On the day of our New Zealand hike we were late to meet our guide because Sprite volunteered to go back and retrieve the small folding chair I had left in our room.

The drill-sergeant-like woman who leaped out of the van reminded me of a Brunnhilde, so I called her “B”.

She took one look at me and said, “You’re three minutes late.  We have a five-mile hike.  It’s mostly uphill.”  I thought our travel agent had arranged a two-mile hike, already pushing my limit, but I wanted to demonstrate my vigor to Sprite.  And to myself.  Well, mostly to Sprite.

B pointed at the folding stool that dangled from my hand.  “You’re not going to carry that, are you?”  This was not a question.  Before I could mention my bad back she said, “It will break your stride.”

My stride.  Yes, I was really concerned about breaking my stride.

I knew I was in trouble when B jogged beside the car on our drive to the trailhead.  “To warm up,” she said.  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.

When we arrived I pointed to something that looked like ski poles in the back of the van. B regarded me disapprovingly. I imagined she was thinking, “Those are sissy sticks.”  What she actually said was, “It’s five miles, mostly uphill.  Carrying anything will slow us down.”  I thought that by her standards just carrying myself would slow us down.

Sprite instantly established a bond with B.  They were both sprinters on their high school track teams. I wanted to join in their camaraderie and feebly offered, “I was president of my high school chess club.” That didn’t have the desired impact, so I added, hopefully, “And captain of the debate team.”

B set a brisk pace.  Sprite walked behind me.  She knew that, if I walked in back, the two sprinters would finish our hike four miles ahead of me.

Not too long into our ordeal – I mean our stroll — Sprite said, “Alan, would you like some water?”

Good call, Sprite.  “Yes, I would.”

Sprite set up my stride-breaking stool.  I sat on it.  B jogged in place.

After we resumed our race, I mean our walk, Sprite asked how far we had gone.

“One mile,” B said.  “Uphill starts in two hundred meters.”

“Why don’t we turn around now?”  Sprite suggested. “I’m getting a little tired, and I’m looking forward to our boat ride.  What do you think, Alan?”  I thought that Sprite was not really tired.  She just wanted to keep her husband alive for more than two weeks of marriage.

“That would be perfect,” I said.  “Let’s turn back and go fishing.”  At that point I would have preferred dental surgery to running behind Brunnhilde for five miles, even supported by my sissy sticks.

When we reached our forty-two foot fishing boat, B did not take a rope in her teeth to pull us.  No, she switched from hike sprinter to fishing guide, and was quite pleasant and helpful.  I actually liked her.

That day I discovered I can hike two miles quickly.  I also completed my personal exercise pledge for the rest of the year.

I don’t know if Sprite was impressed.  But she saved my life, so I’m quite impressed with her.

Alan

I only write to meet a deadline.  No deadline, no writing.

Of course, the deadline for my writing this blog is self-imposed, and for more than three years I have met every weekly “deadline,” including emailing one blog to my assistant on a Monday at 10:45 pm so that she could post it for Tuesday morning delivery.

I was urged by Nancy, my friend and editor, to “get ahead” by writing three or four blogs before I left on vacation last Monday.  She also suggested that it would be alright if I took a “vacation” from writing during my honeymoon.  “People will understand.”

Thanks, Nancy, but I’m remembering my brief “neat desk” policy.

My desk has always been cluttered.  Books, file folders, loose papers, and pens are strewn everywhere.  Not a pretty picture.  Early in my career I found a check for a rather large amount that had gotten lost for three months under all the rubble.

To bring order to that chaos, I decided to adopt a “neat desk” policy and clear everything off my desk before I left each day.  I succeeded for nine months. Then one evening as I was leaving I stared at three pieces of paper that I hadn’t bothered to put away yet and I had the following dialogue with myself.

“If you don’t pick up those three pieces of paper your ‘clean desk’ experiment will be finished and everything will revert back to the way it was before.”

“But I don’t want to pick them up.”

“Then it’s over.  The clutter will return.”

“I don’t care.”

“But . . . “

I didn’t, and my desk has been a mess ever since.

So, Nancy, based on that experience I’m afraid that if I don’t write my blog every single week, it will be over.  It would be too easy for me to skip one week, then the next, then find a reason why I don’t ever have to resume.  This is a part of my ongoing internal battle between productivity and lethargy.

So “hello” from our honeymoon. We are currently in Fiji.  It’s warm.  My sunburn from our kayak expedition a few days ago is receding.  Sprite and I are enjoying the food, the tropical scenery, and each other’s company.

Habits.  Like them or not, we each are doomed to live with our own.

Now I’m off to the dining room.  I may leave papers on my desk.  Occasionally I miss a minor business deadline.  But I’m never late for dinner. And I’ve yet to miss a blog.

Alan

The party is over and most of our guests have gone.  Frank Sinatra is singing in the next room where Sprite is laughing with her sisters.  I am happy.

The food, the flowers, the cake have vanished.  Empty tables and chairs wait to be retrieved by the rental company. In the morning Sprite and I will fly to Hawaii.

Earlier, at the ceremony, Sprite was so touched by the smiling faces of all of our friends and family assembled to wish us well that she had asked for a Kleenex before she walked into the garden.

The words offered by our friend Jack were humorous, hopeful, and struck a chord of harmony in everyone present.

At Sprite’s invitation, I had pre-recorded our favorite song, “My Romance,” and to everyone’s surprise (including my own) I sang it to her at the ceremony.

While the morning had been gray and drizzly, the sun came out just as we were saying our vows. When Jack asked me I said, “Absolutely,” I felt the usual groom’s reply wasn’t definite enough, although I added “I do,” to be sure. Sprite liked my “Absolutely,” and used it herself, and also “I do.”  That’s how we are together.

The guests are what make a party great, and great this party was.  A wedding is the perfect place for smiles, hugs, and shared remembrances, for these are the glue which brings and binds us together.

Later we will all share our photos.  But each of us has already carried away our love, our hopes, and our memories. Those we will carry in our hearts forever.

Alan