It sure has been a while since I've sent a newsletter. The last year just seemed to fly on by. I hope that my subscribers have not forgotten about it. Our focus in 2006 was to totally redesign www.StressDynamics.com to create a more appealing marketplace for our customers. Our plan for 2007 is to continue to grow and expand. We have added some new items and our goal is to add even more. In the near future we hope to carry larger stress reduction items such as foot massagers, large water fountains, and wind chimes. We'll send you a newsletter to let you know what's new. If  you are having any issues with the newsletter please contact the shopkeeper@stressdynamics.com. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Your friend in stress reduction,

As we are coming up on Valentine's Day we thought we would sponsor a contest. To enter, send us an email telling us the story of a marriage proposal you made or received. We will pick the three proposals which are the most original and most romantic and send them in the next newsletter and let our readers vote for their favorite. The winner will receive a Natura Diffuser and a bottle of our Romance Blend Essential Oil. There won't really be any losers here as everyone who submits an entry and everyone who votes will receive a coupon code for 20% off everything in the Stress Dynamics Marketplace. Below I'll let my hubby tell the tale of how he proposed to me some 13 years ago. Submit your entries to shopkeeper2@stressdynamics.com.

From the moment I first laid eyes on her I fell in love with Mercy. I felt like I knew her and had loved her for ten thousand years. Here was the one I was searching for -- right there in the flesh. The ONE! I was smitten. After a while we became friends. Then we dated. Soon we fell in love. All of a sudden, there I was, the luckiest man alive. When she first told me "I love you" I was delighted and amazed. I mean the geek never gets the cheerleader except in the movies. Well I guess my suave and debonair demeanor made her look past the gruesome exterior beast and fall for the person within. When you're a goober like me and you have gal like Mercy in love with you it doesn't take you long to figure out that you better get a ring and marry her.

I got the ring and I proposed and my offer of marriage was rejected.

It wasn't that she didn't want to marry me, it just that the way I proposed was so lame and unromantic that she just couldn't say "yes." I won't bore you (i.e. I won't humiliate myself) with the details but suffice it to say she had every right to tell me: "You've got to do better than that."

You want romance, baby? Well you're gonna get bucketfuls, I vowed. I knew I had to formulate a super-duper, top secret marriage proposal plan. But what to do, what to do, what to do?

I thought about lighting up the sign at a Toledo Mud Hens game but that had been overdone. I thought about the whole armor-suited knight on a horse thing but the logistics were just so wrong. I thought about the fancy dinner with the ring in the bubbly, but alas, that too had been overdone.

One Friday I was attending an outdoor concert in downtown Toledo when a small p*** flew overhead carrying one of those advertising banners. It was my eureka moment. I would hire a p*** carrying a banner to “pop” the question. Yeah, that would be cool and 10,000 fellow Toledoans would get to share in the moment. Then again, I worried that asking her to marry me in front of 10,000 people jamming to Blue Oyster Cult just might be perceived as unromantic --especially if they’re cranking out “Don’t Fear the Reaper” as the p*** flies overhead (even though in it’s own morbid way it is kind of a “love” song).

I had recently bought a new car and as an incentive to get me to buy it the dealership gave me a gift certificate which was good for a weekend stay at the Toronto Hilton.  Maybe, just maybe, I could find a company in the Great White North that would fly a banner along the shore of Lake Ontario or someplace similar. I went to the library and checked out a travel guide (this was in the days before there was a Yahoo or a Google) and learned a few things about the city. First, I learned that there was a train which would take you from Windsor (a nice little city across the river from Detroit) into the heart of Toronto. It just so happened that they offered a romance package. Then I learned the city just so happens to be home to the world’s tallest building -- the majestic CN Tower. Standing at more than 1815 feet this needle to the sky literally defines the Toronto skyline. That put it on my short list of things I just had to see in my lifetime. The big bonus was the rotating restaurant dubbed 360 that sat at two thirds of the way up. If I could find a company that flies banners I just bet that I could get them to circle around the tower!

Sure enough, after leafing through the library’s copy of the Toronto Yellow Pages I found just such a company.

I forget the name of the flying company I called (and I wish I could remember because I can’t thank those lads enough). A pleasant Scottish-accented voice belonging to a guy named James told me that “yes, of course, we’d be happy to fly a banner around the CN Tower and we’ll do it for the reasonable sum of $250 Canadian.”  This did seem like a reasonable sum to me being that they would have to make the sign and then burn some fuel to fly it up there so I ordered the banner.

The trip was coming up soon so I asked about business details.

“What about a contract?” I asked. This was in the days before fax machines and overnight delivery services were widely available.

“Don’t you worry,” James reassured me. “I’ll bring one with me when I come to collect payment, which I’ll need in advance. No dough, no go. We don’t even make the banner until we’re paid. What do you want it to say?”

“Mercy, will you marry me? Love, Paul.”

“OK, got it. ‘Marcie will you marry me? Love, Paul.’”

“No, no, no,” I responded as my pulse quickened. “Not Marcie – Mercy.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Marcie,” James said.

What was wrong with this knucklehead? He was turning me into a bundle of nerves. Everything had to be perfect as failure of any kind was not an option. “James, it needs to say ‘Mercy, will you marry me?  Love, Paul,’” I said with a little bit more ire to my voice than I intended. I needed this guy, after all.

“Sir, that’s what I’ve been saying,” He responded with his own bit of ire. “Marcie! M-E-R-C-Y Marcie!”

OK, now I got it.

“I’m sorry. I misheard you,” I humbly apologized. I wondered how many major wars and fist fights got started over misunderstood accents.

“Give me a call when you arrive and I’ll arrange to meet you for the exchange.”

I liked the sound of that. “The exchange.” It made me feel like I was on a spy mission.

My next phone call was to the manager of 360. I told him of my plan -- feeling like I was being sooooo very original.

“P***, uh-huh, banner, window seat, yeah we’ve done that,” he pleasantly grunted. “You’re not the first but she’ll definitely say yes. Bring her to our Saturday brunch and I’ll give you the best seat in the house and see to it that the wait staff knows what’s going to happen.”

The weekend finally arrived. We drove to Windsor and as we were heading toward the train station I informed Mercy that I needed to stop into a bank to get a Canadian money order.

“What for?” she asked suspiciously.

“For something I’m going to buy in the city,” I replied unconvincingly. She let the matter drop and I came out of the bank with a money order in the amount of $250 Canadian in my wallet.

We boarded the train. The trip was truly romantic and magical. We dined on smoked salmon with capers and filet mignon. We drank generous quantities of wine as our diligent waiter kept our stemware full. We arrived in Toronto with a pleasant little buzz. It was a trip worth every penny and I hope to take it again some day.

We soon checked into the Hilton and were pleased to find that our room was up near the top. We had a great view of the CN Tower.

“That is where I’m taking you for brunch tomorrow morning!” I exclaimed to my sweetie. “We’ll have mimosas!”

As soon as I could I made an excuse to sneak down to the lobby to call James the flyboy.

“OK James, we’re at the Hilton and I’ve got a money order waiting for you.”

“Oh no, that will not do. We only accept cash,” he said.

Oh crap, I thought. I had turned most all of my cash into that thin little money order. How was I going to get it converted back into moolah now that all the banks were closed?

“Ohhkayyyy,” I replied as my guts started to tie into knots.

“And I can’t get out to the Hilton. What are your plans for tonight? I hope you’re not going to a theater. You’re not going to see a show are you?” He asked as my guts twisted further.

“Well, sort of,” I mumbled. “She’s taking me to some place called Medieval Times.”

“Oh that’s perfect!” James ejected. “We’re right near there. I’ll meet you out front at 8 O’clock.”

My insides went somewhat back to normal. When the desk clerk exchanged my money order for cash they went completely back to normal.

I returned to our room and got ready to go.

We arrived at the Medieval Times “Castle” and we got a drink at the bar. I took a foamy sip of my beer and excused myself to go to the restroom. It was 7:55. Fifteen minutes pass the hour there had been no sign of James. Damn. I went back to Mercy, took a large nervous gulp of my warming beer, excused myself again and headed to the gates of the castle. I waited another ten minutes. Still no sign of the man. It was now 8:25. They would seat us around 8:30. I went back to Mercy, polished off my beer and excused myself for the third time.

“Paul, what is wrong with you?” she asked with genuine concern.

“Beer!” I urgently replied over my shoulder as I headed toward the entrance again.

After a couple minutes of pacing a wiry, bearded, long-haired, scruffy little man with thick-glassed spectacles approached me.

“Are you Paul?”

“Yes, that’s me!” I exclaimed in utter joy!

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic,” he said. “Anyway, here’s the contract.”

I checked it. Every thing was spelled right and it seemed to be in order. I handed over $250 cash.

“There’s only one problem,” the little man said. “There’s a thick layer of fog that’s supposed to build up tonight and if it gets too high we won’t be able to fly near the tower and we’ll have to postpone. Maybe we can fly near the lake later in the day, but if the fog gets too high for the tower it’s probably going to be too high for the lake as well and we’ll have to maybe shoot for the lake Sunday morning. Oh, and we don’t issue refunds due to the weather. It’s there in the contract. If we can fly we’ll be there at 10:30 sharp. If you don’t see us then give me a call and we’ll try for the lake.”

Hell. That was just great. I just gave $250 to a stranger for a service I probably would not receive. Our plans were to leave early Sunday morning. Just great.

I sulked back to my sweetheart.

“Are you OK?” she asked again on my return.

“Just a little nervous stomach,” I said as they ushered us into the stadium. She bought it. She did not have a clue about what was the true purpose of the weekend.

Medieval Times put on a great show. They had realistic jousting, sword fights, great horsemanship, good versus evil and lots of beer. The food was really good too. We had to eat it with our hands, though. Some poor guy asked for a fork and was about beat down by a buxom wench. I really got into the character of a medieval lord and finally started to relax. At least until the show was over and I stepped outside. Huge, fluffy bundles of fog had engulfed the entire city. My heart sank.

We returned to the Hilton and I felt some measure of relief when we got to our room. The CN Tower stood up above the fog and it seemed like maybe everything would be OK. But then a terrible thing happened. The fog started to roll off the lake. I stared out the window as the evil cloud rose story by story and swallowed up the skyline. It was like a horror movie. Eventually it neared the base of the restaurant. I knew those boys would not fly. I gave up hope and went to bed but I barely slept.

The next morning things looked a little bit better. The city was still pretty well blanketed with fog but had dropped to about one third the height of the CN Tower. Maybe I would be able to pull it off.

We took the thrilling ride up the tower in a glass elevator and had a great view of the fog.

When we arrived at 360 I felt a palpable buzz. Every member of the staff was in on my secret. We were seated next to the windows and had a great view. If the p*** was going to make it we would be able to see it. I took our waiter aside and asked him to keep a bottle of Dom Perignon nearby. I should not have been surprised when he told me that one already was.

We enjoyed a hearty brunch and drank mimosas and I kept staring out the window and kept peeking at my watch.

Mercy caught me eyeing my timepiece.

“You got an appointment somewhere?” she asked with a smile.

“Uh, no,” I fumbled. It was 10:30. I peered out the window.

“Look Babe, there’s one of those little p***s out there,” I said as a small speck approached the tower.

“What little p***?”

“You know, one of those p***s with a sign behind it. I wonder what it says.”

“Where?” She squinted. It was getting closer and was starting to look like a p***. “I don’t see it.”

I pointed. “It’s right there.” By this time the pilot was starting to encircle the restaurant. “Can you read it?”

She read it. “Mercy, will you marry me? Love Paul.”

As she said this I was down on one knee and every one else in the restaurant was standing and applauding. I pulled out the ring and our waiter was standing by with the bubbly.

She said “yes.”

“I take it I did better this time?”

“Oh yeah,” was all I let her say before I kissed her. I was the luckiest man alive.

I did make one mistake. I forgot to bring a camera with me. A young couple from Hong Kong was visiting Toronto on their honeymoon. They kindly took a snapshot of the two of us and mailed it from China.

We’ll be celebrating our 11th anniversary February 17th. I’m still the luckiest man alive.