It was just a flicker of a thought. I didn’t give it much thought, because we met and then we were slaying orcs or Squirrels of Rage together or something. And we talked and I noted how your smile made your whole face light up, how your laugh was infectious, how beautiful you were, how easy it was to talk and laugh with you, and how being in the same with you made me feel.

Of course, at the time, you were working in another state during the week and I was dating someone else, so, of course, nothing could come of it.

Time passed; we each dated other people, each of us made some errors in judgement. Sometimes we went months without seeing each other. One night you came over and we watched Drop Dead Fred together… I almost kissed you that night, but something wasn’t quite yet in sync. I don’t know what it was. There were some things we each had to go through first.

At our friends’ wedding, we were both in the bridal party and we sat next to each other at the bridal table, laughing, writing notes, teasing the best man. I noticed again how beautiful you were in the dress you wore. I thought to myself, "I really should marry this woman."

But you were dating someone else, and things still weren’t quite right. I met someone else that night and she and I spent time with each other, even though my heart was with you most of the time: at the Halloween party you threw, at the New Year’s Eve party, at Christmas when we were teased into a perfunctory kiss under the mistletoe.

Then, one year ago, we went to the Scottish Highland Games with a friend of ours. We watched the caber toss. We ate nachos at a Mexican restaurant in downtown Davis. We laughed, you bought a stone dragon (one of the two stone dragons that guards our front door even now), we went for ice cream, and then we called it a day.

But the day wasn’t over. I got home and started to watch a movie I’d rented, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, with Danny Kaye. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the day we’d just spent together. On a whim, I sent you an Instant Message and asked if you wanted to come over and watch a movie with me. I was expecting you to say no, that you were too tired, that you needed to work the next day. But you said yes, and I hurriedly cleaned my room so that you wouldn’t be too appalled when you came over.

And that night after the movie was laughed, we talked, we teased. And there you were, your face just a few inches from mine. I hesitated, knowing that if it was the wrong thing, I’d lose you as a friend and I wouldn’t have been able to stand not having you in my life at all. But I kissed you anyway. And to my amazement you kissed me back.

And that night when you lay in my arms, I knew I’d been right all along. You were the woman I was going to marry.

We spent a couple of days dancing around the issue: what did it all mean? Were we friends? Would we keep seeing each other? What would happen next?

Since then, we’ve at least spoken to each other every single day; even when we were in two different states, even when we were on opposite ends of the continent, even when we were tired, sick, angry at each other, angry at our jobs, we always talked. Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t heard your voice or thought about you or marveled at how lucky I am that I get to be the one to marry you.

I’ve always laughed when hearing the term "soulmate"; I never believed in such things. Now I do, and I wonder how I ever felt complete without you.

It’s been a year now. And it’s been the best year of my entire life.

I’ve written before — and some of my readers might say, "Too much" — about my feelings for Jennifer. About how much I love her. About how much I adore her. About how strong I feel our relationship is. And so on. Read my November 6, 2000 entry on the subject, and believe me when I say that that particular entry is probably the best expression of my feelings.

Jennifer and I have been dating for just over six months now, and we’ve had many moments of close intimacy and bonding. But Sunday night marked a new stage in our relationship, one that I never have reached with anyone else before. One which is truly meaningful for both of us.

But first, a bit of backstory. Not much, I promise.

We decided some months ago that this was going to be our last year celebrating Thanksgiving with our separate families. We could have opted to spend Thanksgiving together with her family or with mine, and neither family would have objected; but it seemed best not to do so for one last year. So on Wednesday night, I drove down to San Jose, spent a few wonderful days with my parents, my sister (and her new boyfriend), my aunt and my uncle, and had a great time. On Saturday my mom informed me that she was essentially kicking me out; in years past I’ve stayed with them until the last possible moment on Sunday evening; but, then, I’ve never really had a strong reason to return home. Now, I couldn’t wait to get back home to see Jennifer again. My mom, wise woman that she is, sensed that and told me that it was perfectly okay for me to leave early. My dad put up a token objection (more in jest than anything else), and my mom replied, "I’m kicking him out!" To which my dad replied, "Well, that’s all right then."

So late Saturday night, after dinner with my sister and her new boyfriend, I drove back up here to Woodland and came home to be with Jennifer again. I’d missed her terribly.

The next morning, Jennifer woke up early with a stomach flu. She’d awakened earlier to throw up, and… Well, let’s just say that the rest of that day was not a pleasant one for her.

When the stomach cramps started up, I asked her if she wanted to go to the emergency room. She told me no, she’d be fine. So I let her lie, bringing her water or soda when she asked for it, and I spent the day reading. In the early evening I got hungry and decided to go to a cafe to get something to eat and do some writing. As I left the parking lot, I called Jennifer on my cell phone and asked her if she wanted me to pick up anything for her on the way home.

"No", she said. But then she told me that she was feeling really bad, and that she thought she should probably go to the hospital after all.

I drove home quickly, visions of abdominal cancer and civil ceremonies in December (instead of our planned ceremony in July) flying through my head, and got to Jennifer’s bedside. I called the advice line listed on her insurance card, and went through her symptoms; and something about tenderness in Jennifer’s abdomen caused the advice nurse to say, "I’m recommending that you take her to the emergency room.

So I did. Nurses and doctors poked and prodded at her and said that she was probably suffering from a virus, possibly a parasitical infection. No idea where that could have come from, of course, and it was really unlikely. Nevertheless, the doctor wanted a stool sample for laboratory analysis, just in case.

Unfortunately, Jennifer could not produce a sample for testing. "Well, that’s all right," the nurse said cheerfully. "Just take this pan and these vials home with you tonight, and collect it yourself. Then bring it back here to the lab later tonight."

Ugh.

Double ugh.

The thought of collecting a stool sample from myself is nauseating. The thought of collecting someone else’s is even more so. But Jennifer is Jennifer and I love her, so I was willing.

Honest to God, that nurse had no right to be that cheerful.

We got home, and Jennifer informed me that she would spare me the thrill of collecting a sample, and that she was willing to do it herself. I asked the token "AreyousurebecauseI’mwillingtodoithoneyokaynoproblemyougoaheadandthankGod?" and let her have at it. When she was done, she handed me three little vials in a plastic bag.

"These have to go to the hospital lab," she said.

I took the bag with two fingers. "Ew," I said. The idea of taking this plastic bag and what it contains in my brand new car to the hospital was, honestly… well, not too pleasant.

But, this is Jennifer, and I love her. So, of course, I did it. I took the bag, and the samples therein, in my brand new car, to the hospital. I handed it to the laboratory technician, saying sarcastically, "I’ve brought some treats!" The lab tech, to her credit, didn’t even blink when she opened the bag and looked at the samples. "Oh, okay," she said. "This is perfect."

Perfect. That’s what she said.

So, to all you men out there who think you’re truly in love with your mates, I ask you this: do you really love her? How far are you willing to go for her? Will you feed her cats? Will you wash her car? Fix her computer? Deliver her fecal matter to the hospital? You have to think about these things carefully, especially if you’re considering marriage.

I’ve said that one of the reasons why I love Jennifer is because she won’t take shit from me. Apparently, the reverse can’t be said now, because, after all, I’ve proven that I’m quite willing to take shit from her.

And, furthermore, I’m even willing to take it to the hospital. And I’d do it again.

The fact that the last stanza of "Jabberwocky" is the same as the first has always haunted me. It’s the story of a hero who goes out and kills something — or, as Alice says, "Somebody killed something, that’s plain" — but I’ve always had the sense that even at the end of the story, things go back to the way they were, and everything starts over. In our own lives, there’s repetition; but even if you think you’re in a loop, there are always changes; and frequently the changes are for the better, if you can work the loop just right.

Sometimes you just need to get away. Sometimes you need to get as far away as you can from normal, everyday reality and find someplace that turns words inside out and lands everything on its head.

It was on the first night of my trip to Boston. I was looking at the upcoming couple of weeks and realized that between various business trips, it looked like Jennifer and I were going to be seeing very little of each other throughout mid November. Things had been pretty crazy up until that point as well, and the day in Boston had already been overwhelming, even though I’d only been there a couple of hours.

So, I called up Jennifer from Boston and told her that between everything that was going on and everything that we figured would be going on, we were going to definitely need some time away with just each other. I suggested that we do something that I had always wanted to do, but had never done because I had never had anyone with whom I would have wanted to do it: go to a bed-and-breakfast inn.

Originally, we both wanted to go to someplace in Carmel, which is a really beautiful part of the central coast. But after looking at various inns on-line for half an hour or so, we stumbled across a place called The Jabberwock Inn, located in Monterey. Instantly, we both knew that this was the place for us to go; I mean, with a name like The Jabberwock Inn, how could we not go? I called, made our reservations for this past weekend, and we spent the next month eagerly anticipating our getaway.

It’s about a three-hour drive from Woodland to Monterey, especially if you decide — as we did — to take the scenic route and go down Highway 1. After a bit of confusion in the San Francisco area (we were saved by a kindly tollbooth operator who gently told us exactly how to get to 1 from 80) we managed to get to the right stretch of road, and southward we headed. And after several playings of Billy Joel and Barenaked Ladies albums, and passing by miles of fields filled with mysterious green growing things (later identified as brussels sprouts and artichokes), we arrived in Monterey and at the Jabberwock.

It was like stepping into a little world all its own; from the moment we drove past the hedges and onto the brick of the parking lot, I felt like we had passed through a doorway leading from a hectic world of broken product releases and insane development schedules and into a world populated by dodo birds, playing cards, talking rabbits, and just plain quiet. The Jabberwock was decorated in a Victorian style, with intricately patterned wallpaper, bookshelves filled with dozens of copies of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass; and in just about every corner, hidden from view in almost every case, some new figurine or ornament or detail relating the Wonderland. A statue of a dodo bird in the foyer. A pewter statue of Alice in the garden. That sort of thing. The innkeeper served us sherry and hors d’oeuvres before dinner, chocolate chip cookie and milk before bed, and breakfast in the morning.

Our room was large, with a huge bed, a comfortable couch and reading chair, and no stereo, TV, telephone, or even a place to plug in our laptop computers. Not that we’d brought out computers, of course; the whole point was to get away from that sort of thing for the weekend. We spent a very relaxing night in the inn, enjoyed a great breakfast in the company of friendly strangers, walked along Cannery Row in Monterey, listened to the seals barking in the harbor and the seagulls crying out overhead, and generally just enjoyed ourselves.

On the way back, we passed more mysterious green growing things, bought two stalks of brussels sprouts, showed off Spiff II to my parents (who both cringed when they saw the brussels sprouts — but that’s a story for another day), and drove back home with enough time left over in the day to go out and see Charlie’s Angels — a cheesy but fun film.

So the weekend passed, and Monday came back at us, with more flimsy code, more broken products, more bugs, more meetings, more insane development schedules. The borogoves were mimsy all over again. But when you can take time to work on things, or even just take a couple of days to leave the world and focus on who you are and who you are as a couple — even if you don’t spend a lot of time in "deep conversation", like we did at the Engaged Encounter weekend — something still changes. The Jabberwock — the monster, not the wonderful inn — might still be lurking around the tulgey wood; but now it’s just a little less intimidating, because you’ve come just a bit closer to the partner that you’re going to be spending your life with.

A few weeks ago, the good friend who had introduced me to Jennifer in the first place asked me how the two of us were getting along.

I hesitated for some time, not looking directly at him.

Finally, he said to me, "Not that good, eh?"

To which I replied, "Oh, no, it’s not that. I’m just trying to figure out how to say it without descending into disgusting mush that would make you sick."

"Oh, lay it on me, Rich. I can take it."

So finally I said, "Well, it’s like this. Jennifer fills a Jennifer-shaped hole in my heart that I never even knew was there."

Well, so there it is. Sometimes a person fits with you so completely that you can’t even conceive of not having that person there in your life with you: like two picture-puzzle pieces that fit together so perfectly that you can’t even tell that there is a seam there at all. It’s hard to describe such feelings without getting mushy and goofy.

I’ve known Jennifer for over two years at this point; and during that entire time, I’ve been attracted to her, and thought she was one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. I even remember thinking, on the day that we met at a Dungeons and Dragons game, "That’s the woman I’m going to marry someday.

Of course, two years passed before anything happened. At times I was involved with someone else; and at other times, she was. There were times when we were both single, but neither of us was ready. But when Jennifer and I got together in April, and when we got engaged in May, it was right; sometimes, these things are. I’ve never doubted, for an instant, that Jennifer was the perfect match for me.

Other people did have doubts, though. I remember that her parents were concerned when they heard the news; after all, they had only met me once prior to our breaking the news to them, and that had been three weeks before, and I had been introduced to them as Jennifer’s "friend" — which was true, since on that night Jennifer and I weren’t anything more than friends. My own parents were a bit more prepared for the shock, having met Jennifer at least once before in the context of us being a "couple" (actually, this is a misstatement — when they heard the news, my mom shouted, "YAHOO!!" and my dad said something along the lines of, "It’s about damned time!").

Jennifer and I have never had any doubts. But to help others around us who might have had any doubts, last weekend we attended an Engaged Encounter weekend, a weekend designed for couples like us who are planning to get married. We went in prepared for some hard questions and difficult discussions, some serious examination into our own relationship. We thought we’d discussed all of the issues, we thought we were pretty well-prepared.

We still do. The weekend held no surprises for us; during all of our intense discussions, we found ourselves facing questions and issues that we had already faced before; both of us are people who like to have plans, who like to know what issues are going to come up and how they might be dealt with. So none of what we discussed at Engaged Encounter revealed anything new to either of us; we’d discussed issues of long-term career planning, finances, family, religion, end-of-life issues, and more.

This is not to say that the weekend was valueless to us, though. In the midst of our insane schedules, it was important that we take some time away from our computers, our cell phones, and our jobs to make time for us. We both agree that this relationship is our number one priority in our lives, and nothing should get in the way of that. But more importantly, it was good for us to be with other couples who were discussing the same issues we were discussing, and to share some of our experiences with them, and to gain some insights into some of their own solutions to particular issues. We settled the question of finances over the weekend, for example, with some help from another couple that had worked out a good solution that we think might work for us.

Love is probably blind. We’re trying to enter this with our eyes wide open, though; I think one of the reasons we’ve been able to make this work is the full knowledge that things won’t always be perfect. There will be times when we fight, when we get frustrated or angry with each other, and so on. Every marriage, they say, has its good years and its bad years. What’s more important for us, we both figure is not that we try to make every year a good year, but that we know how to deal with the bad years (and we both know that if we make it all the way through this coming year, we’ll be able to make it through anything).

But what it really boils down to for me, and what, ultimately, is the only thing I need to know, is that I love Jennifer. More than anything. Whether we’re speeding down the highway, late to Engaged Encounter, laughing hysterically as we sing along with Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, or dancing clumsily in the computer room to "The Lion Sleeps" by the Nylons, or planning our future together, or being grateful that we both are inheriting wonderful in-laws, or simply holding each other late at night, the love I feel for Jennifer never falters and never wavers. Marrying Jennifer makes me the luckiest man alive.

There’s that hole in my heart that I never even knew existed; it was made for Jennifer, and now she’s here to fill it. How could it have ever been empty?

Every year, for several years, my parents have given me strangely-titled books for Christmas as stocking stuffers. The quality of the books haven’t mattered so much as the title; this is how I’ve managed to end up reading books such as Bride of the Rat God and The Generic Science Fiction Novel — a thin book with a plain white cover imprinted with the words Science Fiction in bold black letters. But the best find my parents had, by far, was a series called The Cineverse Cycle, by Craig Shaw Gardner. These three books had the most amazing titles: Slaves of the Volcano God, Bride of the Slime Monster, and Revenge of the Fluffy Bunnies.

Needless to say, these books were wonderful. I devoured them in a week, and they quickly became some of my favorites. But alas, I loaned these books to an old friend of mine, who soon thereafter vanished, taking these great books with him. I’ve searched for new copies since then, haunting the used bookstores and libraries; but I was unable to track them down anywhere. It looked as though these books were gone forever.

Hang on; I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.

So far, I’m really enjoying my new job quite a lot. My co-workers are great; I like my boss; and there are times when I find myself amazed that I’m actually getting paid to design and create web pages. I have to say that I wish I were doing more straight programming and database development, but that will come with time. Right now I’m enjoying the time I’m spending here in Portland, and learning how the company works and what the development environment is like.

And the much-prayed-to employment gods have also apparently heard my request for a job with some travel as well. I’ll be in Portland for a few more weeks; then in October, I’ll be spending a few days in Boston; in November, Atlanta; and in December, Los Angeles. These are trade shows and conferences which are related to the e-health industry and to our company’s particular medical specialty. My boss tells me that he wants me to "feel the doctors’ pain", which I think is probably a good idea; but I’ll also be serving as technical support at these shows and conferences.

But the job has its down sides as well. Putting in ten- to twelve- hour days is not unusual. I was up until about one o’clock this morning helping to QA a data migration, and I was up very early double-checking things and sending out e-mails. And I admit that I’m still feeling overwhelmed and sort of "in over my head". But I’m starting to sort things out here, and I’m starting to make sense of it all. I know that I’m looking at some more long hours and heavy projects, especially since I’m apparently being moved into project management, and I’m looking to really build up my skills in many other areas.

The worst of the downsides, of course, is that I’m spending far too much time away from home and away from Jennifer. For nearly two weeks, I haven’t seen my own house at all for more than a few minutes at a time, usually on my way to or from somewhere as I pick up some more clothes or some medicine or a book. When I am in California, I am almost always at Jennifer’s house. I’ve started giving out her phone number as an alternate "home number" for myself. I’ve even listed her address in a couple of places as an alternate address for me. It’s almost as though I’m living with her when I’m in California.

But the point, really, is that when I’m in Portland, I miss Jennifer. A lot. I miss hanging out with her. I miss spending time with her. I miss going out to dinner with her, or snuggling up with her on the couch watching a movie.

In the time that Jennifer and I have been together, I have never had any doubts about the two of us. But if I had ever had any doubts that Jennifer is the one for me, they would have been completely removed with the gift that she gave me prior to my first departure for Portland. She came to my house — one of the last times I was there — to pick me up for dinner or some such event, and as we drove away, she said, "Can I borrow your books in the glove compartment?" I assumed, at the time, that the books she was talking about were the same books she’d had in there for some time, so I said, "But they’re your books."

"No, they’re not," she replied. "Open it up and see.

So I opened up the compartment — and there they were. Slaves of the Volcano God. Bride of the Slime Monster. Revenge of the Fluffy Bunnies. The entire Cineverse Cycle. Jennifer had saved a conversation that she and I had had via Instant Messenger months ago, and had managed to track the books down on an auction site. And I’ve been having great fun here in Portland, re-reading these favorites of mine, and smiling when I think about how I got them.

Jennifer and I have taken the next logical step; I’m beginning the process of moving in with her this weekend. I’ve lived with significant others before, but she never has. This is a big step for me, but it’s an even bigger one for her. I can’t take that lightly, of course, and this wasn’t a decision that either of us made on the spur of the moment. But it’s right.

Jennifer is a marvelously practical woman, and has begun the process of cleaning and rearranging furniture in her house even while I’m up here in Portland, reading silly books, working hard at this crazy job, and thinking of her. She’s charming, funny, intelligent, bright, and witty; one moment she’s planning out investments and going over our house plans with me, and the next she’s sitting beside me gluing together a working clock made out of cardboard or hunting for a stone dragon with me. I can’t help but love her.

So if Jennifer ever were to be enslaved to a volcano god, or forcefully wed to a slime monster, or threatened by a horde of vengeful fluffy bunnies, I would certainly be there to help protect her (not that she couldn’t take care of herself, of course, but you know what I mean). She hunted down a trilogy of strangely-titled novels for me on the basis of an IM conversation that she and I had months ago, that I barely remember; how can I help myself?