Our last weekend's guests staying next door were from Nebraska and got engaged while they were here. They hiked up to Alberta Falls and that's where he popped the question. She has a nice diamond ring, not a huge rock, but big enough to see at 4 feet.

I can remember when Mr. Troutbend proposed to me. It was February of 1978 and went to a so-so restaurant where we had not so great stroganoff-esque beef tips on noodles. Somewhere during the meal he said "I think we should get married."

He had a loose diamond in his pocket and we later went together to pick out the setting. That was a good idea because he spent what he wanted to without putting me in a position of having to make a choice. His selection criteria was that my stone had to be bigger than my sister's, which surprised me because I hadn't realized he'd paid that much attention to her ring.

"You're a neat freak and I'm a messy" was all I could think to say. But it felt right. You hear people say that you just know it's right, and that's true. You just know.

Sometimes I wonder about people who have been married more than once: did they have that same sure feeling every time and it eventually faded, or were there some doubts with the practice spouses until they found the right person?

In August we'll have been married 30 years; it went fast, and still seems like the best decision we ever made.