I confess. I'm a romantic. I admit to being so much of my life. But I survived because I managed to find the little blessings of wisdom...either from within myself or as an offering from a trusted other. After many years of men's group discussions and participating in workshops to enliven me further, Dagma found many opportunities to generously spread her 'jewels' of knowledge and love at my feet. We were, in truth, 'together' in love. I was listening.

Within the course of our six-year courtship, with a thousand miles between our homes, I asked Dagma to marry me twenty-two times. Yes, twenty-two. It got so I would even ask her at a stop sign while driving, or while being lost in each other's eyes over a dinner, or in the produce section of a grocery store reaching for a cauliflower.

It got so that it didn't matter that her reply was often completed with "Thank you Gary. I'm not ready yet. I must wait for all my (five) children to leave home on their own before I can say yes and be with you." So, each month either I would fly to Spokane for a weekend of being lovers or she flew to Carmel to spend the weekend to discover ourselves again.

And then, on one of her visits to Carmel, on a late afternoon as we finished up office work for TomatoFest event, Dagma turned to me and said, "I'd like us to meet the Conways at Asilomar beach to watch the whales. Let's leave now."

When we arrived at the beach there were no others. I looked south then north. "Where are they?" I asked her. "Let's just walk north toward Pebble Beach. We might find them, she replied." After walking a short while I spotted a large tent in the distance tucked in the sand dunes. Colorful flags of light fabrics waved at me in a gentle breeze. As we got up close, we found ourselves standing on oriental carpets spread around the sand dunes. Beaconing. We stood at the entrance to the tent "No one here." Large, colorful, stuffed pillows filled the tent. A giant Macaw perched on a stand above the pillows. A luxurious tray of silver-service of caviar and Champagne nobly presented itself. It looked like a movie set. I turned to Dagma, "What's happening here?"

She looked at me with a full smile and open heart and said, "This is for you Gary. All of this. Have a seat on these pillows and be comfortable."

I was stunned. Breathless. Then she knelt before me, held out her hand and asked me for my hand. "Gary, will you marry me? Be my husband, lover, and trusted friend? To my "yes," and mutual tears, she slid a ring she had woven out of tomato stems onto my finger.

After a period of sipping Champagne Peterson Conway appeared with his wife, Susan Aqeel, and announced that we should leave for the private dinner Dagma had arranged with the chef of the Lodge at Pebble Beach. They would take down the tent pick up everything. We dined luxuriously, cooed in the Tap Room then danced to the music of a grand piano.

We left Pebble Beach and drove to the Highlands Inn in Carmel where Dagma had arranged for us a suite over-looking the surf. We entered our room. It was all lit up, prepared and waiting for us. On most of the surfaces were twenty-two cards. On each, she had written the words, "Will you marry me."