The Proposal
THE STORY OF OUR ENGAGEMENT (AS TOLD BY SHAUN)
The first milestone was big: getting Sasha’s father’s blessing—without Sasha’s knowledge—during the Sadrai family trip to California over Thanksgiving. With a full house and at least one family member under the weather at all times during their visit, it wasn’t easy getting a private moment with Mr. Sadrai.
The last full day of the trip arrived. With her grandmother and brother at home, Sasha, her parents and I took a walk down a long pier in the Berkeley Marina. When her dad popped into the restroom, I urged Sasha and her mother to go ahead while I waited for him.
They obliged, but in seconds, Mr. Sadrai reemerged and sped up to reunite the group. Ahhh! How to stall and create a bit of distance for privacy from Sasha and her mother?
“Mr. Sadrai… err… over there you can see the old Ford Factory. On this side is downtown Oakland. Oh. And here’s a fisherman.”
“Say there, sir, have you caught jacksmelt? How about pileperch? What about kingfish? Starry flounder? Striped bass?”
Thank goodness for chatty anglers.
By the time we reached the end of the pier, we were both smiling, excited and relieved. We rejoined Sasha and her mother, without either knowing the better. (Later that afternoon, after asking for Mrs. Sadrai’s blessing, she would exclaim: No wonder he was so happy during the walk!)
Throughout the trip, Mr. Sadrai often had asked me to take a photo of the family – in Muir Woods, Lake Tahoe, San Francisco. This time, he handed his phone to a man nearby.
“Can you please take a photo of the four of us?”
PLANNING THE PROPOSAL
“We dance even if there’s no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we’re suspicious of others who don’t.” – Chris Rose on New Orleanians
The first time I visited New Orleans, it felt as if I had returned to a place I’d known and loved. Give me a muffuletta and the Mississippi or a brass brand and an Abita, and I’m home.
Sasha and I spoke frequently about exploring New Orleans together, and planned a trip for mid-December around her birthday. We booked two places to stay: the first was an apartment for the two of us and the second was a larger house to share with our friends when they arrived later that week.
I learned that Kerry, who managed the apartment, was also a wedding photographer, so I asked her if she’d secretly shoot some photos of the proposal.
She agreed, but there was one catch: she had purple hair, so was a bit conspicuous. Whether it was picking up the apartment keys or the day of the secret photo shoot, I’d have to make sure Sasha didn’t meet her before the day of the proposal or she’d recognize her. So we arranged for me to get the keys on my own when we arrived. Check!
As for places to propose, I had my eye on the apartment’s charming balcony with its intricate, classic New Orleans rod-iron latticework. It was private and overlooked the French Quarter, but lacked the vantage point for Kerry to take photos stealthily.
So it was back to the drawing board.
There are many characters in New Orleans, but some of the city’s most magical occupants are its “live” oaks, called such because they are evergreen. They’re found throughout the Eastern seaboard, throughout Texas and up into California. Not only were these areas we loved, but also places where our relationship had grown.
And so began the search for the tree, the “live” oak under which I’d ask Sasha to marry me.
What an education! From amateur photos of neighborhood oaks to ancient trees named, registered and celebrated by the Live Oaks Society, there were many to consider. Through my image searches, I clicked through acres of Louisiana, and then found it: the Olmstead Oak.
“This is it,” I thought to myself. No one else had photos of the Olmstead Oak, so I emailed its photographer, Frank, to inquire about its location within New Orleans. Knowing it was somewhere in the city, I turned my focus towards other details of the trip.
I hadn’t heard from Frank and it wasn’t until the morning that we left for New Orleans that we were able to connect. I called him directly to follow-up on the oak’s whereabouts so I could find a subtle way to steer us towards the Olmstead Oak. After telling him a bit about the proposal and us, he revealed that it was uptown in Audubon Park, then paused.
“What is it, Frank?”
“The skill of photographers is that they can find the extraordinary in ordinary places. But their art can also conceal as much as it can reveal.”
“Ok.” If I hadn’t been dragging my luggage to the door, I would have encouraged him to wax poetic some more. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, the oak… it’s in the Park but on a golf course.”
My heart dropped. It made sense now: the manicured grass, faint golf cart wheel tracks in the foreground. I still loved the Olmstead, but envisioned dodging errant golf balls as I proposed to Sasha on the fairway.
Part of me was still set on making the Olmstead Oak work, so I pulled up the Audubon Park Golf Course website and called the clubhouse. I was about to book all the afternoon tee times to have an uninterrupted moment under that beautiful tree, but it didn’t feel right.
Sasha and I were on our way to the airport and I was back to square one.
After our conversation, Frank offered to suggest a few more places with beautiful live oaks. Just as we settled in our seats on the plane and were about to turn off our phones, his recommendations came through. With the help of WiFi on the plane, a dimmed-down screen and an empty seat between Sasha and me, I searched through New Orleans neighborhoods and parks once again, using Google Earth to zoom in and out of groves of “live” oaks.
As we touched down into New Orleans, I felt relieved. We had arrived and I had found just the place.
A SUNDAY STROLL WITH SASHA
When the sun started to warm the balcony on Sunday, December 14th, I was too excited to sleep and had been up for over an hour. It was the day before Sasha’s birthday and we started the day with a brisk walk around the French Quarter and along the Mississippi.
I told her the plan was to head to a New Orleans restaurant called Ralph’s on the Park for a reveillon dinner and cultural event. There’d be eating, performing, dancing and much revelry. It’d be an early birthday celebration and I wanted to surprise her with the details. We had reservations for 3:30, but needed to show up an hour earlier to get the best seats. Little did she know that the main event would be an afternoon stroll through the park with Kerry, our photographer, secretly in tow.
Since we had some time and we had a nice dinner ahead, I said she should go get a manicure and pedicure—and that I’d even treat and go with her since it was almost her birthday. She had remarked to me (and her friends) that she often felt sad for future brides who snapped photos of their beautiful rings but whose nails were chipped during surprise proposals. I pushed for it, but she said the salons were closed or too far away, so I abandoned the suggestion so as not to ruin the surprise.
So we returned home to shower and get gussied up. I put on a sports coat and Sasha wore a red dress. She looked beautiful. We were set to walk out the door when Sasha put her black rubber Jawbone bracelet on her wrist and a gold ring on her left hand’s middle finger.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
Ahhh! She was unwittingly making me work for this one.
“Yep, I’m ready, but, babe, this will be a nice traditional New Orleans setting. Can we leave the Jawbone at home for this one?”
She removed the Jawbone without a fuss and we walked out.
We hopped in a cab en route to Ralph’s on the Park. I held her hand. Throughout the ride, I was both excited for what was about to happen and brainstorming how to get her other gold ring off so I could offer her an engagement ring to put on!
When we arrived at Ralph’s, I asked her to wait outside for a minute while I checked on the reservation.
I stepped inside the restaurant, delayed for a minute in the foyer, and walked back outside to Sasha.
“Honey, I didn’t realize how authentic this event really is. Apparently, it’s an old Creole tradition to reserve your place at the table with a piece of jewelry from your beloved. I know it’s unusual, but I trust the organizers. Can you give me your ring?”
She slowly agreed, but before she could ask any questions, I helped her remove her ring and turned back towards the restaurant. Once inside, I popped it into my pocket, waited a beat and walked back out.
“Great! We’re all set and have the best seats in the house. We’ve got 30 minutes. How about we take a walk in the park?”
Across the street was the entrance to City Park, one of the oldest parks in the country. As we entered, I saw Kerry with purple hair and a few cameras around her neck, taking photos of her friend and her dog as a decoy. What a pro!
With Kerry in position, we turned right into the park and began strolling through the Ansemen Oaks, the largest grove of mature “live” oaks in the country. Several hundreds of years old, these trees were bathed in late afternoon winter light and Spanish moss fell from their branches.
I had a few trees picked out along our path, but Sasha stopped at one.
“Look how beautiful this one is.”
This is it, I thought.
I swung around to face her and dropped to one knee.
The words I wanted to say came out, but I paused a few times to just look at her, to take it all in.
After I presented the ring and asked her to marry me, she leaned down to deliver a kiss and brought me to my feet.
“Yes, of course!” she smiled.
