Olvera Street

Early in the spring of 1986 Mary came to me and told me it was time; we either became married, or we needed to split up. I was a bit surprised because we had only been dating just over a year. I felt, probably like many other men, a year is not a lot of time to entertain the thought of marriage.

However, the deal was on the table. I needed to weigh my options, but the choice was not hard. I was living with an attractive and accomplished woman who held a strong sense of family, just as I did. Mary’s house and grounds had become an open palette for my creativity. I fell asleep thinking of the next even better project. Currently, I was in the middle of building a walkway and deck system that ultimately extended around the house. I wanted to be able to walk around the outside of the house in my stocking feet without getting oak leaves and foxtails caught in my socks.

Finally, the most important piece of knowledge pushing me to the proposal; Mary exhibited a mature, settled outlook. I was tired of going fishing and getting bit by the fish. Although to be fair, I am a clumsy and ill-equipped fisherman, I admit it. Nonetheless, I felt there were no surprises with Mary. And she carried little emotional baggage, I reasoned. She had no previous entangling relationships, and more importantly, she had no children from prior marriages. I never felt her expectations would leave her expecting me to be someone I wasn’t, that both she and I were up to the task of creating a future life together.

Deciding to stay, I knew I needed a marriage proposal. And I very much disliked the idea of an engagement ring. Whenever I saw a woman announce her engagement to the world, I couldn’t focus on the excitement garnered by the bride-to-be sharing her dreams of future happiness, feeling the type and quality of the ring were the real reasons for the proposal excite