Hallowedly Betrothed

I'm late. Two weeks overdue. But most of you knew from facebook anyway.

Scott was never one for the romantic. At least not to dish it out. Instead he finds little nuances of coordination in things that make them pleasantly ironic. This is his sense of romanticism.

Like how he proposed, for instance. The beautiful irony of having such a great task take place on Halloween. It may be appropriate because actually committing to marry a person, while exciting, may just be one of the scariest things a person can do. Or maybe it was the fact that we were already dressed as Bride and Groom. Nothing like adding perfection to a costume which is already quite cleverly arranged. And tomatoes? He hates tomatoes! Yet he knows I like them...and that is enough for him.

No matter how you look at it, it's quite ridiculous how excited I am. I feel so fortunate to have found this much happiness. Scott and I just fit together. We have since long before we started dating. I love that feeling from the Spirit that just tells you that everything is on course. It's like everything loose settles into the correct place and you breathe a great sigh of relief.

I love my fiance.

~R~

Let's Begin

I like beginnings. One would venture to say that I like beginnings better than I like endings. The only evidence for such a claim is the vast number of projects which I have begun, but have yet to finish.

This is the start to my new blog, the Railroad Itinerary. No one gets to know what the title means yet. I'll tell you when you're older. This is not to imply that you are not old enough to know, only that by the time I tell you both you and I will in fact be older. It's a fact of life.

For now, I'll just write a general introduction to me:

My passion is creation. I love to make something out of nothing. I like to take the old and make it seem new, or help it find its place in its present state.

Korea has stolen a piece of my soul and won't give it back. Though I suppose that if the fabulous people of Korea tried to give me back that little piece I wouldn't accept it--even if they offered three times.

A genetic pack-rat for generations on both sides, defining anything as trash is a case of life and death. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

I pay the bills (or some of them) by the trade of scenic painting. I keep waiting for the day that my boss figures out that I'm not actually a painter and all hell breaks loose, but it seems I got him pretty fooled.

I'm a musician. Not aspiring to anything. Not famous. Just one of those that wants the label, so claims it. Singing is my trademark, but I sometimes spice things up with handbells.

I talk loud. I've tried to stop, but I can't.


So, here we are at a new beginning. Luckily no one expects me to ever finish my blog.

~R~