Onto our next adventure!
As a result of my mid-midlife crisis at age 25, we decided to move to the southern coast of Spain. Join Mason and I as we spend two years in the beachy paradise of Málaga!
During our visit to Extremadura we made plans to visit a nearby abandoned pueblo called Granadilla, per our friend Chloe’s recommendation. The story goes that years ago the community of Extremadura wanted to build a reservoir there and kicked out (or politely requested, who knows) all of the inhabitants. No one ever returned and it remains a ghost town to this very day. It was about a 1.5 hour drive from where we were staying in Cáceres, but we didn’t mind too much as we kept busy chatting and staring at the fields of cows outside the window. It was about 1:15pm when we started seeing a never-ending line of cars passing by us in the opposite direction. We were in the absolute middle of nowhere at this point and were confused as to why there would be so many people visiting this tiny abandoned town in the first place. When we finally made it to Granadilla and parked we were faced with quite the sight. A beautiful stone wall sit atop a hill, separating the town from the forest surrounding it. A castle jutted out of the entrance and a large wrought iron gate stood open. Just beyond the entrance we could see a glimpse of rows of colorful square buildings. After taking in the scenery we finally stopped and realized what was happening around us. Gaggles of people were exiting through the gate and heading straight for us. It seemed absolutely no one was heading in the same direction as us, which was both concerning and confusing. But soon we spotted a couple locals walking towards the entrance, so we used them as a shield as we trekked up the hill. We had finally made it through the gate and were gunning to explore, when a guard approached our group (the human shields included). “The town closes at 1:30” He said, “you have to leave.” We were all obviously very surprised and bummed but followed orders and left. But not before Mason asked the guard why the entire town shuts down, to which he replied, “because.” Leave it to the Spanish to get straight to the point. Luckily we were still able to see the reservoir, which was really beautiful. We had a good time anyway, but it appears that the mystery town of Granadilla will forever remain a mystery. A mystery town that shuts down for siesta.
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When Mason and I decided that we would be staying in Spain for more than one year, we made a pact with ourselves that we would visit all 17 autonomous communities of España before we left the country for good. We were doing pretty well for ourselves just a year in, but have slowed down quite a bit lately for obvious reasons (*cough* pandemic *cough*). We’ve had a measly three regions left to visit for the past two years, and back in October we finally had the opportunity to leave our city of Málaga, so we jumped on the chance and took ourselves west to Extremadura. Extremadura sits alongside Portugal, but far enough from any coast to remove it from most peoples’ vacation lists. They are best known for their exquisite ham (though it seems every part of Spain likes to make this claim), Roman ruins, and endless variants of cheese. One of their most well-known quesos is called torta del casar. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t one of our deciding factors in traveling to Extremadura in the first place. Because who can go wrong with cheese, right? Extremadura, that's who. We ordered this delicacy our first night in Cáceres, not wasting a moment in trying it. The tall, slim waiter brought it out to us with two hands, his body almost doubling over from the weight of the dish. He placed it directly in front of me (I suppose my smile exuded “cheese fanatic”) and with a twinkle in his eye, wished us a buen provecho as he left the table. This infamous torta del casar was plated beautifully, no doubt- the large ceramic dish boasted a circular mound of white melted cheese almost bubbling inside the walls of its rind. Small, crunchy breadsticks (called picos) were scattered around the white walls, appearing as if each one was meticulously placed there. We marveled at the beauty for a few moments and then dove into the cheesy abyss. The flavor was almost as overpowering as the smell. The creamy white cheese had a level of bitterness that can be compared to an old gym sock, and the odor even more so. Let’s just say it didn’t exactly meet my fancy. Mason, on the other hand, quite enjoyed this stinky blob of cheese, though not enough to order it twice. The cheese quest might have been a bust, but the trip was definitely not. This region of Spain is a land of natural beauty and breathtaking landscapes nestled within a treasure trove of historic sites. Walking through the narrow, stone streets is like traveling back in time. We thoroughly enjoyed (Mason especially) visiting the Roman ruins speckled throughout the region and sitting in sunny parks with good company. Extremadura might not be perfect, but it's pretty dang close.
Teaching gives me some of the best stories, and it would simply just be selfish of me to keep them to myself. So without further ado, enjoy some 2020 silliness! Read other stories here: Tales of an English Teacher, Little Stories, and Adiós Nájera The Masked Face This year, as we are living in a pandemic, we always have to wear a mask. In the streets, restaurants, banks, and most importantly, in the schools. Because of this, my students have never seen my face (2019 Ellen would have been quite perplexed by this sentence). They've only ever seen me from the eyeballs up. Which, if we're being honest, is one of my better angles. When school started back in October a couple sixth grade girls began pestering me with the very specific request of, "Teacher Helen we want to see your face." Every recess the group grew in number, and with it, persistence. For weeks they asked me to show my face, not resting for a single day. They are a determined bunch. After three weeks of unrelenting bombardment, they finally broke me down and I agreed. Seven or eight masked 11 year old girls stood around me in a semicircle, six feet apart, and waited with bated breath as my hand slowly reached toward the top of my mascarilla. (It should be noted that I was more nervous than them, as tween critics know no bounds. I could only imagine what kind of comments would ensue if they thought I was ugly). With fear in my heart, I pulled my mask down for what could have been no more than four seconds, just enough time to flash them a winning Ellen smile. And good god, you would have thought they had won an Olympic gold medal. The girls started squealing and jumping up and down with the same veracity as me at a Jonas Brothers concert. They were losing their minds, to put it lightly. Amidst all the celebration, one of the girls flung her head back, clenched her hands into little fists, and screamed at the top of her lungs, "I LOVE YOUR MOUTH!" Their response was more positive than anything I could have dreamed of. Strange, certainly, as it was the first time I’ve had to react to someone’s blatant love for my mouth, but it kept a smile on my face for the rest of the day. Of course, no one could see it under the mask. La Teta de Sabrina One of my favorite classes this year is at the academy where I also work. I have a lower level adult English course made up of a 40 year old father of two, a 23 year old shop-a-holic, and a 45 year old Spanish teacher. It’s a small group with a big personality. Every Thursday we spend an hour laughing and conversing about everything under the sun. More often than not, I leave with a couple good stories to tell. One week in particular I decided to teach them about one of America’s most important traditions- the Super Bowl. I taught them about all the essentials- the commercials, the food, and of course, the half-time show. I showed them a couple half-time clips to really give them a taste of the grandeur of it all. A few seconds into the first video, the father of two excitedly shouted out, “like Lauren Jackson!” Confused, I paused the vídeo, and faced the class. The Spanish teacher responded, just as excitedly, “Yes, with the boob!” Ah, I thought, Janet Jackson’s famous appendage slip. We laughed about it for a bit, them explaining it was the only connection they had to the Super Bowl and me expressing my surprise that it had made its way all the way across the Atlantic. Soon they were telling me a similar story about some character named Sabrina. The father of two took the lead and began to relay the legend of la teta de Sabrina. She was an Italian singer who had a televised performance on New Year’s Eve in the 80’s. As the story was told to me, “She sing a song and say boy many times. She jump with all the boys.” (At this point the man stood up and began singing boy, boy, boy, jumping each time he said boy) “She say boy, many times. But many times. And the boob… PLOP.” And with that, the father of two proudly sat down, pleased with his storytelling, and the rest of the class, me included, erupted in laughter. We applauded his explanation and I pocketed the story to tell Mason later. As it turns out, his narrative was pretty accurate, and will probably be the only way I ever retell the tale of la teta de Sabrina. Out of the Mouth of Babes As per usual, I'll finish this post with my favorite student quotes.
Each year we make new friends, and each year they move away, leaving us behind with 365 days of memories and an offering of random belongings. One of the most recent abandoned treasures being a giant map of Spain. It is perhaps one of our greatest finds yet. We decided to cover the map in yellow sticky notes, marking our travels throughout the country. After stepping back to get a good look at the whole thing we were proud to see that we have the north pretty well covered. The south, on the other hand, is nearly a blank canvas. We’ve slowly been filling in the spaces with little yellow squares this summer and recently embarked on a week long tour of the south. Our first stop on our tour del sur was to one of the southernmost parts of Spain- the very poorly connected city of Cádiz, where I was originally planning on studying abroad in 2014 (but whew, I’m glad I didn’t. Their accent is something else). It’s a 3,000 year old coastal town and is not only the oldest city in Europe, but also used to be the most powerful port in all of Spain. Now it boasts miles of beautiful beaches and an impressive history. The beaches are narrow and seemingly never ending, with crystal blue water and stark white sand as far as the eye can see. Giant concrete cubes line the coast, serving as a barrier between the water and the city. Inside these cubes lives a cat colony of all colors, shapes, and sizes. They are often seen glaring at pedestrians or jumping from one concrete square to the next. The city itself is quite small which makes it super walkable and pleasing to explore, especially in the heat. Palm trees are scattered throughout the streets, creating a zig zag path to the jaw dropping cathedral. It’s a great place to have a beer. We kicked off the trip with a classic Cádiz dinner chocked full of seafood (meh) and once the sun had set, meandered two minutes to the beach (I told you it was small!) The sky was an ominous dark maroon color, almost teetering on pitch black. A very scarce number of people sat in the sand, enjoying cervezas and cigarettes. The playa was dimly lit by the nearby streetlights, just enough to see the edge of the sea crashing into the shore. We quickly plopped down and joined the rest of the onlookers in the cool sand, but only for a moment. Before I had time to realize what was happening, Matt and Mason had thrown off their clothes and were splashing their way into the deep waters of the sea. It took a little bit of convincing, but soon Kendra and I were swimming along right beside them. We swam and dove and splashed for a while and then lay on our backs, letting the waves carry us along as we looked up into the stars. Talk about kicking off the trip in style! Our next stop was to the bustling city of Sevilla, though in the summer months it’s a little less bustling. This city is HOT, man. I’m talking well over 100 degrees every day. The heat was worth it though because the Plaza de España is absolutely stunning. Just stunning! It is, without the tiniest shred of doubt in my mind, the most impressive square I’ve ever seen. So beautiful it almost made us forget about the absurd heat for a second. We visited the plaza every day, sometimes multiple times a day, during our stay in Sevilla and relished in the lavish palace and the twinkling blue canal running through the square. On our last day we stumbled upon a flamenco show under the shade of one of the plaza’s towers. As we listened to the guitar and watched the vestidos flamencos dance across the floor, I teared up a little- maybe it was the beauty of the dance, or the beauty of our surroundings, or the beauty of living in Spain together, I just felt so happy. The phrase “I feel so happy I could cry” couldn’t fit a moment more perfectly. The final stop on our journey was Córdoba, the hottest city in the entire country, which we visited in the hottest month of the year. We’ve never claimed to be smart. Córdoba is arguably one of the most important and historic cities in Spain. It used to be the capital of the Iberian peninsula during the Roman Empire and remained the capital when it fell to Islamic invaders. For centuries it was a place where Muslims, Christians, and Jews lived together peacefully. As a result of its history and rich mix of cultures, the architecture is incredibly unique. We visited perhaps the most unique building in the city, La Mezquita (mosque), and boy was it impressive! Towering striped arches fill the room, so many that it's mesmerizing to look at. In the middle of the arches is a Renaissance church with one of the most beautifully crafted ceilings I've seen. It's a mixture of two religions and cultures that shaped the region of Andalucía, and has to be one of the most extraordinary buildings I've experienced. As I sit here and look at our yellow spotted map of Spain, I can't believe how much we've seen, and yet there is still so much more to explore. With each new adventure we fall more and more in love with this country. You've really got us hooked, Spain. Now it's time to buy more sticky notes. A few months ago we received word that we were accepted to teach in Málaga for one more year! Unfortunately amidst all the craziness of the quarantine we never properly announced it. So we kept our excitement pent up inside until the inevitable day when we could leave our apartment and properly toast to our final year in Spain. The moment the Spanish prime minister finally allowed us to go outside Mason and I went straight to a bar for a celebratory cerveza. We began to reminisce on the past ten months in Málaga and fondly thought back on Mason's impossible goal of living 10 minutes from the beach. We laughed and chortled and joked about how silly it was to think we had the budget for that. Perhaps it was the beer, or the excitement of finally sitting somewhere other than our living room couch, but for one reason or the other we decided to take a peek at Badi (Spain's version of Zillow). To our complete surprise the first apartment on the site was a mere 8 minutes from the coast. We took absolutely no hesitation in sending a message to the landlord, fully expecting her to tell us there was an error in the (very low) price. Not even 48 hours later we found ourselves standing in the middle of the living room, making small talk with the current tenants. *shrug* The perks of apartment hunting in a pandemic, I guess. About a month later we moved to this very apartment that we had found completely on a whim. Which meant we would live barely 10 minutes from the beach, making all of Mason's wildest dreams come true! We have our own balcony and bathroom, both decorated to the nines in traditional Andalusian blue tiles. Within hours of settling in to the new place, Mason bought an XL pair of children's googles and a new beach fedora. I'm still waiting for the day he comes home with that bright orange safety swimming bag. Sometimes, more often than I like to admit, I forget how lucky we are to be living our dream in Spain. But here in our new neighborhood of Huelin, I'm reminded of it every day. I mean, it's hard not to be when a literal paradise sits right outside your door. It's the life we had imagined when we made the move to the south of Spain and more often than not I wake up and feel I'm still dreaming. What a way to celebrate year number two in Málaga! There exists a mysterious little corner of Spain that is unknown to a lot of foreigners and simply ignored by many Spaniards. To date I have only met one Spanish person who has traveled here, though they all sure do have a lot to say about it for having never seen it. I think I could sum up all of their comments by simply calling it the "armpit of Spain." Embodying all the negative qualities of an armpit, of course. This lonely, forgotten region is none other than the infamous Murcia. Mason and I had been curious about this place since the first time a Spaniard told us never to go there, so we decided to rent a car and take ourselves four hours east to see what all the (non) hype was about. Boy, did it blow our expectations away! We stayed in the coastal city of Cartagena in an Airbnb right next to a beautiful 2,000 year old Roman theater. For some reason unbeknownst to us, there was absolutely no mention of the theater in the Airbnb description... perhaps one of the reasons this region is so understated. Their marketing team seems like it could use an upgrade. As a whole, Cartagena doesn't have much to offer, but the things it does have are certainly nothing to scoff at! The city is built around well preserved Roman amphitheaters and castles, sprinkled with the typical Spanish bars and cathedrals. Not too shabby, if you ask me. The most impressive part of the Murcia region has got to be the beaches. We spent a couple days beach-hopping up and down La Manga, a 21 km long strip of playa surrounded on both sides by the Mediterranean Sea and Mar Menor. The beaches here are (low key) the nicest I've ever seen. The water is a deep cerulean blue and so clear that you can see your shadow swimming with you on the sea floor. It's not only gorgeous, but also the perfect temperature. Warm enough to walk straight in without squealing, but cool enough to provide a refreshing pause from the summer heat. Even I didn't want to get out of the water. There was one beach in particular that made quite the impression on us. So much so, that Mason declared he wants to retire there. Playa Matasgordas, as it was called, was a tropical, white powder beach lined with palm trees and boasting the warmest, clearest water in all the land (says Ellen). We spent hours looking for shells and just enjoying the calm sea around us. I can't say I'd be upset if we did retire there. We ended our beach trip with more beach visits on the drive back to Málaga, spending just enough time to have a swim and quick dry off in the Spanish sun. One of our last stops was Las Salinas (salt flats) in Almería where we found a cluster of wild flamingos grazing in the shrubs. A surprising trip ending with one big final surprise. An excerpt from living in Spain during the Coronavirus pandemic. Today is day 42 of quarantine. The days have been running together for quite a while now. Our routines are a monotonous loop of teaching, eating, and walking circles in the living room. Each night at exactly 8 PM Mason and I pause The Office, remove ourselves from the ever-so-slightly growing couch divots, and make our way to our bedroom window. We carefully slide open the squeaky old frames to avoid spilling our freshly poured glasses of wine and stick our heads into the crisp night air, relishing in the cool breeze. The streets are eerily silent and empty, a stark contrast from the loud, bustling ambiance that filled the city not so long ago. But the balconies are open, spilling their warm yellow light onto the deserted roads below. The air vibrates with the sounds of people whistling, applauding, and banging pots and pans. All over the entire country, people salute the workers who are working so tirelessly to battle the virus that is sweeping the world. This began 42 days ago, and has no sign of stopping. The applause strengthens with each día that passes, the participants growing in number by the day. Dogs join in at the first clap and the faint wail of police sirens plays in the distance as the cars weave in and out of the winding roads. Neighbors hang out of their windows a little longer than they should while a chain of hola's travels down the street. It is such an amazing atmosphere to experience. Such an incredible sense of community- everyone in the entire country coming together to thank the people keeping us all safe. It's a feeling that I can't really describe. Even now, so many days later, my eyes get a little misty as I clap along with a street of strangers. In a time as surreal as this, it's comforting to see that we are all in this together. A short drive lay before us. We settled down anyway, our legs curled under us in the backseat. Olive trees covered every inch of the dry valleys on either side of our little rental car, their leaves flashing silver in the bright sun. We moved quickly through the winding roads, our little car just a tiny white speck under the vast blue sky above. Dirt crunched under our tires and short mesh fences whisked past outside the windows, blurring into one never-ending grey smudge. The village appeared out of nothing (as they usually do). We plopped out of the car and heard our shoes crunch on the dirt just as the tires did before. White buildings emerged from the brown hills, one after the other, as we followed the faint sound of Spanish chatter. The conversation grew louder and louder until we could focus on nothing more than deep Spanish grumbles. We turned the bend and our jaws dropped. A massive rock hung over the village, looming over the shops and eateries below. People clustered around wooden barrels scattered strategically in the shade, their wine glasses balancing dangerously between their fingertips. Our eyes flitted quickly between the green shrubs and the spiraled stone of the cliff. It was a landscape unlike any we had seen before. We sat in plastic red chairs pressed against the side of the rock, leaning back and letting the winter sun warm our faces. Soon our table became a delicious chaos of migas, peppers, fish, wine, and chorizo. We filled our plates with mounds of the andaluz delicacies and settled down for a relaxing meal. Our lunch extended into sobremesa (as they usually do), as we fondly reminisced on our Spanish adventures and the friends we met along the way. The sun began to fall behind the cliff and the crowds began to retreat into the warmth of their homes. We hugged our bodies a little tighter, enjoying the chill of dusk. Small pebbles began to fall from the cliff, bouncing lightly off our heads and empty plates. We took it as a gentle reminder that it was time to go. We clambered back into our little rental car and watched the short mesh fences whisk past outside the windows, blurring into one never-ending grey smudge. sobremesa - the time spent relaxing at the table after a meal From my (limited) experience it seems that almost every country in the world has some sort of debate going on between the north and the south. Each side claiming they do something better than the other. In Spain, for example, northerners are always saying things like, 'in the south they have a funny accent, too many tourists, and it's just so damn hot down there.' While the southerners pride themselves in their rich culture, warm weather, and southern accent. And of course there's always the food. Each side insists they have the best food in Spain. I lived in the north of Spain for two years and have been here in the south for about ten months, so I feel as though it has been thrust upon me to spam the internet with my opinions. Am I qualified to make these statements? Probably not. But these comparisons have been marinating in my head since September, so here goes nothing, First let's get into one of the most easily recognizable differences between the north and the south- the landscapes. Northern Spain is filled with lush, green forests, rolling mountains, and chilly beaches. Southern Spain, on the other hand, has endless miles of warm, sunny coast lines and dry, rocky terrain. Although basically polar opposites of each other, they both are oozing with their own unique beauty. Within each unique landscape lie even more unique pueblos. Nestled into the green Andalucian hills sit clusters of white buildings, making up what the Spanish call pueblos blancos. The entire region of Andalucía is filled with these white towns. Terracotta tiles cover the roofs, and windows sit with their curtains drawn, shielding from the summer heat. From afar they look like mounds of legos brushed with brown paint. Below the canopy of red techos, tight-knit streets spiral through the endless sea of white walls. The brightly colored flowers adorning the balconies thrive in the sunny climate of the south and their colors bounce off one another in the sunlight. Music reverberates through the winding calles, making the streets feel alive even when there is not a soul in sight. They are the epitome of what one pictures when they think of Spain and feel more quintessentially español than perhaps anywhere else. In the norte the pueblos have a cozier, slightly more lived-in feel. The towns are teeming with old, stone buildings, their deep brown colors melting into the cobblestone streets below. Suspicious abuelas hang out of the wrought iron balconies that rest just above old wooden doors, muttering under their breath about the world around them. Green forests rise up from the buildings, blanketing them in clouds of mist. Beyond the threshold of the towns sit glimpses of mountains, their snow-capped peaks glimmering against the cloudy sky. These cozy streets provide a semblance of warmth in the cold weather. Even if just for a moment. Spain is a perfect mix of old and new, sunshine and rain, cobblestones and bricks, but one thing that stays consistent throughout the país is the food. It is what the Spanish culture, like many cultures, mainly revolves around. Ham, cheese, bread, and tapas are the four major food groups in España. Although separate groups, they are often seen combined with one another, sometimes all occupying the same dish. The food plays a large part in the life of a Spaniard, as socializing is commonly accompanied with a few rounds of tapas and beverages. This practice extends throughout the entirety of Spain, from the border of France to the Strait of Gibraltar. And while the food culture is the same throughout the country, the food itself certainly is not. Tapas, or pinchos as they are called in the north, are little bites of food typically paired with a small beer or glass of wine and great company. They are essentially the same, but there are a few key differences that distinguish them from one another. Pinchos are almost always served atop a small slice of bread and live exclusively in the north. Tapas, on the other hand, are usually just a smaller portion of a main dish and in certain cities (Granada and Almería) are served free of charge with a drink order. But no matter where you are, "going out for tapas" means hopping from one bar to the next, enjoying a different dish and beverage at each stop. It's probably one of my favorite things about the Spanish culture and maybe the easiest thing to adapt to. Nothing beats a night of beer, bites, and friends in Spain. Now I might get some backlash for this, but I think I have danced around the subject enough, so I'll just say it- pinchos are better than tapas. *gasp* Yes, you heard it right, folks. These little bites of grub are best served in the north, where it is quite literally a food lover's paradise. Restaurants line both sides of the streets, their windows piled high with stacks of mouthwatering chow. The scent of buttery mushrooms, grilled sirloin, and fresh bread billow out of the open doors and mix seamlessly with the aromas of the restaurant next door. It's like going on a food tour before even tasting it. The food is delicious in the sur too, but there's just something special about the pinchos in the north. Of course you don't have to take my word for it, come to Spain to see for yourself! From its ice-capped mountains to its sandy beaches, both sides of the country have vastly different things to offer, each contributing to the charm and diversity of Spain. It's a place of rich history, jaw dropping landscapes, and fascinating people whose land, art, and culture make up a country that's meant to be enjoyed and lived. Whether that be with the sun and sea, or the mountains and the vineyards, España will steal your heart. It certainly has stolen mine. norte - north techos - roofs calles - streets país - country sur - south On February 25, 2020 Mason and I were in Flensburg, Germany. The trip itself had been a surprise for me, and I was elated to be back in the land of good beer and cold weather. This day in particular was a busy one sprinkled with various excursions. We explored the outskirts of the city in an old orange Volkswagen van (Mason's dream car) with our friend Zoran. The wind and rain were on another level this day and on more than one occasion I was almost blown into the water. The views were more than worth it though. Following a few stops in German, Danish, and Russian supermarkets, we met with more friends for a brewery tour. After a thorough two hour tasting of Flensburger beer we all headed back in the direction of the harbor. As we crossed the threshold of the city center our friends parted ways, leaving Mason and I to fend for ourselves. We continued walking down the rain covered cobblestones along the bay. The wet ground twinkled in the moonlight, forming a glowing path that led us to the edge of the Baltic Sea. Soon we stumbled upon a happy, bearded man sitting on the dock playing his guitar under the light of a nearby streetlamp. He paid us no mind as we passed in front of him, and kept singing and strumming along with not a care in the world. I stopped at the end of the dock and rested my arms on the old wooden railing, taking it all in. My eyes slowly scanned the storybook that laid in front of me. The water was as black as the night sky and gently swayed back and forth as the lights of the houses reflected in its waves. The sounds of the crashing water blended seamlessly with the soft strums of the guitar and the man's slightly raspy voice. Rising above the bay towered a pointy church steeple, giving off the faintest glow from its windows. I looked above the masts of the boats in front of us and saw the most stars I've seen in a long time. We stood together in this spot, looking out into the magical scene that lay before us. I felt so caught up in the moment. I remember turning to Mason and saying, "This feels like a movie." (I really set it up perfectly, didn't I?) He smiled and started to reach for his pocket. Before I could blink, Mason was on one knee asking me to marry him. It might've been the happiest and most unexpected moment of my life. I think I said, what the heck?! a million times before finally saying yes (this maybe wasn't the most reassuring initial response... sorry, Mason). I watched in disbelief as Mason slipped the ring onto my shaky finger. With a relieved smile, Mason pulled a walkie talkie out of his coat and put it up to my mouth, telling me to say, "we did it." A few moments later the sky was filled with fireworks. Even as I sit here retelling the story, it still feels like a dream. It was an incredibly magical moment that will forever be one of my favorite memories. February 25, 2020- just the absolute happiest day. |