To Love And To Cherish


“In the end I want to be standing
At the beginning with you…”

Rebecca on a turntable

The very first picture I ever took of Rebecca. In my mind, she wore that hat constantly in those early days, but she assures me that she had really only just bought it right before I took that picture.

David and Becky by a turntable

Revisiting the spot of that picture during our engagement photo shoot with Caleb McPherson

Rebecca,

Today I marry my best friend. My adventuremate, my partner, my complement, my help, my home. Today is a good day.

Today, we go back to the Depot. Back to the beginning, back to where we met. Over the years, we’ve seen a lot of weddings there, and it was hard not to think “what if…” and gradually “someday…” and finally “soon…” I saw a lot of really neat things done at weddings there, and occasionally thought about whether I’d like them in mine. I like our wedding. I like that it’s “us.” I like that it’s us.

I remember when I first saw you there. I was an overwhelmed new tour guide on my first day of museuming. (Well, professional museuming.) You were, in my mind, one of several of the veteran seasoned tour guides I’d be working with. I didn’t know until much later how new you were yourself. You seemed so competent and confident. And you seemed so nice. You made me feel welcome, more than any of the others. I appreciated it.

It was fun getting to know you in those early weeks. You inspired me and challenged me. You made me push myself as a tour guide. You impressed me. And we talked some, and I got to know you not just as a tour guide, but as a person. You impressed me again.

And then there was a first date. And a second. (Or a first-and-a-half and a first-and-three-quarters and a second?) And then many more to follow.

Between meeting at the Depot and returning to the Depot today, it’s been a long journey. With museums and ducks and rockets and cheese and airplanes and ghosts and hardtack and music and histories.

A lot of that journey has been good. To put it mildly. And I’ve loved having you as my companion, sharing in those things. I’ve grown accustomed to your face. I like having you be there. I like you being the person I tell my stories to. I like you being the person I share my stories with. One day when I realized I truly couldn’t imagine you not being the person beside me, I realized I should probably do something about that.

Some of the journey was less good. And those parts made me realize how truly lucky I am. You have loved me in a way I’ve never been loved. You have taught me how to love better. You loved me selflessly, and, again, inspired and challenged me.

I am lucky. So very lucky. If I’m blessed to have you there to share my stories, I’m just as blessed that I get to share yours. I admire your excitement, your passion, your incredible incredible sense of pure wonder. To stand by you is to see the world and be reminded how beautiful it is. I love to see you smile, to bounce, to sing, to dance, to experience and radiate the underappreciated awe of creation.

I admire your heart. I admire the way you treat me. You make me proud to be associated with you. You, again, make me better. People like me better as part of us. I’m very OK with that.

I love that we can adventure together, that rockets and history and Huntsville and so many other things are not a thing one of us shares with the other, but are who WE are as a couple. I love what a strong and tangible “us” there is. That in so many of our undertakings, we are better together than both of us apart.

And if someone is going to be always by my side, it certainly doesn’t hurt that I find her incredibly beautiful.

I love our friends. Our love story is not just ours; it’s an ensemble. A story told with an amazing and beautiful cast of supporting characters, without whom we wouldn’t be us. I’m grateful for them, and love them.

I could go on forever. You would probably prefer I stop and go put on some fancy clothes. And so I will.

See you soon, beloved.

Soon, and forever.

David

Have You Heard The Buzz?


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I’ve written before about how much I enjoy playing dress up at the Depot. Last week, however, I found out it could be even more fun than I’d realized.

A bit part of what we do at the Huntsville Historic Depot museum is putting on programs for students on field trips. We have several different programs, and I get to perform different stations for each one. For example, I’ve been the emergency management director of Whoville, a Union general and a train conductor for various activities. I’ve scared kids with ghost stories so badly they had to take a break from the program, and taught them to march around the grounds.

Last week, though — Last week I got to branch out a bit.

The Depot museum is owned and operated by the City of Huntsville, as part of an organization that also includes the Alabama Constitute Hall Village museum and the Earlyworks children’s museum. Last week, while the Depot was closed to prepare for the annual Whistestop Festival, they had me come work at Earlyworks as part of an “American Heroes” program. They gave me the option of who I wanted to be, and asked what I’d need for a costume.

“Well,” I thought, “I do have a flightsuit …”

“Can I be an astronaut?” I asked. Yes, it turned out, I could be an astronaut.

So for two days last week, I went and pretended to be Buzz Aldrin for school kids. And, no offense to Clara Barton and Harriet Tubman, but my Buzz was about as cool an American hero as they come.

I had fun. Like, a lot of fun.

I like talking to kids about space, and I love seeing them get excited about it, and that was definitely the case those days. I had my story that I wanted to cover, and was barely able to get through it each time for them wanting to ask me questions about what it was like for “me” to be in space. I was proud that I was able to answer everything they threw at me, which helped maintain the feeling that it was “real” for the kids. Frankly, I’ve seen actual astronauts do actual Q&A’s with kids, and this really wasn’t that different.

And that part of it made me really happy. I’ve been blessed to meet and talk with astronauts from the early days of spaceflight, and the reality is, there’s a limit to how much longer we’ll be able to hear their stories first-hand. Since I began working on “Homesteading Space,” I’ve always felt a responsibility that, when it’s no longer possible to talk to them directly, the best thing people will be able to do is talk to the people who talked to them, and that I have a duty to carry those stories. These kids will likely never get to talk to Buzz directly, but it made me happy that they could talk to Buzz by proxy. (And I felt like, in places, I was a pretty decent Buzz — when a kid asked if I was the second man to walk on the moon, I responded that “Neil and I were the first men to land on the moon,” a fairly accurate Buzz response, in my opinion.)

I’ve enjoyed all the different programs I’ve done, but this one very well may have been my favorite. Enough that I’m currently trying to convince my boss that, when we do the Civil War program, the Depot should have been captured, not by Union General O.M. Mitchell, but by Buzz Aldrin. THAT would be a great presentation, let me tell you!