14 March 2012



The year was 1993. I went with my friends to see a popular local band, where I have to admit, the percussion player caught my eye. After a concert one night, we talked ... and then parted ways. Honestly, I never thought anything would come of it. The next week I ended up going to Madison -- more for a little road trip than anything -- to see the same band play. That night, the same percussion player came up and talked to me more. Funny thing was, I could not talk! Seriously, I barely said a word to him -- which if you know me, is really very strange. To say I was smitten is an understatement, I guess. Thank goodness he finally asked my friend if he could get my phone number from her. He called me a couple days later, thankfully I was able to talk, and the rest is history. Yes, that percussion player is Brian.

Before the Madison concert, Brian and I both had the same random hippie man give us amethysts. I can't remember exactly what he told us it meant, but supposedly "The Greeks believed that the wearers of this gem would be blessed with happiness and unending love and affection..." (it goes on to say "and enjoy protection from excessive dangers from indulgences like intoxication..." -- which may have been a bit relevant back in the day too). As far as I know, no one else we knew got the gems. I'm sure Brian has no idea where his is -- but I kept mine and store it in the wedding party gift I got from Pam & Matt (Brian's sister and brother-in-law).

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