legacy of the terrible battle Canadian physician and Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae wrote a poem called "In Flanders Fields”.
This poem is memorized by every Canadian child, and recited at every Remembrance Day observance across the nation.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
It’s power and beauty is undeniable.
It brings a tear to the eye and goose bumps to the skin.
Canadians wear a poppy to remember the sacrifice of young men who fought and are still fighting.
Today I will keep in my mind the sacrifices the members of the armed forces make in all countries.
I may not have a poppy to put on my lapel, but I will still remember.
11 o’clock, on the 11th day, of the 11th month.
Lest we forget,
Mandy:)
Besides hockey vs football, prime minister vs president and poutine vs chili fries, that is.
One, difference I was pleasantly surprised to discover was how celebratory Americans are of their Military members. Having grown up in a family deeply steeped in Military tradition, it’s always saddened me that more of my countrymen don’t recognize their service members. It has gotten better in the last few years, but sadly it took a war and fallen young soldiers to get the country’s attention.
It’s taken 8 years, but after checking with Mr. Man, I think I’ve finally straightened out the purpose of each of the Military-centric holidays around here….
First, they have Memorial Day, a federal holiday observed on the last Monday of May. Formerly known as Decoration Day, it originated among communities after the Civil War to commemorate the fallen soldiers. Southern ladies and schoolchildren would decorate the graves of the fallen. By the 20th Century it was changed to Memorial Day and was extended to honor all Americans who have died in all wars.
To my Canadian friends think May 2-4… only without the 2-4…
Next there’s Independence Day, commonly known as the Fourth of July. Thanks to the Will Smith movie of the same name, you’d have to live under a rock not to know about this holiday. It marks the day America finally declared independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain after a long fought struggle.
Canada Day or July 1st also recognizes independence from Britain. Only instead of fighting tooth and nail to claim independence Canada just waited about 90 years, and then asked nicely.
I think that’s originally where the idea of Canadian politeness comes from…
Finally there’s Veterans Day, formerly known as Armistice Day, and known to me as Remembrance Day.
Which is today.
Today I think about my family and the contribution they have made to their Country.
Grandfathers, Grandmother, Mother, Father, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins… they all served, or are serving in the military.
I live a long ways from my family, and seriously miss them every day, but especially today.
Most of all, I miss wearing my Poppy.
The United States, does not wear poppies for Nov. 11th. In Canada, we start wearing them right after Halloween.
For my non-Canadian friends here’s the story…
In the spring of 1915 there was a horrific battle in a place called Ypres. There were more than 100,000 Allied casualties and over 6000 Canadians died there in less than 48 hours. As a lasting legacy of the terrible battle Canadian physician and Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae wrote a poem called "In Flanders Fields”.
This poem is memorized by every Canadian child, and recited at every Remembrance Day observance across the nation.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
It’s power and beauty is undeniable.
It brings a tear to the eye and goose bumps to the skin.
Canadians wear a poppy to remember the sacrifice of young men who fought and are still fighting.
Today I will keep in my mind the sacrifices the members of the armed forces make in all countries.
I may not have a poppy to put on my lapel, but I will still remember.
11 o’clock, on the 11th day, of the 11th month.
Lest we forget,
Mandy:)
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