It's a Love Story!

Who doesn't want to read a love story? Raise your hands.

Grandpa Pete? Matt?

Oh. Well, Sorry. I'll write another post about hunting, fishing, and cars real soon.

My mama has made another request for her scrapbook. She wanted me to write a little bit about how Ted and I got together. I haven't done it yet. I'm very busy watching it rain. Sorry, Ma.

But I have been thinking about it. It is a good story...and I do like to tell stories. This one won't fit in the scrapbook, but sit back, make sure you have a free hour to try and follow my rambling nonsense, and grab a steaming mug of cocoa. You're in for a treat! Maybe not, but I like it, and this is my blog, so tough.

We'll start with Chapter 1: August 10, 1985.

Just kidding. As much as I would love to walk you through all twenty-four years of my life, I'm afraid of what 800 hours of reading would do to your eyes. I just wanted an excuse to put up our baby photos. Enjoy.

This is me at 3 weeks old. Sorry you can't see my face. I'm a million miles from home and all the photo albums. So work with me. It's still cute. I showed Ted last night and he says, "Your butt was always big!" Isn't he lovely.

Here's Ted at 3 months. Hi, happy baby! Cute 'lil booger.

.....To be continued next week.

Just kidding, again. I love joking around with you guys. That was hardly worth booting up the computer for! I'll give you a 'lil more.

Fast forward fourteen or fifteen years. Put yourself at the Marion County Fair. Breathe in the scent of hog, lamb, cattle, and horse. Mmmm. Go stuff some hay down your shirt and squirt your underarms with a spray bottle if you want the full effect. Make sure extra hay dust is stuck to your face. And put some in your hair, for good measure. Chris LeDoux, anyone? No? Maybe that's just me.

Anyway, I can still remember the first time I ever, ever met Ted. We met in the cattle barn. His cattle were always right next to mine. At that point in my life, I wasn't completely socially inept, and I introduced myself. Ted was a man of many words. I found out his name was Ted, and he worked at Hy-Vee. Or maybe that was the next year, when Ted spoke his second sentence to me. Yep, there was a next year, because our cattle were always right next to each other. Divine intervention? Maybe. Then again, I was in County Line 4-H club, and he was in the Dalcher Go-Getters (snicker snicker- that name busts my gut every time). But I like to think God had something to do with the alphabet, too.

Here's Ted at the fair. Look at that tall drink o' water!

Ted and two of his prize-winners / steak dinners

Moving on. Any country kid knows you spend an awful lot of time (read: every second of every day for a week straight) at the County Fair. Ted and his cronies spent their time in the cattle barn, playing cards on his showbox. I was intimdated. I also had horses, and I spent more time in the horse barn. Now and then I would drop by the cattle barn to make sure none of my beefburgers had escaped and run down the railroad tracks all the way to 3M (that disaster happened to someone else) and I could feel all those Melcher boys watching me. I was quite convinced they were making fun of me, and I was embarrassed to find out that my lovely dear of a black steer named Cletus (who had a bit of an issue with most of mankind- what can I say, I like a challenge) had been kicking violently at the boys' card game. Besides that, it's hot in Iowa in July, and I was stinky, dirty, and I'm sure I had manure on me somewhere. If I knew what makeup was back then, I didn't know how to put it on right. In fact, I'm still not sure I'm putting it on right. If any volunteers want to step forward and save me from myself, by all means...

And here's me. I guess I have a thing about showing my face in pics today. It's all I have. Sorry about the outfit. It's hot in July in Iowa. Also sorry about the poop-smeared butt. Hope you already finished your cocoa.


Me again. This may not really be at the fair, but it's highly representative. I did win that schnazzy belt buckle at the fair. I probably wore those snowmen socks there, too. All the boys chased me (snicker, snicker).

Needless to say I didn't spend too much time parading myself in front of those fellas who surely must have noticed that I didn't know nearly as much about steers as they did. I didn't find out until my animal science class in college that everyone in the show ring was using hormone implants on their steers. Everyone but me and my brother. Hey, we fought the good fight. Me and Cletus. And Buddy. Rest their souls, but they made a good steak.

I keep getting sidetracked. Traipsing back through memories will do that to you. The point of all this is that I had a great time showing my cattle, even though the Melcher boys always beat me out of a win. And that one pretty girl who always won everything in everything. We did not like her. Everyone who showed at the County Fair during those years knows who I'm speaking of. Yep, I had a great time, and though I was totally clueless, I had met my future husband. I still have a love affair with cattle, and some day I will have my very own herd. Wait and see.

Many years later, after Ted and I were engaged, Aunt C. let it slip that Ted had a little thing for me back in those County Fair days. Aunt C. is a teacher, and she had some connections in Pella. My darling husband (who was not a man of many words, especially to his family, about girls) went so far as to ask her if she knew anything about me. It still makes my heart go pitter patter to think that even then, he had his eye on the scrawny blonde girl who shoveled poop two cows down. I think that's what caught his eye. I shovel poop without protest.

Stay tuned for the next installment. I'm not sure when it will be. It will take you to Wisconsin. It's a wild ride. Not really. See you then!