Treasures, Part II

The noteworthy two binders of e-mails from Feb. 1, 2000 to April 10, 2001

"Don't hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and rust, or--worse!--stolen by burglars.  Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it's safe from moths and rust and burglars.  It's obvious, isn't it?  The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being."  Matthew 6:19-21 (Message)

Yesterday I talked about my first treasure: my piano and what it symbolizes.  The second treasure I own is a set of two binders containing all the e-mails Husband and I wrote to each other over our first year of getting acquainted--printed off with super-small-sized type to save paper.  

Husband's first e-mail hit my inbox on February 1, 2000.  It was a request for information on the latest in elementary education.  I knew he was a high school principal, and I thought this was the lamest pickup line I'd ever heard. 

Truth is, I wasn't the kind of 38-year old who had heard many pickup lines in her life.  But I took this one to be a pickup line because our mutual friend Jennifer had been doing a bit of matchmaking and told me she envisioned us "at least being good friends, if not more."  What Husband neglected to mention in that first e-mail (which was not intended as a pickup line, so he insists) was that he was about to interview for an elementary principal position. Aware that I taught the graduate Issues in Education class, he figured I could give him the quick summary of what the hot topics were before he faced the search committee.

I wrote back sincerely, answering his question.  He saw something interesting in what I said and responded, extending the conversation.  So I wrote back again.  And we were off on the beginning of our journey together.

I possess only this one set of our e-mails from back then; we've both switched educational institutions and e-mail addresses and computer operating systems, so the digital version is lost.  These two binders are it--that word-for-word, black-and-white historical record of how we came to love one another.  Not many people own a treasure like that.  Those two berry-pink binders are a treasure to us because they hold in detail the memories, the reminders of our individual hopes and dreams of ten years ago, and the negotiations of two lives coming ever closer to being joined in a comfortable fit.

Once in a while I open one of the binders up, as I did the other night, and we giggle over some paragraph or other.  This week's laughter was over his invented list of about fifteen two-word pet names for me ("Honey Bunny" is probably the most pedestrian), offered up after we'd officially been dating a few months.  Thanks goodness none of the others stuck; Honey Bunny does reappear from time to time!

The odd thing is that the last e-mail is dated April 2001, yet we got married in July of that year, and we were geographically 500 miles apart during those months leading up to our wedding.  Where did the last few months go?  Why are they not in the collection?  Did we just not feel the urge to write anymore after discussing banana bread for our wedding reception?

In any case, I would feel very sad if the "moths and rust and burglars" took away our two berry-pink binders.  The memories would fuzz over and we'd not have that touchstone, that paper picture that still speaks so sweetly of our beginnings.

[to be continued]