Riding out of town with my groom after our wedding reception in a snowstorm felt adventurous. Unconcerned about realities, we snacked on wedding sandwiches and cake as we drove to Los Alamos, New Mexico, where we would spend the summer for Richard’s internship. We drove into a blizzard in Colorado and nearly ran out of gas at a mountain summit, but all this became part of the happy legend of our beginnings.
Were we ready for this life of independence, fending for ourselves far from home? I relied pretty heavily on Richard’s life experience; his mission years and his 4 years seniority meant that his points of reference no longer included high school experiences, as mine embarrassingly still did. Most of our belongings we left in a storage shed behind the house we would rent from my parents in Provo when the summer was over. We had only packed the essentials for three months away: some clothes, a cooler, sleeping bags, a grill, a tent, and my violin. Everything was new, from our camping gear and Richard’s job, to our life together.
Los Alamos (White Rock) is where I made my first attempts at homemaking in a fully-furnished house. While Richard worked, I had many hours to learn how to iron his shirts, dampening them and re-ironing when the seams weren’t right. I learned to skin and de-bone chicken; I may have watched soap operas. These were long days. After I got a job, the days weren’t so slow; we cooked together in the evenings and I didn’t spend all day reading cookbooks and walking mile after mile through deserted neighborhoods.
After about six weeks, Richard’s hair was getting long and we decided to buy an electric clipper so I could give him a trim. I had watched my mom cut hair for years. Confidently, I turned on the clipper and applied it to the side of Richard’s head. One simple sweep upward from the ear exposed a neat, nearly bald track through his hair. I had forgotten to put a comb on the clipper! I was mortified; I didn’t dare try to fix the problem, so we abandoned the haircut and he wore a baseball cap for a few days.
My parents came to town around this time and my mom was able to even up his haircut. What I remember most from the experience is how selfless Richard was. He didn’t act self-conscious about his ruined hair. He wasn’t angry with me. In fact, he reassured me that it didn’t matter. He had very short hair for a while, but he was so noble about it that he lifted me out of my insecurities.
As a seal of his fidelity and kindness, a couple months later, he asked me to give him another haircut.
