It feels as if the world is in suspended animation. Most people and things have stopped working from now until January 2nd. There's a certain eagerness in the air. Of course there are all those last minute shoppers, running around like crazy trying to find anything that will do at Walgreens. I must admit, even I had the nimbleness left in my fingers to order a book on Amazon.com, to be delivered after Christmas. Which is fine between two sisters-in-love, one a high priestess and the other a wannabe Buddhist. It is a parable for children on the Eckhart Tolle philosophy about "The Power of Now." It tells a child to look at his cat, and learn about healing and love and living in the moment even though this child is being bullied at school. It is really a profound lesson.
My sweet husband always works for the Christian doctors on this holiest of holidays. My son has his band/family, plus a very sweet girlfriend, and they are always together. And my daughter, the Jewish bride, has been enfolded into her husband's family Christmas. Last night I helped to celebrate the season with her new family and their friends. It was a lovely party, everyone in red and green tartan and satin. I delivered presents to the adult children and chocolate truffles to the new in-law hosts, chopped up pineapple and pears for dessert fondue, and walked on a trail with the newlyweds and their dogs while my new son-in-law talked with his elder father-in-law about his future. He is a hot commodity and has already been asked to interview at one of the top-rated hospitals in his field for a fellowship. A place so far out west...
Today The Couple will go to church, tomorrow they will open their gifts under a tree.
The past is done, the future we have little control over. Today is really all we have. Being mindful, meditating, knitting, practicing compassion, these are things I will aspire to in the new year. Maybe even writing more of my book, about my Mother and the House. While everyone else rejoices in the birth of a child many centuries ago, today I had to reboot my computer. It was telling me it was locked. Very much like a mind that is locked in the past (insert any name you might think of here) or a mind that is focused on the future (ditto). And now I think I will clean my desk.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Deja Vu All Over Again
Last night I was knitting. Didn't I tell you? I've taken up the hobby again, after twenty plus years of thinking I had better things to do with my time. Such as, writing, reading, cooking, cleaning, laundry, walking, gardening, dancing, gym-going....and all those years chauffeuring my children to and fro. Then there was the working too. First, doing some semi-social work, then coding for the family business, and finally writing, for an old fashioned newspaper deadline. Let's not forget being the go-to volunteer for all things school or temple, heading a committee or two, sitting on a few boards. In short, I was pretty busy in all the usual American ways of over-scheduling. I'd consigned knitting to that most ancient list of activities: the time I spent learning to weave on a loom; my quilting phase in the Berkshires; sewing tiny elephants together for crib toys as newborn presents. Yes, I admit it, I was pretty crafty back in the day when children were little and there was time on my hands. Last night, I was thinking about my first published newspaper article. It was back when we were newly marrieds and I had a baby (aka as The Bride) on my hip. I wrote about the paradox of my life in the country - about my husband putting together his first PC, lugging it up the stairs, while I was stoking the Vermont Castings wood stove. In a big hair '80s way, I asked the proverbial question, "Whatever happened to clean heat?"
So, while knitting away on my newly learned cable pattern in my 'not so big' mountain home, some thirty years later, I had the same epiphany. It was the juxtaposition of events after dinner in front of the flat screen. Our house was toasty warm after pushing a button to light the gas fireplace. I glanced over at my man on the couch who had become very quiet, when it hit me. He was deep in concentration on his Ipad! Here we were, almost thirty years later, in the same time-warp conundrum, but my reaction was quite different.
Back then, I ranted about having to keep the stove going day and night, the sound of guns in the woods while he was out there felling trees, the black ice, the mountain lion our German Shepherd treed. Memoir-like, thoughts of my foster father appeared, with his coal stove in my childhood dream home of Victory Gardens. The smoke and the mess of keeping a home fire burning in the Reagan years was eclipsed by a form of acceptance now. We are not so newly married and I no longer cringe when he finishes my sentences. His shoulders are shot from chopping and hauling logs, and my fingers are getting arthritic, like my Mother's. But we've managed to maintain this thing called marriage with a sense of wonder about our lives. I look over at the father-of-the-bride and think to myself, we did it!
A woman at a holiday party recently asked me where he went at one point, and I looked back at her and said, "I don't know." We are not prone to keep the other informed of our whereabouts at all times. But I had to smile remembering the quote under my high school yearbook picture. How to make a marriage last? Simple, it's realizing that they will always be right there through thick and thin beside you, whenever it counts.
So, while knitting away on my newly learned cable pattern in my 'not so big' mountain home, some thirty years later, I had the same epiphany. It was the juxtaposition of events after dinner in front of the flat screen. Our house was toasty warm after pushing a button to light the gas fireplace. I glanced over at my man on the couch who had become very quiet, when it hit me. He was deep in concentration on his Ipad! Here we were, almost thirty years later, in the same time-warp conundrum, but my reaction was quite different.
Back then, I ranted about having to keep the stove going day and night, the sound of guns in the woods while he was out there felling trees, the black ice, the mountain lion our German Shepherd treed. Memoir-like, thoughts of my foster father appeared, with his coal stove in my childhood dream home of Victory Gardens. The smoke and the mess of keeping a home fire burning in the Reagan years was eclipsed by a form of acceptance now. We are not so newly married and I no longer cringe when he finishes my sentences. His shoulders are shot from chopping and hauling logs, and my fingers are getting arthritic, like my Mother's. But we've managed to maintain this thing called marriage with a sense of wonder about our lives. I look over at the father-of-the-bride and think to myself, we did it!
A woman at a holiday party recently asked me where he went at one point, and I looked back at her and said, "I don't know." We are not prone to keep the other informed of our whereabouts at all times. But I had to smile remembering the quote under my high school yearbook picture. How to make a marriage last? Simple, it's realizing that they will always be right there through thick and thin beside you, whenever it counts.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Holidays
Welcome to my world. Just got my first "holiday" card and it was from my daughter, the bride! Barely back from our Big Chill Thanksgiving week with the newlyweds in their town, I was shocked, somewhat pleased, and annoyed to open her beautiful card. She was ready to send them before Thanksgiving but we held her off until after turkey day. As you may have guessed, she is supremely organized and well, I am not. My techno-savvy daughter did it all via internet - the gorgeous sunset picture of them at the wedding with the mountains gleaming in the background, their names inscribed along with the two Irish liquored named canines on the bottom. There was nary a pen to write, a stamp to lick or an envelope to stuff. Just a click of the Christmas mouse! Meanwhile, I am still trying to find just the right picture off of the 1,200 picture CDs we received from the photographer. One where all FIVE of us are smiling and not closing our eyes. Then I will schlep it to CVS to make copies. At least I did buy all the cards, but today I'll get the stamps at the post office....as Grandma likes to say, "You get the picture!" Or maybe you won't if I don't get my act together.
I thought after marrying into the Jewish faith I was done with Christmas. Yes, it was sad, I mourned and still feel the pang of loss when my honey has to work on Christmas day cause he's the Jewish doctor. No tree for us, no egg nog and cookies. Just eight crazy nights when the kids were young, with something little each night and a big latke party thrown in there with lots of presents for good measure. Let's face it, Hannuka just can't compete with Christmas! We enjoyed caroling with our neighbors in NJ, I sent out a box of goodies to my Irish cousins, and of course my Mother and siblings had to get something...and voila, I was sending out Holiday Cards. The list grew, and this year it will grow some more since we have a new goyisha son-in-law. Somehow, there is something reassuring about handwriting a note and stuffing cards to old neighbors, friends and family. At least, I tell myself that after they are all delivered. I hate to say, but I am the one who told the new bride she must send cards, to her husband's family at least. Everything else is negotiable and totally up to them - the tree, the religion of their progeny, but not the cards!
But back to Thanksgiving. We dropped off the last of the wedding presents we'd been holding for The Couple after our ten hour drive, and arrived at the beautiful Arts and Crafts retreat house to be welcomed by at least thirty wild turkeys. There were only four couples this year, and two adult children with their dates. A small group by most Big Chill standards. We toured the Ryman Auditorium and even took in a great show of the Grand Ole Oprey! We argued over turkey doneness, and knitted and played our way back to a simpler time. We watched movies in the theatre room and hiked. This aging group of hippies had one hip replacement, and one grandbaby (with another on the way - no not mine) so far. We discussed the disappearance of an old friend and subsequently he was found, alive and well and living in Vietnam. The Groom played the piano and tried to catch up on sleep. We almost forgot to make the cranberry sauce. In other words, like most families, we all ate way too much and had a swell time! But I did learn one thing, never ever go to a mall on Black Friday!
I thought after marrying into the Jewish faith I was done with Christmas. Yes, it was sad, I mourned and still feel the pang of loss when my honey has to work on Christmas day cause he's the Jewish doctor. No tree for us, no egg nog and cookies. Just eight crazy nights when the kids were young, with something little each night and a big latke party thrown in there with lots of presents for good measure. Let's face it, Hannuka just can't compete with Christmas! We enjoyed caroling with our neighbors in NJ, I sent out a box of goodies to my Irish cousins, and of course my Mother and siblings had to get something...and voila, I was sending out Holiday Cards. The list grew, and this year it will grow some more since we have a new goyisha son-in-law. Somehow, there is something reassuring about handwriting a note and stuffing cards to old neighbors, friends and family. At least, I tell myself that after they are all delivered. I hate to say, but I am the one who told the new bride she must send cards, to her husband's family at least. Everything else is negotiable and totally up to them - the tree, the religion of their progeny, but not the cards!
But back to Thanksgiving. We dropped off the last of the wedding presents we'd been holding for The Couple after our ten hour drive, and arrived at the beautiful Arts and Crafts retreat house to be welcomed by at least thirty wild turkeys. There were only four couples this year, and two adult children with their dates. A small group by most Big Chill standards. We toured the Ryman Auditorium and even took in a great show of the Grand Ole Oprey! We argued over turkey doneness, and knitted and played our way back to a simpler time. We watched movies in the theatre room and hiked. This aging group of hippies had one hip replacement, and one grandbaby (with another on the way - no not mine) so far. We discussed the disappearance of an old friend and subsequently he was found, alive and well and living in Vietnam. The Groom played the piano and tried to catch up on sleep. We almost forgot to make the cranberry sauce. In other words, like most families, we all ate way too much and had a swell time! But I did learn one thing, never ever go to a mall on Black Friday!
Friday, November 12, 2010
It's Circus Time
Feeling nostalgic lately, and it's all because of PBS. We are smack in the middle of their documentary series, "Circus" about The Big Apple Circus and what it really takes to put on the greatest show on earth. The new artistic director said it best; this small, one ring, not for profit circus is such an intimate experience, that it could never be duplicated on a one-dimensional computer screen. And it's so true. While watching it on TV, I could smell the popcorn and even feel the hay in the air because our family went to see them every year. In July, they would put up their tent at Arrowhead Farm in Lenox, MA, where Herman Melville once wrote about a big whale. When my son was ten, we told him he'd been to see the Big Apple eleven times, because he was born August 1, 1984. And he was born because a rabbi told me to imagine trapeze artists once upon a time. I guess I should never have been surprised when he grew up to be a performer.
I talk quite a bit with my daughter, almost every day, maybe just for a few minutes on her way into the hospital. But on Wednesday nights during the series, we call each other to dish about the circus characters. Why did she leave with bomber guy? How could they fire the trapeze artists? You really cried when the miniature horse died? Going to the circus was the one constant I could bring with us when we moved back to NJ from MA in 1986. Needless to say, I was not happy about the move. I like to put down roots, maybe because I was carted back and forth as a child between foster parents and biological family, between NJ and PA, never really getting a sense of belonging. If I had my way, we'd still be living at the edge of a bird sanctuary on East New Lenox Road, in Pittsfield, MA.... But I married a gypsy, so what could I do? I packed up my house and instead of heading out to the farm in the summer, I made the trek into NYC during the holidays for the grand opening of the BAC at Lincoln Center. I bought and framed the circus posters. We were members and went to the galas, we dragged as many friends and family members as we could with us. Yes, we ate the cotton candy!
My MIL, went to clown college after meeting Grandma Clown, Barry Lubin. She actually wrote her doctoral thesis on humor in psychotherapy. And I continued to make our pilgrimage to Lincoln Center until my youngest middle-schooler, the performer who'd rather make his own music, refused to go. I bet he'd go with me now, if he has the time before they head back into the studio. His girlfriend, a beautiful Catholic schoolgirl who competed for many years in Irish dance, would love to run away to the circus with us! Oh, and our 3 year old flower girl cousin in upstate NY would absolutely swoon. My daughter the bride would drop everything and go in a heartbeat. Maybe soon, we'll have some grandchildren to introduce to The Big Apple? My big surprise this week was that Grandma Clown, Barry Lubin, just friended me on Facebook! I don't think I've ever been prouder of such a fast friending!
Don't tell my new son-in-law, but I thought it would be good for him to see what's bound to be a big part of his future with my shana maidela and his new family! Just ordered the "Circus" DVDs from PBS for his Xmas present. http://video.pbs.org/video/1612780127/
I talk quite a bit with my daughter, almost every day, maybe just for a few minutes on her way into the hospital. But on Wednesday nights during the series, we call each other to dish about the circus characters. Why did she leave with bomber guy? How could they fire the trapeze artists? You really cried when the miniature horse died? Going to the circus was the one constant I could bring with us when we moved back to NJ from MA in 1986. Needless to say, I was not happy about the move. I like to put down roots, maybe because I was carted back and forth as a child between foster parents and biological family, between NJ and PA, never really getting a sense of belonging. If I had my way, we'd still be living at the edge of a bird sanctuary on East New Lenox Road, in Pittsfield, MA.... But I married a gypsy, so what could I do? I packed up my house and instead of heading out to the farm in the summer, I made the trek into NYC during the holidays for the grand opening of the BAC at Lincoln Center. I bought and framed the circus posters. We were members and went to the galas, we dragged as many friends and family members as we could with us. Yes, we ate the cotton candy!
My MIL, went to clown college after meeting Grandma Clown, Barry Lubin. She actually wrote her doctoral thesis on humor in psychotherapy. And I continued to make our pilgrimage to Lincoln Center until my youngest middle-schooler, the performer who'd rather make his own music, refused to go. I bet he'd go with me now, if he has the time before they head back into the studio. His girlfriend, a beautiful Catholic schoolgirl who competed for many years in Irish dance, would love to run away to the circus with us! Oh, and our 3 year old flower girl cousin in upstate NY would absolutely swoon. My daughter the bride would drop everything and go in a heartbeat. Maybe soon, we'll have some grandchildren to introduce to The Big Apple? My big surprise this week was that Grandma Clown, Barry Lubin, just friended me on Facebook! I don't think I've ever been prouder of such a fast friending!
Don't tell my new son-in-law, but I thought it would be good for him to see what's bound to be a big part of his future with my shana maidela and his new family! Just ordered the "Circus" DVDs from PBS for his Xmas present. http://video.pbs.org/video/1612780127/
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Vegas Wrap-up
Let me make one thing perfectly clear, I don't gamble. Why not just go burn some money for a giggle if that's your pleasure, it's so not mine. But how to sum up our trip to Vegas for the American College of Emergency Physician's (ACEP) conference with my two doctors - one who Gma calls her "little doctor" and the other my "old man?" Maybe I could sell a script to TV Land called, "My Two ER Doctors." Maybe not. We met at the Mandalay Bay hotel. My daughter and her colleague (another young woman with long blonde hair who might have been her twin sister and was just barely pregnant) waltzed into our room, overlooking the pool area, and collapsed around us with funny flight stories. Dinner included another colleague (we met many, her hospital's residency program sent over 20) at an Asian Fusion restaurant in the hotel, and then the young docs went out to party, and we turned in early since the time change takes its toll on us semi-seniors.
When my sweet hubby left for meetings early the next morning, I was wondering what to do with myself. Usually at these conferences there are tons of amusing travel adventures to choose from for the non-medical spouses. Years ago I toured the colorful Victorian homes in San Francisco, and on the same trip experienced a wonderful wine tasting tour of Napa. We even made it out to the Hearst Castle! But either the times have changed and ACEP no longer offers these side trips, or women are fast becoming ER docs themselves and no longer marrying them? I quickly realized I'd have to make my own fun, which incidenatally is how the French say it - you must amuse yourself, you do not have fun, fun cannot have you, oui? So I picked up the phone and found Canyon Ranch at the Venetian: http://www.canyonranchspaclub.com/las_vegas_nv/. One heavenly massage and an ice cream pedicure later, I was no longer feeling sorry for myself. Did I forget to mention that a few days before the trip my flip flops flipped me over the front steps and I was in desperate need of drugs and/or a massage?
So, back realigned, I successfully avoided the "death ray." Yes folks, it's a real thing that happens when the sun is reflected off one of those concave wonderwall of windows hotels and happens to refract itself next to a pool, thereby setting some poor unsuspecting sun worshiper's hair on fire...really. Next, in my swimsuit coverup - the girls plucked me away from the fake beach and wave machine...really - we trolled the conference center for free pens and candy. It was amazing to see my little girl with her residency posse walking around, Dad in tow, sharing Life in the ER stories and speaker's laments. He is the wise one, they are the new young Turks. We ultrasounded the colleague's expectant belly with a tiny wand that made Star Trek's scanner look like a possibility; looked for my husband's book on ER management in the library; and kvelled over lab coats that let blood just slide right off them! There was this shimmer in the air, here was my child the physician, a grown married woman, in a professional organization, having a wonderful time learning and sharing her accomplishments with her friends and her very proud papa. Sometimes I had to remember to breathe!
While they enjoyed their days of lectures and labs, I was learning to amuse myself Vegas style. Since I couldn't abandon ship and check into Canyon Ranch for the week, I figured out how to see the sights and use the monorail so as not to go broke taking cabs everywhere. Looking out of one overpass at a sphinx, with the Eiffel Tower behind it, gave me pause. There will be no Nevada retirement for this family, thank you. The piece de resistance of our Vegas trip, seeing Cirque du Soleil's "O" at the Bellagio. That and the gala dinner when we got to introduce the girls to the pioneers of Emergency Medicine. Oh what a night!
When my sweet hubby left for meetings early the next morning, I was wondering what to do with myself. Usually at these conferences there are tons of amusing travel adventures to choose from for the non-medical spouses. Years ago I toured the colorful Victorian homes in San Francisco, and on the same trip experienced a wonderful wine tasting tour of Napa. We even made it out to the Hearst Castle! But either the times have changed and ACEP no longer offers these side trips, or women are fast becoming ER docs themselves and no longer marrying them? I quickly realized I'd have to make my own fun, which incidenatally is how the French say it - you must amuse yourself, you do not have fun, fun cannot have you, oui? So I picked up the phone and found Canyon Ranch at the Venetian: http://www.canyonranchspaclub.com/las_vegas_nv/. One heavenly massage and an ice cream pedicure later, I was no longer feeling sorry for myself. Did I forget to mention that a few days before the trip my flip flops flipped me over the front steps and I was in desperate need of drugs and/or a massage?
So, back realigned, I successfully avoided the "death ray." Yes folks, it's a real thing that happens when the sun is reflected off one of those concave wonderwall of windows hotels and happens to refract itself next to a pool, thereby setting some poor unsuspecting sun worshiper's hair on fire...really. Next, in my swimsuit coverup - the girls plucked me away from the fake beach and wave machine...really - we trolled the conference center for free pens and candy. It was amazing to see my little girl with her residency posse walking around, Dad in tow, sharing Life in the ER stories and speaker's laments. He is the wise one, they are the new young Turks. We ultrasounded the colleague's expectant belly with a tiny wand that made Star Trek's scanner look like a possibility; looked for my husband's book on ER management in the library; and kvelled over lab coats that let blood just slide right off them! There was this shimmer in the air, here was my child the physician, a grown married woman, in a professional organization, having a wonderful time learning and sharing her accomplishments with her friends and her very proud papa. Sometimes I had to remember to breathe!
While they enjoyed their days of lectures and labs, I was learning to amuse myself Vegas style. Since I couldn't abandon ship and check into Canyon Ranch for the week, I figured out how to see the sights and use the monorail so as not to go broke taking cabs everywhere. Looking out of one overpass at a sphinx, with the Eiffel Tower behind it, gave me pause. There will be no Nevada retirement for this family, thank you. The piece de resistance of our Vegas trip, seeing Cirque du Soleil's "O" at the Bellagio. That and the gala dinner when we got to introduce the girls to the pioneers of Emergency Medicine. Oh what a night!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Aha!
Yesterday we found the elusive, missing blue napkins! After washing all 75 napkins the caterer returned (I know, this means we were 33 napkins short - not four or even five) I went on a napkin finding bender. It turns out the caterer called my husband, and told him they were short 33, and he said to just go ahead and use whatever they had, like the white napkins. He never called me because, of course, I was picking up my sister at the B&B and getting her to the hospital to arrange for my brother's discharge. I had left all the last minute minutiae to him, like the dog's swollen snout and such. Before I left, we had packed everything for the final hand-off to the wedding planner in the front hall - the programs, the twine, the orchids, the 3 tiered plates my hubby made, the boy and girl maple sugar candies, some embroidery hoop decorations I forgot to tell you about....and the napkins. I asked my husband a few times if he brought them up from the basement. He said "Yes Honey," and he did. It's just that I forgot that I had left a brown paper bag of napkins in the broom/vacuum closet. Yep, in my sleep-deprived-addled brain I just forgot about those. It's like when you're nursing your newborn, and you wake up and wonder if you left her on the changing table...that's what planning a wedding is like. Prepare to lose things!
The wedding pictures are coming, the wedding pictures are coming! Now first let me say, proudly, I am on Facebook. It took three prompts for me to join over a year ago: first, a newly divorced book club friend told me I should and sent me the invite; then my daughter the bride said I'd love it; and finally, my sister-in-law was already on Facebook. The beautiful woman from Holly Springs, Mississippi who bravely drove me to the ceremony - the wrong way - with her daughter and grandbaby. If she was on it, and I adore her, I too could play this solipsistic game! A very good friend from NJ said she's "...not allowed to creep on Facebook." It's not her kids who were opposed, it was the hubby. Now, even she is on The Facebook! The other day my MIL, who calls it "Facelift," said to me, "Where does your blog go?" And I realized, at some point technology will spin beyond me, but for now, I'd better keep trying to keep up! So wedding candids via friends on Facebook have been trickling in. The archivist of our Big Chill group even sent us a great CD of his photos! He memorialized Woodstock, and the reunion, and many of our Thanksgiving dinners.
And now our wonderful wedding photographer, Jack Looney (you can check out his blog here), has finished jpeging, uploading, choosing the black and white and printing and all the rest of the things photographers do to create a final product. He had a one week beach vacation right after the wedding so it's taken a bit longer, but I can't complain. I loved working with him, he is becoming a best buddy. He was the exact right match for the Couple. My daughter was instantly at ease and reassured by his very presence. His assistant is in a band, so I can't wait to see the shots of the Bourbon Family and my son with instruments. I'm waiting in the same way I waited for the envelope from the colleges my children had their hearts set on. He will mail the CD and some prints out to the newlyweds tomorrow and we'll meet him at the end of the week too, over coffee, then we can spend the weekend with the married couple phone-oogling over them together. Don't worry, I'll post the best right here too. On this Wedding Wilderness spot I can't seem to give up, just yet. Well, I knew you'd want to know what happened to the napkins.
And next week, it's Vegas Baby!
The wedding pictures are coming, the wedding pictures are coming! Now first let me say, proudly, I am on Facebook. It took three prompts for me to join over a year ago: first, a newly divorced book club friend told me I should and sent me the invite; then my daughter the bride said I'd love it; and finally, my sister-in-law was already on Facebook. The beautiful woman from Holly Springs, Mississippi who bravely drove me to the ceremony - the wrong way - with her daughter and grandbaby. If she was on it, and I adore her, I too could play this solipsistic game! A very good friend from NJ said she's "...not allowed to creep on Facebook." It's not her kids who were opposed, it was the hubby. Now, even she is on The Facebook! The other day my MIL, who calls it "Facelift," said to me, "Where does your blog go?" And I realized, at some point technology will spin beyond me, but for now, I'd better keep trying to keep up! So wedding candids via friends on Facebook have been trickling in. The archivist of our Big Chill group even sent us a great CD of his photos! He memorialized Woodstock, and the reunion, and many of our Thanksgiving dinners.
And now our wonderful wedding photographer, Jack Looney (you can check out his blog here), has finished jpeging, uploading, choosing the black and white and printing and all the rest of the things photographers do to create a final product. He had a one week beach vacation right after the wedding so it's taken a bit longer, but I can't complain. I loved working with him, he is becoming a best buddy. He was the exact right match for the Couple. My daughter was instantly at ease and reassured by his very presence. His assistant is in a band, so I can't wait to see the shots of the Bourbon Family and my son with instruments. I'm waiting in the same way I waited for the envelope from the colleges my children had their hearts set on. He will mail the CD and some prints out to the newlyweds tomorrow and we'll meet him at the end of the week too, over coffee, then we can spend the weekend with the married couple phone-oogling over them together. Don't worry, I'll post the best right here too. On this Wedding Wilderness spot I can't seem to give up, just yet. Well, I knew you'd want to know what happened to the napkins.
And next week, it's Vegas Baby!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
The things they kept from me
My esteemed 86 year old MIL has often said to me, "Always tell me, don't ever keep things from me." It is her way of holding off old age, and letting me know she needs to be kept in the loop. She is a marriage counselor by trade, still seeing clients. When I married her son, she took me aside and let me know that if anything goes wrong, she'll always be on my side. Nice. Of course, there have been little things we kept from her over the years, things that could wait until a crisis was resolved, so that she wouldn't worry needlessly. But isn't all worrying needless? Well, not if you're in the business of listening to neurotics all day long; in her case, worry equals a living. Anyway, I guess my MIL and her son, my dear husband, didn't want to worry me about a few things over wedding weekend.
Oh and Bob's best friend Al, a member of the Big Chill group, was keeping a secret from all of us. The day before the wedding, his mother died in an assisted living facility in FL. This 85 year old woman was a dear friend of my MIL, and like a surrogate mom to my husband from grammar school on into college. Al attended our wedding with his wife and two of his adult children and their dates, and never breathed a word of his loss until calling us on his way home. Now I look at some of the candids rolling in, and I can see the pain in his eyes. But he didn't want to "spoil" the Big Day. What a blessing he is. Amidst middle of the night ER visits, and a dog being bit by a copperhead (oh, it wasn't a bee bite, we found the dead snake in the garden), he thought we had drama enough and kept his secret. His mother was to be cremated, and the memorial service would be in a few weeks. The last time I saw his dear mother, last summer at a grandson's wedding, she pulled me aside, looked me straight in the eyes, and said "Honey, you're the best thing to happen to that family." And you knew she meant every word she said; I loved that lady.
When I called my MIL to tell her the news about her friend, it was very tough. She ended up in her cardiologist's office and came out with some changes in her meds. Then she told me that she'd been feeling bad for weeks.... She didn't want to worry me, otoh, she also didn't want to drop dead at the wedding! Ah life. I was once told that a classic anxiety situation is standing on stage to sing, but you also really have to pee. What do you do? This is not a dilemma in my book. I would just go pee. I guess I'm too pragmatic to get myself a prescription for anti-anxiety meds! Although, I have to admit I was thinking of asking my doc for some sleeping pills leading up to the Big Day; and in retrospect, maybe I should have.
Once, a long time ago, my husband wallpapered our kitchen. He waited a few days, and then showed me where he had hung the tiny pattern upside down in one spot. This falls under the heading of, "Things I wish he'd never told me." A few days after our daughter's wedding, he said to me, "Should I tell you about a small glitch?" And of course I looked at him like I was about to murder him, but how could I say "No?" He didn't know what happened, but we were four napkins short. I started going over the ER visit/rehearsal dinner day, hadn't I brought up all the blue napkins from the basement for a final hand-off with the rosemary and twine to the wedding planner after arranging for my brother's hospital discharge and my dog's pet sitter emergency vet back-up plan? How could 4, out of 130 napkins disappear? And we only had 108 guests, which equals only 104 blue napkins, which means we were missing 26 napkins!? He told me the caterer just used some white napkins they happened to have with them, nobody noticed. Don't you just love it when guys say things like that? Nobody noticed! I went over this in my mind for a few minutes, and then I just let it go. Just like that. It was over and done and I'm not here on this earth to impress anyone.
My daughter was in her bride/zen mode on the Big Day. She was the opposite of a bridezilla. After trying to battle a spider, she had her priorities straight. And she taught me a lesson that day - to stay in the moment. I'm trying to stay here, in the moment, now that the hoopla is done, and the chuppah is down. And a funny thing happened. A lovely woman who writes a MOB blog, asked if I'd like to guest write sometimes for her. And I said, "Yes." I'm not sure if I'll continue on here, but you may want to watch for me there, writing about all the small moments on this journey. http://notmymotherswedding.com/blog/
Thanks for reading!
Oh and Bob's best friend Al, a member of the Big Chill group, was keeping a secret from all of us. The day before the wedding, his mother died in an assisted living facility in FL. This 85 year old woman was a dear friend of my MIL, and like a surrogate mom to my husband from grammar school on into college. Al attended our wedding with his wife and two of his adult children and their dates, and never breathed a word of his loss until calling us on his way home. Now I look at some of the candids rolling in, and I can see the pain in his eyes. But he didn't want to "spoil" the Big Day. What a blessing he is. Amidst middle of the night ER visits, and a dog being bit by a copperhead (oh, it wasn't a bee bite, we found the dead snake in the garden), he thought we had drama enough and kept his secret. His mother was to be cremated, and the memorial service would be in a few weeks. The last time I saw his dear mother, last summer at a grandson's wedding, she pulled me aside, looked me straight in the eyes, and said "Honey, you're the best thing to happen to that family." And you knew she meant every word she said; I loved that lady.
When I called my MIL to tell her the news about her friend, it was very tough. She ended up in her cardiologist's office and came out with some changes in her meds. Then she told me that she'd been feeling bad for weeks.... She didn't want to worry me, otoh, she also didn't want to drop dead at the wedding! Ah life. I was once told that a classic anxiety situation is standing on stage to sing, but you also really have to pee. What do you do? This is not a dilemma in my book. I would just go pee. I guess I'm too pragmatic to get myself a prescription for anti-anxiety meds! Although, I have to admit I was thinking of asking my doc for some sleeping pills leading up to the Big Day; and in retrospect, maybe I should have.
Once, a long time ago, my husband wallpapered our kitchen. He waited a few days, and then showed me where he had hung the tiny pattern upside down in one spot. This falls under the heading of, "Things I wish he'd never told me." A few days after our daughter's wedding, he said to me, "Should I tell you about a small glitch?" And of course I looked at him like I was about to murder him, but how could I say "No?" He didn't know what happened, but we were four napkins short. I started going over the ER visit/rehearsal dinner day, hadn't I brought up all the blue napkins from the basement for a final hand-off with the rosemary and twine to the wedding planner after arranging for my brother's hospital discharge and my dog's pet sitter emergency vet back-up plan? How could 4, out of 130 napkins disappear? And we only had 108 guests, which equals only 104 blue napkins, which means we were missing 26 napkins!? He told me the caterer just used some white napkins they happened to have with them, nobody noticed. Don't you just love it when guys say things like that? Nobody noticed! I went over this in my mind for a few minutes, and then I just let it go. Just like that. It was over and done and I'm not here on this earth to impress anyone.
My daughter was in her bride/zen mode on the Big Day. She was the opposite of a bridezilla. After trying to battle a spider, she had her priorities straight. And she taught me a lesson that day - to stay in the moment. I'm trying to stay here, in the moment, now that the hoopla is done, and the chuppah is down. And a funny thing happened. A lovely woman who writes a MOB blog, asked if I'd like to guest write sometimes for her. And I said, "Yes." I'm not sure if I'll continue on here, but you may want to watch for me there, writing about all the small moments on this journey. http://notmymotherswedding.com/blog/
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
I'll know when...
It's over. The whole wedding weekend was a great success. The bride and groom couldn't have been happier. I found I learned something, and maybe this will help any future MOBs out there. Remember to stay focused on your daughter; it's her day and she is under even more stress than you are. My girl had this supposedly easy rotation starting in September, toxicology. No call, nine to five, just doing consults....but two days before she left for the wedding, she was running a code on a three year old who was bit by a brown recluse spider. In emergency medicine, losing a child takes its toll on the whole hospital staff. This was her first loss.
The next night, I'm having barbecue at my house for the early arrivals. My older brother promptly walks in, and asks to lay down in the guest room. From there, we made our way to the ER until 3 am and then he was admitted to rule out a stroke (it wasn't). Ever the funny and likable psychologist, when the nurse asked him, "When was the last time you felt normal?" he turned to me and gave me the look! I had to explain, there is a large spectrum of normal when you're a psychologist. Thank God for my step-brother from ST Louis and my NYC sister. They tended to him once he was discharged from the hospital, only suffering from vertigo but unable to walk. A NY cousin kept saying, "Better it couldn't be," and then repeated a little too much to the new in-laws "How impressed we are with your family...." No one tripped in the field and sprained an ankle. The wine kept coming and the food was divine, particularly the crab cake appetizers and of course the shrimp and grits. Oh and best of all, the hurricane brought cooler temperatures, with sun, a slight breeze and a high of 79! Perfection.
Did our minister/Grandfather Hudson have everyone in the palm of his hand, telling personal stories that included not being able to find a VCR to play the old film our daughter made when she was little? Yes, our wedding planner wants to hire him! Did our daughter actually whisper her future husband's name right before walking down the path past the big wooden apple and tell him she may need to sit down once they get up there? Yes, and he said, "Don't worry baby, I'll know when you're going to faint. Your eyes will roll back in your head and you'll hit the floor." Cracked us up so much, we had to stifle laughter instead of tears on the promenade. And did I hitch a ride to the wedding with my sister-in-law and her daughter and new grandbaby, getting lost and arriving a little late? Yes, but we got there before the bride and the officiant!
So when people started trying to give me presents before the ceremony, I said, "Find the wedding planner." When they asked for directions, I said, "They are on the itinerary in the gift bag in your room." I let my cousin take charge of the hospitality suite (and she did a great job btw) and I found I could rely on my siblings to pick up and take care of my sick brother so that I could attend the wonderful rehearsal dinner complete with a powerpoint trip down memory lane, and the spa/pool lunch with the bride the day before the wedding. I had a big chill friend's son pick up the Whole Foods brunch on Monday. Oh yeah, and I left the management of my old dog's swollen snout (bee bite?) to our faithful pet sitter. Fog happens.
The day before the wedding my husband handed me a blue bird feather he found on the lawn. Feathers mean hope to me, and he said everything would be alright. When I opened the curtain in the hotel, I saw two hot air balloons coming over the trees. My daughter has lift off. The couple may not know where they're going next, after the chief year, but they have an abiding love for each other.
The next night, I'm having barbecue at my house for the early arrivals. My older brother promptly walks in, and asks to lay down in the guest room. From there, we made our way to the ER until 3 am and then he was admitted to rule out a stroke (it wasn't). Ever the funny and likable psychologist, when the nurse asked him, "When was the last time you felt normal?" he turned to me and gave me the look! I had to explain, there is a large spectrum of normal when you're a psychologist. Thank God for my step-brother from ST Louis and my NYC sister. They tended to him once he was discharged from the hospital, only suffering from vertigo but unable to walk. A NY cousin kept saying, "Better it couldn't be," and then repeated a little too much to the new in-laws "How impressed we are with your family...." No one tripped in the field and sprained an ankle. The wine kept coming and the food was divine, particularly the crab cake appetizers and of course the shrimp and grits. Oh and best of all, the hurricane brought cooler temperatures, with sun, a slight breeze and a high of 79! Perfection.
Did our minister/Grandfather Hudson have everyone in the palm of his hand, telling personal stories that included not being able to find a VCR to play the old film our daughter made when she was little? Yes, our wedding planner wants to hire him! Did our daughter actually whisper her future husband's name right before walking down the path past the big wooden apple and tell him she may need to sit down once they get up there? Yes, and he said, "Don't worry baby, I'll know when you're going to faint. Your eyes will roll back in your head and you'll hit the floor." Cracked us up so much, we had to stifle laughter instead of tears on the promenade. And did I hitch a ride to the wedding with my sister-in-law and her daughter and new grandbaby, getting lost and arriving a little late? Yes, but we got there before the bride and the officiant!
So when people started trying to give me presents before the ceremony, I said, "Find the wedding planner." When they asked for directions, I said, "They are on the itinerary in the gift bag in your room." I let my cousin take charge of the hospitality suite (and she did a great job btw) and I found I could rely on my siblings to pick up and take care of my sick brother so that I could attend the wonderful rehearsal dinner complete with a powerpoint trip down memory lane, and the spa/pool lunch with the bride the day before the wedding. I had a big chill friend's son pick up the Whole Foods brunch on Monday. Oh yeah, and I left the management of my old dog's swollen snout (bee bite?) to our faithful pet sitter. Fog happens.
The day before the wedding my husband handed me a blue bird feather he found on the lawn. Feathers mean hope to me, and he said everything would be alright. When I opened the curtain in the hotel, I saw two hot air balloons coming over the trees. My daughter has lift off. The couple may not know where they're going next, after the chief year, but they have an abiding love for each other.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Earl, Fiona, and what could become Gaston?
Ah weather...there's a very inspiring prayer that's been attributed to a Protestant cleric, Reinhold Niebuhr - "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference." So today I'm praying for acceptance, because weather falls into that category. If a hurricane, any one of the three listed above which sound more like a Disney animated film than a storm, happens to land on our wedding, we have a back-up plan. Everyone will go to the rooftop terrace in town and huddle in the small rehearsal space. There is a kitchen there, in the back, and so if our caterer can make it, we'll have food. If not, we'll have our just desserts!
Yesterday I was crying in Whole Foods. Not because I was losing a daughter, or gaining a son. Really, that's pretty lame, after all, you never really lose a child. They are always there in the back of your mind or the pit of your stomach, rummaging around at the most inopportune times. You could be chopping carrots and wondering why your son is getting headaches. You could be watering the garden and wishing your daughter would highlight her hair! They even creep into your dreams, these adult children. But when my soon-to-be- bride called me in Whole Foods, to tell me she had been offered the Chief Resident position next year in Emergency Medicine, I was just beaming with pride in front of the bakery section. I could hear her elation over the phone, her joy, and I basked in her splendor. What an honor, how marvelous of her attendings to think she has the right stuff - but of course she does, she is my girl who stands with hands on hips! And I said, "But did you tell him you're getting married this week and want to have a baby this year?" She laughed, "No, Mom," she said. I wanted to hold her, and since I couldn't over these damnable cell phones, I gave her a virtual hug and hung up and promptly started crying over the pecan chocolate chip cookies.
I asked my husband if he'd still love me if I had a meltdown and started crying randomly in grocery stores. A couple of years ago, after losing my sense of smell due to a bad cold (ah, the virulent perks of being married to an ER physician), my nose started sniffing once again in the coffee aisle of Harris Tetter. Before that, if I could smell anything, like maybe a skunk, it smelled like rotten meat. My ENT doc said this happens - don't you just love the Martha's Vineyard car sticker that says "Fog Happens" - and that sometimes cranial nerves will regrow. Well, I'd given up hope since it had been a year and a half and 20 days... Food tasted like warm or cold mush; life almost wasn't worth living. So when the smell of coffee wafted up around me, I just started bawling. Just like that. I'm Irish, I'll cry when I'm happy and hold a grudge for forever! You try losing your sense of smell; I was one happy coffee shopper.
So they will both be Chiefs next year; the groom in Medicine, and applying for fellowships, and his bride in that specialty where every virus around will come home to him! Maybe they will land back in my state? Maybe not. But this year falls into the category of something I wouldn't change for the world!
Yesterday I was crying in Whole Foods. Not because I was losing a daughter, or gaining a son. Really, that's pretty lame, after all, you never really lose a child. They are always there in the back of your mind or the pit of your stomach, rummaging around at the most inopportune times. You could be chopping carrots and wondering why your son is getting headaches. You could be watering the garden and wishing your daughter would highlight her hair! They even creep into your dreams, these adult children. But when my soon-to-be- bride called me in Whole Foods, to tell me she had been offered the Chief Resident position next year in Emergency Medicine, I was just beaming with pride in front of the bakery section. I could hear her elation over the phone, her joy, and I basked in her splendor. What an honor, how marvelous of her attendings to think she has the right stuff - but of course she does, she is my girl who stands with hands on hips! And I said, "But did you tell him you're getting married this week and want to have a baby this year?" She laughed, "No, Mom," she said. I wanted to hold her, and since I couldn't over these damnable cell phones, I gave her a virtual hug and hung up and promptly started crying over the pecan chocolate chip cookies.
I asked my husband if he'd still love me if I had a meltdown and started crying randomly in grocery stores. A couple of years ago, after losing my sense of smell due to a bad cold (ah, the virulent perks of being married to an ER physician), my nose started sniffing once again in the coffee aisle of Harris Tetter. Before that, if I could smell anything, like maybe a skunk, it smelled like rotten meat. My ENT doc said this happens - don't you just love the Martha's Vineyard car sticker that says "Fog Happens" - and that sometimes cranial nerves will regrow. Well, I'd given up hope since it had been a year and a half and 20 days... Food tasted like warm or cold mush; life almost wasn't worth living. So when the smell of coffee wafted up around me, I just started bawling. Just like that. I'm Irish, I'll cry when I'm happy and hold a grudge for forever! You try losing your sense of smell; I was one happy coffee shopper.
So they will both be Chiefs next year; the groom in Medicine, and applying for fellowships, and his bride in that specialty where every virus around will come home to him! Maybe they will land back in my state? Maybe not. But this year falls into the category of something I wouldn't change for the world!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Made in the USA
I received one of those long forwarded lists from a very good friend of mine back in NJ. She doesn't usually send me these things, not like my half-brother in Germany. He is in his 80's, retired air force who divorced his American wife and married a German woman, and usually sends me a few of these annoying things every week. Mostly they are right-wing wacky stuff, sometimes tearful, sentimental servicemen and women serving in hot places stuff. Every now and again, particularly the ones with pictures, will make me LOL. But to my utter amazement, on penalty of some catastrophe, I manage to delete them then and there. I stop the chain and will stand by any virtual consequences. But this one, from my friend, made me think. Maybe you've seen it?
"One light bulb at a time" was the header. It's about how one grasshopper on a train track won't slow down a train, but a billion would; it's about boycotting goods that are not made in this country. And how every little thing we buy is made somewhere else - even the GE light bulbs are made in Mexico. But, if you look at some generic brands, they are cheaper and sometimes made right here in the good ole USA. Well I don't know about you, but I've been doing this for years, looking at the small print...reading expiration dates...figuring out the best deal on garbage bags on the shelf through some simple mathematical equation, seeing between the lines of things. It's something we women call existing, or sometimes shopping. Brand loyalty, like many quaint things, is a thing of the past. Well, except for Tide. I still depend on Tide.
Last year I was going to visit my brother (this is another brother) and his beautiful wife in MS. They live in a wonderfully historic antebellum mansion. It's called Walter Place and is open for a Pilgrimage in April. I had just helped my daughter move to TN and my son's band was supposed to play in Oxford. Their daughter was scheduled to be married there in a few months, and so I looked for an appropriate gift to bring along. Mother taught me well, always bring a gift in hand when visiting. I looked in Macy's for a real picture album, since I know my brother is not computer savvy and likes to hold something in his hands. I found the best bridal picture album! Etched mirror, white satin, the works. NY designer - Kate Spade (check). Company - Lenox (check) - and then in tiny print "Made in China." I've told this story many times. Sometimes, they will try and mess with you and say it is assembled here, when really everything is made somewhere else. Like our cars, for example.
So I tried to find twine yesterday, yes twine that was made in America. Twine will be my elegant/rustic way of tying a sprig of rosemary around the napkins at the reception. It's impossible. It seems jute is made and spun in Pakistan or India....can you imagine how much it must cost to make it and ship those small round brown balls here for one or two dollars each? Was I supporting child labor? We will have locally farmed chicken, maybe Gulf Coast shrimp, but twine from Bollywood?? Feeling guilty, I got a response from Brian in Germany. He said we should make jobs south of the border, so they stay there and don't come across our borders to work illegally. But then, wouldn't we be importing more stuff from Mexico? I just read a quote on facebook that said,
"One light bulb at a time" was the header. It's about how one grasshopper on a train track won't slow down a train, but a billion would; it's about boycotting goods that are not made in this country. And how every little thing we buy is made somewhere else - even the GE light bulbs are made in Mexico. But, if you look at some generic brands, they are cheaper and sometimes made right here in the good ole USA. Well I don't know about you, but I've been doing this for years, looking at the small print...reading expiration dates...figuring out the best deal on garbage bags on the shelf through some simple mathematical equation, seeing between the lines of things. It's something we women call existing, or sometimes shopping. Brand loyalty, like many quaint things, is a thing of the past. Well, except for Tide. I still depend on Tide.
Last year I was going to visit my brother (this is another brother) and his beautiful wife in MS. They live in a wonderfully historic antebellum mansion. It's called Walter Place and is open for a Pilgrimage in April. I had just helped my daughter move to TN and my son's band was supposed to play in Oxford. Their daughter was scheduled to be married there in a few months, and so I looked for an appropriate gift to bring along. Mother taught me well, always bring a gift in hand when visiting. I looked in Macy's for a real picture album, since I know my brother is not computer savvy and likes to hold something in his hands. I found the best bridal picture album! Etched mirror, white satin, the works. NY designer - Kate Spade (check). Company - Lenox (check) - and then in tiny print "Made in China." I've told this story many times. Sometimes, they will try and mess with you and say it is assembled here, when really everything is made somewhere else. Like our cars, for example.
So I tried to find twine yesterday, yes twine that was made in America. Twine will be my elegant/rustic way of tying a sprig of rosemary around the napkins at the reception. It's impossible. It seems jute is made and spun in Pakistan or India....can you imagine how much it must cost to make it and ship those small round brown balls here for one or two dollars each? Was I supporting child labor? We will have locally farmed chicken, maybe Gulf Coast shrimp, but twine from Bollywood?? Feeling guilty, I got a response from Brian in Germany. He said we should make jobs south of the border, so they stay there and don't come across our borders to work illegally. But then, wouldn't we be importing more stuff from Mexico? I just read a quote on facebook that said,
Families are like fudge....mostly sweet with a few nuts!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Home Stretch
Every day the UPS brown guy, or gal, leaves a little something at my door. Last night it was four big cartons that were as light as a feather. Can you guess what it is? Well, my attempt to order this confection online failed, so I did it old school and picked up the phone. Lo and behold, they offered me a 20% discount because it was for a wedding!! Now you won't find that happening very often, on the land line no less. All I had to do was email them a copy of the invite or 'save the date,' which I promptly did. In my zeal to make this as local and sustainable a wedding as possible, I ordered pickle flavored potato chips from Route 11, a very eco-friendly and just plain nice company a few miles up the road. These snack size packages will be part of the welcoming gift bags at the hotel for our guests. There is a store in town that specializes in gifts from our fair state, including peanuts of all shapes and degrees of smokiness, that will pack and deliver gift bags to the hotels for free. And that's all I'll be saying about that, since some of you reading this will be attending the wedding and I wouldn't want to give away any wedding secrets.
Last night I had a dream about a dress. It had lace and was being fitted by a tailor. When I woke up I said, "Amen." Can't remember what I was amening, but I can tell you it's been a long time since I've had any trace of religion in my dreams. We've had a rainy spell, so maybe I was amening the rain since it means no more mornings spent hauling hoses around the yard. Or maybe I'm just grateful that my daughter seems happy lately on the phone. There was a period when she wasn't sleeping too well; her residency keeps her on swing shifts so I never know if she's working in one of three possible time zones. This morning she was brushing her teeth while talking to me, on purpose...I thought she had worked the 3 to midnight shift. But no, she worked all night and had just gotten home; I was about to take my shower and start my day and she was going to bed. It's almost cruel if you ask me, to keep changing their circadian rhythms. It would be better to just put them on one time zone for a few months and then gradually change them to the next. That's the way the police do it, and any other job that requires 24/7 coverage. Residents only get one day off between changing a shift to adjust. It's almost a form of psychological torture.
I've decided to set up a table in the basement and put all the various boxes with wedding paraphernalia downstairs. That way I'll be forced to organize all of it, and I won't be tripping over it in our "not so big" house. The potato chips are in the front hall, the DIY fan programs are on the kitchen table, and the assortment of china and fabric that will become tiered serving platters and decorations are in the living room. My Beehive event planner is afraid I'll be folding napkins the day of, and wants me to delegate. You see we bought the periwinkle napkins for 50 cents each at a Plow and Hearth sale months ago, and my plan is to tie each with twine and insert a twig of rosemary. I have plenty of rosemary in the garden; it translates to "dew of the sea," and symbolizes "remembrance and fidelity." Lavender will also figure heavily in our flavors and decor, and it means "loyalty." Even the orchids I ordered for the rooftop terrace will be lavender colored. They should be arriving by UPS early next week so I guess they'll go on the porch...I really want my daughter to remember this wedding! They forget so much, these kids.
It's the last two weeks, so I'm switching into zen mode. Someone told me recently if the bride is smiling and happy, the whole thing will be a success and everyone will enjoy the wedding. I love getting wedding advice and I'm determined to say "Yes" to everything, to take life as it comes. There is no reason to fight about tents, or worry about colors...maybe when it's all over, I could become a motivational speaker?
Last night I had a dream about a dress. It had lace and was being fitted by a tailor. When I woke up I said, "Amen." Can't remember what I was amening, but I can tell you it's been a long time since I've had any trace of religion in my dreams. We've had a rainy spell, so maybe I was amening the rain since it means no more mornings spent hauling hoses around the yard. Or maybe I'm just grateful that my daughter seems happy lately on the phone. There was a period when she wasn't sleeping too well; her residency keeps her on swing shifts so I never know if she's working in one of three possible time zones. This morning she was brushing her teeth while talking to me, on purpose...I thought she had worked the 3 to midnight shift. But no, she worked all night and had just gotten home; I was about to take my shower and start my day and she was going to bed. It's almost cruel if you ask me, to keep changing their circadian rhythms. It would be better to just put them on one time zone for a few months and then gradually change them to the next. That's the way the police do it, and any other job that requires 24/7 coverage. Residents only get one day off between changing a shift to adjust. It's almost a form of psychological torture.
I've decided to set up a table in the basement and put all the various boxes with wedding paraphernalia downstairs. That way I'll be forced to organize all of it, and I won't be tripping over it in our "not so big" house. The potato chips are in the front hall, the DIY fan programs are on the kitchen table, and the assortment of china and fabric that will become tiered serving platters and decorations are in the living room. My Beehive event planner is afraid I'll be folding napkins the day of, and wants me to delegate. You see we bought the periwinkle napkins for 50 cents each at a Plow and Hearth sale months ago, and my plan is to tie each with twine and insert a twig of rosemary. I have plenty of rosemary in the garden; it translates to "dew of the sea," and symbolizes "remembrance and fidelity." Lavender will also figure heavily in our flavors and decor, and it means "loyalty." Even the orchids I ordered for the rooftop terrace will be lavender colored. They should be arriving by UPS early next week so I guess they'll go on the porch...I really want my daughter to remember this wedding! They forget so much, these kids.
It's the last two weeks, so I'm switching into zen mode. Someone told me recently if the bride is smiling and happy, the whole thing will be a success and everyone will enjoy the wedding. I love getting wedding advice and I'm determined to say "Yes" to everything, to take life as it comes. There is no reason to fight about tents, or worry about colors...maybe when it's all over, I could become a motivational speaker?
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Playing Dress Up
Isn't it funny how time stands still in a department store? There are no windows so it's like a casino, you never know if the sun is going up or coming down. I have to admit, I miss the big department store days of NJ where we lived within a fifteen minute drive of three huge malls, including one that was newly built in Freehold with a Nordstrom. The Navy Dress came in the mail yesterday, and wonder of wonder, it fits! But it needs to be shortened to tea length, and the straps need adjusting so I high tailed it to the tailor. The straps are see-through silk crepe, so on the way home I stopped at our one and only indoor mall's department store last night, Belk, to buy a strapless bra. The bra cost almost as much as the dress but, hallelujah, they were having a sale!
Let me preface this tale with the book I just finished reading, "The Thoughtful Dresser," by Linda Grant. I read an article about it in a US Air magazine; it was about finding one red high heeled shoe in the Auschwitz museum's shoe display. This is a plexiglass box filled with all the discarded shoes of 25,000 Jewish people who came through the gates toward a final solution in one day. It is of course a symbolic display, and it got the author thinking about the woman who would wear such totally non-utilitarian shoes on her journey. She postulates that she must have loved them very much. Grant is a journalist who was short-listed for the Booker Prize and so I read this non-fiction book about what makes us women tick when it comes to clothes...and shoes. One thing I learned is that the women's movement really started with the flappers (aka my dear Mother). They were not afraid to show their legs, and ask for what they wanted. And then after WWII, we have the birth of the big department stores, like Bamberger's and Macy's, and they became a safe place for women to travel alone and seek the company of other women for shopping and dining. Men had golf, and 'men only' bars and clubs - we had the department store and nunneries. Before this, women pretty much stayed at home, or on the farm, didn't drive and depended on salesmen who would come door to door or a local fabric shop and seamstress for their clothing.
Well, last night I got that department store friendly sisterly feeling. The undergarment area was literally buzzing with women buying 'two for one' and all manner of spanks and nighties. They reminded me of the butterflies I watch sashaying around my flowers. Once I mentioned the wedding, we were off to the races. Women of all ages had something astute to tell me about weddings. I'm also concurrently reading about Marie Antoinette who got into alot of trouble for not wearing a corset; so I wondered aloud how different this new shapewear is to the girdles we flower children never ever wore. And I lamented about looking for the dress; "Why can't a designer make a dress for the average sized American woman that doesn't make her look like a stuffed sausage or a cupcake?" Really, I'd like to know. So any Parson's graduate out there, listen up! We are not all size 2!! We women of a certain age are mostly double digits; not plus, not uber thin - hello normal!
And on my way out, I passed the make-up counters. Now I used to hate those pushy make-uppy women who tried to tackle you in the aisle and spray you with cologne. But I thought to myself, buy some eyebrow pencil! There will be pictures taken at the wedding that will outlive me! And before you know it, I made an appointment to come back to Belk today and have a makeover!! I luxuriated in my time spent on the stool this morning, under harsh fluorescent lights and bought way too much Bobbi Brown make-up. But I now have eyebrows! Oh and plenty of undergarments!
Let me preface this tale with the book I just finished reading, "The Thoughtful Dresser," by Linda Grant. I read an article about it in a US Air magazine; it was about finding one red high heeled shoe in the Auschwitz museum's shoe display. This is a plexiglass box filled with all the discarded shoes of 25,000 Jewish people who came through the gates toward a final solution in one day. It is of course a symbolic display, and it got the author thinking about the woman who would wear such totally non-utilitarian shoes on her journey. She postulates that she must have loved them very much. Grant is a journalist who was short-listed for the Booker Prize and so I read this non-fiction book about what makes us women tick when it comes to clothes...and shoes. One thing I learned is that the women's movement really started with the flappers (aka my dear Mother). They were not afraid to show their legs, and ask for what they wanted. And then after WWII, we have the birth of the big department stores, like Bamberger's and Macy's, and they became a safe place for women to travel alone and seek the company of other women for shopping and dining. Men had golf, and 'men only' bars and clubs - we had the department store and nunneries. Before this, women pretty much stayed at home, or on the farm, didn't drive and depended on salesmen who would come door to door or a local fabric shop and seamstress for their clothing.
Well, last night I got that department store friendly sisterly feeling. The undergarment area was literally buzzing with women buying 'two for one' and all manner of spanks and nighties. They reminded me of the butterflies I watch sashaying around my flowers. Once I mentioned the wedding, we were off to the races. Women of all ages had something astute to tell me about weddings. I'm also concurrently reading about Marie Antoinette who got into alot of trouble for not wearing a corset; so I wondered aloud how different this new shapewear is to the girdles we flower children never ever wore. And I lamented about looking for the dress; "Why can't a designer make a dress for the average sized American woman that doesn't make her look like a stuffed sausage or a cupcake?" Really, I'd like to know. So any Parson's graduate out there, listen up! We are not all size 2!! We women of a certain age are mostly double digits; not plus, not uber thin - hello normal!
And on my way out, I passed the make-up counters. Now I used to hate those pushy make-uppy women who tried to tackle you in the aisle and spray you with cologne. But I thought to myself, buy some eyebrow pencil! There will be pictures taken at the wedding that will outlive me! And before you know it, I made an appointment to come back to Belk today and have a makeover!! I luxuriated in my time spent on the stool this morning, under harsh fluorescent lights and bought way too much Bobbi Brown make-up. But I now have eyebrows! Oh and plenty of undergarments!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Daisy Chain Days
We're coming down the home stretch. Nobody warned me about how much time and energy would be required to "spruce up" the homestead for our Big Day. Even though the ceremony will be on the mountain, and the dinner will be, well either up on the mountain or on a rooftop, we'll still be entertaining at home to beat the band on our holiday weekend wedding. Some people are coming early, and I don't mean Friday. And also our daughter asked us to host the morning-after brunch at home. Of course I said, "Of course, Sweetheart!" Wouldn't you? My MIL had wanted to do the brunch at the hotel, so I was sorry to disappoint her. She asked if she could help me with it, and all I could think to say was, "Do you think I'll be cooking?" I hate when my fuse gets short, which is pretty much all the time now. My plan is to raid Whole Foods for quiche and croissants. Meanwhile, I'm spending most mornings glowing from hours spent outside in 98 degree heat.
You see we had to refurbish the landscape and bring our little house up to its beauty code. Some trees and shrubs were lost this past winter when we experienced more snow than I've ever seen in the Berkshires (well, almost). And now, after a prolonged drought, some others are looking pretty scraggly. A neighbor told me that it can take two to three years for their root systems to get established and since we built here a little over two years ago and used an unscrupulous gardening center to do some planting, it was time to drag out the dead and plant something new. Nothing like a big event to get your DIY on. I had a moment of multi-tasking synthesis, and managed to order all the plants and shrubs I needed over the phone while simultaneously waiting for a repairman at our investment home. Then I went over and approved all the gorgeous things Heidi picked out at Ivy Nursery (the most wonderful nursery ever!) and arranged for delivery: 3 dogwood trees, 1 rhododendron; 5 azaleas; 2 hollies; and a golden cypress. Well and some little perennials too. Every other day I'm soaking every single tree we planted, and running a sprinkler on the azalea/holly grove. I can only hope our well holds out.
If you happen to have a DIY bride, and I know of at least one reader who loved my idea of the fan program with the family tree, my daughter sent me the best site ever. Well, maybe next to Etsy which she swears by and is ordering all her wedding gifts on. It's Daisy Days andyou can find all different kinds of fan programs that they will be only too glad to print, or if you're like me, you can order the DIY paper stock and sticks and prepare to put your printer into overdrive. Shall I confess that I lost two whole hours looking at A2 card stock paper until I found this site? I wanted to actually use a really cute local store, Rock Paper Scissors, and they were very helpful, but the cost ranged from thousands to a low of $600 for a custom order. For a quarter of that cost, we'd rather do it ourselves. It is a job I am saving for the maid of honor, my surrogate daughter, who is coming very early to help. Here's a little secret that my MIL would probably not like to get out, I ordered my dress online! I joined The Knot online community, I know a little late, but, and was directed to a store with the perfect MOB dress....oh, and don't get me started on the wonders of Pay Pal!!
You see we had to refurbish the landscape and bring our little house up to its beauty code. Some trees and shrubs were lost this past winter when we experienced more snow than I've ever seen in the Berkshires (well, almost). And now, after a prolonged drought, some others are looking pretty scraggly. A neighbor told me that it can take two to three years for their root systems to get established and since we built here a little over two years ago and used an unscrupulous gardening center to do some planting, it was time to drag out the dead and plant something new. Nothing like a big event to get your DIY on. I had a moment of multi-tasking synthesis, and managed to order all the plants and shrubs I needed over the phone while simultaneously waiting for a repairman at our investment home. Then I went over and approved all the gorgeous things Heidi picked out at Ivy Nursery (the most wonderful nursery ever!) and arranged for delivery: 3 dogwood trees, 1 rhododendron; 5 azaleas; 2 hollies; and a golden cypress. Well and some little perennials too. Every other day I'm soaking every single tree we planted, and running a sprinkler on the azalea/holly grove. I can only hope our well holds out.
If you happen to have a DIY bride, and I know of at least one reader who loved my idea of the fan program with the family tree, my daughter sent me the best site ever. Well, maybe next to Etsy which she swears by and is ordering all her wedding gifts on. It's Daisy Days and
Friday, August 6, 2010
It's Good to Laugh
Yesterday we had another brilliant thunderstorm. The temps plummeted from 90+ to 70's in a half hour and trees fell all around us as we headed for home after a day spent looking for MOB dresses - still no luck - and walking the orchard to determine tent placement. I am trying not to stress out over this, but we are T minus one month and my wonderful husband now wants to go back to square one and forgetaboutda tent on the mountain. He thinks we should just feed people standing up, on the rooftop terrace. I initially suggested this when he started to complain about the tent, and our inability to place it right in front of a barn where we wanted it. I never dreamed he'd agree. I was trying out that psychological trick - enter into the fantasy with them, then they will come to the right conclusion. It didn't work!
But we had a good laugh. We were discussing the "family tree fan program." I spent a half day changing the publisher text boxes to script, and managed to move the names around (names went all the way back to the couple's great grandparents) in order to make them look somewhat beautiful in amongst the tree's branches, in a gestalt kinda way. But he wanted them traveling up separate branches so that people could follow the family lineage lines; and I'd ruined his symmetry. I always colored outside the lines - you can see the problem. We started to argue. And then, all of a sudden, he started to laugh. It was a real belly laugh and he was crying, the laughter came out so strong. I didn't get it. And you have to understand that we've been married over 30 years and I usually get it, even before he does! He was laughing, and crying, so hard I had to wait 'till he could talk for the explanation. And it was good, because it sent me right up there laughing with him, till I thought I'd pee in my seat. He said, "I'm not sure why it's so important to me to make sense of our family."
All the Jewish names go up the left side of the tree. The Irish names fill in the middle and the right side of the tree. There is really no explanation why some marriages work and others don't. Many people thought we'd never last, and yet, here we are, still laughing, still very much in love. We are less than a month to a wedding, and yet I know with him by my side everything will be alright. My daughter called me tonight. She said her groom-to-be has so much to do; he has to have his applications ready for a fellowship before the wedding, he has a big presentation to make to his colleagues, and he's going to be Chief next year and has to work out a schedule where they will no longer have to take "call." In other words, this is the last group of residents who will be so unbelievably sleep-deprived, you would never want them making life and death decisions about your family member. Still, she made him go to a swimming pool with her today- on this rare day they had off together - and told him he could work in the sun! After all, this is my Jersey Shore girl, she has seen people working on the beach...it's not altogether impossible. She adds spice to his life, he adds centering. You can see that they will be laughing together for many years to come!
But we had a good laugh. We were discussing the "family tree fan program." I spent a half day changing the publisher text boxes to script, and managed to move the names around (names went all the way back to the couple's great grandparents) in order to make them look somewhat beautiful in amongst the tree's branches, in a gestalt kinda way. But he wanted them traveling up separate branches so that people could follow the family lineage lines; and I'd ruined his symmetry. I always colored outside the lines - you can see the problem. We started to argue. And then, all of a sudden, he started to laugh. It was a real belly laugh and he was crying, the laughter came out so strong. I didn't get it. And you have to understand that we've been married over 30 years and I usually get it, even before he does! He was laughing, and crying, so hard I had to wait 'till he could talk for the explanation. And it was good, because it sent me right up there laughing with him, till I thought I'd pee in my seat. He said, "I'm not sure why it's so important to me to make sense of our family."
All the Jewish names go up the left side of the tree. The Irish names fill in the middle and the right side of the tree. There is really no explanation why some marriages work and others don't. Many people thought we'd never last, and yet, here we are, still laughing, still very much in love. We are less than a month to a wedding, and yet I know with him by my side everything will be alright. My daughter called me tonight. She said her groom-to-be has so much to do; he has to have his applications ready for a fellowship before the wedding, he has a big presentation to make to his colleagues, and he's going to be Chief next year and has to work out a schedule where they will no longer have to take "call." In other words, this is the last group of residents who will be so unbelievably sleep-deprived, you would never want them making life and death decisions about your family member. Still, she made him go to a swimming pool with her today- on this rare day they had off together - and told him he could work in the sun! After all, this is my Jersey Shore girl, she has seen people working on the beach...it's not altogether impossible. She adds spice to his life, he adds centering. You can see that they will be laughing together for many years to come!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The Second Home
When was it I first thought it would be a good idea to become a landlord? I remember, we were launching our youngest toward his 2nd year at the state university in Trenton, NJ (TCNJ), and I had become disenchanted with the stock market. So, when we sold the big house to downsize to the South, I convinced my husband it would be a great idea to "invest" in a property for our son while he was in college. Then later we could sell it and maybe make a profit. I read about people doing this all over the country in our newly acquired AARP magazine! My husband was trying to placate me since moving wasn't really big on my list of things to do; also, he knew that many musicians end up coming home to live in their parent's basement. So we bought a really cute bi-level home a few blocks from the college. I would kid around with my friends - "Never thought I'd own a vacation home in Trenton," I'd say with a smile. And then stardom reared its ugly head and my son, the full-time rock musician and part-time college student, succumbed to the pleas of his band and the big time label. He dropped out of school.
We sold that cute little house after only one year and did make a tidy profit. But I was on a roll, and started looking for a second home for our daughter and her medical school buddies. Real estate had become an obsession. Really, I should have gotten a license! So while we found and later fired an architect to build our "not so big house" with a view, I scooped up a hundred year old brick home, a foursquare sitting prettily on a dead end street in the middle of town. Within walking or biking distance from the medical school, and two blocks from the pedestrian mall. It's like a little bit of Europe in the Shenandoah valley; swanky restaurants, outdoor cafe's, trendy bars, and tiny boutique shops, gelato, theaters and music joints, and even an ice skating rink. Perfection! Except that this old house needed alot of love. We had to gut the basement and turn its unlivable studio apartment into a one bedroom and completely re-build the upstairs kitchen, it became a money pit from the word go, but I loved it. Because in the back of my mind, this high ceilinged little gem would be our retirement house. Someday, when we could no longer drive, we'd live here!
Why am I writing about second homes? Once my daughter and her friends graduated, we've managed to keep this 2 and a half bedroom house with a cute basement apartment full of graduate students. The rent is very reasonable and I am a non-profit type of landlord - I call it my social services experiment! Because in the middle of all this wedding planning the downstairs tenant is marrying her MD/PhD fiancee and moving upstairs, and a friend of theirs is moving into the basement apartment and there's a leak in the shower, the ice maker doesn't work, and a door won't shut, and....that's what I'm doing now. A friend once told me that owning a second home only means more house to clean. She never told me you'd be running out in the middle of the night to replace all the fire alarm batteries, only to find out that that annoying, repetitive buzz was coming from a beeper in somebody's short white doctor coat!
Just read a good movie review in the Times: "But being both a winner and a mensch is not such an easy task." I believe I'm overdue for a laugh, so Dinner for Schmucks will be on the menu this weekend! I so love Steve Carell. And PS, yes, it is LOL funny!
We sold that cute little house after only one year and did make a tidy profit. But I was on a roll, and started looking for a second home for our daughter and her medical school buddies. Real estate had become an obsession. Really, I should have gotten a license! So while we found and later fired an architect to build our "not so big house" with a view, I scooped up a hundred year old brick home, a foursquare sitting prettily on a dead end street in the middle of town. Within walking or biking distance from the medical school, and two blocks from the pedestrian mall. It's like a little bit of Europe in the Shenandoah valley; swanky restaurants, outdoor cafe's, trendy bars, and tiny boutique shops, gelato, theaters and music joints, and even an ice skating rink. Perfection! Except that this old house needed alot of love. We had to gut the basement and turn its unlivable studio apartment into a one bedroom and completely re-build the upstairs kitchen, it became a money pit from the word go, but I loved it. Because in the back of my mind, this high ceilinged little gem would be our retirement house. Someday, when we could no longer drive, we'd live here!
Why am I writing about second homes? Once my daughter and her friends graduated, we've managed to keep this 2 and a half bedroom house with a cute basement apartment full of graduate students. The rent is very reasonable and I am a non-profit type of landlord - I call it my social services experiment! Because in the middle of all this wedding planning the downstairs tenant is marrying her MD/PhD fiancee and moving upstairs, and a friend of theirs is moving into the basement apartment and there's a leak in the shower, the ice maker doesn't work, and a door won't shut, and....that's what I'm doing now. A friend once told me that owning a second home only means more house to clean. She never told me you'd be running out in the middle of the night to replace all the fire alarm batteries, only to find out that that annoying, repetitive buzz was coming from a beeper in somebody's short white doctor coat!
Just read a good movie review in the Times: "But being both a winner and a mensch is not such an easy task." I believe I'm overdue for a laugh, so Dinner for Schmucks will be on the menu this weekend! I so love Steve Carell. And PS, yes, it is LOL funny!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
To Drink or Not to Drink
I now have three pages full of notes about champagne, wine and beer. One of the first things we decided to keep as a DIY project was the booze. This is a great place to save money on your wedding, according to all the periodicals. Alcohol can have quite a mark-up and even if your caterer charges a "corking fee," which is a small sum to uncork and pour, you will still save on the overall cost. Our caterer does not charge a corking fee - thank you L'etoile! We also decided early on, not to offer a bar, open or not. Really, there is no reason to encourage drunkenness, right? And there is no one I can think of in any family that will miss their gin and tonic. It's so Mad Men. In fact, most baby boomers have a few AA members among us! I always tell the joke that my son is half Irish and Jewish, which means he can both drink AND think!
Instead we will offer wine that is made from the grapes in the apple orchard; ancient vines that come from the original Monticello vineyard. My wine consultant tried to talk me into peach wine too, but my husband said, "When did you ever hear anyone ask for another glass of peach wine?" So we're sticking to the usual, Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon; oh and three cases of sparkling wine for the toast. Did you know that most wine drinkers will drink on average 3 glasses of wine per event? The groom and most 20 something males are beer drinkers; they will have the local Starr Hill wheat beer, "the Love," to imbibe. Here is what my wine consultant wanted us to order based on 120 people and 4 glasses per bottle of wine: 2 cases of red; 3 of white and 2 of peach. Because there are usually more white wine drinkers than red! Who knew? Here is what we are going to order: 4 cases of white; no peach; and 2 cases of red. We will still need the sparkling wine for a toast. Oh and a case or two for the rooftop terrace!
After much searching online I found a great site for beverage dispensers. http://www.infusionjars.com/is a site that sells fancy glass jars that will be perfect for holding iced tea and lemonade for all those non-drinkers among us. You don't want plastic or acrylic as it looks too cheap. Also I'd be afraid of all that plastic leeching into the drinks in the heat. And you want real metal spigots, not plastic; as they tend to leak nine times out of ten. This site is all about vodka infused drinks, but rest assured, it will work for non-alcoholic drinks too! You can have anything etched into the glass on the jug, eh jar, absolutely anything! Names, eagles, flags, anything! I decided to have the letter "R" and the letter "S" etched into each of the two dispensers I ordered, that way my daughter can keep one and I will keep one. I don't think she's taking his name - that's a whole other topic altogether - but I still think she'll like the symbolism. They will sit atop little wooden stands, looking altogether rustic and elegant!
Tomorrow night I am cooking for some JAG lawyers who just landed in my town for training. One is the son of a Big Chill couple! I love feeding the young, the hungry and restless; it takes me back to feeding the anatomy crew when my daughter started medical school. And the the next night I'll be taking a cooking course from our Chef Mark of L'etoile about making Hollandaise sauce for the brunch I'll be serving after the wedding...will the mayo break down? Stay tuned!
Instead we will offer wine that is made from the grapes in the apple orchard; ancient vines that come from the original Monticello vineyard. My wine consultant tried to talk me into peach wine too, but my husband said, "When did you ever hear anyone ask for another glass of peach wine?" So we're sticking to the usual, Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon; oh and three cases of sparkling wine for the toast. Did you know that most wine drinkers will drink on average 3 glasses of wine per event? The groom and most 20 something males are beer drinkers; they will have the local Starr Hill wheat beer, "the Love," to imbibe. Here is what my wine consultant wanted us to order based on 120 people and 4 glasses per bottle of wine: 2 cases of red; 3 of white and 2 of peach. Because there are usually more white wine drinkers than red! Who knew? Here is what we are going to order: 4 cases of white; no peach; and 2 cases of red. We will still need the sparkling wine for a toast. Oh and a case or two for the rooftop terrace!
After much searching online I found a great site for beverage dispensers. http://www.infusionjars.com/is a site that sells fancy glass jars that will be perfect for holding iced tea and lemonade for all those non-drinkers among us. You don't want plastic or acrylic as it looks too cheap. Also I'd be afraid of all that plastic leeching into the drinks in the heat. And you want real metal spigots, not plastic; as they tend to leak nine times out of ten. This site is all about vodka infused drinks, but rest assured, it will work for non-alcoholic drinks too! You can have anything etched into the glass on the jug, eh jar, absolutely anything! Names, eagles, flags, anything! I decided to have the letter "R" and the letter "S" etched into each of the two dispensers I ordered, that way my daughter can keep one and I will keep one. I don't think she's taking his name - that's a whole other topic altogether - but I still think she'll like the symbolism. They will sit atop little wooden stands, looking altogether rustic and elegant!
Tomorrow night I am cooking for some JAG lawyers who just landed in my town for training. One is the son of a Big Chill couple! I love feeding the young, the hungry and restless; it takes me back to feeding the anatomy crew when my daughter started medical school. And the the next night I'll be taking a cooking course from our Chef Mark of L'etoile about making Hollandaise sauce for the brunch I'll be serving after the wedding...will the mayo break down? Stay tuned!
Monday, July 19, 2010
MOTB
The air is abuzz with Chelsea Clinton's upcoming wedding. Her mother Hillary, the woman I'm not ashamed to say I voted for in the last Presidential election, is our country's ideal Mother-of-the-Bride (MOTB). While traveling around the globe she has managed to keep half of a lid on their secret plans, which include: a Stanford White mansion in Rhinebeck, NY; flowers by the artistic director of the George V hotel in Paris; music by Jimmy Valli, a world class wedding planner from Boston; and a wedding dress by Oscar de la Renta. Nice. Oh, and I believe the guest list is a paltry 400. Maybe I should re-think this whole blog thing? I mean if the Secretary of State can plan her daughter's wedding while dealing with Pakistan, I should not complain about one itsy bitsy thing, right?
I'm only dealing with my daughter, her father, and his Mother and Step-Father (aka the Officiant). The Bride's Grandparents (my in-Laws) were here this weekend for a mini-tastings-redux. We ate a late, hurried dinner at the rehearsal party restaurant straight off the train. There were a few things on the agenda. My Father-in-Law happens to be a retired, some might say lapsed, Baptist Minister who was a widower when he saw my MIL, a feisty and fetching divorcee, across a room. One thing led to another and the minister married the Jewish marriage counselor. Pastoral counseling commenced and now he is a great carver of totem poles. But for six years he was a missionary in Ghana; building roads, wells for fresh water, and by the way, a hospital and church. His son's daughter is our red-headed Flower Girl. Over the years he's married close to a hundred couples and I asked him about their track records, but he laughed and said he doesn't know. I guess that marrying people is akin to being an ER doctor, no follow-up required. The Officiant wanted to see the orchard, the place for the ceremony.
While the Father and Grandfather (Gpa) of the bride toured the orchard and sampled their wine, I took my MIL shopping. We were on a mission to find dresses for the wedding. First we went to the fancy shop, and boy are those saleswomen good! I almost had the tailor pinning and cutting a multiple hundred dollar concoction, but luckily I came to my senses and said I'd have to think about it. The dress had a peplum. What woman with hips in her right mind would buy such a dress? My MIL, who we all call Gma, I found out is very opinionated. Gma would shake her head no with each new offering - "It's not elegant enough," "You have too much style," "We can do better." And then we were off to Chico's. This is her go-to spot for clothes. But she was not in luck and we were pooped. Day one, orchard tour = 1, wedding dresses = 0. But I did manage to put together a salmon dinner with my husband's freshly picked garden produce.
The next day we spent the morning weather-proofing the new deck furniture. Gma is a real trooper. Together, in ninety plus degree heat and clad only in our underwear and latex gloves, we treated that eco-friendly eucalyptus wood to a nice rub-down. After lunch, we ventured out again hunting for a dress, or two. Without a Nordstrom in sight, we found Belk to be less than exciting. Meanwhile, the men put the finishing touches on our totem pole. Gpa carved it especially for us twenty years ago. It has meaningful family symbols running down its trunk. But my favorite bird, the cardinal, which had proudly spread its wings atop the pole, had been absent for repairs. The final crowning, complete with new termite-less wings, was a joyful affair. I love to keep projects waiting around the house for them to tackle on their visits. They make quite an amazing pair in their 80's, not afraid to roll up their sleeves and get it done. Gma once told me she is a "pot stirrer." Of course she uses the Yiddish word to mean she's always busy. I'm always a little sorry to see them go on the Amtrak express back to NJ.
Her parting words to me? "Go to Nordstroms."
I'm only dealing with my daughter, her father, and his Mother and Step-Father (aka the Officiant). The Bride's Grandparents (my in-Laws) were here this weekend for a mini-tastings-redux. We ate a late, hurried dinner at the rehearsal party restaurant straight off the train. There were a few things on the agenda. My Father-in-Law happens to be a retired, some might say lapsed, Baptist Minister who was a widower when he saw my MIL, a feisty and fetching divorcee, across a room. One thing led to another and the minister married the Jewish marriage counselor. Pastoral counseling commenced and now he is a great carver of totem poles. But for six years he was a missionary in Ghana; building roads, wells for fresh water, and by the way, a hospital and church. His son's daughter is our red-headed Flower Girl. Over the years he's married close to a hundred couples and I asked him about their track records, but he laughed and said he doesn't know. I guess that marrying people is akin to being an ER doctor, no follow-up required. The Officiant wanted to see the orchard, the place for the ceremony.
While the Father and Grandfather (Gpa) of the bride toured the orchard and sampled their wine, I took my MIL shopping. We were on a mission to find dresses for the wedding. First we went to the fancy shop, and boy are those saleswomen good! I almost had the tailor pinning and cutting a multiple hundred dollar concoction, but luckily I came to my senses and said I'd have to think about it. The dress had a peplum. What woman with hips in her right mind would buy such a dress? My MIL, who we all call Gma, I found out is very opinionated. Gma would shake her head no with each new offering - "It's not elegant enough," "You have too much style," "We can do better." And then we were off to Chico's. This is her go-to spot for clothes. But she was not in luck and we were pooped. Day one, orchard tour = 1, wedding dresses = 0. But I did manage to put together a salmon dinner with my husband's freshly picked garden produce.
The next day we spent the morning weather-proofing the new deck furniture. Gma is a real trooper. Together, in ninety plus degree heat and clad only in our underwear and latex gloves, we treated that eco-friendly eucalyptus wood to a nice rub-down. After lunch, we ventured out again hunting for a dress, or two. Without a Nordstrom in sight, we found Belk to be less than exciting. Meanwhile, the men put the finishing touches on our totem pole. Gpa carved it especially for us twenty years ago. It has meaningful family symbols running down its trunk. But my favorite bird, the cardinal, which had proudly spread its wings atop the pole, had been absent for repairs. The final crowning, complete with new termite-less wings, was a joyful affair. I love to keep projects waiting around the house for them to tackle on their visits. They make quite an amazing pair in their 80's, not afraid to roll up their sleeves and get it done. Gma once told me she is a "pot stirrer." Of course she uses the Yiddish word to mean she's always busy. I'm always a little sorry to see them go on the Amtrak express back to NJ.
Her parting words to me? "Go to Nordstroms."
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Blond Ambition
"This is a good time to stand back from your life a little and take stock of where you have been and where you intend to go in the future. And remember: no matter what some people might say ambition is not a dirty word." That is my horoscope from the New York Post. I've never looked online for my horoscope before, it's usually something I'd glance at while reading a magazine or a newspaper. Our family has fun translating horoscopes from the French while on vacation. Today there were many exact replicas of something like, "...it's a good day to visit an art museum." Of course, any day is a good day to visit a museum. But I like the Post's bold move to tell me it's OK to be ambitious. When I had to think about what attracted me to my husband, which happens alot lately, his ambition and drive were certainly right up there. That and his smell of clean, sun-dried laundry.
I'm taking stock of our Wedding Weekend of Tastings Galore. The Couple arrived very late Friday and we stayed up later still. My daughter looked radiant, and her groom I discovered, was going to be on my side. Oh Happy Day! I knew I liked this guy. How did it happen that at one point, while sitting out on the deck surrounded by yummy breakfast treats, I envisioned myself in a graphic novel (aka comic book)? The mountains loomed brilliantly in the distance, the dogs grazed happily for crumbs, cinnamon buns and biscuits melted sweetly in the sun. We were talking about photography, and the bride wasn't there at the moment. I inquired what his parents might want in the form of family pictures. He nodded his agreement, of course they would want some shots of the whole clan - some were traveling from Hawaii! Ah yes, this was a point on which we could agree. This incredibly fantastic journalistic photographer, just may have to ask for some group shots...
The sculptor Calder I believe once asked if you were only allowed to take one thing out of a burning house, would it be the cat, or artwork? I would take the pictures, and the dog. But really our dogs would probably be the first ones out on their own eight paws! Pictures are the landscape of my life, my heirlooms. They document the family that I lost, and the foster family I was given. I only have three pictures of my biological father, who died when I was seven months old. I have a picture of my mother lying on a couch, her broken legs straight out under her, but looking beautiful nonetheless. I am a toddler, with blond curls standing on her lap. I am a toddler in the only picture I have of me with all my siblings together, at my father's funeral. My older sister is towering above us, foreshadowing her place as the keeper of memories.
And this is when the discussion begins, when to take the group shots? Should we hold a cocktail hour, or not; to serve a signature cocktail, or not? What the Couple was trying to avoid on their day, was the obvious separation of the wheat from the chaff, the bridal "party" and significant others from the less significant. They had been to a number of weddings where that is the case - one person is significant, and the other sits alone. I understood. But I had to be ambitious, and indeed I let it be known that at some point on this day, my family, including the step-family we acquired when my mother remarried, should have a portrait done. I stood my ground. In trying to accommodate my bride, I was doing my best to make her wishes come true, and we were having a wonderful time: Anita Gupta's margarita cupcakes for breakfast; strolling through the rooftop terrace on the downtown mall; shrimp and grits at L'etoile with a Big Chill couple, who happened to be visiting that weekend. One little family portrait, was it too much to ask? We all decided to make the "cocktail hour" before the ceremony, rather than immediately after. It would be more ice tea and cider, and less signature cocktail.
And finally, Jack Looney settled the matter. He knew just how to approach the dilemma, what to say to get the right people together, and he has an assistant photographer, so there will be two shooters on the Big Day. All 's well that ends well, when you choose the right photographer.
As overheard on NPR - which is the real wedding news story?
1) Lawyers are now a part of more wedding parties because more couples are getting pre-nups,
2) Since it sometimes takes 20-30 minutes getting in and out of wedding gowns, they are now making fancy crystal encrusted diapers for brides.
3) There is a new service called "Lemon Events." Instead of waiting for something bad to happen at your wedding, you can hire these people to arrange it! One groom sat on a whoopee cushion and after a pause, the bride sang "You are the Wind Beneath my Wings."
I'm taking stock of our Wedding Weekend of Tastings Galore. The Couple arrived very late Friday and we stayed up later still. My daughter looked radiant, and her groom I discovered, was going to be on my side. Oh Happy Day! I knew I liked this guy. How did it happen that at one point, while sitting out on the deck surrounded by yummy breakfast treats, I envisioned myself in a graphic novel (aka comic book)? The mountains loomed brilliantly in the distance, the dogs grazed happily for crumbs, cinnamon buns and biscuits melted sweetly in the sun. We were talking about photography, and the bride wasn't there at the moment. I inquired what his parents might want in the form of family pictures. He nodded his agreement, of course they would want some shots of the whole clan - some were traveling from Hawaii! Ah yes, this was a point on which we could agree. This incredibly fantastic journalistic photographer, just may have to ask for some group shots...
The sculptor Calder I believe once asked if you were only allowed to take one thing out of a burning house, would it be the cat, or artwork? I would take the pictures, and the dog. But really our dogs would probably be the first ones out on their own eight paws! Pictures are the landscape of my life, my heirlooms. They document the family that I lost, and the foster family I was given. I only have three pictures of my biological father, who died when I was seven months old. I have a picture of my mother lying on a couch, her broken legs straight out under her, but looking beautiful nonetheless. I am a toddler, with blond curls standing on her lap. I am a toddler in the only picture I have of me with all my siblings together, at my father's funeral. My older sister is towering above us, foreshadowing her place as the keeper of memories.
And this is when the discussion begins, when to take the group shots? Should we hold a cocktail hour, or not; to serve a signature cocktail, or not? What the Couple was trying to avoid on their day, was the obvious separation of the wheat from the chaff, the bridal "party" and significant others from the less significant. They had been to a number of weddings where that is the case - one person is significant, and the other sits alone. I understood. But I had to be ambitious, and indeed I let it be known that at some point on this day, my family, including the step-family we acquired when my mother remarried, should have a portrait done. I stood my ground. In trying to accommodate my bride, I was doing my best to make her wishes come true, and we were having a wonderful time: Anita Gupta's margarita cupcakes for breakfast; strolling through the rooftop terrace on the downtown mall; shrimp and grits at L'etoile with a Big Chill couple, who happened to be visiting that weekend. One little family portrait, was it too much to ask? We all decided to make the "cocktail hour" before the ceremony, rather than immediately after. It would be more ice tea and cider, and less signature cocktail.
And finally, Jack Looney settled the matter. He knew just how to approach the dilemma, what to say to get the right people together, and he has an assistant photographer, so there will be two shooters on the Big Day. All 's well that ends well, when you choose the right photographer.
As overheard on NPR - which is the real wedding news story?
1) Lawyers are now a part of more wedding parties because more couples are getting pre-nups,
2) Since it sometimes takes 20-30 minutes getting in and out of wedding gowns, they are now making fancy crystal encrusted diapers for brides.
3) There is a new service called "Lemon Events." Instead of waiting for something bad to happen at your wedding, you can hire these people to arrange it! One groom sat on a whoopee cushion and after a pause, the bride sang "You are the Wind Beneath my Wings."
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
It's Official
The couple updated their status on Facebook; they are now officially "Engaged" and not just "In a Relationship." This was one of the things they did on a rare day off together over the July Fourth weekend. They managed to move everything back into their newly re-built basement, and they also took their two dogs, and another dog they are pet-sitting, to a river to swim. Then they came home and made turkey barbecue for a gang of resident friends. That's after working the first three days of the weekend. That's what they did on their one day off together. It's exhausting being them.
We cleaned the house and cooked for an army which turned out to be only nine people for dinner on the Fourth. My husband manned the grill and of course for our cook-out we ate inside, since we are seeing triple digit temperatures now. Just after sunup that morning we hiked up the hill to Monticello to hear Tracy Ullman speak at the Naturalization Ceremony. She was engaging, funny and sentimental. She came from a small industrial town in the UK and thought we Americans had so much - so many cars, washing machines, food. But what she really loved was how much "confidence" we have. Her father was sick of paying for the Queen, and he knew that unlike any other European country, he had a real chance to better himself in America. We Americans could do or say anything we thought; whereas if your grandfather was a shoemaker in the UK, that was what was expected of you. And we, of course, have her to thank for the Simpsons! That got a big roar out of the crowd.
Our newest 71 citizens came from so many countries, including Afghanistan, Canada, Uzbekistan, China and Ghana. Most came from India. I thought about how my Grandmother was not allowed to vote even after women got the vote, because she was married to an alien (an Irishman). Times have changed. And as I thought about my own Mother, who would be 101 today if she still lived. A woman who would not willingly release her baby for adoption, but allowed her best friends to raise her. A woman who was a flapper and loved to dance; she insisted on paying for my ballet lessons. A woman who never gave up and fought with such strength to walk again after the car accident broke her legs beyond recognition. She was my first teacher in determination. It was my Mother who would point out the humor in life, always seeing the good side.
Chris Matthews said at The Miller Center last year that, "...only in America could a guy named Archibald Leach, who worked as a stilt walker on Coney Island for five dollars a day, ten on weekends, move to California and become Cary Grant." Patriotism is a noble thing, but it can be tricky. How much of our freedom are we willing to lose in order to maintain our security? It is unfortunate that the Supreme Court has become so political, because like marriage, a democracy needs balance. Obama has said that he'd like to have a country that unites people, that doesn't divide them. And that is my wish for the soon-to-be married Couple.
You don't need to have a lot in common to get married today; you don't need your parents blessing or a dowry of eight goats. In fact, in this state all you need is a driver's license! I think you need some maturity, and the capacity for happiness (thank you Mr Jefferson) and the willingness to unite as a family within a community. I've seen the groom so delighted and happy at my daughter's success, either in yet another mind-boggling residency test or tricky hospital situation, that she falls into his arms, smiling and grateful. He does not judge her, nor does he compete with her. He is a tall man with a delightful wit, supremely supportive and confident in his own strengths. I'm starting to think about what I will say at the Toast, because nowadays moms get to toast the Couple at their wedding too. Yes, confidence! It's a marriage builder.
We cleaned the house and cooked for an army which turned out to be only nine people for dinner on the Fourth. My husband manned the grill and of course for our cook-out we ate inside, since we are seeing triple digit temperatures now. Just after sunup that morning we hiked up the hill to Monticello to hear Tracy Ullman speak at the Naturalization Ceremony. She was engaging, funny and sentimental. She came from a small industrial town in the UK and thought we Americans had so much - so many cars, washing machines, food. But what she really loved was how much "confidence" we have. Her father was sick of paying for the Queen, and he knew that unlike any other European country, he had a real chance to better himself in America. We Americans could do or say anything we thought; whereas if your grandfather was a shoemaker in the UK, that was what was expected of you. And we, of course, have her to thank for the Simpsons! That got a big roar out of the crowd.
Our newest 71 citizens came from so many countries, including Afghanistan, Canada, Uzbekistan, China and Ghana. Most came from India. I thought about how my Grandmother was not allowed to vote even after women got the vote, because she was married to an alien (an Irishman). Times have changed. And as I thought about my own Mother, who would be 101 today if she still lived. A woman who would not willingly release her baby for adoption, but allowed her best friends to raise her. A woman who was a flapper and loved to dance; she insisted on paying for my ballet lessons. A woman who never gave up and fought with such strength to walk again after the car accident broke her legs beyond recognition. She was my first teacher in determination. It was my Mother who would point out the humor in life, always seeing the good side.
Chris Matthews said at The Miller Center last year that, "...only in America could a guy named Archibald Leach, who worked as a stilt walker on Coney Island for five dollars a day, ten on weekends, move to California and become Cary Grant." Patriotism is a noble thing, but it can be tricky. How much of our freedom are we willing to lose in order to maintain our security? It is unfortunate that the Supreme Court has become so political, because like marriage, a democracy needs balance. Obama has said that he'd like to have a country that unites people, that doesn't divide them. And that is my wish for the soon-to-be married Couple.
You don't need to have a lot in common to get married today; you don't need your parents blessing or a dowry of eight goats. In fact, in this state all you need is a driver's license! I think you need some maturity, and the capacity for happiness (thank you Mr Jefferson) and the willingness to unite as a family within a community. I've seen the groom so delighted and happy at my daughter's success, either in yet another mind-boggling residency test or tricky hospital situation, that she falls into his arms, smiling and grateful. He does not judge her, nor does he compete with her. He is a tall man with a delightful wit, supremely supportive and confident in his own strengths. I'm starting to think about what I will say at the Toast, because nowadays moms get to toast the Couple at their wedding too. Yes, confidence! It's a marriage builder.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Summertime
It's a glorious summer day. The heat and humidity are gone and it's crystal clear and 70 degrees this morning. The mountains look like hard grey/blue slate lines against a Tiffany/blue sky. It's a day full of possibilities. Perhaps the turtle will escape my old dog's snout and the beetles will stop eating my roses? We are T minus two months to a wedding.
Today she is a Third Year Resident. I cannot explain in words how much pride I'm feeling today! My Catholic school upbringing kicks in and it feels sinful, but I don't care. I'm so proud of her. My daughter is now at the pinnacle of all those years in school and training; you will find her largely in charge of the ER shifts and mostly instructing the new interns. When she was in nursery school, I gave her a Native American name - "Girl Who Stands With Hands on Hips." From the beginning, she liked to give direction. My beautiful girl is in her element; like a ballet, she will be choreographing much of the activity in her very busy ER. It's funny because I don't think she wears anything different, no outward sign to the patients and staff of her new status, her last year in training. No pin on her long white coat. My daughter, the bride-to-be will still dress in blue scrubs, with her "Love Child" tee shirt underneath, and her cordovan/blood colored clogs. She found that any other color would invariably show the usual red trauma stains. And she'll pull her hair back into a ponytail, pop in her new contact lenses, walk into the Nurse's station and give Magnolia a big hug hello. She's a "macher," the big Kahuna. It's like being in 8th grade finally.
The flooded basement has been rehabbed and is being painted. We joked about how much room she'll have once it's finished. The dogs will be able to use the doggie door, the exercise bike can be plugged back in and we'll see if it still runs. Did I tell you this Nashville flood was the second time the water rose to meet her? She was in 7th grade when the December 11th No Name storm hit; it happened so fast they didn't have time to name it. We were living on the Jersey Shore right off a tributary of the Shrewsbury River, three miles from the sea. The tide and the moon were aligned and no one saw it coming, waves of brackish sea water hitting our house and taking our cars. It was the 100 year storm our realtor had told us about, like it would never happen in our lifetime. And we just happened to be in Vegas baby, at a conference. The kids were home, with a babysitter who thought they should go to school that morning.
My daughter caught the whole thing on camera, she filmed the flood and you could tell, even at 12, she had more sense than a certain sitter. She helped her brother find Wiley Coyote and put the dogs in the laundry room with a week's worth of food. My handsome, tall son who was 7 years old at the time, never let Wiley out of his sight for a year after that. An ER nurse/friend rescued them with her firefighter husband. It took us three days to get home because Newark was shut down. And the funny thing is, her residency director is sending her to an American College of Emergency Physicians (ACEP) conference in Vegas right after her honeymoon. I think we should meet her there, and reclaim that trip we lost so long ago. Go to a rodeo, see a big show. Cirque du Soleil? I wonder if Bette Midler is still there? J'adore Ms "M" but I hate gambling, I usually make my $20 donation. I wish they didn't Disney-up Vegas but I'm fully prepared to let what happens there, happen.
Next week the Couple will arrive for a Tastings Weekend. They are flying in very late Friday night and here is the itinerary:
Sat - Early City Farmer's Market
9:30 am - Anita Gupta cupcake tasting
Lunch on mall and walk thru 2nd Street and rooftop terrace
4:30 pm - walk thru Carter mountain with Shawn Cosette / tent, music, ceremony
7:00 pm Dinner and tastings at L'etoile
Sun - Noon meeting with Jack Looney Photographer
I also adore all my vendors! Things are looking up and floods are behind us. It's all coming together. Oh, and if you'd like to support Nashville flood relief by buying a tee shirt, here's the link: www.nashvillefloodtees.com
Today she is a Third Year Resident. I cannot explain in words how much pride I'm feeling today! My Catholic school upbringing kicks in and it feels sinful, but I don't care. I'm so proud of her. My daughter is now at the pinnacle of all those years in school and training; you will find her largely in charge of the ER shifts and mostly instructing the new interns. When she was in nursery school, I gave her a Native American name - "Girl Who Stands With Hands on Hips." From the beginning, she liked to give direction. My beautiful girl is in her element; like a ballet, she will be choreographing much of the activity in her very busy ER. It's funny because I don't think she wears anything different, no outward sign to the patients and staff of her new status, her last year in training. No pin on her long white coat. My daughter, the bride-to-be will still dress in blue scrubs, with her "Love Child" tee shirt underneath, and her cordovan/blood colored clogs. She found that any other color would invariably show the usual red trauma stains. And she'll pull her hair back into a ponytail, pop in her new contact lenses, walk into the Nurse's station and give Magnolia a big hug hello. She's a "macher," the big Kahuna. It's like being in 8th grade finally.
The flooded basement has been rehabbed and is being painted. We joked about how much room she'll have once it's finished. The dogs will be able to use the doggie door, the exercise bike can be plugged back in and we'll see if it still runs. Did I tell you this Nashville flood was the second time the water rose to meet her? She was in 7th grade when the December 11th No Name storm hit; it happened so fast they didn't have time to name it. We were living on the Jersey Shore right off a tributary of the Shrewsbury River, three miles from the sea. The tide and the moon were aligned and no one saw it coming, waves of brackish sea water hitting our house and taking our cars. It was the 100 year storm our realtor had told us about, like it would never happen in our lifetime. And we just happened to be in Vegas baby, at a conference. The kids were home, with a babysitter who thought they should go to school that morning.
My daughter caught the whole thing on camera, she filmed the flood and you could tell, even at 12, she had more sense than a certain sitter. She helped her brother find Wiley Coyote and put the dogs in the laundry room with a week's worth of food. My handsome, tall son who was 7 years old at the time, never let Wiley out of his sight for a year after that. An ER nurse/friend rescued them with her firefighter husband. It took us three days to get home because Newark was shut down. And the funny thing is, her residency director is sending her to an American College of Emergency Physicians (ACEP) conference in Vegas right after her honeymoon. I think we should meet her there, and reclaim that trip we lost so long ago. Go to a rodeo, see a big show. Cirque du Soleil? I wonder if Bette Midler is still there? J'adore Ms "M" but I hate gambling, I usually make my $20 donation. I wish they didn't Disney-up Vegas but I'm fully prepared to let what happens there, happen.
Next week the Couple will arrive for a Tastings Weekend. They are flying in very late Friday night and here is the itinerary:
Sat - Early City Farmer's Market
9:30 am - Anita Gupta cupcake tasting
Lunch on mall and walk thru 2nd Street and rooftop terrace
4:30 pm - walk thru Carter mountain with Shawn Cosette / tent, music, ceremony
7:00 pm Dinner and tastings at L'etoile
Sun - Noon meeting with Jack Looney Photographer
I also adore all my vendors! Things are looking up and floods are behind us. It's all coming together. Oh, and if you'd like to support Nashville flood relief by buying a tee shirt, here's the link: www.nashvillefloodtees.com
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Food, glorious food
My Mother-in-Law just told me not to scrimp on food, and a cousin told me it's better to have assigned seating. Planning a wedding is like being pregnant, anyone and everyone feels it's perfectly OK to touch your belly and ask you personal questions or give you their advice. Everyone wants to help you; making gift bags, or making the chuppa. I even got my sister into the act. She just sent me a drawing of the tree in her courtyard on the Upper East side of Manhattan. She is an artist, a beautiful artist who now does mostly needlepoint. If you are getting a gift from my sister, chances are it's a needlepoint pillow. Every single piece of stuffed furniture in my house is graced by one or more of her pillows. But back to the black and white tree. My plan is to put the names of the couple's ancestors on either side of the tree, and fashion it into a fan with the wedding program on the other side. Great, right? People can try and figure out what side of the tree they fell from while they wait for the ceremony to begin.
It can be overwhelming at times, all this help. But it's important to remember that it's offered with the best of intentions. For instance, my dear cousin's son-in-law is a caterer. He's really a great chef and had his own restaurant for a while. He has a winning personality and lives just an hour away. My husband said we should consider this relative/chef; after all, he's a member of the family. Even the bride was interested. But then again, she wanted a soup place in town to cater the wedding because they use local ingredients. Whenever I'd mention this to anyone, they'd try to hide their displeasure. "Oh, the soup place caters, really...." I even spoke with the soup-nazi himself, and he said to call him when it gets closer to the wedding and we could talk. So that was the end of that. The gallery uses Harvest Moon, and I first thought dinner would be in the gallery, remember? But ooops. It is the first home football game, and a holiday weekend and sorry, but they are already booked. I was keeping our relative in my pocket, but I didn't want to hire him simply because I wanted him to enjoy the wedding, and if anything went wrong.....well, I didn't want to jeopardize our family's friendship. I can only hope he understands. So I got serious about food, and I called three vendors.
The first faxed me a menu that read like a party I'd been to twenty years ago. She was out. The second was extremely tall and only slightly intimidating. We met over little bon bons with her assistant taking notes. She told me they were all inclusive, and was the first to give me pause about feeding everyone on a terrace. "I'm not saying it couldn't be done...," that was the line that added another line to my forehead. And no, botox wasn't an option. She showed me a menu she had designed for a similar wedding at the same place. I learned about little lamb chops, and she told me we'd need 150 cupcakes if we were having 120 people since they would be different flavors. Smart! Her company has rave reviews and I really liked her by the time I left, and felt I'd be in good hands. Then I didn't hear from her again. The third caterer was the charm. It was the wife of the chef of a beautiful small restaurant by the train tracks. We met before lunch service, after she'd dropped her children at the sitter. I first heard of them on NPR, nobody else knew that they catered. They are very into local, sustainable farms, and organic everything and as it turns out, they are close to the university hospital. My husband has eaten there many times, for business, and I made him take me to "L'etoile" for our anniversary. The shrimp and grits were divine.
Menu:
Traditional French cheese plate (to include reblochon because she loves it and our dog Buddha does too)
Grilled asparagus and carrots
Apple chutney over baked brie
Grilled beef fillet
Artisan breads
Salad L'etoile
Shrimp and Grits
Fall garden vegetarian plate
Apple cider donuts
and at the rooftop terrace:
Caramel crepes
Carter mountain apple bourbon bread pudding
Maple sugar candies
Anita Gupta's cupcakes (all 150 to include lavender for the bride, carrot cake for the groom and a combo of Bailey's Irish Cream and Guinness stout chocolate to represent their dogs' names).
Can you tell the bride spent a semester in Paris? Did you know she was born in the Berkshire Mountains and always loved those maple candies? Can you smell the down home southern country style cooking? Do you think it's enough? I was thinking maybe some chicken?
It can be overwhelming at times, all this help. But it's important to remember that it's offered with the best of intentions. For instance, my dear cousin's son-in-law is a caterer. He's really a great chef and had his own restaurant for a while. He has a winning personality and lives just an hour away. My husband said we should consider this relative/chef; after all, he's a member of the family. Even the bride was interested. But then again, she wanted a soup place in town to cater the wedding because they use local ingredients. Whenever I'd mention this to anyone, they'd try to hide their displeasure. "Oh, the soup place caters, really...." I even spoke with the soup-nazi himself, and he said to call him when it gets closer to the wedding and we could talk. So that was the end of that. The gallery uses Harvest Moon, and I first thought dinner would be in the gallery, remember? But ooops. It is the first home football game, and a holiday weekend and sorry, but they are already booked. I was keeping our relative in my pocket, but I didn't want to hire him simply because I wanted him to enjoy the wedding, and if anything went wrong.....well, I didn't want to jeopardize our family's friendship. I can only hope he understands. So I got serious about food, and I called three vendors.
The first faxed me a menu that read like a party I'd been to twenty years ago. She was out. The second was extremely tall and only slightly intimidating. We met over little bon bons with her assistant taking notes. She told me they were all inclusive, and was the first to give me pause about feeding everyone on a terrace. "I'm not saying it couldn't be done...," that was the line that added another line to my forehead. And no, botox wasn't an option. She showed me a menu she had designed for a similar wedding at the same place. I learned about little lamb chops, and she told me we'd need 150 cupcakes if we were having 120 people since they would be different flavors. Smart! Her company has rave reviews and I really liked her by the time I left, and felt I'd be in good hands. Then I didn't hear from her again. The third caterer was the charm. It was the wife of the chef of a beautiful small restaurant by the train tracks. We met before lunch service, after she'd dropped her children at the sitter. I first heard of them on NPR, nobody else knew that they catered. They are very into local, sustainable farms, and organic everything and as it turns out, they are close to the university hospital. My husband has eaten there many times, for business, and I made him take me to "L'etoile" for our anniversary. The shrimp and grits were divine.
Menu:
Traditional French cheese plate (to include reblochon because she loves it and our dog Buddha does too)
Grilled asparagus and carrots
Apple chutney over baked brie
Grilled beef fillet
Artisan breads
Salad L'etoile
Shrimp and Grits
Fall garden vegetarian plate
Apple cider donuts
and at the rooftop terrace:
Caramel crepes
Carter mountain apple bourbon bread pudding
Maple sugar candies
Anita Gupta's cupcakes (all 150 to include lavender for the bride, carrot cake for the groom and a combo of Bailey's Irish Cream and Guinness stout chocolate to represent their dogs' names).
Can you tell the bride spent a semester in Paris? Did you know she was born in the Berkshire Mountains and always loved those maple candies? Can you smell the down home southern country style cooking? Do you think it's enough? I was thinking maybe some chicken?
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
A ticket to fun
Just got an email from Home Away, http://www.homeaway.com/. This happens to be a great site that lists homes and villas for rent all over the world. Listen up, all you honeymooners out there! Based on our previous travel info, and the time we, the Big Chill group, rented a Thanksgiving week house in Key West from them, I now receive periodic prompts to fuel my sense of wanderlust. "My ticket to Fourth of July fun," it read. So, first I must explain this Big Chill group; four couples we crashed onto the first tier of the wedding invitation list, even though they are not actually family but just as well might be. And then I'll proceed to explain why the word "fun" and the "Fourth" would never coexist in my world.
My husband and I met in high school, freshman year. His family migrated to NJ from the garment district in Brooklyn and mine came from the coal fields of Scranton, PA. It was friends at once and love by junior year; he was Nathan Detroit to my Adelaide. We did all the school plays and musical comedies; our little preppy clique was like Glee meets Revenge of the Nerds. Along with Nathan and Adelaide came: 1) Nicely Nicely (also known as Where in the World is Lyle); 2) Lt Brannigan, a sweetheart of a guy, we made a pact that if we weren't married by 40, we'd marry each other; 3) Rusty Charlie, my Junior Prom date, cause my cool future husband wasn't "into" proms; and then there is 4) the Hot Box MC, the guy who's big Italian family was adopted by my husband's mother (my MIL). All of these guys went to Woodstock together after high school. Not me.
We had broken up in college, besides I doubt I'd be allowed to go to Woodstock, period. I was living in Westchester County, and only married Nathan 31 years ago, after the very same MIL found me in town one day and physically brought me to him. "Here," she said, "please take him off my hands," or something like that. All the boys married southern girls, except for me - I'm the only original Yankee high school girl who happened to marry her sweetheart after 16 years! A person, could develop a cold!! Our little group, or gang, would meet every Thanksgiving for a week of frivolity. Each family was responsible for one night's meal and we all cooked on turkey day, dancing and carrying on way before the actual Big Chill movie ever premiered. After awhile, the children outnumbered the adults and we'd rent two beach houses on Holden Beach. So these kids are all pretty close, more like cousins. We are the last couple to marry off a child, and this year we welcomed our first communal grandchild! You can bet we have a blast at the Big Chill weddings. We always serenade the newlyweds.
My hubby, who if you recall happens to also be an ER doctor, always works in July. July is when all the newbie young doctors start working in the hospital; they cannot even write a prescription yet. Really. If you ever feel the need to be in an ER, try not to pick the month of July. We could never ever vacation in the summer, that would be like having no adult supervision in the hospital. This was fine with me. Because on the Fourth of July, 1949, when I was still in diapers and barely walking, my Mother was hit head on by a drunk driver outside of Wilkes Barre, PA. My Father had died a few months earlier from a brain tumor. Mother was seriously injured and hospitalized for months which is the reason I was sent to NJ to be raised by my parents' best friends, who became my foster parents. I can't remember the last time I knowingly got in a car on this holiday, not that I'm superstitious. Really, I'm not. I'm just 100% Irish and believe that luck can be a lady, or anything you make of it.
My husband and I met in high school, freshman year. His family migrated to NJ from the garment district in Brooklyn and mine came from the coal fields of Scranton, PA. It was friends at once and love by junior year; he was Nathan Detroit to my Adelaide. We did all the school plays and musical comedies; our little preppy clique was like Glee meets Revenge of the Nerds. Along with Nathan and Adelaide came: 1) Nicely Nicely (also known as Where in the World is Lyle); 2) Lt Brannigan, a sweetheart of a guy, we made a pact that if we weren't married by 40, we'd marry each other; 3) Rusty Charlie, my Junior Prom date, cause my cool future husband wasn't "into" proms; and then there is 4) the Hot Box MC, the guy who's big Italian family was adopted by my husband's mother (my MIL). All of these guys went to Woodstock together after high school. Not me.
We had broken up in college, besides I doubt I'd be allowed to go to Woodstock, period. I was living in Westchester County, and only married Nathan 31 years ago, after the very same MIL found me in town one day and physically brought me to him. "Here," she said, "please take him off my hands," or something like that. All the boys married southern girls, except for me - I'm the only original Yankee high school girl who happened to marry her sweetheart after 16 years! A person, could develop a cold!! Our little group, or gang, would meet every Thanksgiving for a week of frivolity. Each family was responsible for one night's meal and we all cooked on turkey day, dancing and carrying on way before the actual Big Chill movie ever premiered. After awhile, the children outnumbered the adults and we'd rent two beach houses on Holden Beach. So these kids are all pretty close, more like cousins. We are the last couple to marry off a child, and this year we welcomed our first communal grandchild! You can bet we have a blast at the Big Chill weddings. We always serenade the newlyweds.
My hubby, who if you recall happens to also be an ER doctor, always works in July. July is when all the newbie young doctors start working in the hospital; they cannot even write a prescription yet. Really. If you ever feel the need to be in an ER, try not to pick the month of July. We could never ever vacation in the summer, that would be like having no adult supervision in the hospital. This was fine with me. Because on the Fourth of July, 1949, when I was still in diapers and barely walking, my Mother was hit head on by a drunk driver outside of Wilkes Barre, PA. My Father had died a few months earlier from a brain tumor. Mother was seriously injured and hospitalized for months which is the reason I was sent to NJ to be raised by my parents' best friends, who became my foster parents. I can't remember the last time I knowingly got in a car on this holiday, not that I'm superstitious. Really, I'm not. I'm just 100% Irish and believe that luck can be a lady, or anything you make of it.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Back to Business
The bridal shower went very well, except for the lack of AC in the little French bistro. Ages 85 to 25 were glowing beautifully all afternoon in a heat index of 107 degrees. The bride managed to finesse a small fan at her back, and surprisingly said she liked the game! She got to give out a prize to the person with the right answer. A beautifully pink, five week old cherub, baby Emma, was dutifully passed around the tables. And as I watched three toddlers glued to a miniature TV screen in a corner, I thought about the coloring books and crayons I would tote around for my children, to keep them "busy" when dining out. This would not be the first time I'd felt grateful not to have cell phones and techno savvy toys when I was a young mother. One friend's daughter was recently bullied via text message from her classmate on another bus. I'd rather be face to face with my bully, and my children, any day!
The 565 mile trip to Nashville left my neck sore (from head banging to country music to keep myself awake) and my body ragged (from too much sodium infused restaurant fare and no exercise). Before leaving I had arranged for mini-buses to carry guests from the hotel to and from the orchard on the wedding day. This was an important feature of dinner on the mountain; we didn't want anyone driving down the mountain under the influence. I also received an estimate for the decor and flowers. I didn't want to show this estimate to the Father-of-the-Bride yet, because I wanted him to remain sane and competent while I was away at the shower. Now as anyone knows, the style of a wedding is set by the decor: down home country equals hay bales and tractors in the backyard, cowgirl boots; black-tie equals a ritzy hotel ballroom, Christian Laboutin heels etc. In between is a wide spectrum of wedding styles. We were starting out in a public place, an apple orchard, so we really have the freedom to make it into anything we want, although we are in an orchard, and we are very rustic elegant.
I started researching wedding budgets. Now I know this is a little late, since money is really an object as opposed to being "no object." Our daughter hates over the top, ostentatious weddings. She really abhors these spectacles that are more about the parents screaming opulence and going into debt just to prove that they can. The bride is already in debt. She would not allow us to pay for her medical school education and she thinks she can keep us from shelling out thousands of dollars on "One Day" by keeping track of the budget. "Along with their parents," is how the invitation is worded. The bride and groom are paying for the photographer, the honeymoon, and the invitations. The groom's parents are graciously doing a rehearsal dinner for a cast of a hundred at least. And we, the parents of the bride, will be responsible for the rest. This will include lots of extraneous things around the weekend, but mostly it will include "The Party," also known as the reception.
I went immediately to http://costofwedding.com/where I was happy to learn that if we wanted to hold this event in her hometown of Rumson, NJ, it would cost at least $20,000 more than the average cost here in the Shenandoah Valley. I put in our current zip code and out popped our range in this sleepy Southern town, between $18,584 and $30,973. Sorry for the bold face, but that's the way I copied it right off the site. And according to my oracle of all things wedding, Martha Stewart, the reception should take up to 40-50% of the budget. That means we could budget anywhere from $6,000 to $15,000 for The Party! Really?? I remember one all inclusive caterer telling me it would cost about $100 to $150 per guest, and I must admit I almost choked; at 125 guests, she was in the ball park. I was left standing out in left field. Lately I've been asking people, "Do you know how much it costs to rent a tent?" My daughter thinks we should scatter apples on the tables and call that a decoration. I'm thinking she might be right.
But lucky me, I've found a wonderful designer, a florist and event planner who is very sympatico and understands our family dynamic. She grows organic flowers on her farm and has gorgeous farm tables for the tent. Our gallery/dessert space will be transformed by her lovely banquettes and torches. Shawn Cossette, of Beehive Events /www.beehiveevents.com/ has a beautiful eye and can be my "day of" wedding planner to coordinate everything on the Big Day. Now I can exhale. Anyway, the mini-buses are in and the limo is out.
The 565 mile trip to Nashville left my neck sore (from head banging to country music to keep myself awake) and my body ragged (from too much sodium infused restaurant fare and no exercise). Before leaving I had arranged for mini-buses to carry guests from the hotel to and from the orchard on the wedding day. This was an important feature of dinner on the mountain; we didn't want anyone driving down the mountain under the influence. I also received an estimate for the decor and flowers. I didn't want to show this estimate to the Father-of-the-Bride yet, because I wanted him to remain sane and competent while I was away at the shower. Now as anyone knows, the style of a wedding is set by the decor: down home country equals hay bales and tractors in the backyard, cowgirl boots; black-tie equals a ritzy hotel ballroom, Christian Laboutin heels etc. In between is a wide spectrum of wedding styles. We were starting out in a public place, an apple orchard, so we really have the freedom to make it into anything we want, although we are in an orchard, and we are very rustic elegant.
I started researching wedding budgets. Now I know this is a little late, since money is really an object as opposed to being "no object." Our daughter hates over the top, ostentatious weddings. She really abhors these spectacles that are more about the parents screaming opulence and going into debt just to prove that they can. The bride is already in debt. She would not allow us to pay for her medical school education and she thinks she can keep us from shelling out thousands of dollars on "One Day" by keeping track of the budget. "Along with their parents," is how the invitation is worded. The bride and groom are paying for the photographer, the honeymoon, and the invitations. The groom's parents are graciously doing a rehearsal dinner for a cast of a hundred at least. And we, the parents of the bride, will be responsible for the rest. This will include lots of extraneous things around the weekend, but mostly it will include "The Party," also known as the reception.
I went immediately to
But lucky me, I've found a wonderful designer, a florist and event planner who is very sympatico and understands our family dynamic. She grows organic flowers on her farm and has gorgeous farm tables for the tent. Our gallery/dessert space will be transformed by her lovely banquettes and torches. Shawn Cossette, of Beehive Events /www.beehiveevents.com/ has a beautiful eye and can be my "day of" wedding planner to coordinate everything on the Big Day. Now I can exhale. Anyway, the mini-buses are in and the limo is out.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
On the road again
The invitations are a big success! RSVPs are rolling in, but my first job of the day is laundry. I'll be leaving tomorrow for the Bridal Shower, driving the ten hours to Nashville where I'll meet up with the Maid of Honor, and my Mother-in-Law, and the Bride's future MIL, plus another friend to host a bridal brunch at a small French bistro called Marche on the East side of town. Now, had I known that this would also be the Country Music Awards weekend, we may have chosen a different date. Remember my son's band, The Parlor Mob, is pretty pure rock and roll. Not that I don't like country music, I just don't listen to it...unless it's the Dixie Chicks. So late in the game I found some hotel rooms in Brentwood, outside of Nashvegas; because between the flood and the CMAs, there was not a room to be had in the Music City.
Now I've been pre-warned, by the Maid of Honor, that my daughter would throttle me should I try to play any games at this shower. There will no wrapping up of guests, mummy-like, in toilet paper; in other words, no fun. So I have to admit, I've been a reluctant guest at bridal and baby showers over the years. I drank the punch and munched on the sandwiches. I think of them as an archaic ritual, designed to keep us women giddy and in our place, with ridiculous looking ribbon and bow hats to boot. At worst, a shameless plea for gifts, at best, some harmless fun. But granted, these were cousins once removed, and friends' showers that were caught in a 1950's time warp. Once internet shopping happened, I became a happy shopper. I would not have to travel hundreds of miles for a shower, with the click of a button I could send a gift that the bride and groom had listed on the Knot or some other such spot, and voila. Happiness all around.
When my daughter was young, I went all out on her birthdays. She is a September baby, right after school started, so perfect timing for parties. They were always held at home, I devised games for the kids, including making a huge strawberry shortcake bean bag toss. Clowns would come to visit with balloons, or stuffed pandas. I cooked, but I bought the theme birthday cake. There would be no MacDonald birthday parties for us! Her bat mitzvah was unique, we celebrated on a boat in the shipping lanes of NY harbor. When she graduated from high school, I made all her favorite foods and we celebrated at her best friend's house (aka Maid of Honor) on the Navesink River. When she graduated from Duke, a tent went up in our backyard, and we had a clambake. I scattered lots of framed school pictures of her around the tables. People raved, they swooned. So now, of course, the pressure is on for the Bridal Shower, a prelude for The Big Day!
Strawberry mimosas will be served and flowers have been ordered for the table. This will mostly be a party for the residents who may not be able to come to the wedding because of their schedules. And right after I finish the laundry and packing, I'm going to run back up to my writing tower and devise a "How well do you know the bride and groom game." I'll ask questions like, "What type of uniform strikes fear in the bride's heart?" or "What is the groom's favorite dessert?" It will be multiple choice. I won't order the "Make your own action figure dolls" on that'smyface.com; I was thinking 2 doctors, one with long blond hair and the guy in glasses. I'll leave the toilet paper at home. I still might order some angel wings from Mother Pluckers. This bride should be counting her blessings!
Now I've been pre-warned, by the Maid of Honor, that my daughter would throttle me should I try to play any games at this shower. There will no wrapping up of guests, mummy-like, in toilet paper; in other words, no fun. So I have to admit, I've been a reluctant guest at bridal and baby showers over the years. I drank the punch and munched on the sandwiches. I think of them as an archaic ritual, designed to keep us women giddy and in our place, with ridiculous looking ribbon and bow hats to boot. At worst, a shameless plea for gifts, at best, some harmless fun. But granted, these were cousins once removed, and friends' showers that were caught in a 1950's time warp. Once internet shopping happened, I became a happy shopper. I would not have to travel hundreds of miles for a shower, with the click of a button I could send a gift that the bride and groom had listed on the Knot or some other such spot, and voila. Happiness all around.
When my daughter was young, I went all out on her birthdays. She is a September baby, right after school started, so perfect timing for parties. They were always held at home, I devised games for the kids, including making a huge strawberry shortcake bean bag toss. Clowns would come to visit with balloons, or stuffed pandas. I cooked, but I bought the theme birthday cake. There would be no MacDonald birthday parties for us! Her bat mitzvah was unique, we celebrated on a boat in the shipping lanes of NY harbor. When she graduated from high school, I made all her favorite foods and we celebrated at her best friend's house (aka Maid of Honor) on the Navesink River. When she graduated from Duke, a tent went up in our backyard, and we had a clambake. I scattered lots of framed school pictures of her around the tables. People raved, they swooned. So now, of course, the pressure is on for the Bridal Shower, a prelude for The Big Day!
Strawberry mimosas will be served and flowers have been ordered for the table. This will mostly be a party for the residents who may not be able to come to the wedding because of their schedules. And right after I finish the laundry and packing, I'm going to run back up to my writing tower and devise a "How well do you know the bride and groom game." I'll ask questions like, "What type of uniform strikes fear in the bride's heart?" or "What is the groom's favorite dessert?" It will be multiple choice. I won't order the "Make your own action figure dolls" on that'smyface.com; I was thinking 2 doctors, one with long blond hair and the guy in glasses. I'll leave the toilet paper at home. I still might order some angel wings from Mother Pluckers. This bride should be counting her blessings!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The registry
It's gift giving time. This morning I tried to talk my Mother-in-Law into giving her Grand Daughter a standing Kitchen Aid mixer for the bridal shower. This gift is not on The Registry List, but the bride loves to bake. Dessert can never come soon enough in her opinion. Maybe this is because I didn't bake, or for that matter, buy baked goods? Well I did have my standard celebratory cake that we made as a mother daughter duo once, or twice a year - triple layer carrot cake with toasted coconut cream cheese icing. I would also bring this cake to funerals; it is an equal opportunity cake. My daughter's reward for grating carrots (no, we didn't have a Cuisinart) was to apply the icing and finish off the bowl. Icing, now that is her reason for baking. We used to kid that if medical school didn't work out, she could always move to Paris and become a pastry chef. But I was serious.
My Mother-in Law thought this was a splendid idea, because she loves to bake too. They have their history of people pancakes, rugelah (Jewish cookies), Buffalo cake, and Dolly Partons (a very delectable candy). So obviously, her sweet tooth comes from her Father's side of the family. When she was little, a typical outing with her Dad would involve a stop at Palmer's for candy. As we're talking long distance about baking, the call-waiting buzz happens and it's my daughter. At any time, day or night, the bride takes preference over every other call...always. She will call in the car, on her way to or from the hospital, and we always talk, every day. It was a very busy night shift in the ER, and one of her dogs is waiting at home wearing the "cone of shame," and we giggled and gossiped. But then I made the mistake of saying something about how nice it might be for her to have a standing industrial sized mixer, since I was this close to ordering on Amazon. "No," my Bride said, "I really don't have room in this kitchen and no time to bake." And just like that, I found myself back on The Registry talking with Grandma.
For some reason, Grandma didn't want to get her knives, a bar table, or anything else of significance that might cause bodily harm or contribute to drunkenness from the Registry. I told her that during the Nashville flood, they lost everything in the basement, including the vacuum; but that too was not on the Registry. However, I knew that she really wanted a Dyson Animal vacuum since they have two dogs! "Great," she said. And I'm not sure how, but then we decided that I should give her the vacuum and she would give her a check. You have to be careful speaking with octogenarians on the phone, they are much better at phone talk than we are with our emails and "facelifts." Grandma calls Facebook, facelift, for effect. Now the point of the bridal shower is that it's a kitchen theme, and I really wanted to get her the Dutch Oven, that is on the Registry, and give her my recipe for Irish stew, but what the heck. I'm just the Mother-of-the-Bride.
Meanwhile today I bought a tackle box and filled it with all the tools a beautiful young woman might need for moving into her Freshman dorm room at Dartmouth. My friend's daughter is Salutorian today! It's a high school graduation gift tradition in my house that goes right back to the bride, when she graduated from high school thirteen years ago and my best friend gave her this gift - complete with an electric screwdriver, the handiest tool in the world. She loved it and still uses it to this day! I like gifts like this - useful, unusual and absolutely needed. Like a vacuum.
ps If you have a daughter, like mine, who will not do the typical Registry routine of walking through shops and gunning down everything in sight, who in fact, did not even want to do a Registry, Amazon.com allows the bride and groom to choose gifts carefully from the comfort of their home. Anything that is not carried by Amazon, can also be ordered directly from the same list. There is also something called Honeyfund.com, where guests who might feel uncomfortable giving checks like Grandma, can contribute towards a honeymoon or any other worthwhile cause. A good friend of mine, whose son is getting married this summer, noticed something interesting about The Registry in general. After looking over a few more, she said you can tell a lot about the couple from their Registry. And she's right.
My Mother-in Law thought this was a splendid idea, because she loves to bake too. They have their history of people pancakes, rugelah (Jewish cookies), Buffalo cake, and Dolly Partons (a very delectable candy). So obviously, her sweet tooth comes from her Father's side of the family. When she was little, a typical outing with her Dad would involve a stop at Palmer's for candy. As we're talking long distance about baking, the call-waiting buzz happens and it's my daughter. At any time, day or night, the bride takes preference over every other call...always. She will call in the car, on her way to or from the hospital, and we always talk, every day. It was a very busy night shift in the ER, and one of her dogs is waiting at home wearing the "cone of shame," and we giggled and gossiped. But then I made the mistake of saying something about how nice it might be for her to have a standing industrial sized mixer, since I was this close to ordering on Amazon. "No," my Bride said, "I really don't have room in this kitchen and no time to bake." And just like that, I found myself back on The Registry talking with Grandma.
For some reason, Grandma didn't want to get her knives, a bar table, or anything else of significance that might cause bodily harm or contribute to drunkenness from the Registry. I told her that during the Nashville flood, they lost everything in the basement, including the vacuum; but that too was not on the Registry. However, I knew that she really wanted a Dyson Animal vacuum since they have two dogs! "Great," she said. And I'm not sure how, but then we decided that I should give her the vacuum and she would give her a check. You have to be careful speaking with octogenarians on the phone, they are much better at phone talk than we are with our emails and "facelifts." Grandma calls Facebook, facelift, for effect. Now the point of the bridal shower is that it's a kitchen theme, and I really wanted to get her the Dutch Oven, that is on the Registry, and give her my recipe for Irish stew, but what the heck. I'm just the Mother-of-the-Bride.
Meanwhile today I bought a tackle box and filled it with all the tools a beautiful young woman might need for moving into her Freshman dorm room at Dartmouth. My friend's daughter is Salutorian today! It's a high school graduation gift tradition in my house that goes right back to the bride, when she graduated from high school thirteen years ago and my best friend gave her this gift - complete with an electric screwdriver, the handiest tool in the world. She loved it and still uses it to this day! I like gifts like this - useful, unusual and absolutely needed. Like a vacuum.
ps If you have a daughter, like mine, who will not do the typical Registry routine of walking through shops and gunning down everything in sight, who in fact, did not even want to do a Registry, Amazon.com allows the bride and groom to choose gifts carefully from the comfort of their home. Anything that is not carried by Amazon, can also be ordered directly from the same list. There is also something called Honeyfund.com, where guests who might feel uncomfortable giving checks like Grandma, can contribute towards a honeymoon or any other worthwhile cause. A good friend of mine, whose son is getting married this summer, noticed something interesting about The Registry in general. After looking over a few more, she said you can tell a lot about the couple from their Registry. And she's right.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Happy Anniversary
Thirty one years ago, I was left at my Mother-in-Law's house waiting for my groom and his best man to come back with the rabbi. This was a time of no cell phones, no personal computers in every home, and no way to know I'd be sitting here writing a blog about my daughter's wedding in the future. In fact, the elderly rabbi was waiting at a different corner than my soon to be husband thought, and so I wondered for awhile if I was to be left at the altar, so to speak. I spent my time sweeping leaves from around the pool since it looked like rain and all the wedding guests had retreated inside. I thought maybe the Pope really didn't forgive me for converting to Judaism; you start to hallucinate just a little before an event of such magnitude. And then they drove up! And the sun came out! And my brother made an inappropriate toast! My foster mother, the woman who had raised me in Victory Gardens, had suddenly died a few months before, which made the day bittersweet. I imagine it is this way for most brides, a little sweetness mixed with tears.
The invitations are in the mail. It's now occurring to me that I should make a checklist - if I had one, I could put a Big Check next to that one. My daughter and I had sent a flurry of emails back and forth about online wedding stationers. She and her fiancee finally picked the one with a little tree on top that looked like an apple tree. There was the big question of attire. Is it necessary to tell your guests what they are expected to wear to your wedding? Some said "Yes" but my oracle of all things wedding, MarthaStewart.com, said it was not necessary unless it was a black tie event. Even then, you say "Black Tie Optional." My girl over the years had participated in over the top, NYC black tie weddings and left coast cut-off jeans weddings on a beach...and the broad spectrum of everything in-between. She somehow thought people need to be told what not to wear! What I didn't get is that the invitation, by its very nature, is the first clue about your wedding. Will this be a formal affair, traditional with engraved lettering? Semi-formal, where just a part of the invitation is engraved? Or casual, like ours, designed and sent from the heart via internet and letterpress. The operative style for this wedding was going to be "rustic elegance." There is a word in Japanese that captures this essence, it means rustic and refined all at once. The word is somewhere in that book, "The Elegance of the Hedgehog."
I think I shocked my daughter when I told her that she and her betrothed could actually do the invitations. Somewhere I had read that this could be a bonding experience for the couple and give them shared ownership of the whole megilla; or the gansa megilla, which in Yiddish means the whole big fuss. There was a pregnant pause on the phone after I made my suggestion, I could hear her brain working over this idea through our wireless connection. "OK," she said very graciously. I told her all about the shelter animal stamps we could use that would benefit the ASPCA, and I even sent her the stamps. But, I later regretted this decision just a little, because when it came time to address the envelopes she was doing a rotation in the Pediatric ICU. This is the most intensely, emotionally hard field of medicine anyone ever invented. This is when you work for hours on a dying child, or you try and save a baby from SIDS; every day is a disaster with a young family that she would have to talk with about the possible outcome of their child's accident. But now the sun is shining, her PedsICU call shifts are over, and my invitation just might arrive today! On our wedding anniversary, a day I like to say we're still crazy about each other after all these years.
What is the secret to a happy marriage? Being available, listening, knowing that anything you say will be heard and has meaning to the other. But most of all, a sense of humor with some love thrown in. Marriage, it's not a bell curve, it's more like an EKG.
The invitations are in the mail. It's now occurring to me that I should make a checklist - if I had one, I could put a Big Check next to that one. My daughter and I had sent a flurry of emails back and forth about online wedding stationers. She and her fiancee finally picked the one with a little tree on top that looked like an apple tree. There was the big question of attire. Is it necessary to tell your guests what they are expected to wear to your wedding? Some said "Yes" but my oracle of all things wedding, MarthaStewart.com, said it was not necessary unless it was a black tie event. Even then, you say "Black Tie Optional." My girl over the years had participated in over the top, NYC black tie weddings and left coast cut-off jeans weddings on a beach...and the broad spectrum of everything in-between. She somehow thought people need to be told what not to wear! What I didn't get is that the invitation, by its very nature, is the first clue about your wedding. Will this be a formal affair, traditional with engraved lettering? Semi-formal, where just a part of the invitation is engraved? Or casual, like ours, designed and sent from the heart via internet and letterpress. The operative style for this wedding was going to be "rustic elegance." There is a word in Japanese that captures this essence, it means rustic and refined all at once. The word is somewhere in that book, "The Elegance of the Hedgehog."
I think I shocked my daughter when I told her that she and her betrothed could actually do the invitations. Somewhere I had read that this could be a bonding experience for the couple and give them shared ownership of the whole megilla; or the gansa megilla, which in Yiddish means the whole big fuss. There was a pregnant pause on the phone after I made my suggestion, I could hear her brain working over this idea through our wireless connection. "OK," she said very graciously. I told her all about the shelter animal stamps we could use that would benefit the ASPCA, and I even sent her the stamps. But, I later regretted this decision just a little, because when it came time to address the envelopes she was doing a rotation in the Pediatric ICU. This is the most intensely, emotionally hard field of medicine anyone ever invented. This is when you work for hours on a dying child, or you try and save a baby from SIDS; every day is a disaster with a young family that she would have to talk with about the possible outcome of their child's accident. But now the sun is shining, her PedsICU call shifts are over, and my invitation just might arrive today! On our wedding anniversary, a day I like to say we're still crazy about each other after all these years.
What is the secret to a happy marriage? Being available, listening, knowing that anything you say will be heard and has meaning to the other. But most of all, a sense of humor with some love thrown in. Marriage, it's not a bell curve, it's more like an EKG.
Friday, May 28, 2010
It's all about the dresss.
While I began searching for caterers, my daughter's job was to find a dress. My queen of multi-tasking told me she could only tackle one wedding thing at a time and finding the right wedding dress was number one on her list. Again, via online searching, who knew there were so many shapes for a mere dress? There's the sheath, A-line, mermaid, modified mermaid, ball gown (think big pouf of organza), and probably five more I can't think of. I must preface all this with my fear and trembling of anything having to do with shopping and my daughter. Our history goes way back, way way back, to nursery school in fact. You see, I always gave her a choice - pink skirt or blue pants; sneakers or fancy shoes; dress or osh kosh by gosh? This was in reaction to my past of course. I never had a choice when I was a child, I went to Catholic school and had to wear a maroon uniform, complete with bow tie and beanie until I rebelled and went to a public high school. We parents read all the right books, but in reality, our skills are forged by our regrettable past. Invariably, my little bride-to-be would choose the swingiest skirt, twirl around, and kick up her pink patent mary janes, happy as a clam...we said that happy clam thing alot in New England. I wish I knew why clams are considered jubilant?
Fast forward to middle school and you can see where I'm going. Madonna, Pretty Woman and Dirty Dancing were all the rage. We had moved to NJ and life took a turn toward..., well, way before Jersey Shore set the new standard for immodesty, I used to say, "there's a difference my sweet girl between class and trash," at least once a day. We learned to compromise, nothing below here or above there....we struggled. And then, like a bolt of sunshine in high school, she developed her own taste, her style. And in fact it was better than mine since my style was comfort conscious without bows, laid back, loose Eileen Fisher-like before she came on the scene. Lo and behold, she became my adviser, "Mom, if you wore it in the '60s, please don't wear it now." So the long and short of it was that we had a fine, loving relationship as she sailed off to college, so long as we didn't go clothes shopping together. I know, how could such a bonding mother/daughter activity create angst? I'm trying to explain, it happens gradually, over time. Today, she has no time to shop and wears scrubs most days, and she told me she wanted me to come to Nashville and help her pick a wedding gown. I was delighted and distraught all at once.
After making the rounds of all four wedding shops with her friends, from high to low dollar, she had her ideas ready for me and I had a plane ticket. The first store was high end and they were having a sample sale at the same time, yureka! I got nostalgic when she turned in front of the mirror and kicked her heel out to fluff the train on the first gown, my little nursery school girl again. Six dresses later, we had an idea of the shape that looked best on her - modified A-line, or semi-mermaid, something like that. Now let me make this clear, if you think you will suddenly cry and swoon when the right dress appears on your child you are mistaken. My daughter has wonderful taste and an eye for beauty which goes along with her yogi-slim, 5'8" body. Absolutely everything looks better than good on her. The only time I even started to tear up is when they whipped out the veil; be prepared for this trick. Somehow, seeing your daughter's beautiful hair hidden brings back a collective Jungian memory of being covered up and carted off to a cave. Try to ignore that feeling, unless you live in a country where indeed that might happen. We had to wait for the next day to hit the rest of the shops, but so far so good. I smiled and nodded, she was sleep-deprived and radiant.
We laughed about the semi/pushy/saleswoman/owner of one shop and had a wonderful time at another. We had come full circle, my daughter was now my friend and we could enjoy this shopping safari. We finally met a good saleswoman. She complimented at the right time, waited patiently, knew when to leave us alone and when to fuss with yet another color sash. There was another bride-to-be sharing our space in this little boutique with her mother. A cute little blond thing who I thought for sure was a country singer, but it turns out she's a teacher. I saw this young woman's taste go from over the top glitzy to classic in the time we were there sharing stories and the mirror. All the while my girl had an idea in her head of the perfect dress and we were getting close, very close. At the last shop she tried on "the one." How did I know? By the way it lit up her face. But she had previously rejected this one because of the price, it was a lovely, lacy concoction, a Monique Lhuillier. We were in heaven!! We had found the dress, but she refused to pay, or wait, let's put it another way, let me pay that much for one dress. My husband and I managed to raise a young woman with a conscience. She wants a sustainable wedding, using local, organic foods...email "save the dates" to save paper...and now we were on the hunt for a recycled or previously used Lhuillier on : http://www.preownedweddingdresses.com/
A few weeks later, with her maid of honor/best friend by her side, she raided her Grandmother's closet in NJ and came out with a 1950's designer lace gown that she happily proclaimed was "the one!"And along with Grandma, we four formed a happy circle jumping up and down while she whispered to me, "...this is how I wanted it to be."
Fast forward to middle school and you can see where I'm going. Madonna, Pretty Woman and Dirty Dancing were all the rage. We had moved to NJ and life took a turn toward..., well, way before Jersey Shore set the new standard for immodesty, I used to say, "there's a difference my sweet girl between class and trash," at least once a day. We learned to compromise, nothing below here or above there....we struggled. And then, like a bolt of sunshine in high school, she developed her own taste, her style. And in fact it was better than mine since my style was comfort conscious without bows, laid back, loose Eileen Fisher-like before she came on the scene. Lo and behold, she became my adviser, "Mom, if you wore it in the '60s, please don't wear it now." So the long and short of it was that we had a fine, loving relationship as she sailed off to college, so long as we didn't go clothes shopping together. I know, how could such a bonding mother/daughter activity create angst? I'm trying to explain, it happens gradually, over time. Today, she has no time to shop and wears scrubs most days, and she told me she wanted me to come to Nashville and help her pick a wedding gown. I was delighted and distraught all at once.
After making the rounds of all four wedding shops with her friends, from high to low dollar, she had her ideas ready for me and I had a plane ticket. The first store was high end and they were having a sample sale at the same time, yureka! I got nostalgic when she turned in front of the mirror and kicked her heel out to fluff the train on the first gown, my little nursery school girl again. Six dresses later, we had an idea of the shape that looked best on her - modified A-line, or semi-mermaid, something like that. Now let me make this clear, if you think you will suddenly cry and swoon when the right dress appears on your child you are mistaken. My daughter has wonderful taste and an eye for beauty which goes along with her yogi-slim, 5'8" body. Absolutely everything looks better than good on her. The only time I even started to tear up is when they whipped out the veil; be prepared for this trick. Somehow, seeing your daughter's beautiful hair hidden brings back a collective Jungian memory of being covered up and carted off to a cave. Try to ignore that feeling, unless you live in a country where indeed that might happen. We had to wait for the next day to hit the rest of the shops, but so far so good. I smiled and nodded, she was sleep-deprived and radiant.
We laughed about the semi/pushy/saleswoman/owner of one shop and had a wonderful time at another. We had come full circle, my daughter was now my friend and we could enjoy this shopping safari. We finally met a good saleswoman. She complimented at the right time, waited patiently, knew when to leave us alone and when to fuss with yet another color sash. There was another bride-to-be sharing our space in this little boutique with her mother. A cute little blond thing who I thought for sure was a country singer, but it turns out she's a teacher. I saw this young woman's taste go from over the top glitzy to classic in the time we were there sharing stories and the mirror. All the while my girl had an idea in her head of the perfect dress and we were getting close, very close. At the last shop she tried on "the one." How did I know? By the way it lit up her face. But she had previously rejected this one because of the price, it was a lovely, lacy concoction, a Monique Lhuillier. We were in heaven!! We had found the dress, but she refused to pay, or wait, let's put it another way, let me pay that much for one dress. My husband and I managed to raise a young woman with a conscience. She wants a sustainable wedding, using local, organic foods...email "save the dates" to save paper...and now we were on the hunt for a recycled or previously used Lhuillier on : http://www.preownedweddingdresses.com/
A few weeks later, with her maid of honor/best friend by her side, she raided her Grandmother's closet in NJ and came out with a 1950's designer lace gown that she happily proclaimed was "the one!"And along with Grandma, we four formed a happy circle jumping up and down while she whispered to me, "...this is how I wanted it to be."
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