The Beginning

We dated, online, for two months after the wedding. We texted. Hundreds and hundreds of texts. I owe my parents my first paycheck for the number of texts we sent. We chatted on instant messenger, secretly researched each other via facebook (John gets drunk and sticks out his tongue at cameras), and talked with the assistance of webcams. Insanely romantic, I know. Don't worry, it gets better.

October 8, 2009, I flew up to Canada for the first time. *Thank you, Heather, for driving me to the airport at the crack of dawn.* It wasn't until the plane was taking off, that I realized what I was doing. By the time I finished the thought and had a little panic attack, we were airborne. I was going to a different country, to meet a guy I had only seen in person for two days. I was going to be staying with said individual, for a week! What if he didn't like me? What if I didn't like him?!?!

I got over the worries and started enjoying myself. I even had a fun time in Customs, telling the officer that I was going on my first date with the guy I came to Canada to see. That particular officer got a laugh at my enthusiasm and didn't hassle me. Every one since has given me the evil eye. Once I had gone through customs, and found my bag, the only thing I had to worry about was recognizing John. I had known him for two months, but most of the viewing had been done via crummy webcam. I stepped out into the waiting area, and recognized his smile.

He had a red rose with him. I managed to make it past the endless railing, and gave him a huge hug, immediately followed by a rushed first kiss. That was all me. He smelled great; cologne, leather jacket, and a faint whiff of vanilla from the air fresheners in his truck. He took me to Niagra Falls, the only thing I had requested we do. We ate at Ruby Tuesday, and he played DDR with me at an arcade. We learned how to hold hands and walk together (his right arm goes in front, my left one around back).

He took me into Toronto the next day. We rode the train in, which was unbelievably exciting for me. I had just recently gone on a fabric trip to NYC, and was delighted by trains in general. He planned for us to go to a mall. He hadn't counted on my ability to walk through stores instead of stopping to peruse. He did manage to snap the infamous picture of me in a furry white toque (hat). When we got tired of people, we walked down to the harbor. I dragged him into an antique store we found, and then to the waters edge to relax and wait for dinner time.

John had made reservations in the restaurant at the top of the CN Tower (Yes, it is C N for those of us who weren't born in Canada). It was beautiful and fun. They sold us a picture of ourselves, which we accidentally left in the restaurant. When we realized what had happened, we asked the photography people if we could go back up and get it. Instead, they printed us another copy. Unhappy with the idea of someone taking "us" home, I dragged John back up to retrieve our original. John to this day thinks I was being Dutch, when in reality, I just couldn't stand leaving our picture.

There were many trips between then and now. Valentine's day, Canadian Thanksgiving, Winter break, my birthday, weekend trips just for the hell of it, Easter, and my graduation. All of these trips started with smiles, and ended with tears at parting (John, you big suck). The biggest trip to be, had yet to occur:

Our Road Trip to Canada.