Sentimental Sunday: Meeting the Family

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

My parents, Gilbert and Joan Huesca, on
their first trip together - on business!
Saint Louis, Missouri, October 30, 1954.

My parents delayed their honeymoon in Mexico for a couple of months.  I don't know why, but my guess would be that among other things, my father wanted my mother to see Mexico at Christmastime, when the country is at its most magical.

Instead, their first trip was to Saint Louis, Missouri, to the Screen Process Printing Association's Convention, from October 30 - November 2, 1954. My mother was now a co-owner with my father of Lakeshore Printing, the business he had started, and she wanted to learn as much as she could to help make the business successful.

While a convention of silk screen printers may not sound like a romantic occasion for a newlywed couple, the photograph above would suggest that they did not mind much, as long as they could be together. 

In late November, my parents flew south to Mexico City, where my father proudly introduced his beautiful bride to his mother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, his grandmother, Maria (Amaro) Perrotin, and his brothers and sisters and their families.

.

My parents, Gilbert and Joan Huesca, with my
grandmother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, at the
Los Panchos Nightclub (owned by the famous Trio
Los Panchos), Mexico City, December 1954

Talk about love at first sight. The whole large Huesca family turned out to meet them at the airport, laughing and crying.  My mother, who had come from a small family of two children, suddenly had five new sisters and five new brothers.  She was ecstatic. She and my grandmother - my Abuelita - who had been corresponding for several months by now (each in her own language), embraced each other as if they had known each other all their lives.  "Hija mía! - my daughter!," my grandmother cried, thowing her arms around my mother.  Pointing to her stomach, she asked in English, "Baby?"  "Sí!" My mother replied excitedly, as my grandmother hugged her and my father again and again. 

They all went to my grandmother's apartment on Carpio Street, where she prepared a special dinner in her tiny kitchen to welcome my parents.  Long after everyone had gone home, my parents and my grandmother sat up late into the night, talking up a storm.  When many years later my mother would tell us the story of that first night and the days that followed, she would marvel at how she and Abuelita could spend hours alone talking, my mother speaking English and my grandmother speaking Spanish, and yet they seemed to understand each other perfectly.

Catrin (Huesca) and Ricardo Díaz, about 1950

Catrín and Ricardo Díaz, my father's younger sister and brother-in-law, hosted a party to welcome my mother to the family.  My uncle Ricardo Díaz, was a musician and singer in Mexico who was a member of the world-renowned Jarocho group, Andres Huesca y Sus Costeňos.  His nickname was El Pollo, or The Chicken, because of his rotundness.  But his heart and his sense of humor were even greater. 

As the night came to a close, my mother asked my father how to thank her new brother-in-law for his kindness. 

"Muchas gracias," my father instructed her, "tú eres muy amable."

By the time she found Uncle Ricardo, however, the original translation had evolved to, "Muchas gracias, Hermano (Brother). Tú eres un muy gran mueble."  

My ever-smiling uncle, Ricardo Díaz, and my father,
Gilbert Huesca, at my grandmother's home on Carpio
Street, Mexico City, 1972.

The group around them fell silent for a moment.  My father, who was there too, whispered to her, "You just told him that he's a great big piece of furniture."  

My mother was mortified by the thought that she had insulted her host. But Uncle Ricardo loved it.  He began laughing heartily and hugged my mother.  He and my Aunt Catrín were charmed by her earnestness and unabashed effort to communicate in her broken Spanish.  Although my father and his younger sister had always been close, that evening would mark the beginning of a lifelong close fraternal love between the two couples and eventually, their daughters.

My parents' stay in the Federal District came to a close after Christmas.  My father had originally proposed a honeymoon in Acapulco, but they never made it there until many years later. It didn't seem to matter, though. Rather, they went to the 300-year-old colonial town of Tequisquiapan, Querétaro (a two hour drive north of Mexico City), for some much-anticipated time alone. 

The name of the town, pronounced "Teh-keys-key-ah-pahn," seemed to melt in their mouths whenever they would mention it in the years that followed. They said it with reverence and ease and lightness, as if it held a wonderful memory that forever would be known only by them. 

My mother, Joan Huesca, on the balcony of
my parents' hotel, Tequisquiapan, Querétaro,
Mexico, December 1954.

My father was thrilled with his family's warm reception of my mother as one of them, and he delighted in showing her his favorite places and teaching her the language and customs of his native country. For my mother's part, she could hardly believe the surge of love she felt: for my father, for his family - now her family, too; and for Mexico - the magnificent and welcoming birthplace of her beloved husband who she called her "Ranchero," or rancher.  

She would fall in love with the Spanish language, too.  Though she never mastered it the way she had hoped, she always made herself understood by using the language of true communication: sincerity, humility, and love. Truth be told, I think those who knew her loved her more for that than if she had been a master linguist.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Treasure Chest Thursday: Baby Announcement

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

About a month after my parents were married, my mother, Joan Huesca, went to the doctor and learned to her great delight that she was expecting their first child.   

(In fact, my mother preferred the term "expecting" a baby to being "pregnant," a term she felt was too clinical and did not suggest the bliss and anticipation that happy new parents feel when they are awaiting the birth of their child.)

She decided to announce the blessed event to my father, Gilbert Huesca, in a special way.  That evening, she greeted him with big kiss and hug and escorted him to the table, where she had prepared a candlelight dinner of steak, mashed potatoes, and green peas. On the steak she had arranged parsley flakes in the shape of letters that read, "I Love You." 

Next to my father's plate was an envelope that read, "Application for Credit."   My father looked at her quizzically and slowly opened the envelope.  As he read the enclosed "application," tears of joy came to his eyes.  He realized this was a very special expression of my mother's love for him - and her grand announcement to him that they were about  to start a family.

My mother, Joan Huesca, taped this form into a scrapbook she dedicated to my father. Below it, she pasted a pair of lovebirds, cut out from an old Christmas greeting card.

APPLICATION FOR CREDIT

                                           Date:  My Lifetime

                                 Name of Co. or Individual:        Joan Huesca

                                 Street:    Wherever you are      City:      Heaven

                                 State:      of Happiness               Phone:  Your heart

                                 Line of Business or Profession:   Loving you

                                           

                                  If  Incorporated, Name of   (1) President:     You

                                                                                     (2) Treasurer:   Baby

                                                                                     (3) Secretary:    

                                   If Partnership, Name of Partners:   Gilbert Huesca

                                   Location of Home Office:                  Your arms

                                   Bank Reference:               My love for you

                                   Business:           Taking care of my darling husband

                                   Business:               "          "      "   our baby

                                   REMARKS:   I love you

                                    Name of person taking application:

                                    REMARKS:

                                    Received at Office:         Sherman Hotel 

                                    Investigated:                   Since August 19, 1955

                                    Disposition:                    Happy State

THIS BLANK MUST BE FILLED OUT COMPLETELY

The form has special meaning to me, as I was that first child - the "honeymoon baby" they were expecting.  

Although my parents' deep love for one another was never a secret to anyone who knew them, least of all their children, every time I look at treasures like this, I still marvel at just how blessed I was to be one of their children.  I will always thank God for having been born to two people who were so in love and so devoted to one another.  

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Gilbert or Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, the Huesca or Schiavon families, or any of the people mentioned in this story?   Are you a member of one of these families?  Share your memories and comments below.

Wedding Wednesday: A Message from Mother and Dad

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

Of all the congratulations that my parents, Gilbert and Joan Huesca received on the occasion of their marriage, none was quite so welcome as this one, from my maternal grandparents, Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon.  

Undoubtedly, they were taken aback by the surprise telegram from my mother, but in the end they loved their daughter and trusted her.  Recognizing that my parents were deeply in love and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, they put any pride they had aside and sent the newlyweds this greeting card and a lovely floral arrangement to their new apartment.

Although we cannot know what else they were feeling at the time, the words in the card seem to speak volumes about their reaction to the surprise telegram from my mother.  They suggest that while my grandparents may have not have understood why my mother did not share their desire that she have a lavish wedding, they still loved her and wanted her and  my father to be happy. 

I think they would have been pleased to know that my parents' marriage would indeed be very happy, enduring 33 years filled with love and devotion until my mother's death in 1987.

A Wedding Message from Mother and Dad

This comes from Mother

and from Dad,

So you will surely know

That with it comes a lot more love

Than any words could show -

And it brings our fondest wishes

That in days ahead of you

Your hopes and plans

will all work out

The way you want them to;

For you mean

all the world to us, 

And we both want to say, 

"We're wishing every happiness

For Both of You today."

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Treasure Chest Thursday: We Were Married Today

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca  (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

My mother pasted this card into her
scrapbook.  For the first time, she was
addressed as "Mrs. Huesca" there.  "I was so
proud!" she wrote.

Once my parents were declared husband and wife by Justice of the Peace Miles E. Cunat on August 19, 1954, they went home to pack their clothes for the next few nights.  

They first stopped at the Schiavon home on Saint Lawrence Avenue, then to the apartment my father had rented just a month earlier. Calling his print shop, Lakeshore Printing, he told the  employee who answered the phone that he would not be in until the following Monday.  Then he called his mother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, in Mexico City, his brother Carlos, who was living in Chicago by then, and last but not least, his close friends Luis and Theresa Algarin and Frank and Fern Waples, with the good news.

My parents most likely headed down to the Loop after that, where they checked into the Hotel Sherman, located at the time on Randolph at Clark and LaSalle Streets.  The receipt below shows that they checked in at 8:44 on that evening and stayed for two nights, paying $11.45 per night for their room.  Shortly after arriving in the room, a bellman brought the newlyweds a basket of fruit from the management.

Room receipt from the Hotel Sherman in Chicago.
The hotel, which was located on Randolph at Clark
 and LaSalle Streets in the Loop, closed in 1973.

My mother sat down at the desk and penned a telegram to send her parents, Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, who were vacationing in Miami, Florida.  The draft, which she composed on a piece of hotel stationery, shows her pride in becoming Mrs. Gilbert Huesca:

Dearest Mother and Dad:

We were married today- 

We hope and pray that we have

your love and your blessings.

We are staying at the Sherman

Hotel.

With love always, 

Gilbert and Joan 

  Huesca

Some time after midnight, the phone rang.  

My father answered it.  Fern Waples was calling.  In a cheery voice, she asked, "Hi, Gil!  What are you two doing right now?'

My father shook his head, slightly taken aback.  He grinned at my mother.  "We're playing chess, Fern," he answered.

"Oh.  Great.  Well, have a good time, Gil."  Mrs. Waples said, satisfied, and hung up.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Gilbert or Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, the Huesca or Schiavon families, or any of the people mentioned in this story?   Are you a member of one of these families?  Share your memories and comments below.

Thankful Thursday: For All Our Saints

Remembering those who have gone before us

Graveyard at All Saints Church, Burton-Dassett, 
Warwickshire, England, where some of my 
husband's ancestors are buried.

At the Chancery of the Roman Catholic Diocese where I work, there is a small chapel, and this morning many of us gathered there for Mass to observe the Solemnity of All Saints, known in other Christian faiths as All Saints' Day.  

The priest celebrating the Mass - for Catholics it is a holy day of obligation - remarked that there are not enough days in the year to give each of the martyrs or the saints his or her own feast day. For this and other reasons, the church designated All Saints' Day as an occasion to remember and pray for all of the holy men and women who have gone before us and lived exemplary and virtuous lives in imitation of Christ.  He reminded us that we pray for all the saints, whether we know their names or not, and we give thanks for the many ways their lives blessed us.

His words got me thinking about the ways we honor our ancestors - handing down our traditions and sharing family names and stories, much as if they were our own litany of the saints, so that our children and our children's children will remember these people who came before us.  If we happen to be family historians and genealogists, we are likely to go a step further, embarking on never-ending quests to learn more about the ancestors we know and to discover the ones we don't as we piece together our family puzzles.

Of course, we hope to find that we came from people of grace and goodness and love, and thankfully, most of the time this is the case. Beyond that, we might learn that some of them lived quietly, some were illustrious in one way or another, and some of them just baffle us as they languish behind those seemingly impenetrable "brick walls" we are always trying to knock down.  In still other cases, we might come across a few ancestors whose lives were, shall we say, less than stellar. But this is part of the deal, and we have to accept what we find, taking the saints with the sinners, understanding that no one is perfect, and trying to make sense of how their lives have affected our own.

The more we come to understand our ancestors - our personal "saints," the better we will appreciate them for who they were and how they handled their struggles and triumphs.  And one more thing: for all the generations between us, we may find that we are not so different from them.  Depending on what kind of person our ancestor was, this can be as enlightening as it can be disturbing.  Usually, though, it is comforting, as we begin to see that if they can accomplish what they did amidst the challenges and hardships of their times, we can do the same.

So today, I'd like to dedicate this post to all of our ancestors - those whose names we know, those whose names we don't know, and the ones in between that we've forgotten for one reason or another.  Thank you - all of you, for being here, for fighting the good fight, and for living the best way you could amid your circumstances. Thank you for your good intentions, whether you succeeded or failed, and for the lessons they taught you - and us.  Thank you for your love and foresight, and thank you for your sense of humor and perspective.  Thank you for the values you passed on to us, whether they came tried and true from generations before or you just learned them the hard way.

Lastly, thank you for your part in laying the great foundation of roots of the family trees from which each of us dangles. Whether you lived lives of importance or obscurity, of saintliness or notoriety, each one of you was here for a reason.  We would not be alive or who we are if not for you.  

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Wedding Wednesday: Gilbert and Joan (Schiavon) Huesca

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

My parents were married civilly in downtown Chicago
on Thursday, August 19, 1954, by Justice of the Peace
Miles E. Cunat.  Apparently, Cook County did not require
a waiting period between obtaining a marriage license
and the ceremony itself.  The marriage license was signed
by Richard J. Daley, the County Clerk at that time, who
went on to become Mayor of Chicago for several decades.
Their marriage was solemnized a year later by Father
Thomas J. McKugo, the 64 year old pastor of Chicago's
(now closed) Saint Francis de Paula Catholic Church.

The weeks that followed my parents' engagement were quite full, both for the happy couple and my maternal grandparents, Ralph and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon.  My father moved into a new apartment, and he and my mother began furnishing it with guidance from my grandmother and Mrs. Fern Waples, my father's former landlady and friend.

My grandfather, who had always loved parties and entertaining, began floating the idea of giving my parents a large wedding reception at the Swedish Club, a social club to which he belonged on Chicago's North Side.   He and my grandmother took my parents there one evening for dinner to discuss it further and go over a guest list.

My mother, who preferred a simple and small, intimate wedding, objected to this idea.  She feared that most of the guests would be business associates of my grandfather's.  She wanted instead to share her day with close friends and family only.

It also turned out that she was afraid that her father might quash the wedding plans altogether.  An old-fashioned Italian father, he had expected that his only daughter would stay home and care for her parents through their old age and not even consider marrying until after they died. Further, he had hoped that when my mother eventually did marry, it would be to an Italian. 

Now, it is hard to know whether or not my grandfather changed his mind about this over time.  We do know, however, that my mother saw things differently.  She was of a younger generation and though not rebellious by nature, she definitely differed with her father on this subject.  My mother was deeply in love, and she resolved that she would marry my father, no matter what obstacles stood in her way.

My father continued to visit my mother whenever he could.  On Thursday, August 19, 1954, he went to Chatham Galleries, the Schiavon family's antiques shop, to spend his lunch hour with my mother, who was minding the store while her parents were on vacation in Miami, Florida.

My mother locked the door to the shop so they could take a walk.  When it was time for my father to go back to work, he leaned in to kiss her goodbye and saw tears streaming down her cheeks.  When he asked her what was the matter, my mother plopped down on the curb and buried her face in her hands.

"I don't want you to go.  I want to get married right now," she sobbed.

My father sat down beside her and took her hand as she told him she could not wait a moment longer.

"My parents are away," she went on.  "If we wait until they get back, we won't be able to do this the way we want to.  Maybe we won't be able to get married at all."  She continued to cry as my father attempted to comfort her.

My father, who was a stickler for doing things properly, knew my grandfather would never approve of an elopement.  As he and my mother talked some more, he realized that not only was my mother was serious about not waiting, but he, too yearned to be with her all the time.  She was more precious to him than life itself, and the thought of spending the rest of his life with her beginning today seemed completely right. 

He looked down at his lunchpail.  "I'll call work and tell them I'm not coming back today," he said.

He and my mother got up from the curb and made their way downtown to the Justice of the Peace.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Amanuensis Monday: "When We Two are One"

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

"To my Darling," reads my father's inscription
  in the diary he gave my  mother on the day he
asked her to marry him.  She later wrote their
names underneath, adding what must have
been their nickname: "Mr. & Mrs. Zippo."
 

[Note:  Amanuensis is an ancient word meaning one who performs the function of writing down or transcribing the words of another.  Derived from the Latin root manu-  , meaning manual or hand, the word also has been used as a synonym for secretary or scribe.]

My parents became engaged on July 3, 1954, the eve of my mother's 26th birthday.  Besides a solitaire engagement ring, my father, Gilbert Huesca, gave my mother, Joan Schiavon, a small diary. She dedicated it to him and began recording the first weeks of their engagement. What follows are her entries for those first seven days.

 JULY  Three (1954)

"My Secret Love" - "When we two are one"

The most wonderful day of my life.  Gil gave me an engagement ring this evening at home before we left with Mr. and Mrs. Waples to go to the Ivanhoe.  We had dinner, danced, had our fortunes told and went down thru (sic) the "Catacombs."  Then, my darling Gil had some singers come to sing "Happy Birthday" to me.  This evening will live in my heart forever as my love for Gil is for all my life.

I love him as I have never loved anyone before.  For you, Gil dearest are in my every thought, action, and breath.  May you always be as proud of me, as I am of you.

My mother's first diary entry, July 3, 1954
"My Secret Love," she wrote at the top,
When we two are one"

JULY  Four  (This was my mother's 26th birthday)

How happy and proud I was to show everyone at Downer's Grove my engagement ring, because I love you, my darling, with all my heart.  It was wonderful meeting your brother Carlos*.  He is very sweet.  I do hope he will like me.  

Mrs. Waples was so darling to make such a beautiful cake for my birthday.  I was so thrilled and happy today.  But, I know that I shall always be happy as long as you are with me.

JULY  Five

My thoughts were with you all morning, as they shall be every moment of my life.  I was so sorry that Carlos was unable to spend more time with us.  But, selfishly, I was very happy to have you all to myself for the afternoon.  We had such a lovely time at the home of your friends, they were so sweet and kind to us.

What a beautiful home 457 was, and what happy memories you must have of the times you spent there.  My dearest wish is that our life together will be a happy one for you.

JULY  Six

Today I went shopping with you for the first time.  I hope that in later years you will always take me with you, as such little things when shared together should keep us very close to one another.

We got caught in the rain and put your raincoat over our heads!  I even enjoy the rain with you, my darling.  I was so afraid you wouldn't get a chance to kiss me goodnight when Dad and Mother took you home.  But we did kiss and now I am happy.

JULY  Seven

Being with you tonight was wonderful, but Darling, you really gave me a scare when you said you had something to show me.  You didn't tell me it was your heart until after you unbuttoned your shirt.  Then, I felt so silly because you told me I was blushing.

Mrs. Waples was so sweet to make that jar of cookies for me.  Dearest, I am so proud to love you.  I really am very fortunate to have you to love.  

Your Mother was very sweet in her letter.  I hope I will make a good wife to her son.

JULY  Eight

Dearest:  you are the sweetest most wonderful man in all this world. I'm writing this tonight with your fountain pen.  You were so dear to let me use it.  You read this diary tonight, and I only wish that I could express all the love that I have for you in my heart.

It was so nice of you to take Mother, Margaret**, and I for coffee tonight.  I wish that you were here now so I could give you a big kiss. 

I wonder what you will think ten years from now when you read this?

JULY  Nine

I just finished talking to you on the telephone.  The roses that you brought me this evening are beautiful.  I have them here in my room so that I can look at them as I go to sleep and think of you and how much I love you, my Darling.

I hope you will get a nice rest tonight - you sounded so tired on the phone tonight.   I'm getting sleepy, now dear, so goodnight for now.  I love you.

JULY  Ten

What a lovely evening we've had tonight! It's just a week now that we've been engaged.  I'm so proud of my ring and of you.

Has any girl ever been as happy as I am.  And darling you are what makes this little package of oatmeal so happy.  It was so nice dancing at the "Sociedad Española."  (Is my Spanish improving?)

To be with you is always wonderful.  I was very sorry that the Algarins did not come.  But you were with me.  That's enough for me!

*   Carlos Huesca, my father's younger brother.

** Margaret Lesueur, a friend of my grandparents.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Sentimental Sunday: Popping the Question

Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

A postcard of the Ivanhoe, a popular medieval-style
Chicago restaurant, where my parents feted my mother's
26th birthday and their engagement on July 3, 1954.

My father, Gilbert Huesca, could hardly contain the love he felt for my mother, Joan Schiavon. His workdays at Lakeshore Printing flew by as he waited for five o'clock to come so he could see her again.  When he was not with my mother, he was talking about her to his younger brother, Carlos Huesca, who had recently arrived in Chicago from Mexico City, or to his friends, Louis and Theresa Algarin and Frank and Fern Waples, or writing home to his mother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, in Mexico City.  

By late June, it had been only two months since he had met her at the end of April, 1954, but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. One evening, over a game of chess with Frank Waples, my father was less focused than usual. Fern sensed his mind was on something else, and she asked him if everything was all right between him and Joan.  

"Oh, yes," he said. "It couldn't be better. But Fern, she is very special. There are other fellows who are very interested in her.  They're very rich and powerful."   

"And is she interested in any of them?" Fern asked, always quick to cut to the heart of the matter.  

"No. The way she looks into my eyes, I know she loves me."

"So what are you waiting for?  Go ask her to marry you, Gil!"  

"But how can I ask her so soon?  We've only been seeing each other for a little while."  

Fern Waples was not a woman to listen to excuses.  "Well, Gil, I told you before that she was too much girl for you.  I guess you'll either just have to ask her or let her go."  She turned around and left the room.

That was all my father needed to hear.  Like the expert chess player he was, he began strategizing for the most important move of his life.

Before he could ask my mother to marry him, he knew he would have to approach her father for his permission.   Some men would have paled at this and thought it old-fashioned, but my father had come from a very traditional Mexican family and understood the importance of showing respect for the father of one's intended.

On July 2, 1954, two days before my mother's birthday, my father went to see my grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, to ask for her hand in marriage.

My grandfather had seen a proposal coming, but not this soon.  He hesitated at the thought of his only daughter marrying someone who was not Italian, though he himself had married an Irish-American.  He looked at my father sternly.

"Do you have any insanity in your family?" he asked.

My father had anticipated that my grandfather would be tough on him, but he did not expect this question.   He smiled.  "No," he said confidently. "Is there any in yours?"

Ralph Schiavon had to laugh at my father's quick comeback.  He shook his head and knew he had met his match.  He gave my father his permission, albeit reluctantly.

The next evening, my father arrived at the Schiavon home to take my mother out for an early birthday dinner celebration.  My grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, who had heard of my father's intentions from my grandfather, met him at the door and showed him to the living room. My mother soon appeared in a lovely red lace dress, and my grandparents disappeared, leaving the sweethearts alone.

My father could not believe how beautiful she looked and almost forgot to give her the small gift-wrapped package he had in his hands.  Inside was a diary with a deep red cover, "the color of my heart," my father said.  

My mother loved it.  "I'm going to fill it with all my love for you," she said as she hugged him.

But that was not all my father had for her.  He took another small box from his pocket and got down on one knee.  My mother's eyes grew wide as his trembling fingers opened the box to reveal a white gold diamond solitaire ring.

"Darling, how would you like to have a honeymoon in Acapulco?" he asked, his voice filled with passion.

My mother didn't hesitate for a moment in her reply.  "Oh, Gil, I'd just love it!" she said breathlessly.

My grandparents soon returned to the living room and congratulated the newly engaged couple.  After a short celebration, my parents left to meet Frank and Fern Waples at the Ivanhoe, a famous medieval-style restaurant at Clark and Wellington Streets in Chicago.  

It was a Saturday evening, and the good people of the City of Chicago had already begun their festivities for Independence Day, just hours away. Fireworks celebrating the American holiday were going off all over the city, but for two people who had just promised their undying love to each other, they seemed to be heralding the start of a beautiful life together.

 Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully