Maybe You've Heard This Story (It's long and you might have to take a break and come back)

It all began with my mission exit interview with my mission president (February 6th, 1995).  The last 6 months of my mission were very, very hard.  I did not like or respect this particular man-- he had come in and turned a mission that loved its Sister missionaries into a place where we struggled.  I was more than ready to go home and lick my perceived wounds and move on with my life.  As a parting sentiment from our interview, he shot out, "Don't be surprised if you don't get married for three years."  Right there he cemented years of righteous indignation.
The next installment of the story started with one of my best friends at BYU.   She had planned her entire life to go on a mission, so when she neared her 21st birthday, she didn't continue her apartment contract-- didn't do any of the things a student would regularly do to get ready for the next semester.  Then her birthday came and she suddenly felt like she shouldn't go on a mission.  Her bishop told her that he felt the same prompting.  No reason, just should not go.  It was heartbreaking for her.  She had to scramble and find a new place to live.
She moved into King Henry Apartments over in the section of Provo that for whatever reason, hosts the more elderly of BYU students.  I lived one complex over in my own elderly domain.  That happened at the end of summer term 1997.
I was graduating in December of 1997.  I had been at BYU for nearly three years.  I had so many friends, most of them from work, and most of them 4 years younger than me.  These friends were distraught that I was leaving Provo unwed, much less never having dated because of my job (custodial 5-9 at night).  There was a sense of panic in them and I suddenly was set up with anyone and everyone they could think of.  One of my 18 year old co-workers confided in me that I was a catch.  Not because I was spectacular or anything, but because as a graduate, I could get a good job and support my husband as he went through school.  That boy was a thinker, and obviously a planner.  (I wonder if he found his own post mission college graduate.)
It was the week before Thanksgiving and my friend from King Henry said that she knew someone that she wanted me to go on a date with.  She said that we were both old and nice and that it would be fun.  She liked one of his roommates, so we could have a double date.  It was all set up.  We would have a late-ish dinner (I'd have to get off of work early) and watch a movie. 
Funny.  My aunt that lived in Dugway, UT stopped by that day-- I can't even remember why.  I met her on the back dock of the Benson building (work) and we talked for a little bit.  I mentioned my blind date.  We laughed and she said, "Maybe this is the one."  We laughed again, because it really was that funny. 
So, the date.  The first thing I remember thinking as Dan answered the door was, "Wow!  That's a man!"  (Keep in mind that all of my friends, boys and girls were significantly younger than me.)  He had spices in his hands and he kept dropping them as he tried to juggle them back and forth.  We had mashed potatoes (sans gravy because my friend didn't like gravy, but now I know was a sacrifice for Dan because he loves gravy) and chicken.  I'm sure there was a vegetable and dessert, but I don't remember that part.  I think we watched "Volcano" and pretty sure we made fun of the ending.  Dan kept getting up from the couch where we sat and sitting down closer to me when he returned.  (In his mind, he remembers me always scooching over closer so that when he sat down, I was already there.  He's wrong.)  I did, however, covertly reach under my folded arm and touch his sweater.  It was a Benson Building myth:  touch your date three times and you will get a second date.  Why not?  I was leaving in a month!  Besides, I had never had a second date with anyone (except my pretty crappy pre-mission boyfriend who was , did I mention, pretty crappy?). 
The date ended the way all of my dates had.  This was fun.  We should do it again. 
I went on with my life for the next week.  Home for Thanksgiving and the annual family grilling as to why I was still unattached.  Came back and two weekends later, Dan asked me to the Michael Mclean "Forgotten Carols".  I had written him off as a promise not intended to be kept.  There may have been squealing on my part-- not about the concert, fyi.  It turned out that the weekend after Thanksgiving his best friend's (from home) Dad had died and he was with the family.  It also was almost a promise not kept.  He asked a co-worker to go with him first and she turned him down.  That's me.  Second choice.  It's okay, though, because I wasn't sure that there could be anything.  I was leaving in three weeks. 
We dated for  the three weeks.  I was mean and confusing.  I did stick out my hand for a handshake and scooch in the door before he could kiss me, which he had thought about.  I did not speak to him for an entire date as we sat on a little flat boat and toured somebody's Christmas decorated slough.  It was really cold, so that could have been the reason, but I think it was more the confusion that I was feeling.  Then, to make up for that, I got up early the next morning and made cinnamon rolls for him.  I took time out of my packing and cleaning whirlwind to crochet him a scarf and gave it to him.  He gave me yellow roses.  Then I left.
At home I was kicking myself.  My mom joined in.  She was looking at a forecast of never having grandchildren at this rate and her clock was ticking.  My younger sister by four years was going to be the first of us married in January, but the older three of us were no where near marriage.  I called Dan to wish him a Merry Christmas, but of course he was home with his family and didn't get the message until later in the week.  He called and told me this story about how his friend had invited him up to Boise to check out a job, but that he needed a new place to stay since his friend was newly married and he wouldn't feel comfortable staying with them (enter the Molnars).  At which point, my eavesdropping mother started directing the "Hallelujah Chorus" and said he could stay as long as he liked. 
Dan brought enough clothes to stay for a week with the idea that he could leave at any point.  He stayed for a week.  We took him out to the beaver dam and walked across it to the island in the Snake River we like to play on.  He spent a day in Boise with Christian and then we spent a day in Boise.  On the way home, I had to know the ending of the story.  (I admit to sometimes reading the ending of a book early, just to make sure I'm right, but only if the book gets boring or the characters start acting stupidly) It was a pretty silent ride from Boise to Weiser.  The halfway point is a sign marked for the Nyssa, OR exit.  That was it.  I would ask him there, if he hadn't said anything before. 
We had a nice conversation that ended with us smooching in the parking lot for Feltham Growers.  He thinks that he initiated the kiss.  He may have thought about it, but was wasting way too much time.  I got myself where I needed to be and he finally took care of the rest. 
There we were.  January 1998.  What to do?  Do I move back to Provo?  Do we conduct a long distance relationship?  Dan didn't want the responsibility for my moving back to Utah.  I wasn't willing to be 7 hours apart.  I moved back.  I got a new apartment and went back to work at the Benson building.  We dated.  And smooched.  Quite satisfactorily.
February 4, 1998.  Dan had a big date planned.  We were going out to Salt Lake (the actual lake) and then coming in to listen to the youth symphony practice or something.  He was so weird. I kept thinking as we slipped through the sludge of the beach at the lake that he was going to kill me out there and bury my body in briny slime. 
It was dark by the time we got to Temple Square.  We had to go into a bathroom and clean up because our feet were encased in black ooze.  He took forever in the bathroom and came out more weird than before.  He took me to the Lotus fountain, and handed me a frame.  In it was a poem that he had written as a high school student that he had saved all of his life to give to the girl he was going to marry.  While I read it, he got down on one knee and proposed.  There in the dark and cold at the foot of the temple, with a lighted water feature playing in the background, the Williams family that you know now, agreed to be. 
That's why this day is special to me.
And darn it!  President Munns was right.