Yes

  It has been one amazing year.  It's four days into 2012, and I'm still reeling from 2011.  I have left you in silence, my dear readers, for a month, and I do apologize, but I'm sure you were all just as busy living your lovely lives and lapping up every last drop of the end of the year as I was.  Mmm...it tasted wonderful. 
  Ben flew to Indiana back at the beginning of December, and we've been breathing in evergreens, melting snowflakes on our tongues, singing for figgy pudding, and swimming in pools of eggnog ever since.  Christmas and New Year festivities demanded our attention.  We did manage a few million stops beneath the mistletoe, as well.  On the morning of December 29th, I was lazily enjoying the peace of post-Christmas relaxation and still clad in my pajamas.  My hair was probably a mess, and I'm sure I had pillowcase lines faintly showing on my face.  It didn't matter, though.  Nothing mattered except the vision of Ben down on one knee in front of me as I opened the supposedly forgotten Christmas gift to find a tiny box with a shiny ring blurred in my vision by shocked tears shivering down my cheeks.  Some may think the phrase "Will you marry me?" is one of the most well-known and worn combination of words in our romantic vocabularies, at least as far as movies go.  In that moment, however, when it is actually asked of you, not in jest or cinematic reference, but anxiously and tenderly, it is the most original, profound, and timeless question a human being can utter.  It echoed around in my skull, and made answering seem superfluous.  Tears and kissing  seemed enough of an answer to me, but I did finally manage to let "yes" spill from my lips.  Dodging its way through choked tears, "yes" barely reached Ben's ears in any audible fashion, so I repeated it half an hour later when he asked me (perhaps a bit nervously) if I had an answer for him. 

  Now, here I sit, probably making you all a bit sick on your leftover holiday chocolates with my sickly sweet story.  I'm afraid I'm not going to apologize, though.  I'm relishing this new staring problem I have developed with my left hand, my fancy title of "fiancee," and the gushy wedding planning I get to brashly start.  It might make for a blog entry with a lack of philosophical depth that I do usually enjoy hashing out with you, but I'm banking on the kindness of my readers to allow me the one entry. 

  Our wedding will be in September on the Isle of Eigg, and it's going to be one incredible celebration...as long as it doesn't rain.  In case it does, though, I'll be looking into wedding dress waterproof spray.  We'll be just as married with or without a little Scottish dampness, I suppose.  Stepping down from cloud nine for a wee second, we do have immigration applications to trudge through before we ring those chapel (or beach) bells.  I'll be moving to Scotland, and, for some reason, they want more proof of the legitimacy of your relationship than lovebird cooing and ogling.  Darn. 

  Standing on the coast of our beloved island, gazing at Ben in his kilt, and feeling my heart click into place with his will make it all worth while - even the fingerprinting and countless British government background checks.  :)