I Might Need More Coffee Cake

Yesterday was my anniversary. One of them. Mark and I married on June 15, 1983. Later we divorced. A few years after that we married again. In Montana. On stage. In a bar. By a member of the band where Mark was a guitarist.

I think that we are the ONLY couple in the entire universe that fight over the date of our marriage. We were married right before the countdown to the New Year. You know - five...four...three...two...ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR! Cheers. Whistles. A big kiss from my new husband and the band plays "Should auld acquaintance be forgot..."

Mark says that it was technically New Years Day and therefore our anniversary is January first.

We were married in Butte and (at the time) they registered our marriage license in a HUGE leather-bound book and promised to send us a hard copy. Alas, no mail was received from Butte, Montana and I have NO official record of the date that we were wed.

So we celebrate at midnight and - POOF - it's over.

During the divorce, I HATED June 15. I cried. I pouted. I felt oh-so-sorry for myself. On June 15, 2000, Jaden entered our world and healed my thoughts. I now ADORE June 15th again and at times we celebrate our long-ago-anniversary as well as the birth of my youngest.

Last week Mark and I took off on the motorcycle. I have longed to see the Grand Canyon and set my sights on visiting this year. Mark and I talked about riding to the Grand Canyon and he always filled in the what-else-should-we-do-on-our-get-away with visiting Tombstone. In my brilliant, compass-lacking, mind I thought the two were close together. Guess what? They aren't. Not even close. However, since I thought it was a given that we tour both, that's what we planned. And executed. Brilliantly.

Before we left on our big adventure, Mark, Goose, Daulton, Uncle Ron and I loaded up on the motorcycles and rode up Provo Canyon. I love the motorcycle. I love the wind in my face and the sun on my shoulders. Except my legs didn't want to cooperate and I struggled getting onto the bike and struggled stepping down from the bike. I mean struggled.

I began to worry about our trip. I worried that I couldn't handle the ride and that I would wimp out and disappoint Mark TREMENDOUSLY and end up detouring our trip and spending the duration of our vacation a few miles out of town in Nephi.

Little did I know? Mark was worrying as well.

I have been a huge believer that the only way to truly love someone is to serve them. Sometimes service comes in the form of simply being the listening ear when life provides hiccups. Sometimes it's financial aid. Dinner. A get-away-drive. If you have it. You share it. If it's not good enough for the people you are loving? It's on them.

This trip love was given to me in the most unusual form.

Mark and I developed a system to get me on and off the bike. I stood on solid ground beside the motorcycle. I held my right leg as high as I possibly could, which - let's be honest - was only a few inches. Mark would then grab hold of the bottom of my foot and throw my leg over the seat. I would scoot and slide my leg across until my foot would land on the riders foot peg. Then the wiggling and shifting began. I wiggled and scooted and maneuvered my way onto the seat. Whew! Mark would VERY EASILY (show off) swing his leg across the seat and we would ride off. When we came to a stop, the entire sequence was repeated in opposite form.

My ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE thing that Mark does while we ride is reach behind and tap my leg. It's his was of showing that he likes me tagging along and wants me to know it. We were gone for a week. 2,062 miles. I got tapped often.

Along with the getting-on-the-bike system, we had to come up with a plan to help me don my biker gear. Our new routine was developing. I can't zip my chaps. No more. Nuh-uh. Can't do it. Doesn't help that when I bought my chaps many, many, MANY pounds ago, the fitter-guy put me in XXS chaps.

To manipulate the zippers that run down each leg, Mark (no lie) had to use PLIERS. He huffed and puffed and swore and laughed as he attempted to close up my chaps.

While visiting the Grand Canyon, we hit a snack shack. Hungry is not a strong enough word for how I felt. Keep in mind that there is NO snack food if you are on a motorcycle road trip. Chocolate melts. Chips disintegrate to the texture of sand. Everything makes you thirsty and there is not a convenient spot to keep any sort of food. So we hit the snack shack where our choices were pre-made sandwiches, cold burritos (they did have a microwave) canned/bottled soda, muffins and coffee cake.

I HATE mayo so the sandwiches were a NOT EVER for me. Mark grabbed me a chicken/green chili/oh-so-wonderful burrito and a can of Pepsi. While waiting in line, I began eyeballing the coffee cake. Laced with cinnamon, the sweet cake became more and more appealing to me and as the line shortened, I stated "Yeah. I want coffee cake." Mmmmmmmmmmmm. It was so, so, so, SO good.

After dining on our to-go food, we wandered the area in search of the perfect shirt that would scream that I had visited the Grand Canyon. We couldn't find what I wanted, so I made Mark move to a different area. We found the PERFECT shirt, a magnet for my fridge and reluctantly decided it was time to get on the road.

We were parked in a busy-to-and-fro lot when it hit me. Crap. I need my chaps on. I easily buckled the waistband and waited patiently while Mark attempted to zip the legs. No go. He had to get into the pouch where the repair tools were kept and retrieve the handy-dandy-let-'er-rip-pliers, grab hold of my zipper and pull MIGHTILY.

I began to laugh hysterically. I'm sure we were a sight. I KNOW people were watching and wondering what the crud he was doing. I said "I think I might need more coffee cake." Mark had been huffing and puffing. His face was red and I swear to you - sweat was dripping from his brow. He blew the air out of his lungs and began heaving with laughter.

That was the moment that I realized the extent of the love my husband has for me.

Yep. I'm a lucky girl. Because of this man.