{cypress and oak}

The Real Beginning

2009-07-07T13:50:00.000-07:00

Perhaps this is where I should have started my recaps. The ceremony. The ritual. The moment of marriage. For us, the ceremony was so much more than a prelude to the reception. It was (and is) the time when our promises were made real. It was (and is) the crux of our wedding and the beginning of our marriage. Yes. This is the real beginning.

We started with a welcome and a prayer. And then, because we originate from a place of “yes,” we began the affirmations. I am a woman, a feminist, and an adult; I am no one’s gift to give away. But it was exceedingly important to my father and stepfather that they have the opportunity to affirm their support for the marriage. They did. Then the Mister and I affirmed that we intended to enter into the covenant of marriage, and we said our “I dos.” Right at the outset. Do you take this man? Do you take this woman? Yes. We do. Finally, we asked the congregation if they would give their encouragement. They did too.

Next, a bit more tradition and heritage. While I will always remain a part of my own family, I wanted to make an outward sign that I joined with my Mister’s family. So, in the ancient Scottish tradition, my mother in law, Momma Mac, pinned the Mister’s family tartan on my dress.

After which our celebrant read this prayer of thanksgiving by ee cummings:

i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes

I’m going to interrupt the recap to give some unsolicited advice. Choose your celebrant wisely. Pick someone you love and who loves you. Someone who knows you. Someone truly extraordinary for an extraordinary moment in your lives. I realize that very few people in the world could have a celebrant like ours. You see, we didn’t pick a celebrant who happened to be our friend. We were blessed to have a friend who happened to be a celebrant to perform the sacrament of our marriage. And that, dear readers, is how we ended up with the most beautiful sermon I couldn’t have imagined. It included elements like this:

I’m going to ask you to turn around and just take in the view that I see – all the faces of people who have joined both of you in this celebration of marriage. These are the people who have been with you and will continue to be with you, as you start this new life together.

Sometimes when I look out over the congregation, I imagine that the pews don’t stop at the church doors, but keep going and going and are filled with people, so I invite you to look past these sanctuary walls and to see the pews extending back and back, and see how they are filled with all the people who have gathered here for you: all the people who have ever loved you, all those who have shown you kindness, all those who have fought for your freedom and for justice, all those who have taught you and comforted you and been your friend, throughout the generations.

I invite you to see your brothers, seated in a pew, happy and glad for all you have become and will be together. These are the people in your life, the ones who will guide you in your marriage to each other. Take a good look at them, for they are here because they love you.

People always say to take a moment. To really experience the wedding ceremony. To take a deep breath. To let the love of your friends and family wash over you. In all the excitement, I would have forgotten to do just that, had our celebrant not reminded us. But when she did remind us, time stopped. The room was fairly glowing with love. Bright and shining and warm and comforting. It was the essence of Ahhhhhh.

And then. Then! We said our vows. Which we wrote together.

I choose you
To be no other than yourself,
Loving what I know of you,
And trusting who you will become.
I will respect and honor you
Always and in all ways.
With you I pledge to repair
One small piece of the world.
I take you to be my spouse,
To have and to hold,
In tears and in laughter,
In sickness and in health,
To love and to cherish,
From this day forward,
In this world and the next.

We wanted to pledge something that was more than now. We wanted to acknowledge all that we did not yet know. We wanted to use traditional words, but add modern feelings. Because we have lost loved ones, for whom and from whom we still feel so much love, we wanted to promise a love that went beyond “until death do us part.” And my very favorite part of our vows? All the Mister’s idea – to pledge to repair the world. There is no greater healing than that.

We know that not everyone shares our spiritual beliefs, and we respect differences out in the world and here in our own communities and families. But for us, the marriage ceremony included God. And so we had communion. We had to fight with the church lady about the logistics. We wanted to be served last, after every single one of our guests had the opportunity to partake. She argued and wheedled and moved things around. But we stuck to our guns. And in the end, it worked just as we knew it should. It. Was. Right.

After all the solemn words and promises, it was time for a huge helping of joy with more than a sprinkle of humor. Our celebrant pronounced us husband and wife, we kissed (and kissed!), and the organist launched into our recessional. The Hallelujah Chorus. I can’t imagine a happier husband, a more cheerful wife, or a merrier congregation. To see people who have known sadness find true happiness? There were tears of joy and hoots of laughter. I may have even hopped up and down a bit. We sealed our marriage with mirth.

Amen.

Details, Details . . . .

2009-06-18T13:26:00.000-07:00

Wedding planners and coordinators and magazines (oh my!) say nowadays that details are the key to a good wedding. And when Super Tall Girl and I arrived at the church, we began setting up the little ceremony details we had prepared in advance. Programs:

Pinwheels (printed with the words of our vows). We put the paper pinwheels onto pencils that were themselves printed with whimsical axioms like, “Write Your Own Love Story,” and “A Whirlwind Romance.” And we put the finished products into recycled paper-ream box lids that we covered in fabric and filled with Spanish moss):

Vintage Hankies given by Mama, two Aunties, and Super Tall Girl:

A guestbook, nearly every page of which had a photograph of family members on their wedding day. And snapshot cards that told guests how to upload their photos on smugmug.com. We also made little stand-up cards that explained all of the other little details and cards. Overkill? Probably. But they were pretty little overkills, no?

The fascinator in my hair I made from feathers and French netting:

And I made my necklace from coin pearls that looked like full moons. The pearls symbolized my twin brother, whose nickname was “Mr. Moon” when we were little. (Mine was “Little Miss Sunshine”).

The flowers in my bouquet, above, were lilies of the valley, which symbolize a return to happiness. They are sometimes also called Jacob's Ladder, and Jacob was my twin brother's name.

I made my veil from an embroidered piece of organza from the fabric store and a plastic comb. Several people asked if it was vintage. But it was just homemade. It probably cost $15. But it felt like it was worth a million, because the embroidery was of shamrocks to symbolize the day the Mister and I got engaged – St. Patrick’s Day:

I made tartan rosette pins for every woman member of my mother’s clan and the Mister’s clan. Momma Mac, my MIL, pinned her tartan on my dress to symbolize that I joined her clan during the ceremony:

Sure, the weddingers say that details are the key to a good wedding. And I'm so glad I made them, because adding symbolism to an already meaningful ritual adds depth. And (to be honest) making things just plain makes me happy.

But our details were merely the outward expression of the inner love the Mister and I felt for each other, our guests, and the joyful occasion of the day. The only real detail I needed that day was the man I married. So don't be pressured to DIY or include a details that aren't your style or speed.

You and YOUR mister: express yourselves. BE yourselves. The you-ness of it all is what you will cherish, and what your guests will remember. I promise.

Bright-Eyed

2009-06-17T14:16:00.000-07:00

The night before the wedding, I slept the happy, deep, undisturbed sleep of a girl who knows she’s marrying the right husband the next day. (It may also have been the happy, deep, undisturbed sleep of a girl whose multi-decibel-snoring-fiancé is sleeping in another building. I’m just saying.) Anyhoo, I woke up bright-eyed and ready to grab brunch with a group of my favorite gals.

I don’t think I ate much – just moved my food around and thought about how this was IT. My wonderful friends fussed over me (and ordered me to eat more). It was deliciously lovely (and downright delicious).

I did my makeup at home myself, and I also had thought I’d do my own hair in my regular, everyday straight style. Like dis:

But when I went to the Enchantrix of Hair to get a cut two weeks before the wedding, I asked her to fix me up like she would on my wedding day. I liked it, but it seemed like a lot of work to make an appointment and get over to see her on wedding day. And I liked my regular do too. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Short story long, that day, the Mister picked me up from the appointment and made this incredibly contented aaaahhhhing sound when he saw my hair. Now this is a guy who probably wouldn’t notice if I shaved my head and painted my scalp purple. So if the hair trial produced that kind of reaction, you can bet your bottom dollar I was going to do it again. On the wedding day. Duh.

Here is the Enchantrix in action, whipping my babyfine hair into a wedding-worthy do:

Apparently this was a very wise choice, because on the wedding day, Pop told me FIVE BILLION TIMES that he LOOOOVED my hairdo. And he wasn’t alone. If I had the Enchantrix’s magical superpowers, I would fix my hair like this every day. But alas, I am a mere mortal.

After the hair spell, we went home to pick up the flowers that I put together the day before. Yep, I did my own flowers. Spent a total of $35 bucks on ‘em. That was for the mothers’ corsages, the tossing bouquet, a few extra flowers for my MOH, and the guys’ boutonnieres. All of which I made myself. My own flowers? Picked ‘em from my friend’s yard. Well, most of them, anyway. I confess to picking a few more from other people’s flower beds on the way home. It takes a village, you know. Here are the results:

MOH-Super Tall Girl's nosegay was a center of Bells of Ireland surrounded by lilies of the valley. My bouquet was all lilies of the valley. The bouts were a Scottish thistle (a nod to the Mister's and my heritage) paired with a succuluent bud from a plant called hens-and-chickens pulled from my friend's garden. Manly and green, and they happen to be Pop's favorite. The mamas each had a single flower to carry, tied with a slim black ribbon. Here's a closeup of my bouquet. It smelled MAHvelous.

And THAT, Ladies and Gentlemen, was the State of My Wedding Morning. What happened next, you ask? You know the drill. Tune in next time.

MAYDAY! MAYDAY!

2009-06-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Before we got to the three major wedding snafus, we had to make it through the day BEFORE our big day. May 1. Also known as May Day. As in, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”

I spent the morning and afternoon with MOH Super Tall Girl eating crepes, drinking champagne, and having a pedicure. It was deeelightful. The Mister was at work. Rargh. But before we both knew it, it was time for the rehearsal, which our dear friend Elaine (of the super fab engagement pics) photographed as a gift to us.

The rehearsal involved two diametrically opposed experiences: (1) dealing with Crazy Church Lady, which produced facial expressions like this:

And (2) seeing friends and family, which produced facial expressions like this:

Seriously, it’s soooo not fair that my mother-in-law, Momma Mac, (pictured above) looks like my sister. My YOUNGER sister. And here are a few photos to show that she raised her boys right. The Mister and his younger brother met their grandmother with hugs and respect. I. Love. Momma. Mac.

The highlight of the rehearsal was learning that there is a secret button that the Church Lady presses to cue the organist to switch to a different song. A magical button! Right there in our church! How absolutely splendid!

Nearly as splendid was the story my Mantron of Honor told me about a couple who brought their VERY VOCAL PARROT to their wedding.

The next chapter was dinner. Wherein we stuffed our faces with delicious fried chicken and gave gifts to our wedding party. Our dads gave excellent toasts. Of which we have nary a photo because we were too busy wiping our eyes. But here is one pic of MOH Super Tall Girl and me, glad to be surrounded by the warmth of family love. (Which may have been exaggerated by the unseasonably warm weather, the radiators belching steam, and the inoperable windows.) But the chicken? DEELISH.

And last but not least was a trip to the site of our first kiss and proposal, where we met up with dear friends and raised a glass (or two). Said dear friends had already raised a glass (or three) before we even arrived. Which may be why their text messages referenced “drunking” rather than “drinking.” We danced. We sang at the top of our lungs.

We smooched our last single kiss. MWAH!

Exhausted, the Mister and I separated (home for me and our grumpy little dog, hotel for the Mister) to rest our tired smile muscles and to try to get some sleep.

Cue the announcer’s cliffhanger queries: Did they sleep? Did they get to the church on time? Did they murder the Church Lady? With a parrot?! Tune in to our next episode to find out!

2009-06-04T13:31:00.000-07:00

We’re married! (Not just “weddinged,” thank goodness.) So that’s MRS. Jules to you.

I’ve heard that many friends have been checking here for recap posts, and I’m finally ready to give ‘em to you. A quick list of the highlights:

1. Pop’s fly was unzipped during the ceremony. Thank you, photoshop! (Seriously, though, only three people knew about it.)

2. The Mister ended up wearing his grandmother’s corsage. As his boutonniere. (But it looked awesome!)

3. The groom’s cake had the wrong Scottish motto on it. (Instead of “MARE,” meaning “sea,” it says, “MARF.” So our new motto is, “Per Marf Per Terras,” or “By Marf and By Land.” What the Marf?! This is seriously my favorite wedding snafu. It makes me laugh so hard that my sides hurt. Marf! HA! Love it.)

You know how people say that the wedding is supposed to be the best day of your life? And how I thought that was soooo stupid, because it’s just a big party with a poofy dress and a tall cake? Well, I didn’t take into account two major things.

First, and most importantly, the magnitude and meaning of the ritual of marriage was breathtakingly beautiful. The love we felt for each other filled up the church and spilled right out into the street. I’ve been high on it for an entire month. I didn’t know I could love my Mister any more than I already did. But the words we spoke to each other, the way we saw each other, and the very air around us that day multiplied my love exponentially. I. Was. Gobsmacked.

And second, the guests at the big party with a poofy dress and a tall cake? Our closest, most beloved friends and family. Feeling the warmth of their love all at once was like the first time I broke through the clouds in an airplane. Transformational. Awe-inspiring. Humbling. Glorious.

So the wedding may not turn out to be the very best day of my life. But you can bet it was the best day of my life so far. That’s why I have an open-mouthed-laugh-from-the-sheer-joy-of-it-all face. In nearly every single picture.

Special thanks to Todd Pellowe, tpellowe.com, who took these amazing photos. He reached up into the night sky that was our wedding and captured shooting stars of emotion. More to come. I promise.

Isn't That Special?

2009-03-20T09:28:00.000-07:00

Well! Those of you who were adamantly against a receiving line of any sort at the ceremony have got your wish. We met with the Church Lady last night.

She isn’t a bad lady – just . . . rigid. The Mister and I firmly believe that the ceremony is the single most important part of the wedding. Not the cake. Not the flowers. The vows. So we spent a lot of time tailoring the ceremony to reflect the realities of our families (my family mostly) and the depth of our relationship with each other and with God. Our meeting last night seems to indicate we’re the first people ever to do this at our church.

As a brief aside, this wedding isn’t the first time my family has switched things up a bit in the church to reflect the realities of a situation. I’ve mentioned before that my twin brother died eight years ago. Apparently, his funeral was the first in the church to openly acknowledge that the death was by suicide. Until then, people had just used the euphemism, “He died suddenly.” While it was certainly difficult to be that open, my family felt that it was the best way to help shine a light on the dark world of suicide by encouraging open discussion. It was the right decision for us.

So, back to the meeting with the Church Lady (“CL”). First, we spent some time explaining that we had a mixed bridal party. A woman (Super Tall Girl) and a man (my Mantron of Honor) will stand up on my side, and a man (the Mister’s brother) and a woman (the lady who introduced us) will stand up on the Mister’s side. CL kept calling my side, “The Girls.” My Mantron of Honor is very secure in his masculinity, so I’m not worried. But it cracks me up that he WORKS AT THE CHURCH, and she still wouldn’t recognize his role.

Next step: The Parents. I’ve got all kinds of ‘em. And I decided early on to treat everybody as equals. This has caused no end of friction. In fact, I haven’t blogged about it, because it’s too delicate an issue. But trust me. This is important. CL wanted my stepmother to be seated before the ceremony began, rather than with the family. And she paled visibly when I said that both my father and stepdad were going to walk me down the aisle. Um, I know that traditionally there was no role for the stepparents. But that’s when it was traditional to have only one set of parents. My parents divorced when I was six. My stepparents have contributed immeasurably to raising me. They WILL NOT be treated as second class citizens. Not now. Not on the wedding day. Not ever. ‘Nuff said.

The Mister lost his temper when CL told him that, “There is no photography during the wedding ceremony.” He called the rule rude (I think he was going to say bulls**t), and got all red in the face. CL then softened this unequivocal statement by adding that the photographer can take photos from the choir loft without a flash. I pointed out the futility of the rule, since tons of guests bring cameras and take photos (with flash) throughout the ceremony. But I got over it. And the Mister fumed. On to the last issue.

When we asked about leaving the church after the ceremony, CL informed us that the church “doesn’t permit receiving lines” of any kind. Including releasing the rows. Whaaa? We go to the fanciest-schmantziest church in the city, where everything is too, too proper, and receiving lines are verboten? Seriously? Miss Manners would have a conniption.

Fortunately, the Mister, our minister, and I had been discussing a receiving line alternative over the past week or so, whereby we would release the rows of guests as they go to communion. This would allow us to see every guest even more quickly than a receiving line, because it would be during the ceremony. And the guests would be asked to respect the sanctity of communion by remaining silent. This is perhaps the newest idea we’ve had so far. Plenty of people have had mixed bridal parties and stepparents participating in the ceremony. Maybe not in our church, but they’re not uncommon these days. But releasing the rows for communion – now that’s different.

CL didn’t attempt to hide her disdain. “Leaving the front of the sanctuary during the service? Well . . . that’s just . . . wrong!” And so, our minister came to the rescue. She suggested that the Mister and I stand near where people came forward to take communion, so we could smile at each person. It’s the perfect compromise (and the quickest receiving line option in the universe).

So all you anti-receiving line folks out there, you got your wish. And all I’ve got to say about it is, “Well, isn’t that special?”

I See You've Won First Prize

2009-03-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

Last night, Super Tall Girl, the Mister, and I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day! One year ago yesterday, the Mister proposed to me (and my snausage finger). I love the fact that people all over the world get together wear green, drink beer, and toast our engagement! How festive!

We had dinner at home before going out. I made beef and Guinness stew, Irish soda bread, and Guinness floats for dessert. That’s right – Guinness floats: vanilla ice cream with Guinness on top. Kind of like a coke float, but with a creamy, chocolaty, coffee flavor, and a bit of a buzz. They were deeelish!

After dinner, we went to the place where the Mister proposed and had . . . more beer! While we were toasting, I said something that Super Tall Girl made me promise to blog about today. Here it is:

Jules (to the Mister): “Oh my gosh! I’m so excited! The seamstress is putting a pocket in my wedding dress so that I don’t have to put my lipstick in your purse!”

Why would the Mister carry a purse on his wedding day, you ask? Well, as I may have mentioned before, he’s going to wear a kilt. Part of the getup is a sporran, which is basically a man purse that he wears around his waist, because kilts don’t have pockets. Actually, there’s no “basically” about it. “Sporran” means “purse” in Gaelic.

So, I’m going to marry a man in a skirt with a purse. And there’s nothing in the world manlier or sexier. Hello!?! Have you seen Rob Roy? Braveheart? In On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, an excited woman reaches up James Bond’s kilt and writes her hotel room number in lipstick on his thigh. So there we are. Back to lipstick. And then, of course, there’s the Scottish drinking song:

Well, a Scotsman clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair. And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share. He fumbled 'round 'till he could no longer keep his feet. And stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street.

Now about that time two young and lovely girls happened by. One said to the other with a twinkle in her eye. See yon sleeping Scotsman so strong and handsome built. I wonder if it's true what he wears nothing beneath the kilt.

They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quiet as can be. Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see. Lo and behold for them to view beneath his Scottish skirt. Was nothin' more than God had graced him with upon his birth.

They marveled for a minute and one said, "We must be gone.Let's leave a souvenir for our friend before we move along."As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow. Around the bonnie star the Scott's kilt did lift and show.

Now the Scotsman rose to nature's call and headed for the trees. Behind the bush he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees. And in his drunken voice he says to what's before his eyes."Oh, lad I don't know where you've been, but I see you've won first prize."

Opposites Attract

2009-03-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

After my bout of mischief at the premarital counseling required by our Church, I came to our final counseling meeting on my best behavior. It was yesterday, and the point of the meeting was our Myers-Briggs personality inventory scores.

I find myself wondering why we get these scores so late in the wedding planning process. Wouldn’t you think that incompatibility would be best learned sometime before the 50-day final countdown? And at first blush, we sure looked incompatible.

There are four elements to the Myers-Briggs test, and we only shared one. We’re both planners. In case you hadn’t noticed from this wedding planning blog.

But we’re opposites on the other three elements. I’m a feeling, intuitive extrovert, and the Mister is a thinking, sensing introvert. Ruh-roh.

Our premarital counselor didn’t bother to do more than explain the elements of the test, so I did a little online research to find out what our scores meant. Why did we feel so good together if we were so very different?

I learned that we have a duality relationship, which is summarized as the most favorable and comfortable of all relationships between personality types. One article I saw even said that duality relationships provide “complete psychological compatibility.” Whew! Here’s more:

Dual partners are like two halves of a whole unit. They usually understand each other’s intentions without any need to say a word. Your dual partner will naturally protect your weak points and appreciate the strong ones. Interaction with your dual allows you to be yourself without the need to adjust to your partner, like you would in other relationships. This often saves both partners a lot of energy which they can use for their own interests. Conflicts between duals are very rare and if there are any, they are normally short-lived and solved without pain. Your dual partner will love you just for what you are, and if there is such a thing as true love, it usually occurs in relations of duality.
There are at least two conditions to be completed for a successful relationship between duals. First, between the partners there has to be at least a minimal mutual attraction. Second, and most important, the partners must truly strive for the same or similar things. This may include common interests or life goals. In other words, two halves of the same whole must not move in the different directions, or the whole will break into pieces.

No wonder being with the Mister feels so very right. And why I feel, for the very first time in a relationship, that I can be myself, and he’ll appreciate me just as I am (and vice versa!). Since we share common interests, common life goals, and (a lot!) more than “minimal mutual attraction,” I now understand why we’re so well suited for each other.

I guess opposites really do attract.

Amen, Sara!

2009-03-09T14:38:00.000-07:00

Sara, over at 2000dollarwedding posted a fabulous rant about wedding hysteria. You'll have to head on over there if you want to read the whole thing, but here's an excerpt:

Dear David's Bridal,

For a large number of people, planning a wedding is not easy. Of course there is excitement and eager anticipation, but there is also a lot of anxiety.

Some of us are anxious about how to plan ideal weddings that fit within our budgets. . . . Some of us worry about hurting other peoples' feelings . . . . Some of us wonder why it is that we find ourselves thinking about our weddings ALL THE DAMN TIME even though we are perfectly rational beings with many, many passions beyond the scope of our weddings.

As you can see, the wedding planning community has enough pressure as it is. David's Bridal, we do not need to hear subtle statements from you that serve to increase our anxiety, such as this statement from a recent press release: "Amidst troubling economic times, a wedding is still the most important day in a couple's life."

Yes, a wedding is a great day in a couple's life. It is meaningful and memorable. But it is not--by any stretch of the corporate imagination--the Be-All-End-All of our lives. A wedding is a wonderful opportunity to proclaim and celebrate our love and commitment, but it commemorates an official beginning, not an end. We have many opportunities ahead of us for "important" days in our lives as a couple. . . . [T]his isn't our one chance to have our most important day.

Amen, Sara!

"Hello, self. It's me, Jules."

2009-03-05T13:03:00.000-08:00

It’s official. I am ready for the wedding. Not because all the projects are finished, but because the wedding has taken over my life.

If my mind were a computer (and believe me, it’s not), the wedding would be a program running in the background at all times -- with hundreds of popup messages per day. I am able to get everything else done, but it’s almost as if all of those other responsibilities revolve around the center of the universe. Which is The Wedding.

What did I think about before I was contemplating centerpieces over every lunch break? What did I do with my time when I wasn’t making invitations and programs and bridesmaid gifts and writing welcome letters and toasts and vows and day-of timelines?

I. Completely. Forget.

I used to think of myself as a person. But the wedding industrial complex has nearly redefined my identity to: BRIDE. Nearly, but not quite entirely. Which is how I’m able, through my remaining scrap of self-awareness, to see a glimmer of the Jules I was before the wedding. The person I still am, under layers and layers of tulle.

And if I’m overwhelmed with this Event-with-a-capital-E, imagine how it’s affecting the Mister. Here’s an excerpt from a conversation I had with Mama last week:

Mama: “The wedding doesn’t stress me out. Now Mr. Mama’s retirement – THAT stresses me out.”
Jules: “You live with Mr. Mama’s retirement.
You don’t live with the wedding. The Mister does.”
Mama: “And he still wants to marry you?! He must really love you.”

This is why they say to have a short engagement. Eighteen months is waaaay too long for my crafty mind to contemplate all of the possible wedding details I can arrange to perfection. Enough already!

So we’ve planned a wedding-free day this Saturday. We won’t be checking the mailbox for RSVPs; we won’t be making darling little wedding crafts; we won’t practice our first dance or edit our song list or review the budget. It’s not really about reconnecting with each other; we’ve remained very close through all this creative chaos. It’s really about reconnecting with ourselves.

"Hello, self. It's me, Jules."

Receiving Lines are Like Lawyers

2009-02-24T13:12:00.000-08:00

Miss Manners says that the bride and the groom must greet every guest at the wedding. When you have invited a jillion people, however, it’s pretty doggone difficult to figure out a way to greet everyone in a sincere but efficient way.

The Mister and I would like to enjoy the reception, which means enjoying our guests. It does not, however, mean being cornered at the reception by Crazy Aunt Talksalot, who wants to tell us all about her hemorrhoids. We want to be hospitable and gracious, but we also want to have a moment or two to enjoy the day and to eat our own dinners. (I get grouchy when I don’t eat, which would lead to me telling Aunt Talksalot where to stick her hemorrhoids, if you know what I mean.)

As far as I can tell, there are five basic options to greet the guests:
1. A traditional receiving line, with parents and the bridal party included.
2. Just the bride and the groom at the back of the ceremony, greeting guests.
3. Reentering the ceremony to release the rows of guests one by one.
4. Going around from table to table at the reception.
5. Randomly seeing people at the reception, without any plan to get to everybody.

My entire experience at weddings involves waiting to greet the bride and groom. Whether it’s in a receiving line at the ceremony, being released by rows, or searching the dark reception for a flash of white dress, this waiting seems to take forever. I will admit that forever is slightly more bearable when I’ve got a canapé in my mouth and a glass of wine in my hand, but forever it is. The Mister and I didn’t know what to do.

So we took a poll of friends and family. What did they do? How long did it take them? What would they do differently? Here’s what I learned.

Receiving lines are like lawyers. People hate lawyers, but they love their own. Most people looooved whatever method they used at their own weddings, and they haaaated every other method that anyone else has ever tried.

There were a few exceptions, however. Several people who went table to table at the reception did not have a chance to eat dinner or enjoy the party. They wished that they had used option 1, 2, or 3. These are the people who got corned by Aunt Talksalot. And Uncle Gripey.

If only we could combine the concepts – instead of communion, we could serve canapés and real wine (rather than the crangrape juice I swear our church serves). “This bruchetta is the body of Christ, and by the way, we loved the toaster!” But I digress. Into blasphemy.

Here’s our decision. We are NOT doing option #1. People want to see us, and briefly. All four of my parents have the gift of gab, and if they were included in the receiving line, we’d be there until my next birthday. We are NOT doing option #5. I’m sure it works very well when you have a small or medium sized wedding, but at a biggun, it’s well nigh impossible. Besides, we want to make the effort affirmatively to thank each person for coming.

If it’s sunny, we’ll stand at the back of the ceremony to greet guests as they head outside to wait for our grand getaway. That way, if they are dying to go to the bathroom (or just don’t really want to say hello to us), they can slip out of the receiving line to do what they’ve gotta do. If it’s raining, however, we need a place for people to congregate out of the elements. That’s in the back of the ceremony where we would do the receiving line on a sunny day. So if Mother Nature doesn’t cooperate, we’ll reenter the ceremony to release the rows. That way, people can remain seated until we get to their row, so they’ll be more comfortable.

For those of you who were rooting for option #4, may I make a suggestion? A few well-chosen items from your hotel mini bar would recreate the canapé-and-wine feeling you’d get while waiting to see us at the reception. And if you don’t want the procedure to take forever, leave your hemorrhoid stories at home. (wink!)

(P.S. The picture in this post is of a branch of the Mister's family. His beloved grandfather is third from the left, no doubt thinking that wedding photos take even longer than receving lines.)

If the Shoe Fits

2009-02-13T13:27:00.000-08:00

I saw this woman on the elevator this morning wearing a shoe that was barely hanging on to the tips of her toes, leaving not just a peek of toe cleavage, but about an inch of . . . crack. I don’t know about you, but I think toe cleavage is kind of . . . ucky. What’s toe cleavage, you ask? Well it’s the partial exposure of a woman's toes in shoes that are cut low on the vamp.

It’s not that I think it’s sleazy to show one’s toes – I love sandals and bare feet. There’s just something about a person’s toes peeking out from a shoe that makes me think of an undergarment that’s too tight to cover all the relevant areas. Or of the wicked stepsister who sliced off part of her foot to try to jam into Cinderella’s glass slipper.

I know, I know. Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear are all about the pointy-toe shoes, because they make one’s legs look longer. But shouldn’t a shoe be more than tangentially attached to one’s foot? Some shoes these days look like foot-binding torture devices. Surely we’re all more enlightened than that!

And even cute little ballet flats have gotten in on the act.

This reminded me of the shoes that a well-meaning relative sent me in the mail to try for the wedding. They were so cute in the box, but the revealed too much toe when I tried them on. So I found another pair to wear.

What about you girls? Showy toes, or no?

Mirror, Mirror

2009-02-12T15:02:00.000-08:00

Speaking of circles, for the preppy bride who’s into glam and polka dots, what about using lots of small glass mirrors on the table, instead of a single large mirror under a centerpiece. They’re uber cheap at craftsuppliesforless (like, less than 12 cents each!), and while they don’t fit in with the clean lines we want for our centerpieces, they could be right up someone’s alley. Imagine something like this, but with silvery mirrored polka dots, shimmering in candlelight:

It seems everyone is thinking crystals for glam these days. But what about a good old-fashioned mirror? I mean, can you GET more glamorous?

You can even get a vintage feel by using Krylon's looking glass paint. It simulates gorgeous old mercury glass. Check it:

How about a "Looking Glass" or "Through A Glass Darkly" theme? Ah, the possibilities . . . .

Found Romance

2009-02-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

Check out this loveliness! A curtain of circles made from dental floss and sticky white office labels, courtesy of craftstylish. This would make a fantastic romantic decoration for a wedding, no?

Here’s how you do it: Stick a circle on the dental floss. Stick another circle to the first circle, sticky sides together. Repeat.

Or, you could add a little romance to your boudoir! How about with heart stickers for Valentine's day? Or just different shades of red and pink? Get creative! Romance is just a trip to the office store and a trip to the medicine cabinet away.

Secret Compartments

2009-01-30T09:11:00.000-08:00

Holy Moly! Take a look at this new, literary take on a ring pillow. A book! With a secret compartment! Instructions over on Once Wed.

Simply amazing.

MOH

2009-01-27T10:20:00.000-08:00

This is how I feel about Super Tall Girl, my MOH:

Oh, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. -- George Eliot

Magical Machines

2009-01-14T13:33:00.000-08:00

Oh. My. Gosh. I loooove Super Tall Girl’s Magical Xyron Machine.

The Mister and I recently received the raw materials for our invitations from the letterpresser. (You remember, the page on which I had put all our invitation design elements, including the front and back of the RSVP postcard, decorative elements for our thank you notes, and the invitation itself.) I had them cut at Kinko’s. And then I started putting them together. With the magic of Xyron.

You put paper into the machine, turn the crank, and voila! Out it comes on the other side, with the back side completely coated with ubersticky stuff.

It reminds me of the Dr. Seussical machine that Sylvester McMonkey McBean uses to put stars on the bellies of the starless Sneeches:
Fortunately, I’m using my magical machine for good, not for evil.

And if you have not read the story of the Sneeches, you really, really must. It’s amazing how children’s stories can make things like nondiscrimination and self-acceptance seem so . . . elegant. Now if only we can apply the moral of that story to combating the commercialism of weddings. I’m workin’ on it.

A Long and Beautiful Wedding (The Journey)

2009-01-13T13:08:00.000-08:00

Meg over at apracticalwedding.com wrote this bit of genius today:

Do you know that in Judaism, your wedding starts the moment that you get engaged, and only ends a year after your wedding? I love this, because for me the process has been so enlightening, and the journey is perhaps as important as the destination.

What a beautiful concept!

Our wedding has already begun, with the gathering of family and friends to celebrate our engagement and to plan pre-ceremony showers and post-ceremony reception festivities.

And our wedding will continue long after the rice is swept away, as we open gifts, nest in our home, and enjoy each other’s company.

I feel like I can finally take a deep breath, for the first time in a very long time. Thank you, Meg, for reminding us what it’s all about.

Too Many Toasters!

2009-01-09T09:47:00.000-08:00

The Mister and I already have a toaster. And, to be honest, we don’t toast all that much. So in the interest of saving the limited number of toasters in the world for people who really, really love toast, we decided to register.

We knew we wanted Crate & Barrel. Just walking in that store makes shoppers want to get married, so they can get all that really cool stuff without having to pay for it all at once. But I was worried about taking the Mister to a place with so many fragile things. He’s . . . hard on stuff. In the past year, he has broken five (yes, five!) shower heads. I gave away my lovely crystal wine glasses to a friend, because I didn’t think they’d survive a week in the hands of my incredible hulk.

He acknowledges that he is rough on things. In fact, he calls himself “a bull in a china cabinet.” I think the proper turn of phrase is “a bull in a china shop,” but the image of a bull trapped inside a china cabinet always makes me chuckle, so I’ve adopted this new epithet for him.

He’d have snapped me like a twig already, except that I’m relatively strong and not easily broken. My baby book says that I am “a sturdy little Dutchman.” Ouch.

So, I had a plan. I’d take the Mister to C&B, sit him down in the corner of the store, and bring him plates and glassware to examine. This plan worked. Until I realized that I had placed him within reach of a precarious tower of wineglasses at least four glasses high. Like this:

He saw what I didn’t -- that the layers of wineglasses were separated by clear plexiglass, and that one glass on the edge wasn’t actually supporting the gravity-defying spire. He waited until I was across the store, selecting another platter for him to consider, and he gave me his evil grin. Slowly, he pulled out that single wineglass.

My. Heart. Stopped. I had visions of an avalanche of glass shards and the accompanying bills we’d have to pay. For the injuries to other shoppers. For every broken glass. For the attorney’s fees to cover my defense for the intentional (but justified) murder of the Mister.

When I realized that disaster had been averted and I started breathing again, I said to the Mister, “I hope that was worth the year of my life you just stole from me.” I think he winked at me. Cheeky bugger.

After that experience, I knew I couldn’t handle another in-store registry experience, so we started looking online. But we didn’t want to register at a whole bunch of stores to get all the diverse things we hoped to receive, which included bed sheets, movie tickets, a cherry pitter, and artwork. Fortunately, I stumbled upon a great registry site, wishpot.com. It creates a wish list of everything you want from every store on the web. It even allowed us to add donations to several charities, like Big Brothers Big Sisters, the Nature Conservancy, Habitat for Humanity, and local charities too!

Wishpot’s not just for registries, it can be used to send next year’s wish list to Santa, or to keep a list of the things you want to buy when the economy isn’t in the tank. Check it out. And for readers who know the Mister and me in real life, feel free to check out our registry by clicking on “Looking for People” near the top of with wishpot homepage, then entering my last name.

(P.S. Thank you for not buying us another toaster.)

Colours of Celebration

2008-12-19T08:12:00.001-08:00

Thanks to iDiY (listed over on the blogroll), here's another super cool wedding tool to help you pick your colors for the big day. Multicolr tool by Idée labs returns random cool images from Flickr with colors you choose. Enjoy!

Yum!

2008-12-09T12:06:00.001-08:00

A few months or so ago, the Mister and I invited our MOH (who now has her own superhero name: Super Tall Girl) and Sassy Minister (our celebrant) to the food tasting for our reception dinner. We also invited the moms, but they were either unavailable or wanted to be surprised by the food. So it was just four crazy kids and the suuuper nice catering lady.

As we walked into the tiny glass vestibule at the catering place, we were not alone. There was an angry bee attacking anyone within range (which was all of us).

Now, I remember my first (and only) bee sting. (I’m knocking on wood here.) I was about five years old, wearing a blue and white gingham dress, standing in the driveway. A bee flew up said dress, and stung me on the tummy. I burst into surprised, hurt tears. I have almost no memories of my early childhood, but I remember the bee sting incident. Yowch.

In the tiny glass vestibule, however, I would have gladly thrown myself into the bee’s path (if there was a way to throw yourself into the exceedingly random and zippy path of a bee) to protect my friends. The Mister and Super Tall Girl are allergic to bees. I think Sassy Minister is too. The Mister has one of those special shots to counteract the allergic reaction. In a drawer. At home. Good thinkin’, Mister. And Super Tall Girl once drank a bee out of a coke can, and her lip swelled up so much from the sting that she couldn’t get her sweater over her face before going to the hospital. Every time I think of this, I am reminded of people who intentionally stretch out their lips with plugs and even film canisters, because it’s beautiful in their culture. I think this beauty trend has spread to some of the barristas at Starbucks. By the way, what's the masculine form of "barrista"? Barrister? Isn't that an attorney in London? Now I have a new mental image: a barrister in a wig making lattes.

"Non-fat, no foam, half-caf latte? Got it!" But I digress.

We tried to shoo the bee out into the open air, but he kept dive-bombing us. We tried to escape out of the vestibule and into the catering building proper, but the bee blocked our path.

So we smushed the bee. And I feel bad about it. But there it is. Moving on.

We went into the room to begin our tasting, and the first thing I noticed was the tablecloths. We asked for white tablecloths because: (1) they’re the least expensive, and (2) we love how they look. But one inexpensive white tablecloth over a table looks like a sheer slip that doesn’t adequately cover one’s dignity, as my grandmother used to call it. We added another layer of tablecloth, and it looked great. And it was still reasonably priced. On to the tasting.

First course: tea sandwiches! We tried four kinds.

Avocado and bacon = salty yumminess.
Cucumber and watercress = deeeelightful.
Chicken salad = quite nice.

The fourth kind was salmon mousse. Super Tall Girl is a pescatarian (a vegetarian who eats seafood), so she tried this one first. I said, “How is it?!” And she said, “I’d rather not say.” Uh-oh. I took a big bite, and discovered that the catering folks had obviously substituted pink globby glue for the alleged salmon mousse. Ick. Um, no thank you. The pink globby sandwiches are pictured on the right, below.

We also tried mini beef wellingtons, my all time favorite appetizer. They rocked. The Mister ate Super Tall Girl’s portion.

On to the main course.

We wanted to have a vegetarian option, and we nominated Super Tall Girl to pick it. Whatever she said was what we were going to serve. She selected the marinated, grilled portabello mushroom over the black bean wellington. Yummy!

The rest of us decided between two chicken dishes: chicken with bourbon sauce and sautéed apples, and chicken with a mushroom dijon cream sauce. It was a no brainer. The Dijon cream sauce was so good, the catering lady agreed to put extra sauce on the Mister’s plate at the reception.

Then we began discussing the sides. Green beans amandine or asparagus? The Mister and Super Tall girl liked the asparagus. Sassy Minister and I liked the green beans. We were at an impasse. So Sassy Minister pulled rank on us all: “Jesus prefers the green beans.” Um, green beans it is. Who’s going to argue with Jesus?

Same problem with the roasted potatoes and the Vermont white cheddar mashed potatoes. The Mister and Sassy Minister liked the mashed, and since Jesus agreed with them, that’s what we picked. I didn’t realize that Jesus had such well-defined tastes. Or that going to seminary makes one especially attuned to them. Thank goodness Sassy Minister was there to lead us. And that we didn’t pick devil’s food cake for dessert. (Wink.)

We also added carrot soufflé, which tastes like a cross between a delicious veggie and a dessert. Everyone loved that.

By the time we made all these choices, we were laughing so hard that we disturbed the people in the next room, who were having a very serious food tasting, apparently. The catering lady said that we were the most fun people she’d ever had for an appointment, and that we were part of the “party set.” She thinks we should have glowsticks at the reception. Like a rave or something. Whaaa?! We want people to dance, not OD on techno music and ecstasy, right? Besides, if we had glow sticks, Mama would have a heart attack. ‘Nuff said.

Then we left the catering place (via the same dangerous glass vestibule through which we entered) and went to have beer. The whole day was one of the most fun parts of planning the wedding so far. Surrounded by friends, munching on food, and laughing our . . . ahem . . . dignities off.

Woof!

2008-12-02T12:31:00.000-08:00

So very sorry I have been MIA. I was out of town at the Mister’s parents’ house for the Thanksgiving holiday. The week before that, I was doing the single most crazy aspect of my job – hosting a delegation of VIPs from another country. For. An. Entire. Week. I dread their visit for a month before they come, and I get so darned attached to them that I cry when they leave. It’s an exhausting, rewarding experience. And I’m glad it’s over. I’ll be back to full blogging strength soon.

Because of the VIP visit, I missed my ten-year reunion from school. Bleh. But I did get to see some friends who visited for the reunion. Photo!

From Left to Right. Top Row: Doc (aka Smarty), Dopey, Dopey’s Wife (Bashful), Sneezy (the Mister) Bottom Row: Sleepy, Grumpy, and Happy (me!)

Grumpy is one of my best friends from school. We’re quite the pair – Grumpy and Happy. Although, as you can see, he’s really happy on the inside. He just pretends to be an outraged curmudgeon most of the time. (To be honest, that’s part of what makes him so loveable.)

I hadn’t seen Doc in ages, but it was as if the decade had never passed. She’s fun and smart and darling. I heart her. We drank martinis and acted like idiots that night. Fun!

It was great to introduce the Mister to some friends who are scattered across the country. He had fun (even though he looks like a mini-grump in this pic). Actually, he’s the most fun of the bunch. This pic (from the same weekend) shows his personality much better:

Man, I love him.

Are you seeing some long-lost friends over the holiday? Or at your wedding? Sometimes I feel like a sheep dog, herding all my loved ones as close together as I can. Woof!

Miss Chief

2008-11-10T12:07:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I would like to be a superhero, so I could have my own action figure. I still have my brother’s underoos superman cape that he wore when he dove into the empty bathtub and bonked his head. Apparently, the cape is not imbued with superpowers. It is, however, imbued with eau de my mom’s basement. But I love it.

Well, I may not be a superhero, but I can make myself into a cartoon character! Using FotoFlexer.com, you can apply all kinds of effects to your photos, including cartoonizing them. (Some people get annoyed at turning nouns into verbs. Like “calendar.” When did we stop saying, “I’ll put that on my calendar,” and start saying, “I’ll calendar that.” Interesting. So I’m sorry to those non-verbizers out there.)

The best thing about fotoflexer? It’s freeeeee! You upload a photo, mess around with it, and save it back to your computer as a jpeg.

I think I might call my cartoon strip, “Miss Chief.” I’m bossy, so the chief part works great. Add the Miss, and you get the very thing into which I get myself all the time. Mischief.

I think the cartoon thing would work out for me, because I’m always learning some kind of funny lesson. It usually takes more than four frames’ worth of experience to get there, though. If only I learned as quickly as Ziggy! Then I’d have more time for wedding planning! But I would also be a tiny little bald guy.

“The Mister” already sounds superheroesque. Miss Chief and The Mister! Here we are . . . .

Royalty

2008-11-07T08:00:00.000-08:00

I do not want to wear a glittery rhinestone tiara at the wedding. I know, I know, everyone says the wedding is my day to be a princess, but really I’m just a regular girl who’s marrying a prince of a man. Kind of like Cinderella.

To be honest, I just don’t like sparkly things that aren’t real. I mean, if the Queen of England offered me a diamond and platinum tiara, I’d wear it for sure. Something made out of foil-backed plastic and spray-painted base metal – not so much. If you have a tiara, more tower poo ya, as my friend Erika used to say. They look amazing on other brides (and downhill skiers), but they just aren’t my thing.

But today, I saw this amazing diy craft to make my own crown . . . out of lace!

All you need is some lace and a little modge podge or white elmer’s glue. You can jazz it up a bit with paint and gold or silver leaf, too.

While I might not be royalty, I do like to think that I’m a lady-in-waiting on the diy wedding court. Whether I have the chutzpah to wear a crown on the wedding day still remains to be seen. So for now, I’ll just leave you with the royal wave.

Re-stuck

2008-11-05T06:49:00.000-08:00

Well, my sticky situation is re-stuck. No details now . . . . But please think good thoughts for me. I need 'em.

Sticky Situation

2008-10-29T11:00:00.000-07:00

After fretting for weeks about the who-walks-Jules-down-the-aisle conversations, they went great. Mr. Mama, with whom I lived growing up, was more than happy to share the honor(duty?) with Pop. And Pop graciously did the same, with nary a ruffled feather or word of complaint. Whew!

Then I started thinking about what would happen when we got down to the altar. The officiant usually says something like, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

The tradition of giving the bride away apparently came from the days when marriage was as fiscal a transaction as a relational one. One set of parents was giving money to the other set, and the act of giving the bride away signified that the arrangements were complete. It also meant that the bride was no longer financially dependent on her parents, and was now dependent on the groom.

I am a feminist. And by that I mean that I try to differentiate the position of women from that of a doormat, to paraphrase Rebecca West. So I gave no small measure of thought to the idea of nixing the “Who gives this woman” part of the ceremony. First of all, I’m not a possession to be given away. I’m a person, for heaven’s sake! Second, to the extent I “belong” to my parents, they’re not giving me away--they can’t get rid of me that easily! They’re just marring me off. (Wink.) Finally, I’m not going to be dependent on my groom! I don’t like being dependent on anybody. (Does anyone else have trouble clicking on the “Submit” button on internet forms? Can’t the button say, “OK” or “Enter” or something?! I do NOT want to submit! (I guess that makes it clear whether we’re going to say “obey” in our vows.) Humph.)

source

But the Mister is nothing if he’s not traditional, and if I wasn’t going to say “obey,” he wanted the “who gives this woman” yadda yadda yadda in the ceremony. I do like tradition as much as the next gal . . . so I agreed.

But I wanted to change the response! “I give myself freely!” seemed just about right to me. It effectively says, “I own myself!” Mama and Pop were horrified. Horr. If. Fied! Apparently, the idea of a ukulele band was more palatable to them than me giving my own self away. They might not agree on much, but they backed each other up on this one. Who am I to fight this kind of parental unity?

Besides, I realized that this is their one really active role in the ceremony. I’m not doin’ the unity candle. If I take their speaking part, they might feel compelled to speak now rather than forever hold their peace, if you know what I mean.

OK. So what WAS the response going to be? I didn’t want to leave anyone out of the equation, so the usual, “Her mother and I do,” wasn’t going to cut it. I belong to Mr. Mama and Mrs. Pop as much as I do to Mama and Pop! If I’ve done nothing else in this blog, I hope I've made is abundantly clear. I also wanted to avoid the dads talking over each other or murmuring different things. So, with the help of Mama, I came up with a two main options:

Pop and Mr. Mama: We do.

Pop and Mr. Mama: Her parents do.

I pitched these to Pop, who murmured something about it not sounding very official. He doesn’t get to be too involved in the wedding planning. And this is his speaking part! He’s not the type to come up with ceremony wording, but he does like to vote on the options. So I called Mama to brainstorm. And she came up with a winner! Without further ado . . .

Officiant: Pop, do you and Mrs. Pop give this woman to be married to this man?
Pop: We do.
Officiant: Mr. Mama, do you and Mama give this woman to be married to this man?
Mr. Mama: We do.

Sticky situation . . . well . . . unstuck.

Out Loud

2008-10-27T08:13:00.001-07:00

My favorite part of planning the wedding so far has been the opportunity for people to say nice things to each other. After my twin died, I realized that while people say lovely things ABOUT their friends and family, people hardly ever say those things TO their loved ones. I made a conscious decision to communicate all the nice things I heard about others directly to them. Life’s too short to only hear the spiteful gossip, no? And when I’m thinking something nice, I go on and say it. Why not share the love?

When parts of the wedding involve saying kind things, it makes me even happier than I already would be planning a giant hoedown with a big white poofy dress and lots o’ cake. That’s pretty danged happy.

One opportunity we had to say the good stuff was at our awesome engagement party. First of all, it was a party to celebrate that another party is comin’ up! (The wedding. Duh!) If a party on its own is great, then a party to celebrate another party is great squared.

My MOH planned the shindig. It. Was. Amazing. We had about forty people there! Nearby friends . . .
. . . and family.

I wore the special locket with my twin’s picture inside, so he could be there too. Here I am showing it to Mrs. Pop.

Super-MOH didn’t do it all on her own – this lovely lady (I’ll call her Soul Sister) helped with the preparations and laughed so much, she got us all in on the act.

Did I mention there was cake?

But my favorite parts of our engagement party were when people got to say and write nice things. My MOH put engagement pictures of us on each table, along with bottles of wine, which the guests signed with well-wishes and funny quips.

My MOH and Pop each gave a toast.

And I toasted the host, my best girl.

My neighbor once said that he didn’t want flowers at his funeral. “Don’t wait ‘till I’m dead,” he said. I sent him the biggest bouquet I could find the very next day.

There are lots of chances to say the really important things in life. I like the few moments just before I drop off to sleep, because the good thoughts swim to the surface of consciousness like little silver bubbles. But there are regular every day moments too – in the car at a stoplight. When you’re cooking dinner. Sometimes I think nice things when I’m brushing my teeth, but no one can understand what I’m saying through the globs of toothpaste. (Mrph toodee, schlobbr!)

Don’t forget the big moments too, especially at a wedding. Saying your vows. Whispering to your spouse just after you recess back down the aisle. Toasting your parents.

The next time you hear or think something nice about someone, just go on and say it. Out loud.

And now, to end this post on a less sentimental note, here’s my favorite photo from the engagement party. Pop. Being . . . Pop. Love it.

Link Between Earth and Sky

2008-10-22T13:21:00.000-07:00

After my twin brother died, I had a dream. It was about designing and making jewelry in memory of him. I started a jewelry business and began selling my jewelry locally. This creative outlet helped me make something lovely out of my grief. Holidays, which were especially painful times without my twin, became times of anticipation and happiness. Just knowing that people were opening gifts of my jewelry from their loved ones made those days seem lighter and better.

I paired each piece of jewelry with a card bearing the meaning of the primary gemstone and a quotation that relates to the meaning. I hoped that the recipients of the jewelry would find meaning in their gems, but also in the world around them.

While I will never be fully healed from the loss of my twin, I have had a different sense of wholeness since I met the Mister. Instead of continuing to expand my jewelry business, I began to focus on building a life with him, which included planning our wedding. The wedding planning became a new creative outlet, and I focused less on my jewelry. Part of me even wondered whether the work of my jewelry was nearing completion.

This week, however, I received an email that reminded me why I design my jewelry and sell it in places where it can reach people I don’t even know.

Here is the email:

My Fiance (Charlie) purchased one of your necklaces for my birthday which was September 11, 2008. Our wedding was to be on November 15, 2008 and we are both Scottish so we were using the Celtic theme for the wedding. This necklace follows on that theme you could say. One of the things on the enclosed reading material really hits home more than ever, "The Tree collection contains wood, which symbolizes life. In the Celtic tradition, trees represent the bridge between earth and sky, between mankind and God." My Fiance died on September 20th in a hit and run accident, he was on his way to his second job to help with our wedding. This necklace means the world to me and I wear it everyday. I would like to get a similar necklace for Charlie’s sister.

This incredible woman is only a month from the loss of her fiancé (and less than a month until the day she was to marry him). Her pain must be acute and unfathomable. That the necklace represents her continued link with her beloved is amazingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. I am humbled to play a tiny part in a love that lasts beyond death.

That she wants to share that link with his sister awes me further. I know that God will bless her giving spirit and mend her heart.

I responded that I would be honored to create a similar necklace for his sister. And I told her that, while she will never forget Charlie, in time it will become easier to remember him.

As the Mister and I continue to plan our wedding with Scottish traditions, we are reminded that each day is a gift. We will remember our lost loved ones on our wedding day. Although we never met him, Charlie will undoubtedly be among them.

Pencils

2008-10-21T08:02:00.000-07:00

Speaking of pencils . . . the Mister and I are trying to come up with a cute phrase to put on the pencils for our pinwheels.

Here are some options, most of which were suggested by Ellie over at the lucky nest. Which do you like?

love makes the world go 'round

life without love is like a pencil without lead -- pointless

love is the signature of our lives

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Million Dollar Pens

2008-10-17T09:11:00.000-07:00

As I was scribbling notes in the middle of the night last night, I started thinking again about practical weddings. I was on my back in bed, writing on a scrap of paper, glad I was using a pencil, because pens don’t work upside down.

Then I remembered the urban legend that NASA spent $11 million to develop a pen that would work in zero gravity, while the Russian Cosmonauts simply used pencils. While the story isn’t actually true (regular pens do work in space, after all), it got me thinking about “solutions” that the wedding industry has dreamt up for problems that don’t actually exist.

Like flowers. They were originally used as wedding decorations because they were plentifully available and free. Church ladies used to pluck stems from their own gardens. Now we buy them from florists who fly them in from the other side of the world. You already know about my eco-friendly plan to pick flowers out of my neighbor’s backyard.

And clothing. People used to wear their best dress clothes to their weddings. Now brides (including me!) buy dresses that we wear once. And we make our friends do it too by selecting bridesmaids dresses that will never be worn again.

I’m guilty of the one-time-use dress, but I did ask our female attendants to select their own black dresses in the hopes they’d choose one they already have or buy one that they’ll wear them again. The men are wearing the tuxedos they already have. Only one or two of them don’t have tuxes; most everyone else can get dressed right out of their own closets.

And my dress (named Alice Bell, after Mama’s namesake) cost $250. I found her online. I thought she’d be perfect, if only her skirt were made of a different material. I went to the store that carried her, and found that her skirt was made of the very material for which I had hoped! Angels began singing, and lights from heaven shone down on us, as we ran in slow motion across the room toward each other. Maybe it was just elevator music, compact fluorescents, and me stumbling over jeweled slippers and tulle underskirts, but it sure did feel like a spiritual moment. There were scores of other lovely dresses there, but I tried on Alice Bell first. I knew she was the one.

Unfortunately for my MOH, we hadn’t planned on going dress shopping that day, so instead of wearing my everyday undergarments, I had on something fancy I got from the Mister for Valentine’s Day. She was more than a little surprised when she helped me in the dressing room. I think I heard her scream, “My eyes! My eyes!” but it may have only been a polite, “Oh! My goodness!” I haven’t worn those bloomers since.

My MOH told me I couldn’t buy the first dress I tried on, and made me try on a bunch more dresses. I know she was looking out for my best interest, because she certainly didn't want to see more of my skivvies. I tried on ones that looked like costumes from Swan Lake – feathery bodices and tulle skirts poofing out from the waist so much that I had to turn sideways to get out of the dressing room. I tried on ones that were covered in elaborate beading that scratched the undersides of my flabby arms as I waved them around, imitating dance moves for the reception. And ones that looked like rumpled bed linens. Ones that imitated bordello curtains. Dark champagne ones. Blinding white ones. Satin, organza, chiffon ones. Heck, I even tried on ones that had huge bows on the butt, just to show some solidarity with the 80’s brides who had no other choice.

But Alice Bell and I were made for each other. I asked about ordering her, and the saleswoman told me that my beautiful girl had been discontinued. “Either buy her now for $250, or never see her again.” So I paid her paltry ransom and took her home that very night. To be perfectly honest, I would have bought her if she had cost four times that much. But my conscience and my pocketbook are oh-so-glad she didn’t.

Alice Bell has moved into my neighbor’s guestroom, far from the prying eyes of the Mister. In fact, the window of her room looks out over the garden where the flowers for my bouquet will grow.

No, friends. I don’t need $11 million pens. I like my pencils just fine.

POOdles

2008-10-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

So sorry to have fallen off the face of the earth lately – the Mister and I have had a series of visits from our dogs-in-law who have decided that pooping on our rugs is the height of propriety.

First, Momma Mac visited with Opie. God love him, Opie is one hundred and sixty three and a half years old. He just couldn’t help the pooping. Then Pop and Mrs. Pop dropped off Tilly, who is recovering from a life-threatening bout of rocky mountain spotted fever. (No, I’m not kidding.) The poor gal was completely traumatized by her illness, and wasn’t really up for visiting quite yet.

Opie and Tilly are both poodles. And the first three letters of “poodles” are . . . .

‘Nuff said. :)

Anyhoo, we’re still cleaning the rugs and mopping the floors. I promise more wedding blogging soon. But in the meantime, here’s a picture of Tipper (our dog) with Opie.

Limbo

2008-10-03T13:40:00.000-07:00

I realized this week that I’m in wedding planning limbo. Somewhere between brides who plan weddings for $1,000 using 1970’s mugs from the Salvation Army as their stemware, and brides who spend $20,000 on their table linens alone.

The brides in the first category think it’s absolutely insane that I’m considering giving away vintage handkerchiefs at the ceremony. Isn’t the money better spent elsewhere? Why am I even thinking about such an inane detail?! The brides in the second category are probably scoffing at the fact that I’m not having hankies monogrammed for each individual guest.

Isn’t there something to be said for moderation? Why can’t I be fiscally conscious while still dreaming up personal little details? For me, the best part of the wedding planning has been using my budget as an inspiration.

For example, I could order an entire letterpress invitation suite, but I would have to cut half the guest list to pay for it. Instead, I’ve figured out a low-cost way to get the wedding stationery we want. The Mister and I designed the invitation, RSVP, and thank you cards. I put all the documents in one 8.5”x11” print-ready .pdf document. Soon, I’ll upload the document on the low-cost letterpress printer’s website. He’ll send me the letterpressed copies, and I’ll cut them myself (or have Kinkos do it). I’ll order more paper and envelopes from another high-quality, low-cost source. Then the Mister and I will assemble the invitations using the magical xyron machine. Lovely, custom letterpressed invitations at a fraction of the cost of ordering them. Yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

I don’t think any couple looks back on their big day and thinks, “I wish we’d spent more on the wedding.” But it’s easy to get dazzled by the wedding industry and start shelling out buckaroos like there’s not a recession comin’ down the pike.

I guess most brides in the planning stages see a budget as the most restrictive part of the wedding. I think it’s the most freeing! I’m very grateful to have some money to spend and that I get to use the right side of my brain to orchestrate the wedding we want within the amount we’ve got. It’s so much fun to stretch myself by trying out new creative roles: florist, stationer, makeup artiste!

Thrifty. Stylish. Personal. That’s what we’re going for. How ‘bout you?

Lost in Translation

2008-09-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

Blogging isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Posting ideas and feelings for others to comment upon makes me feel . . . vulnerable. Fortunately, most of my readers know me very well, and they put everything I write into context.

But I’ve gotten a few readers who know me only through my blog, and their responses to my blog entries have been interesting. Almost without exception, I’ve gotten fabulous, encouraging comments that are filled with internet friendship and kind wishes. Almost without exception, I say, because there is one. One reader for whom my writing style seems to engender . . . harsh responses.

In response to my post about the Mister nixing my ukulele idea, she commented: “I'm sorry but this bridezilla attitude that the bride is the end all be all most important thing in any wedding has got to stop.” Did I mention that the post was about the Mister forbidding the use of my idea? Hmmm.

Another quote from the same gal: “. . . you need to realize that for all but 3 or 4 people who attend your wedding, it will be just another day.” I don’t know about you, but I’ve never thought of a friend’s wedding as “just another day.” Smiling so much at the happy couple that my face aches; crying tears of joy during the ceremony; giggling at some silly mishap that makes the day even more memorable; dancing until my feet won’t fit back into my shoes . . . . Just another day? Not for me.

I suspect our wedding day will be special for more than just a few. As I wrote in an earlier post:

My twin brother died seven years ago, and his absence has been more palpable in the wedding planning than it has been since the year he died. Our family has been through so much tragedy. And we’ve had so many loving friends who tenderly held our hearts as we’ve grieved. Now, instead of planning a funeral and just trying to make it through each day, we’re all planning a wedding and looking well into the future. In short, this wedding is the anti-funeral. Not just for me, but for all of us.
So when I listen a little too much to the opinions of family and friends, and I agonize over how to meld them into a single, coherent day, it’s not because I’m indecisive or too nice (people who know me know that’s certainly not true!). It’s because I want everyone who helped ease the grief to get a piece of the joy.

That’s just on my side of the aisle. The Mister lost his older brother to cancer. So his feelings and motivations echo my own. His wonderful family understands my family in a way I could never have dreamt of, let alone hoped to find.

When I read my own blog entries, it is obvious to me which sentences are punctuated with a wink. I understand that my intentions might not be so clear to others – especially those who don’t know me in the real world. This blogging thing is a bit more complicated than I expected it would be.

In the spirit of giving the written word the benefit of the doubt, I’ll assume that the reader meant her comments in the kindest way. I just ask that she do the same for my blog. And a word (or two) to the wise who comment around the ‘net: Be gentle. Real people with real feelings write these blogs.

As Mama’s Mama always said, “If you can’t say something nice . . . .”

I and Me, He and Him

2008-09-25T08:33:00.001-07:00

Here's our second wedding grammar lesson! Please remember that I welcome any comments or suggestions.

It's easy to get confused about using "I" and "me" when you're describing an event that involves another person. It helps to separate the actors. Let me explain by using an example. Which sentence is correct?

The Mister and I will not smash cake in each other’s faces.
OR
The Mister and me will not smash cake in each other’s faces.

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Try this. Separate each word in the subject into a separate sentence:

The Mister will not smash cake. That sounds right! (And if he does smash cake, my MOH will beat him down.)

I will not smash cake. That sounds right, too.

Me will not smash cake? That's obviously wrong. Unless you’re the Cookie Monster.

Now put them together.

The Mister and I will not smash cake in each other’s faces.

Let’s try one more. When Jack Sparrow suggested a pirate-themed wedding to (he and I) OR (him and me), we said, “Shiver me timbers!”

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Again, separate the sentences.

Jack Sparrow suggested pirates to I? Arrrr! That’s wrong.

Jack Sparrow suggested pirates to me. Ahoy! That’s right!

Jack Sparrow suggested pirates to he? Again: Arrrr!

Jack Sparrow suggested pirates to him. Ahoy! You’ve got it!

So:

When Jack Sparrow suggested a pirate-themed wedding to him and me (or to us), we said, “Shiver me timbers!”

Now if you've got a pirate-themed wedding with cake smashing, I don't know what to tell you.

Short Locks Rock!

2008-09-24T16:49:00.000-07:00

Who else is rockin’ short wedding hair? Every bride I know grew out her hair for her wedding, either to wear in loose curls or a structured up-do. If I grew out my hair, it’d be a stringy, tragic mullet.
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Seriously – I don’t have a ton of hair, and what hair I do have doesn’t improve with length. Split ends galore, my friends. I finally got my hair cut into the bob of a little French girl, and I love it. It’s comfortable and easy to style. And it feels like me.

Sure I’d love to have amazingly huge hair for the wedding. In fact, I wish I had African-American hair, because of how thick and glossy it is, and how it holds style in a way my hair wouldn’t even consider on its most reasonable day. I guess a big afro wouldn’t really suit me, but a girl can dream, right?
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Anyway, I’d love to hear from some other short-haired brides out there. How are you wearing your hair for your wedding? And what made you choose your style?

Ah choo!

2008-09-23T17:02:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, Mama and I had a difference of opinion.

We were talking about the tragedy our family has faced, and how we wanted the people who supported us then to celebrate with us at the wedding. She said, “There won’t be a dry eye in the house!”

Knowing that my tears usually end up in the ugly cry (like Paris below), I thought it might be nice to give something helpful to our guests with similarly tearful tendencies.

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I remembered reading about the super cute tissue packs that people provide to wedding guests, and I thought about doing something similar. I researched the cost of the packets (either to buy them prepared, or to prepare them myself), and I realized that hankies would cost about the same. Two of my aunts and my MOH had small collections of vintage hankies from relatives that they would like to use for something meaningful, and they offered parts of those collections to me. I was so stoked!

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I told Mama of my plan, and she said, “Well, that’s basically assuming that people will cry at your wedding!” Um? I was confused.

This disagreement has long since been resolved, and Mama bought me a beautiful lot of vintage hankies on eBay. (Mama is an eBay warrior!) But this got me thinking . . . IS it rude to provide handkerchiefs at the wedding? Does it send a self-centered message? Or is it sweet and old fashioned? Just wondering.

All this thinking about cloth over paper has spilled over into my everyday (nonwedding!) life. I switched in the past year from paper napkins to cloth napkins, and I LOVE them. They make each meal seem more special, AND they’re good for the environment. Just toss ‘em in the laundry with your clothes, and out they come, ready to be reused.

I’ve got this cool coworker who lives on a farm with a peach tree, an apple tree, a cherry tree, huckleberry bushes, and a wonderful vegetable garden. She brings in loads of delicious local organic produce for all of us to share. If she leaves our office, I’m totally going with her. She’s amazing!

So this week, I was telling her about the cloth napkins, and she said she’d switched to hankies too. The very next day, two beautiful new hankies were on my desk. I haven’t used them yet – they’re so pretty that I don’t want to blow my nose on them. But I imagine it’s only a matter of time. My Kleenex box is running awfully low.

So here’s to hankies (and the friends who give them to us)! Ah choo!

Tagged! Why I Love My Country

2008-09-23T09:45:00.000-07:00

I’ve been tagged by sexyredframe! If you haven’t read her amazing love story, you MUST check out her blog. The request: give five reasons why I love my country.

1. I love ice cream socials. Like the kind some neighborhoods have on the Fourth of July. Because I love ice cream, and I love socializing. And the feeling of community makes both sweeter.

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2. I love that, no matter how the presidential election ends up, the next presidency will be extra-historic. We’ll either have a president of color or a woman vice president. Woot!

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3. I love baseball games. Singing the national anthem give me goosebumps, and singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the top of my lungs is the Most! Fun! Ever! Plus I get to drink beer, sit outside in the sunshine, and watch guys run around the field. Baseball is as American as apple pie.

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4. I love State fairs. You get to pet the animals, eat corn on the cob, and ride on the Ferris Wheel. There’s music and a rodeo and people selling all manner of odd things. It’s nice to see families together, enjoying the summer.

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5. I love the grand range of countryside we have in the U.S.: from the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans, white with foam . . . . There’s no other place quite like it.

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I’m tagging Father Stacy, Elaine at Little Lives Photography, Meg at A Practical Wedding, Vane at Brooklyn Bride, and onesmallstar at Etsy Wedding.

Here are the rules:
1. Link back to the meme creator Caz

2. Link to the person who tagged you

3. Link back to the originator of the positive SA blog movement Cheap Thrills

4. Give 5 reasons why you love your country

5. Tag at least 5 people

Enjoy thinking about why you love your country.

Topper Trends

2008-09-22T17:40:00.000-07:00

Mama asked me this weekend, “What are you doing about the cake topper?” And I said, “OhmygoshI’msoexcitedaboutthecaketopper!” Mama replied, “Uh oh.” You see, whenever I’m sooo excited about a creative wedding idea, it has about a 20% chance of being crazy.

Mama admitted she wasn’t up on the current world of cake toppers, so here are three of my favorite trends:

First off, you’ve got the handmade, creative cake topper, which includes these clothespin darlings from thesmallobject:

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And these birdies from Ann Wood:
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And the bride, groom, and their dog from Miss Shortcake on weddingbee:
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The problem with these toppers is that the first two are exorbitantly expensive ($135 and $280, respectively), and the third requires mad papier mache skillz that I do not have. Besides, half the fun of the wedding is coming up with a creative, reasonably-priced solution to each problem using the skillz I do have.

Next trend: Vintage toppers!
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I love vintage toppers, but they are a bit small for the huge, beautiful cake Momma Mac got us.

The third trend I love is the use of letters and words. Both the Mister and I love books and reading. And we’ve decided to decorate the cake with the words of our vows, rather than flowers or other decorations.

The first idea we ‘stormed up was this paperweight based on the artwork of Robert Indiana. I love the simplicity (and the sentiment!), but I’m a bit worried that the paperweight will be too heavy on top of the cake. It costs $65. We’re still thinkin’ about it.
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We could incorporate our initials, which is a huge trend in the wedding industry right now. I love the simplicity of this design too! And they’re very affordable at around $20 to $30 each.
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Our final idea is to use the words of our vows on top of the cake, so that folks wouldn’t have to circle the cake to read them in their entirety. I can make a vow topper any size we like, so it would be in proportion to the cake. I also adore that this idea focuses on the most important part of the wedding – the promises we make to each other. Shouldn’t they be the centerpiece of the wedding?

If we choose this option, I would print out the vows on lovely white paper. To coordinate with the black ribbon on the cake, and to echo the design of our invitations and programs, I would adhere the white paper to black cardstock, so the vows are framed and emphasized. I would do two copies of the vows, and stick them back to back with a skewer in the middle, which could be inserted in the cake to make the vows stand up straight.

Spoiler alert: Our vows are written on this sample cake topper, so if you’d rather be surprised at the wedding, read no further.

I told Mama about the vow topper, and she was initially dismayed that it would be two-dimensional. But now she is beginning to like the idea (or so she says!). Which idea is your favorite?

It's vs. Its

2008-09-22T08:17:00.000-07:00

The subtitle of my blog involves using the best grammar I possibly can, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do. In addition to my own attempts at writing properly, I wondered whether you, dear readers, would be interested in a few tips. So every once in a while, I’ll slip in a quick post on grammar, steeped (of course!) in the imagery of the wonderful wedding world.

Before I begin, let me just say that I know I’m not an authority on all things grammatical. So here’s an open invitation to correct my grammar:

On to the lesson: It’s vs. Its

It’s is a contraction, meaning it is.

Its is possessive, meaning something belonging to it.

So you would write:
Have you seen the officiant? It’s an Elvis impersonator!

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And you would also write:
Carrie’s headpiece featured its own bird!
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But you would NOT write:
At MacGyver’s wedding, each table had it’s own centerpiece made from paperclips and chewing gum.
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Happy Monday!

The Cat's Pajamas: The Engagement Shoot

2008-09-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

I am sooo excited to blog about our engagement shoot, which our friend gave us as a wedding gift. Did I mention that she’s a mother of three and the photographer? I’ll call her Wonder Woman. Because that’s what she is. Wonderful. You can find WW's work at littlelivesphotography.com.

WW usually takes photos of children and pets. Which is why her style suited us perfectly. I’m a child at heart, and our dog thinks that the Mister is . . . well . . . another dog. We’re playful and silly, and WW’s style suited us perfectly.

She scoped out some super cool locations near where we live, and then let her creativity (and the Mister’s natural beauty) do the rest.

Without further ado, the engagement pics:

I like that this building says, "Office." Um . . . what kind of office?!

Probably the most fun thing about an engagement shoot is how much you get to kiss. WW kept saying here, "Keep kissing! Keep kissing!"

We just tromped around finding places that had great color and made us laugh.

My future last name will begin with an "M" . . . .

We ended the session in my backyard, with our grumpy little old dog, who just wanted the Mister to Put! Me! Down! This photo should give you an idea of how strong the Mister is. I'm not light as a feather, friends. My baby book says that I look like "a sturdy little Dutchman." Ouch.

This one's my favorite. It's how the Mister makes me feel. Calm and happy.

I love what these photos say about us: how we feel about each other, how we feel about ourselves, how the air around us is electric and filled with words to be spoken and emotions to be expressed. Being in love is the cat's pajamas, kids. It takes talent to capture it on film. Thank you, thank you, thank you Wonder Woman. We love you so very much.

Sing, Dance, and Speak French

2008-09-20T20:12:00.001-07:00

Has anyone else watched “Platinum Weddings” on the We channel? I TiVoed several episodes, and watched my own marathon today. The first wedding I saw had gorgeous tall centerpieces at the reception that look like this:

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The next wedding’s centerpieces looked like this:

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And the next:

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That’s when I realized why they don’t air the shows back to back to back. All the weddings look the same. They all have the “sexy lounge area,” the old Hollywood glamour theme, the ice sculpture, the caviar/lobster/raw bar, the hanging crystals . . . . Several even have the very same chargers on the tables.

Can most of the guests really tell if the bar costs $6,500 or $65,000 (which was the actual cost in one of the episodes!)? Not after the first two drinks, anyway. With $30,000 to spend on flowers, isn’t there something a bit different out there? As Mama says, “For that price, they should sing, dance, and speak French.”

The show certainly is a refreshing change from the horror of Bridezillas (which I also guiltily TiVo). But a source of innovative ideas it is not. I’ll stick with the real gals on weddingbee, a practical wedding, and snippet and ink, thanks very much. And when I’ve got a little hankerin’ for bedazzled, bejeweled, b’expensive weddings, I’ll watch Platinum Weddings. In moderation.

For now, I’m all blinged out.

Office Depot Centerpieces

2008-09-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

The previous two posts detail the personal flowers we'll be using for the wedding. So far, our floral budget consists of four flowers for the mothers and some floral tape. Dats it. "But we still have the ceremony and reception to decorate!” you say. And you’re right.

The ceremony will be held in the church where I was baptized, confirmed, served as a deacon, and am still a member. Fortunately, it’s beautiful on its own.

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Helloooo, Gorgeous! Even better, they provide a lovely white floral arrangement at the front of the church. And they’ll let us use their wrought iron candle holders that go at the end of each pew. Sure, I could decorate the church further, but why gild the lily? I can’t remember anything different about the ceremony décor of any wedding I’ve ever seen in a church. ‘Nuff said.

But surely we must have floral centerpieces for the reception! Not so much. The Mister and I love the way that candle centerpieces look on the tables – warm and inviting and intimate. So I started brainstorming ways to make the candle centerpieces uniquely ours. We wanted the centerpieces to do double duty by informing guests of the table names and numbers.

I’m really jazzed about the table names! Based on our love of all things British, and the fact that I used to live in London, we are naming the tables after central London tube stops. Westminster. Covent Garden. Tottenham Court Road. Piccadilly! I’m all excited just typing the names! Makes me want to sip a cuppa Earl Grey while humming “God Save the Queen.” Mind the Gap! And whatnot.

By the way, does anyone else love that the Brits *actually* say “whilst”? Like, “Whist I was washing the dishes . . . .” It makes even the most mundane thing seem just a smidge fancy.

I love the silhouette trend, so whilst I was designing the centerpieces, I incorporated chandelier silhouettes into the design to add an elegant graphic element to the table numbers. Enough talk! Here’s the eye candy:

Sorry for the blurry photos. Time to get a new camera!

Here's how to make one: (1) Print your design on paper. (2) Wrap paper into a cylinder and secure with double stick tape. (3) Put battery operated candles or throwies inside the cylinder. (4) Well, there is no fourth step. That’s it, folks. Couldn’t be easier. If you want to use real candles, you should wrap the paper around a glass cylinder, so the paper doesn’t catch on fire. (You know my fear of fire at weddings.)

We’re using two on each table, a big luminary made on 11x17” paper with our table name, number, and the chandelier graphic that Mrs. Flamingo at weddingbee so graciously gave me, and a smaller one made on 8.5x11” paper with another chandelier design in reverse. We’ll put multiple lights in each luminary. If that’s not enough light, we’ll also do individual luminaries wrapped around single candles with candelabra silhouettes. Here’s an assortment:

The best part is that they can be made in advance, using regular old copy paper from the office supply store. Lots of visual drama for notta lotta moolah.

Anybody else shopping at Office Depot for their centerpieces? (Wink.)

Backyard Bouquet

2008-09-17T13:13:00.000-07:00

Remember the 80's? Poofy sleeves, giant shoulder pads, and gargantuan bouquets dripping with flowers? Brides had to have a special plastic handle to support those heavy bouquets. I get carpal tunnel just by looking at pictures of 'em. Dramatic and interesting, but not quite my style.

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I’d like to carry a small bouquet of lilies of the valley. They are delicate and sweet and represent a return to happiness. And they’re sometimes called Jacob’s Ladder (my twin brother’s name). I used to pick them from the yard for my mother to put in tiny vases. My grandmother (Pop’s mom) used to wear lily of the valley perfume.

But they're so danged expensive! It costs a gazillion dollars to order them from a florist, because they are flown in from New Zealand. I may not be having an uber-green wedding, but that seems like a lotta jet fuel for a little bouquet. What happened to the days when people would go into their gardens and pick flowers for their bouquets? They were local and beautiful and meaningful and . . . wait! My super neighbor has lilies of the valley growing right next to her house right at the time I'm getting married! Super Neighbor to the rescue!

So, I asked her if I could collect them the day before the wedding. (No, I'm not going to dress like the hamburgler and sneak over to mow down her prize garden! Shame on you for thinking such a thing!)

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She said yes! Right after I pick them, I'll condition them in water so they won’t wilt, and then I'll wrap them up for my own sweet little posy.

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If some freak frost destroys the crop of lilies, I’ll just roll with it. I have a tiny Bible that my Mama gave me when I was a little girl that I’ll happily carry. Remember, I’m not putting pressure on this wedding to be perfect, so whatever happens will be wonderful.

I know that a lot of people do their own wedding flowers using grocery stores or floral wholesalers. Anyone else out there doing their own flowers out of their backyard?

Next up: the ceremony and reception decor.

Fleurs

2008-09-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

I love flowers, but I don’t love that most flowers delivered by florists are grown halfway around the world, then flown in at a very high cost, not just to the end consumer, but also to the environment. Holy carbon footprint, Batman! So I started thinking about ways to reduce the monetary and environmental cost of our wedding flowers.

First I started with the boutonnieres. I mean, how hard can those little babies be to mess up?! I checked Martha Stewart’s wedding videos out of the library, and watched all the floral parts. One thousand eight hundred sixty-two and three-quarters hours later, I got up off the couch, went to the grocery store, bought some rosemary, wrapped it up with some pussy willow branches, and in less than sixty seconds ended up with this:

I put it in a bag in my fridge just to see how long it would hold up. Five months later, it still looked great. I must have bought some bionic rosemary.
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I like what I created, but I want it to be a smidge less vertical, so I’ll incorporate some other local greenery when the wedding rolls around, like boxwood (from Mr. Mama’s front porch) and some tiny succulents, like hens and chickens (which might just be Pop’s favorite plant). Easy-peasy.

We’ve got two women walking in the processional (one is my MOH, the other is the Mister’s groomsmaid), and I contemplated giving them flowers. But if my MOH has a bouquet, to whom will she hand it when she fluffs out my train? My other attendant is a man. (In fact, we call him my Mantron of Honor, because if there are maids and matrons, there should be mans and mantrons, no?) While he’s masculine enough to get away with holding a bouquet for part of the ceremony, it seems unnecessary. The female attendants may carry books that reflect their feelings about the day. Perhaps a Bible and a collection of Jane Austen novels – whatever they like.

Which brings us to the darling mothers. I asked them all what white flower they’d like for us to present to them at the ceremony. Mrs. Pop picked a white gardenia, which she carried at her wedding to Pop. Mama picked a white calla lilly, which represents simple beauty to her. The Mister’s grandmother selected a classic white rose. And Momma Mac picked a peony . . . a pink peony! I don’t think she saw the part of my email asking which *white* flower she’d prefer. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t give a hoot whether all the flowers match. If a pink peony she wants, a pink peony she shall have! I may have to order these flowers from a florist, which will have an environmental impact. But it is a much smaller impact than most wedding flowers, and I think it’s worth it. Flowers make them happy. And it’s only four flowers. I’m cool with it.

Next up: My bouquet!

The VETO! Dun dun dun!

2008-09-17T08:29:00.000-07:00

So . . . there’s been a bit of confusion about my tongue-in-cheek discussion of the Mister’s “limited veto power.” Let me assure you, readers, that the Mister is involved in this wedding shindig – probably more involved than he would really like. We discuss every detail, and we make the decision on each one together. I’m more of the brainstormer, bringing him ideas to accomplish our shared vision, whereas he generally gives me a “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” on the ideas I ‘storm up.

Sometimes, we’re immediately on the same page, and he wholeheartedly agrees with my ideas. Most often, he tweaks my concepts, and we agree that the result is better than what either of us could have dreamt up alone. Other times, I come up with something crazy, and he looks at me dubiously while I try to convince him of the idea’s merit. Then there are the rare times when I come up with somethin’ that he hates, and that’s when he uses . . . “the veto.” The big “V” is just his way of telling me in no uncertain terms that he hates my idea. I suppose we call it a veto because it’s a funny, non-threatening way to shortcut to the end result of what would otherwise be a long conversation.

The best example of how he used the “V” was on the wedding music. I got it in my head that we should have an iPod reception. It’s modern and technological and free! But the Mister had always envisioned having a deejay or band, and the idea of an iPod manned by a friend made the reception feel cheap to him. He was also worried that the technology would fail, like what happened at Mrs. Tulip’s reception. So, we decided together to hire a deejay. End of story. No drama-filled yell-fests. Just a nice conversation where we compromised.

I guess “veto” is a bit of a misnomer, but the Mister and I still like it. It makes me think of Schoolhouse Rock:

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I’m just a bill. Yes I’m only a bill. And I’m sittin’ here on Capitol Hill. (wink)

When Butterflies Attack Part III

2008-09-15T10:34:00.001-07:00

Now that you’ve read When Butterflies Attack Parts I and II, which focus on the music that will be played while our guests are NOT throwing things at us, here is the exciting conclusion to the story, which will focus on what the guests will hold (but NOT! throw) during the getaway.

By the way, does anyone else love calling the newlyweds’ exit from the church “the getaway”? It conjures up images of a bank stickup by a gang of hooligans, the dumbest of whom is waiting in the getaway car to whisk the other robbers away from the police. Of course, the driver hasn’t left the car running, so he has to try to start it several times once his co-felons jump in. Once it’s started, it runs out of gas halfway to the safehouse. Man, I hope that doesn’t happen on my wedding getaway. Note to self: check gas gauge on getaway car; hire smart driver.

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OK. I’m back from my 1970’s movie flashback. I want something cute for the guests to hold during the getaway. Some folks have suggested ribbon wands, which are a great idea! They kind of look like the streamers that people throw off cruise ships when they depart. I have some trouble, however, imagining my future father-in-law waving a ribbon wand around like a princess. I wanted something that was a little more unisex, while still being whimsical.

We’re getting married in the breezy spring, and so I decided on . . . pinwheels!

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I realize that not everyone gets as excited about pinwheels as I do. But they’re so fun and childlike, and they’ll send us off to our reception in a whirlwind of springy laughter. Perfect. Also, the Mister had already exercised his limited veto power on the getaway by banning ukuleles, so he just had to let me have my pinwheels, right? Right!

The other thing I love about pinwheels is that they can be personalized to match your wedding colors. You just cut out squares of the color paper you want, cut some small slits in the squares, fold up the paper, and pop it on a stick.

Martha Stewart’s website was the starting place for my pinwheel how-to, but she recommends using a wooden skewer or dowel rod as the stick. I tried that, and it was really hard to get the pin into the wood. My fingers looked like a pincushion! Yowch! That’s when I hit upon the idea of using a pencil. That’s how we used to do it in grade school. You can personalize pencils for your wedding, which would make a great little mini-favor for the guests when the pinwheel has lost its whimsy. I’m thinking of putting something like, “Write your own love story!” on the pencil. What do you think?

Anyway, here’s the how-to:

Cut a square of paper to the size you'd like your pinwheel to be (the ones I made range from 3 to 6 inches). Fold each square in half, diagonally, and in half again (also diagonally), then unfold. Cut along each crease two-thirds of way to square's center, dividing each corner into two points. Bring every other point to center so points overlap.

Poke a map pin through center, and kind of squidge it around a bit to make the hole bigger than the pin (so the pinwheel will rotate). Thread a small bead onto pin behind the wheel, and poke the pin into the pencil eraser. It works best if you poke the pin into the eraser down at a slight angle, so that the metal part that holds the eraser onto the pencil stops the pin from going all the way through the eraser. That way, you have no sharp ends sticking out.

Blow on the pinwheel and watch it rotate. Giggle. Repeat.

Here's a mockup, using paper printed with our vows on one side, and a circle design on the other. You like?
I realize that it is still highly unlikely that my future father in law (or any of the male guests, for that matter) will be waving a pinwheel during our getaway. And I’m OK with that. I just want one uber-cute, daydreamy, innocent, uncomplicated, silly little thing at the ceremony.

Pinwheels. Hooray!

When Butterflies Attack Part II

2008-09-15T09:44:00.000-07:00

Ok, so now that we’ve established that our ceremony getaway can’t involve projectiles or flames, it’s time to chat about what it will involve.
My first thought was kazoos. Seriously. (Wow – I never thought I’d use the words “kazoos” and “seriously” right next to each other. That’s weird.)

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Anyway, kazoos are fun and silly and just what people need to let loose a little. But they’re kinda expensive for about thirty seconds of use. Also, have you ever been trapped in a car with a five year old and a kazoo for any period of time? It’s torture. Since I do have friends with kids, into whose hands the kazoos will inevitably fall, I nixed that idea.

Next I thought about ukuleles. Seriously.

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There’s a group of school-aged kids who play in an awesome ukulele band in my town. They’re really upbeat and fun. Unfortunately, I have given the Mister limited veto power over wedding decisions, and he chose to exercise it on the ukulele band. I mean, where is his sense of adventure and folly for heaven’s sake?! Also, the uke band was a tad expensive for thirty seconds. So I couldn’t really put up a fight on the veto.

What do kazoos and ukuleles have in common (other than the obvious fact that someone utterly insane thought of using them at a wedding)? They’re both noisy! (Am I the only person who likes tap better than ballet, because it’s noisy?) So! If I could come up with something loud that would not offend the Mister’s delicate sense of wedding suitability, we’d both be happy.

Enter . . . the bagpipes! Talk about LOUD! And they have the added benefit of jiving with our shared Scottish heritage. Our Presbyterian church has its own Scottish heritage, so they practically have a bagpiper on retainer. She (yes, SHE!) is a talented cute lass who agreed to play something upbeat for us as we run from the church to the getaway car.

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But I was worried – without something to throw, would the wedding guests feel cheated? Should they have something to hold to make our escape more festive? Tune in to our next installment for the shocking conclusion of When Butterflies Attack . . . .

When Butterflies Attack

2008-09-10T07:28:00.001-07:00

The tradition of throwing stuff at a wedding is a very old one. It began thousands of years ago when guests would throw figs and nuts at the bride and groom to encourage their fertility and prosperity. Gradually this evolved into throwing rice, which became temporarily taboo in 1996 when Ann Landers reported that rice is bad for birds. This quickly became the (now debunked!) urban legend that birds who eat raw rice could explode.

During the false exploding bird period, people in the western world started using alternatives to rice. It started with birdseed (good for the birds!), and then began to include confetti and rose petals.

Um, I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want to be pelted with thousands of tiny sharp projectiles on the “happiest day of my life.” Don’t get me wrong. I know that rice has exfoliation properties. But while I might need a facial before the wedding, I don’t want one at the wedding. I’ll bet bits of rice (or birdseed, or confetti) would stow away in my veil (and dress, and undergarments), leaving the housekeeping staff at the wedding night hotel tickled pink to try to pick that stuff of the carpet. Humph.

Not to mention the fact that the darned stuff is slippery. I can fall on my dignity (yes, that’s what my grandmother used to call it) walking on dry pavement in hiking boots. And this clumsiness runs in my family. My Pop just fell UP the stairs, while Mama once tripped over her sister’s dog and broke her toe. Mama’s toe, that is. The dog didn’t even wake up. If we had the slippery stuff at the wedding, my family and I would all be wiping out left and right.

The next wave of innovation was to release wildlife at weddings – mainly birds and butterflies. Two problems with this plan. (1) Sometimes the fluttery things won’t cooperate. My MOH has been pooped on by birds something like eight times in her life. If that’s supposed to be good luck, she’s the luckiest darned girl in the world.

And butterflies, which are shipped in their cocoons, might not have hatched yet, or (even worse!) their short little life spans might have already run their course, leaving the guests with a bunch of dead butterflies (and all the symbolism that entails). (2) Even more importantly, these transplanted little critters may not fit into the fragile ecosystem in which your wedding takes place, leaving them without the proper food to survive, or putting them into a place where their food source is endangered. Birds. Butterflies. Bad idea.

I love this photo of a butterfly release . . . . I call it, "When Butterflies Attack"

Bubbles have also become popular. I love me some bubbles. Although they are just soap and water, they can stain formalwear (not just mine, but my guests’ clothing too!). I don’t want my wedding favor to my friends and family to be drycleaning bills. People have also begun using sparklers. If I’m too afraid of flames to do the unity candle, why would I voluntarily walk through a ring of fire on my way outta the church?! Duh.

All this is pretty much a moot point for me. My church won’t allow projectiles or incendiary devices. So I’ve had to come up with another plan. That's what I'll discuss in my next post!

Bad Hair Day

2008-09-02T11:21:00.001-07:00

I don’t know about you, but I HATE what they do to my hair at the salon. I go in looking like a regular person, and I come out like this:

I firmly believe that hair should not be shellacked to one’s head. The only reason I escape the salon without helmet hair is that my chart (OMG, they have charts at the salon?!) says, “NO PRODUCT” in big red letters on it. Why do I go to this salon if I fundamentally disagree with their styling methods? Because they do a darned good cut. It’s a massive improvement over just a year ago when I used to cut my own hair using craft scissors and a hand mirror. Don’t try that one at home, kids.

It’s not like this is the only salon that styles my hair into an architectural statement instead of a fashion statement. I’ve been to at least ten hairdressers who have great talent for cutting, but not a single idea of what do to with my hair once it’s cut. My hair is baby fine. And there’s not a lot of it. After my twin died, it fell out in clumps from the stress. Some grew back, but a lot of the little buddies I call hair follicles simply gave up.

What hair I’ve got is great. It has natural curl that improves with moisture. But here’s the key – it is completely deflated by the overuse of a hairdryer or hairbrush. No matter how much I beg them to drop those implements of tress torture, the hairdressers insist on giving me a “blow out” hairdo that flops out by the time I get home. I look like Christian Siriano from Project Runway crossed with Macaulay Culkin from Home Alone.

To quote Christian, "It’s a hot mess."

To quote Macaulay, "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Anyhoo, if I don’t like what the coiffeurs do to my hair on a regular basis, why would I let them style my hair on my wedding day?! I’m going to do it myself. And I’ll save a buck or two in the process. Hooray for choices that are stylish and fiscally responsible! Boo to tragic wedding hair!

Unity Schmoonity

2008-08-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

The unity candle, which is now a part of most traditional U.S. wedding ceremonies, is not really all that traditional. Wikipedia guesses that it is about 30 or 40 years old. So how did this new ritual become to many as necessary as marriage itself?

You know how it goes: At the beginning of the wedding ceremony, a representative from each family (usually the mothers of the bride and groom) light two taper candles, which represent the bride and the groom. Later in the ceremony, the bride and groom use the two taper candles to light the large pillar (unity) candle together.

There is major disagreement about whether the bride and groom should blow out the taper candles. Ten or twenty years ago, nearly everyone blew out the tapers, to represent the bride and groom leaving their respective families and starting a new family together. Today, the opposite is true – most brides and grooms leave the tapers lit to symbolize the continued existence of their individual identities, separate from their relationship as a couple.

Alternatives to the unity candle began to spring up over the past ten years as well, mainly because many couples opted for outdoor weddings, which make it difficult to keep the candles lit. If the candles go kaput, so does the lovely symbolism. One alternative is the sand ceremony, where the bride and groom each have a different color of sand, which they pour together into a larger vessel. This ritual can also be performed with different colored water or wine.

Crazy things can happen on one’s wedding day. (It has always puzzled me that people say they want their wedding day to be perfect. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a “perfect” day when I do the same things I do every other day – things at which I have a ton of practice – like going to work, eating lunch, answering the phone . . . . So why on earth would I have a perfect day when I do a bunch of things I’ve never done before – like wearing a poofy white dress, feeding the Mister cake in front of a gazillion people, lighting a candle at church . . . .)

The candle can refuse to light, leaving the couple (and all their guests!) speculating about the future of their union. And I’ve watched enough America’s Funniest Home Videos to know that the unity candle ceremony can have fiery consequences. Tulle + fire = danger!

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I respect the fact that some people want to take these risks. (Actually, I think these people are crazy! Who am I kidding?) I have visions of tripping up the altar steps and into the candle, followed by STOP, DROP, and ROLL.

What I do respect is the desire to include a ritual within the marriage ritual that further solemnizes the marriage. Rituals provide security, stability, meaning, and a sense of belonging. But why have we as Americans chosen a ritual whose main risk is catching fire and whose main benefit is to candle manufacturers? I've heard the story of a Catholic priest and a Protestant minister each "blaming" each other's church for the unity candle ritual. Instead of calling it a Catholic ritual or a Protestant ritual, they agreed to call it a Hallmark ritual, and to discourage it in weddings they perform.

The Mister and I have therefore spent some time considering the rituals for our marriage ceremony. More on that later. But for now, we've reached this decision: No unity candle for this clumsy dame. Sheesh!

What about you? Do you plan to/Did you have a unity candle ceremony?

Guest Blogger: Tipper!

2008-08-27T11:46:00.001-07:00

Hi! I'm Tipper, and I'm interrupting your regularly scheduled wedding blog to bring you this urgent message: Please consider adopting a pet!

Before buying a pet that was specially bred for purchase, please at least consider animals already looking for happy homes. Aside from the major concern that purchased pets may be from puppy mills, where animal cruelty and serious health hazards abound, there is an even more important reason for considering adopting rather than buying a pet. You can save a life. According to the American Humane Association, an estimated 9.6 million animals are euthanized in the United States every year.

Rather than going over the specifics of this heartbreaking statistic, I’d like to focus on the positive aspects of adopting a pet. When you adopt a companion animal, you gain the lifelong gratitude and devotion of a pet that would otherwise be homeless. And the devotion and happiness go both ways! There are hundreds of “Happy Tails” on petfinder.com, describing the joy that adopted animals have brought to the lives of their families. And pictures, like these!

Gretchen:

Ranger:

Rascal:

Monk:

So, my little two-legged friends, please consider adopting one of us four-leggers. We're worth it!

This is Tipper, signing off with an extra slurpy smooch. Back to your regularly scheduled blog.

Must Have Shot List

2008-08-22T10:22:00.000-07:00

What’s up with those incredibly long must-have shot lists that people give their photographers? It’s a great idea to pick some shots you’d like to have, but 85?! That’s what theknot.com recommends.

For example, why do I need a posed, formal picture alone with my parents? By the time we get the proofs back from the photog, the Mister will be a part of my family (and I a part of his), so why would we exclude him? Will my parents ever display a picture of just the three of us without the Mister, when I’m in my wedding dress? Like, if I get divorced (God forbid!), and they want to cut him out of the picture? I’m sure no one would notice the giant poofy white dress. Maybe my mom can show it to new prospects for my second husband! Not. Gonna. Happen.

Why have so many posed shots, anyway? I’d much rather enjoy part of the cocktail hour talking to my family and friends than standing on the altar steps with a frozen smile in a parade of flash bulbs.

I know! The photographer can take pictures of the Mister and me actually enjoying our own wedding, surrounded by the people we’d put in the formal pictures. But I’m so kooky – everyone knows we’re not supposed to enjoy the wedding. We’re just supposed to look like we’re enjoying it, for the pictures. (Wink.)

If all else fails, the Mister and I can get a life-sized cutout of ourselves. Insert our faces here:

While we enjoy our guests at the cocktail hour, the people who want a ton of formal shots can take them with the cardboard us.

Cardboard is soooo slimming.

From the Very Beginning

2008-08-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

The Mister called me last night, outraged that I claimed to have cankles in my last post. He says that I DO NOT have them, and that I should edit my post to remove the offending remark. I love that he’s stickin’ up for me, even if it’s against . . . well . . . me.

This proves one thing. And it’s not that I have lovely, slender ankles. It’s that love is blind. Not every guy in the world thinks my curves are slammin’, but I’m so lucky that the Mister does. Once I had someone ask whether the Mister is a leg man. I replied, “If he were, do you think he’d be dating me?!” Tee hee.

Mama says, “I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent.” So true. I know a few people who wouldn’t like the furriness of the Mister’s back, or the fact that you can almost fit the remote control in his ginormous belly button. Me, I like that he’s warm and cuddly, and his belly button makes me laugh. I’m grinning right now just thinking about it.

I really believe that there’s someone out there for everyone. Sometimes it just takes a little time to find said person. I’ve dated some real doozies, and stuck it out in those bad relationships because I thought that love wasn’t supposed to be easy. My last relationship was with a really nice guy who wasn’t right for me (and I wasn’t right for him). It literally never occurred to me that the effort we had to exert to keep the relationship going shouldn’t have been necessary.

That’s not to say that love is always easy. Fortunately I have two excellent models of happy marriages (Mama and Mr. Mama; Pop and Mrs. Pop). Add to that the Mister’s parents (Momma Mac and Mac Daddy). These relationships prove that love, like a well-rooted tree, is natural. It grows and bears fruit without trying. There may be hard winters that the tree must endure, but there are also optimistic springs and lush summers. So while love may not be easy, it is natural. My feelings for the Mister are the very first time that love ever felt right. Magical. Inevitable.

A commercial I heard this morning said, “If your girl is one in a million, then there are seven thousand other versions of her in the world.” I’m certainly not going to say that there is only one person for everyone in this world. I’ve seen widows who had wonderful first marriages find love a second time. While the concept of a one-and-only soul mate might not account for these stories, my feelings for the Mister have convinced me that the person or people you are meant to love are imprinted in your soul. In the words of the poet Rumi:

The moment I heard my first love story I began seeking you,
not realizing the search was useless.
Lovers don't meet somewhere along the way.
They're in one another's souls from the beginning.

When I look into my soul, I see that the Mister has been there all along.

The Epic Shoe Quest

2008-08-18T19:31:00.001-07:00

And now for a topic that is near and dear to Mrs. Pop (my stepmother). The wedding shoes!

I've asked a lot of people what they would change about their weddings, and most brides say they would have worn more comfortable shoes. Even Mama, who is a shoe maven herself, said that the shoes she wore to her second wedding (to Mr. Mama, my stepdad) were killers. This may be in part because Mama's ex-mother-in-law offered them as the wedding gift, but when the bill came, ex-MIL declined to pay it. They were nice shoes, but they weren't extravagant by any stretch of the imagination. Instead of the shoes, ex-MIL sent a clear plastic bowl in the shape of a clam shell. Did I mention it was PLASTIC? And shaped. Like. A. Clam. It was so ridiculous that Mama and Mr. Mama kept it for a very long time, just so we could laugh over it. It may still be in the basement for all I know.

So, I decided early on that I would NOT be wearing uncomfortable shoes. The last time I wore torture-inducing shoes to a wedding, my sister got married. I took the shoes off to dance for a while, and I couldn't get the darned things back on my swollen little piggies. (Those are my toes, for those of you without kids or friends with kids.)

I found some cute tennis shoe ballet flat skimmers that had a white ribbon bow for $25, which I replaced with a blue bow for my "something blue." Loved them. But when I went to try them on the next day, they were too small. Same thing one week later. And nary a larger size was to be found. How on earth did that happen? Do my piggies swell on a regular basis? Or were they shrivled when I bought the shoes in the first place? I don't understand. The shoes are like these, but white with a blue bow:

Next were a pair of seersucker blue and white striped mary jane Nikes, also for under $30. These are super comfy, but they do nothing to make my cankles look slimmer. Tragic. I wear them out and about (with cankle-covering pants), so I don't feel that they were a waste of moolah. They just probably aren't wedding-appropriate footwear.

I've thought about wearing blue mary jane crocs under my poofy white dress. My boss at work poo-pooed the idea, saying, "You want shoes that make men say, 'I wish I had married her!'" I take it flat rubber shoes with holes don't do the trick.

Mrs. Pop sent me a pair of cute ivory flats in the mail. I really love them, but they are just a smidge too big, so they make little blisters on my heels. (On the other hand, the shoes may fit swollen pigs perfectly, so you can bet they'll be in my go-to bag on the day of the wedding!) My favorite thing about these shoes is that Mrs. Pop bought them in my style, which is significantly more casual than her own. I felt totally understood! The shoes are similar to these, but in ivory:

Instead of continuing to try making comfortable shoes look fashionable, I thought I'd try a pair of fashionable shoes, in hopes they'd be comfortable. I bought these cuties, but I literally couldn't walk in them. They must have been made for someone with dainty, narrow little feet. Back they went.

Today I found my dream shoes. They're Doc Martens, so they're comfy! (And they satisfy my love for all things British!) AND they're mary jane dress heels, so they'd be (at least a little) more formal. DOC MARTEN HEELS! Why, oh why, can't these be in white or light blue?! I keep trying to figure out with what I'd wear them, so i can justify buying them. I haven't come up with anything yet . . . .

In my fantasy world (where money is falling out of the sky for everyone and there is no more hunger or war), I'd have a custom pair of these babies made, in light blue. I could turn 'em into tap shoes and live my not-so-secret dream of taking tap lessons with either the eight- to twelve-year-old set or the wonderful little octogenarians who do it to keep in shape. But I'd rather donate the money to Heifer International (a nonprofit organization that alleviates hunger, poverty, and environmental degradation through gifts of livestock and training) than wear expensive-shoe-guilt along with these:

The upshot of this is that I'll keep the three pairs of flats I've currently got. If my pigs are tiny, I'll wear the skimmers with the blue bow. If they're swollen up to the size of snausages like my thumb on the day I got engaged, I'll wear the ivory flats from Mrs. Pop. And if my pigs are somewhere in between, I'll wear the Nike mary janes, cankles and all.

But that won't stop my epic quest for inexpensive, comfortable, low-heeled, periwinkle blue, mary jane shoes. I think these shoes are like Snuffleupagus -- they may not actually exist. Now that I've stopped looking for a great guy (got one!), I've got to be searching for something, right?

Recipe for Makin' Love

2008-08-18T07:17:00.000-07:00

I’m sincerely hoping that our first dance to the uber cute song “Recipe for Making Love” by Harry Connick, Jr. We have a few other songs that have very special meanings to us, and we could sway back and forth to those songs. Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts. True Companion by Marc Cohn. C is for Cookie by the Cookie Monster. You know. The classics.

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As much as I like those romantic slow songs, I’d like for people to be entertained by our first dance. I love the whole trick-first-dance-followed-by-a-rockin’-dance-number, but it’s become so common that people sort of expect it nowadays. I think something between the stand-and-sway and the trick-first-dance is the way to go. Thus the delightful Harry Connick song.

As you guys know, I’ve been planning a family wedding photo guestbook. And I want to give people the opportunity to write something in the book other than their addresses, which we already know, or they wouldn’t have gotten their wedding invitations, so they wouldn’t be at the wedding, and they wouldn’t be signing the guestbook. Duh. So I started thinking about our first dance song, and I came up with this question for people to answer in the guestbook:

If marriage is a recipe, what are its ingredients?

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Whaddya think? Do you like the question? What are the ingredients?

Creative Calligraphy

2008-08-14T12:05:00.001-07:00

I love calligraphy. Who doesn’t? It’s romantic and delightful. And it adds an air of formality to wedding invitations. Check out these lovlies:

But it’s ‘spensive! An internet source I found charges $5 per envelope, and that’s for three lines. If you’ve got someone with a super long address, ca-ching! Since we’re dispensing with the inside envelope and the tissue paper in our invites, we were hoping to add a level of pomp and circumstance, but not at that price. Uh uh.

I have tried to teach myself calligraphy before.

Just kidding! My handwriting teacher in grade school was Mrs. Crab. Really. She gave me “unsatisfactory” grades on all my assignments. Not because my handwriting is messy or illegible. It’s not! I got bad grades because I didn’t slant my letters toward the right side of the page. Apparently this showed either that I was obviously defective or willfully disobedient. Either way, she hated me.

Even assuming I could master calligraphy, it would take every spare moment between now and our wedding to address all the invitations. Talk about writer’s cramp. Also I’ve been known to make mistakes when writing things out. I can just imagine my darling aunt wondering why on earth she wasn’t invited to our wedding, when her arch-enemy neighbor with the big towering house that blocks her view of the park was. Invited, that is.

Time for some creative thinking!

There are some amazing fonts out there that look like beeeeautiful calligraphy. AND they can be employed using the guest list and addresses I’ve already typed into the computer. Cool, no? So I get the effect with none of the cost or effort! Here are some examples of the font I selected: Ahem. I am very well connected.

Anyhoo, we intended to use black envelopes for our invitations to fit with our black-and-white color scheme. (Mama thought this was a shocking breach of all that is good and faithful in the world. “But the envelope . . . it’s BLACK!” Dun dun dun!) Black computer printing on black envelopes? Not so much. So! To use what I am now calling “Computer Calligraphy” we’ll have to either: (1) print out labels and affix them to the black envelopes, or (2) use white envelopes and stick them through the printer. I think either idea is grand.

We wouldn’t use those silly Arvey labels from Office Hut. Obviously. I’m a classy girl! We’d make our own labels using The Magical Xyron Machine that my MOH is loaning me. But the sticky label cartridges for the MXM are also ‘spensive. Those white envelopes are looking gooood. I’ll keep you posted.

Pip Pip!

2008-08-13T11:38:00.001-07:00

Apparently, signature drinks are all the rage in the wedding industry. They were created so that couples who couldn’t afford an entirely open bar could have an open beer and wine bar with one cocktail made from hard liquor that was their “signature drink.” The idea was soooo cool that it quickly spread to people with more moolah. (Why should the frugal folks get to have all the fun?) Then people started having signature drink “menus” of multiple drinks with incredibly clever names (like Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue). The exceptionally creative Miss Cream Puff over on weddingbee even created an entire signature drink menu around her pets:

I don’t really drink hard alcohol. And there’s a good reason. I’m a drinker, not a sipper. Gulping candy-flavored hooch on half-price martini Thursdays means that my legs are so rubbery they’re practically liquefied. One martini. Two martini. Three martini. Floor. Or, as Mr. Mama likes to say, “You had ti many martoonis.”

The Mister and I recently went out to the super cool place we got engaged. When I started talking about the year I graduated law school, he laughed and said, “I graduated high school that year.” (I did graduate college in three years, so that means that the Mister and I have a six-year age difference. Usually I’m pretty good natured about being a cougar. Rawr. But the thought of dating a highschooler while I was graduating law school?! I felt positively ancient!) I marched right over to the bartender and said, “I need a very big my-fiance-made-me-feel-old drink.” I don’t know what he put in there. And I think it was free. I don’t really remember, because I sucked it down, got over feeling old, and tritzed back to the table. I was tooootally fine for approximately eleven and a half minutes.

So, when our wedding caterer asked us about a signature drink, all I could imagine was me slurping hard liquor out of the dreaded bubba keg (which the Mister LOVES and I loathe), slurring my vows and whatnot. Um, no thanks.

But the Mister had a brilliant idea. What about Guinness as our signature drink? It pokes a little good-natured fun at the entire concept by being anything but a mixed drink. Guinness fits right in with our “across the pond” reception décor (more on that later). And it has the added benefit of being drinkable (rather than purely sippable)! The caterer threw in even more fun by suggesting that waiters pass our high fallootin’ signature drink in tiny beer mugs. Pip, pip! Cheerio, old boy! I can’t wait to hear all those teensy clinks as people toast with the little buggers!

See why I love my Mister?

Going Carless! Ooh la la!

2008-08-08T12:49:00.001-07:00

So, I’m going carless. This sounds somewhat risqué, like going braless or even topless. (A side note here – whenever I say I’m going to a tapas restaurant, people always think I’m saying a topless restaurant. Does anyone else have this problem?) But what I mean is that I don’t currently own a car. This is practically blasphemy in the Midwest, home of car racing and big trucks. Once, I met my MOH at a restaurant for lunch, but it was closed. We decided to go to a restaurant about six stores down the strip mall, and she got into her car and DROVE there. (Granted, she has a really cool car – a MINI Cooper named Stella).

Let me explain. The place where I live with the Mister has only one parking spot. Usually, I would just park on the street, but we live near a busy downtown building, so all the spots are metered. If I ever decided to stay home for the day (say, for example to meet the cable guy, who has come to my house four times in the past two days, and still, no cable!), I’d have to put money in the parking meter on the street. There is a nearby garage, but it costs $40 per month to park your car there. I work for the State, so I can park in the free State garage, but it’s about ten blocks away. So then I started thinking, “If I’m going to park my car so far away, do I really need a car at all?”

In the downtown area where we live, there’s a grocery store and a hardware store and a mall and a movie theater. In other words, the majority of the stuff I need is within walking distance. (And a lot of things I don’t need, like great pubs and restaurants. I hope walking to these locations will make up for the caloric intake!)

Sooooo, the Mister and I decided to try an experiment. When the lease on my old car ended, I would just walk to and from work. This wasn’t so much of a stretch because: (1) I was already riding my bicycle to work a few times a week for fitness and environmental reasons, and (2) it takes about as long to walk from my house to work as it does to walk from the State parking garage to work. If I needed the car on the evenings or weekends, I would ask the Mister. And if the car and the Mister were busy, I could always rent a car. We would take it one day at a time. Whenever it got unbearable, I would just go get a new car, and the experiment would be over.

It’s been two months so far, and it’s going swimmingly. The whole walking around thing reminds me of being in college, when I didn’t even dream of having a car. If what I needed was off campus, I just learned how to do without. A girl can get a lot of wedding thinking done while sashaying about town.

I’ve only rented a car once during this experiment. I reserved a subcompact car to save on gas and to get into those teensy tiny parking spots, but the rental agency gave me a giant V-8 two-door and expected me to be happy about a car that vroomed unnecessarily. I took Mama and Mr. Mama for ice cream in it, and I had to fold Mr. Mama into a pretzel to get him in and out of the back seat. He was crabby.

I’d be lying if I said that I never felt slightly trapped by not having a motor vehicle at my beck and call. There are times I want to just drive off, away from responsibilities (or at least toward my Mama and my MOH, both of whom live too far away to walk). But those few trapped feelings are greatly outweighed by the benefits of going carless:

I can eat corndogs and not gain weight.
I see the same people on my walks every day, and I like the feeling of community.
Mother Earth approves of my smaller carbon footprint.
While my backside (or my dignity, as my grandmother used to call it) is less plump, the opposite is true for my wallet.

There are a few drawbacks. Like the crazy guys who ask me for money every day. And my hairdo is usually a hairdon’t by the time I get to work. But little miracles happen all the time on my walks. Last week another (obviously crazy!) guy said, “Pardon me ma’am. You have a beautiful figure. I’ll bet you get that all the time.” Um, no, I most certainly do not! I was walking on air for days.

I get two reactions to the experiment. COOL! and WHAT?! People either love or hate the idea – there’s no middle ground. Some folks can’t fathom going without a car, while others secretly wish they could. I realize that there are a gazillion people who ride the bus or their bikes or walk to work every single day, and it’s not like I’m some nutty radical who’s changing the universe just by waiting to buy a new car. But I am literally the only person I know in my profession who doesn’t have a car (and isn’t even shopping for one).

So, anybody else out there going carless? We should all meet up at the local topless (I mean tapas) restaurant to bond.

Blog the Dog

2008-08-08T08:20:00.001-07:00

I'm sure you’ve noticed that our beloved dog is more than just a pet – he’s a member of our family. There are several reasons for his honored status, not the least of which is that he’s a cute, furry little guy who sometimes looks like a kitty and other times has the gravitas of a civil war general.

He’s also a member of our family because he taught all of us to love again after the tragedy of losing my twin brother. To be honest, I didn’t believe that I would ever be able really to hug someone after that loss. The very thought of meeting new people who didn’t know my brother seemed a betrayal of his memory. My world was supposed to stop growing on the day that my brother’s life ended, right? Instead, a cuddly little furball pushed open the door to my heart with his little paw, and the healing began.

He’s not a genius. He gets confused when you ask him to do something as simple as lying down. And he can’t find a treat you put right in front of his nose (mainly because he’s too busy trying to please people that he forgets all about the reward.)

He understands five commands: SIT, DROP, DOWN, HUG, and KISS. The last two show his biggest asset – his heart. He puts his paws on your legs and nuzzles you for hugs, and he licks your nose when you ask for a kiss. I’d take those two actions over LIE DOWN any day.

He likes his sleep. Interrupt it, and you get a harrumph of monumental proportions, followed by his grumpy old man look. It says something along the lines of, “I am tolerating you because I love you, but keep it down in here!”

He was five years old when I rescued him from God knows what, so he came complete with a number of serious issues. He foams at the mouth when I leave home. I think he really believes I’m never coming back. He jumps on my head during storms, and he destructively scratches the door from which I leave every day. He sometimes tinkles on the corner of the couch. Fortunately, his aim is so bad, he misses the couch entirely and hits the puppy pad I put out for this particular purpose. He’s absolutely convinced that every visitor to our house intends to steal him away from us, and he routinely shakes from head to toe when in the presence of more than a few folks. He takes beef-flavored doggie prozac every day. In short, he’s a hot mess.

There is a trend these days of including dogs in the wedding party. I LOVE this idea. I mean, isn’t it a bit weird that you wouldn’t include a family member/roommate/best friend on the most important day of your life?

But when you have a dog that’s a hot mess with separation anxiety, is it really fair to put him through the ordeal? If he were 100% healthy and secure, I’d have him dressed in a cute little ringbearer’s outfit walking down that aisle.

But he’s not. And I love his wellbeing more than I love how cute he'd be at the wedding.

So I’ll just have to tell him all about it when it’s over. Just one problem -- he won’t understand a word I’m saying . . . he only speaks Chinese. He’s a shih tzu after all.

Motto

2008-08-05T13:39:00.000-07:00

If marriage is the simple, straightforward theme of our wedding, then I suppose I can splurge a bit and have a motto.

In the Spring of 1939, with war against Germany all but inevitable, the British Government's Ministry of Information commissioned a series of posters to be distributed throughout the country at the onset of hostilities. The posters were a message from the King to his people to stress an “attitude of mind” rather than a specific aim. On the eve of a war that Britain was ill-equipped to fight, it was impossible to know what the nation’s future aims and objectives would be.

At the end of the Summer of 1939, three designs using the crowns of George VI as the only graphic device went into production. The first poster read “Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution will Bring Us Victory.” The second carried the slogan “Freedom is in Peril.” The third design simply read “Keep Calm and Carry On.”

The first two designs were distributed in the Fall of 1939 and began to appear in shop windows, on railway platforms, and on advertising boards up and down the country. But the “Keep Calm” posters were held in reserve, intended for use only in times of crisis or invasion. Although some may have found their way onto government office walls, the poster was never officially issued and remained virtually unseen by the public until a copy turned up more than fifty years later in a box of dusty old books bought in auction. It was displayed by a pair of British shop owners who began reproducing it after its immediate popularity.

I first saw the poster on etsy.com, and it immediately put me into the right “attitude of mind.” I learned more about it on the website of a secondhand bookshop, and I liked it so much that we registered for the poster as a wedding gift, to serve as a constant reminder in our married life.

While some might see a wedding as both a crisis and an invasion, I think it’s neither. I do think, however, that it’s very helpful to be reminded in this time of great change to Keep Calm and Carry On.

Thematic Elegance

2008-08-04T13:16:00.000-07:00

Apparently every wedding is supposed to have a theme. It seems like these themes usually involve the word, “elegance”: Simple Elegance, Casual Elegance, Calla Lily Elegance, Victorian Elegance, Autumn Elegance, My-Day-MUST-Be-Perfect Elegance, Barking Mad Elegance, Spray-Tan Elegance . . . . You get the idea.

Image from pbtanandtravel.com.

At the recommendation of Miss Pineapple over on weddingbee.com, I read A More Perfect Union: How I Survived the Happiest Day of My Life. When the author, Hana Schank, and her fiancé (both of whom are Jewish) began planning their wedding, they had this discussion about their theme:

"Well, the magazines say that a good way to start planning a wedding is to pick a theme, and everything else follows."
"Oh man," he said. "What kind of theme?"
"They suggest things like 'Hearts and Flowers,' or, you know, 'The Wild West,' that kind of thing."
"Like, 'Romance Under the Sea'?"
"Yeah," I said. "I'm thinking maybe we should go with 'Man's Inhumanity to Man.' "
"What about, 'Anti-Semitism Through the Ages'?" asked Steven. "I mean, it is going to be a Jewish wedding."
"Ooh, good one. We could do a Czarist Russia table, a Spanish Inquisition table, a Nazi Germany table."
"The possibilities are endless, really. That's what makes it a good theme."

This has gotten me thinking – what’s our wedding theme? As much as I like “Man’s Inhumanity to Man” (wink), it’s not really our style. And since I’m not remotely elegant (I tripped over my own feet today at work), I suppose that anything involving “elegance” is out. The colors we plan to use are black and white, but that’s not a theme, it’s a color palette, right?.

In vain I searched good ole’ Martha Stewart’s website for theme concepts that fit what we are trying to accomplish. And theknot.com wasn’t any help either. But

Courtney over at apracticalwedding.com nailed it. “The theme of our wedding is marriage.” Amen, sistah.

Luck 'O the Irish

2008-07-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

The day began with serious bodily injury. I slammed my left thumb in the car door, and it bled all over my clothes and swelled up to the size of a kielbasa. I cried my little eyes out as the Mister ran cool water over the offending wound and bandaged me up. In the midst of this tragedy, I realized, “I can marry this man! He would know what to do when our kids skin their knees!” But that thought was quickly replaced by something along the lines of “OOOWWWWCHHH!” He left for work; I pulled myself together, put on a silly green felt newsboy hat in honor of St. Patrick’s day, and went to my office too.

I was especially sad that I slammed my LEFT thumb in the car door, because I was not-so-secretly hoping that the Mister was going to propose later that week. He asked me to my favorite restaurant several days in advance, and I suspected that he would pop the question there. (I can usually tell what the Mister is thinking – it’s as if he has one of those scrolling lighted message boards strapped to his forehead that puts out a running commentary of his thoughts.) If he proposed later that week, he would have to put the ring he designed onto the same hand as the kielbasa thumb. Ick.

But I was still excited; I had no idea what the ring looked like, and I was dying to see it. That’s assuming he even had the ring. I was also thrilled at the thought that I could be engaged to the man ‘o my dreams. So with a heart full of hope and a thumb full of OOOWWWWCHHH, I started planning what I would wear on Friday that would distract from the kielbasa thumb. I contemplated implementing the Miss Piggy plan – if you’re having a bad hair day (or a thumb that looks like a sausage), just put some broccoli in your teeth, and no one will notice your hair/thumb. Note to self: Go to grocery; pick up broccoli.

The Mister and I decided to go to a cool German pub for St. Patrick’s Day. It sounds weird, but this place has the best Irish parties outside of County Cork, and on St. Pat’s Day the place is packed to the rafters with corned beef, cabbage, Irish beer, and green-clad lads and lassies. It’s also the place we had our first kiss (on the very first day we met– sorry Mama!). As we were leaving home for the festivities, the Mister asked me if I needed my cell phone. Doesn’t he know that the less you carry at a drunken Irish party, the less you can lose? So I left the phone at home.

We dragged ole’ sausage thumb over to the pub, and we ate a hearty meal of all things Irish. It was super duper hot inside, so we went outside. By the place we first kissed. It was sprinkling rain as we sat at a pickinic table (yes, I used the Yogi bear spelling). The Mister said, “Hey, look at the guy in the kilt!”

I must stop the story here to tell you that I loooove guys in kilts. The Mister has one too, because he competes in the Scottish Highland Games, which involves throwing really heavy things, like actual rocks and telephone poles, into the air for height or across a field for distance and technique. I go to these games because: (1) I like to show my support for my Mister, and (2) there are guys in kilts.

The Mister is thinking about wearing a kilt to the wedding. I think it’s a great idea. I got to pick out my dress all by myself, so why shouldn’t he pick out what he wants to wear? (I do hope they make Garanimals in formal wear, however.)

His parents think that a kilt is insane. I’m not exactly sure why – his brother picked something pretty nontraditional for his wedding – modern brown tuxedos with gold vests and pink ties. What’s the big deal with the kilt? But it’s not my battle. The Mister will look amazing in whatever he chooses (provided it matches), so I’ll let him make the decision (and engage in whatever negotiation is required to implement it). I’m concerned about the kilt for one other reason: our officiant/friend (who is a very cute young woman) said that, if the Mister wears a kilt, she might just shove me out of the way and marry him herself. I couldn’t blame her, really. Because, if guys in kilts are hot, then my guy in a kilt is absolutely irresistible.

So, you can see why, “Hey, look at the guy in the kilt!” would distract me. As I scanned the crowd for tartan, the Mister got down on one knee. I looked back, and he asked me to marry him, using my full name. Yesyesyesyesyes. And I looked at the ring. HOLY MOLEY! It was perfect. Sparkly and classic, it looks like a family heirloom.

Tears. Joy. Wonder at why anyone would want to propose to a snausage thumb wearing a silly green felt hat. And an overwhelming urge to . . . call my mother. (Why did I leave the danged cell phone at home?!) I commandeered a phone and called Mama. She thought something terrible had happened, because I was screaming unintelligibly into the receiver. When I finally explained, we were on our way to her house, calling best friends and several other parents along the way.

The moral of this story is this: Don’t wear a green felt hat. No, actually, it’s that a silly sausage thumb can’t sour the sweetest moment of your life. So stop worrying and just enjoy yourself, for heaven’s sake.

The Anti-Funeral

2008-07-28T11:38:00.001-07:00

Think for a moment about the most important element of a wedding. You know . . . the part that makes a party seem . . . wedding-y. The dress? The cake? Chivari chairs? Chicken cordon bleu? Apparently, each person in the world (or at least each person who thinks about weddings – that’s everybody, right?) feels there is one thing without which it wouldn’t be a wedding at all. And, here’s the kicker, it’s different for each person. Which isn’t so bad when you’ve got a bride planning the wedding on her own with her mama. That’s two people to satisfy. But when you’ve included an entire community in the planning of said wedding, you’ve got yourself a heap of trouble.

For my FMIL, Momma Mac, I suspect it might be the cake. She offered to buy our buttercreamed beauty, and she enjoyed picking it out with us. My stepmother (Mrs. Pop) sent me shoes in the mail. Apparently, my rubber-soled skimmer shoes didn’t fit the fashion bill, and she kindly (I mean that – very kindly) bought me a pair that were much nicer, but still my style. Shoes are important to her. My Mama has been attempting to brainwash me about my processional music. She has played her favorite song for me at least thirty times. She may even have implemented some sort of subliminal listening system in my home, for all I know. She’s crafty like that!

Cake. Fashion. Music. There’s something else that will make our wedding for me. Family.

Sure, people love their families, and family is so stable for most people that it’s a given at a wedding, which is why they focus on the other parts, like the reception location or something. But family has been a delicate thing for me, and I’m acutely aware of it nearly every moment of every day.

My twin brother died seven years ago, and his absence has been more palpable in the wedding planning than it has been since the year he died. Our family has been through so much tragedy. And we’ve had so many loving friends who tenderly held our hearts as we’ve grieved. Now, instead of planning a funeral and just trying to make it through each day, we’re all planning a wedding and looking well into the future. In short, this wedding is the anti-funeral. Not just for me, but for all of us.

So when I listen a little too much to the opinions of family and friends, and I agonize over how to meld them into a single, coherent day, it’s not because I’m indecisive or too nice (people who know me know that’s certainly not true!). It’s because I want everyone who helped ease the grief to get a piece of the joy.

Having Cake and Eating It Too

2008-07-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

When the Mister and I began planning the wedding, we decided we wanted to have a responsible, adult wedding. (No, this does not mean an x-rated wedding with contraceptive favors. It means that we would set a reasonable budget that is not the GNP of a small nation, and we would stick to it.) We have very generous parents, and we combined their contributions, and plugged the budget into a wedding calculator thingy, which promptly told us the exact dollar amount we should spend on every item from the petals tossed by the flower girl to the last drop of alcohol consumed at the reception. In the planning, we picked our must-haves. Every time we happened upon a line item that was over budget (e.g., the reception’s monopoly of a caterer), we started to look for another that we could whittle down a bit (the cake).

Oh, the cake! We wanted to have cake. But we weren’t so worried about its provenance or, for lack of a better word, height. But some people feel that the cake is that one thing that makes a wedding. My little sister, for example, nearly fainted when I said that we were going to have sheet cakes from Costco as our wedding cake. (She tried to hide her horror, but I recognized it! She’s my little sis, after all.) First, let me say that Costco cake is really, really yummy. And cheap! A white cake with white frosting with a ton of cheesecake filling that feeds 50 people costs $18. I lugged some into work, and everyone who tried it could not believe it was from Costco. Tasty! Cheap! But not so pretty.

Other people who heard about the Costco Cake Plan (or the CCP, as I will now call it) hated it for other reasons. My future inlaws, Momma Mac and Mac Daddy, were dead set against it, because: (1) Someone will have to pick the danged cakes up from a superstore on the day of the wedding, and drive them to the reception. I think the Macs had a vision of me with the train of my wedding dress hanging out the driver’s side door of a car, dragging along the highway with the cakes spilling out the trunk. And they’re not far off – that’s something I would totally do.

(2) When I said that we prioritized elements other than the cake, they heard that I would not have the wedding cake of my dreams. And that would not do, no sir! They are loving and wonderful, and they wanted me to not have a single regret on my wedding day. Not if they could help it! Down with the CCP!

So, they offered to buy the cake. And we picked one out this weekend! Apparently, the cake was a bit more of a priority to us than we had thought. The Mister got excited about the flavors of each tier. He was surprisingly involved in the decoration decisions. He debated the number of layers and their proportionality. He picked out a groom’s cake. He was in absolute heaven. (It may have just been a sugar high, but it was so much fun to see.)

And even though I had resigned myself to a tasty-but-not-pretty cake for the sake of responsible frugality, I caught the sugar wave and ended up loving every sweet decision we made. But how can I enjoy a cake that doesn’t fit into our fiscally responsible budget, you ask? Will I be calculating the cost of each mouthful? Will I have the uneaten slices bronzed to justify the expense?

Nope. The baker blacked out the price on my copy of the contract. So I get to have my cake and actually enjoy eating it too. Thank you Momma Mac.

Word Clouds

2008-07-23T11:21:00.001-07:00

I learned about Wordle from Miss Lovebug over on weddingbee. It’s this ubercool online program that generates “word clouds” from text that you provide. The clouds give greater prominence to words that appear more frequently in the source text. You can tweak your clouds with different fonts, layouts, and color schemes.

Here’s an example of the words from a draft of our wedding ceremony (names and places removed to protect the innocent): You can use any text you like – try the Gettysburg Address:
The Velveteen Rabbit: Or the lyrics from a favorite song (“Here Comes the Sun,” by the Beatles): Fun that's totally free? Found it!

Modern Wedding Ring Quilt

2008-07-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

The Mister and I are in the process of moving in together. To be more accurate, I’m in the process of moving in with him. Into. His. Space. He has been exceedingly gracious with giving me places to put my belongings. He has allowed me to choose between duplicate possessions, so we have a nice, integrated household. He has been incredibly encouraging throughout this entire stressful process.

And stressful it has been! I don’t like to update my computer or change the toilet paper roll, so I’m having a smidge of trouble with packing up my stuff and moving it somewhere else, no matter how much I want to get to the somewhere else to be with the someone else who already lives there.

I don’t want to take over his space entirely, but his giant (very cool!) art photographs of African animals say, “A MAN lives here!” On the other hand, hanging up my Georgia O’Keeffe posters would scream, “WOMAN!” There’s a tension in figuring out how to make the space represent the character of us as a couple. (On a side note, someone I know says that houses with garages that face the street say, “Cars live here,” rather than “People live here.” Interesting.)

The bedroom décor is another manifestation of this problem. He has a wonderful, neutral-colored linear-lined quilt on the bed. I LOVE it. It’s beautiful. But it’s a little on the masculine side. (As it should be. If he had a chintz comforter on the bed when I got there, I would have run for the hills. Duh.) I certainly don’t want to replace it with the blue and while square blocked quilt I got from pottery barn kids. (Does anyone else lurve the hooded towels at pottery barn kids that look like animals? But I digress . . . .)

I’ve looked all around, and don’t see anything in the marketplace that meets our criteria. The new bedspread must: (1) adequately merge our two styles, (2) be relatively lightweight, and (3) hold up to the scratching of our darling little dog, who wipes his ears all over the bed after he gets a bath. To get the water out. Obviously.

So . . . what if I designed my own quilt? I could pick my own fabrics and make it modern and fresh. I have this image of two intersecting circles that are asymmetrically placed on the quilt, kind of like a Venn Diagram of our relationship -- the two of us are each our own circle, and the intersection is our relationship together. Like the picture below, but with more vibrant, saturated colors in a monochromatic scheme.

After I come up with the design, I could sew the top together, and then send it to a quilting service, which would quilt, bind, and back it for around $300. It could be the modern version of a wedding ring quilt. What do you think? Artsy or fartsy?

Cast of Characters

2008-07-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

The {cypress and oak} Cast of Characters:

The Mister: My fiancé, a thoughtful, private, stalwart, adorable protector.

Mama: My mother, a creative, obsessive, magical, sparkling homebody.
Mr. Mama: My stepdad, a loud, loving, bossy, gregarious leader.

Pop: My father, a clever, silly, emotive, punny salesman.
Mrs. Pop: My stepmom, a talkative, organized, giving, entrepreneurial perfectionist.

Momma Mac: My FMIL (future mother in law), a loving, intelligent, strong, soft-spoken kindred spirit.
Mac Daddy: My FFIL (future father in law), a generous, curious, warm, dog-loving statesman.

My BFF: My MOH (maid of honor), a steadfast, loyal, smart (both intelligent and elegant) soul friend.

Family Photo Guest Book

2008-07-17T07:06:00.000-07:00

I knew from the get-go I didn’t want to have a regular guest book. To be honest, I don’t exactly understand the purpose of a guest book. A place for guests to write their addresses? But we already know them, because that’s where we sent their invitations! I told Mama that I didn’t even want to have a guest book, but she (and the Mister) argued that people actually LIKE to sign these books. It feels wedding-y. Apparently. So I began thinking of another option that would be more than a poofy, padded satin, out-of-order address book/dust collector. (Not that there's anything wrong with that -- it's just not my thing.)

I love the idea of platters that guests can sign with special pens. You bake the platters in the oven, and the ink sets, so that you can use the platter in your daily life. (I’m all about using art and sentiment in everyday life.) They have these platter sets at pottery barn, but you can make your own for a lot less moolah by buying the platter(s) and markers separately. I think this concept would work best for a small-ish wedding. As it seems we may have more than 300 guests, they would either have to write very small, or we’d have to have tons of platters for people to sign.

That’s when I started to hear about blurb books. They’re commercial, bookstore quality books that you can create and have printed in less than seven days, starting at just $13. You can choose between different sizes of books, determine the number of pages you’d like to include, and decide whether you want a softcover, hardcover with dust jacket, or an image-wrap hardcover book. The possibilities are endless!

I love the trend of including photographs of family members at their weddings. Usually they’re put in fancy (read: expensive) frames near the gift table at the reception. But I wanted a way to include these photo memories in a way that (1) guests would be more likely to see them, and (2) I could admire them after the wedding. My vision of our wedding didn’t include life-sized posters of these photos, and my vision of our post-wedding abode didn’t include twenty or thirty wedding photos in mismatched (expensive!) frames covering every available surface. But the guestbook! What about that?

So, I’ve begun collecting amazing wedding photos from my dear family to include in the guestbook. Here are the criteria for the pictures: (1) family members, (2) at their wedding, (3) if they’re still happily married. (While I’m the product of happily divorced parents who have happily remarried other people, it’s the current, happy marriages that I hope will inspire the Mister and me in our own relationship.) I’ve not yet decided what information I will encourage guests to put in the book, but addresses are out, and a request for a more personal note is in. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, here are just a few of the wedding photos that will grace the pages of our nontraditional guest book:

I Miss Me

2008-07-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

In my last post, I mentioned that the Mister and I attended our marriage preparation class at church. What I neglected to mention is that at the class I did THE MOST embarrassing thing. Ever.

We started the class by going around the room, introducing our partners. Each person also had to say how he or she knew that his or her partner was “the one.” The instructor (let’s call him Doc) called on me first, and I said that the Mister is the one for me because I feel safe with him, and he makes me feel both happy and content. The Mister was next, and I was sincerely afraid that he would respond the way he had in our preliminary, personal meeting with Doc a few weeks before. In that meeting, Doc asked us to describe our excitement at getting married. The Mister stumbled around for 90 seconds using a lot of words without ever saying anything a la Miss Teen South Carolina.

(For the YouTube video of Miss SC's meltdown, click here.) The Mister might as well have said, “I’m excited about marrying Jules because I want to be a veterinarian to help people.” It. Was. Brilliant. (In the Mister’s defense, he is usually well-spoken, when he is not crazy uncomfortable sharing his feelings with random people he doesn’t know at all.)

Instead of an unintelligible answer, the Mister said something lovely – that he knows I am the one because I make life beautiful for him. Seven other couples said other nice things about each other, and then the last pair spoke. The Mister and I are friends with the prospective groom in that pair, but we don’t know the bride-to-be at all. She’s a peppy lady with an open expression and an agreeable personality. He said she’s the one because of a gut feeling he has, deep down inside. Good answer. She replied that he’s the one, because he’s smart. And intelligent. And imaginative. And handsome. And . . . here’s where I wish I could stop time and use a magic eraser to obliterate about ten seconds. In the midst of her list of his wonderful attributes, I leaned over the side of the table and made a barfing sound.

Everyone stared at me in all my discourteous glory, but I couldn’t really see the horrified looks on their faces because I was very busy obsessing about when we would take a break from the class so I could apologize to her. A bazillion times. In the split second that I was teasing my friend (the groom) about the list of his lovely qualities, I forgot that my joke invalidated his partner’s lovely comments (and hurt her feelings in the process).

I apologized, of course. And did some reflecting. I’m starting to realize that this wedding stress does weird things to a girl. I’m interrupting meetings at work (which essentially means, “I think whatever I have to say is waaaay more important than what you have to say”), but I’m cross whenever someone interrupts me. Who is this boorish woman? And when will she go away? Any thoughts on how to get back to being myself? I miss me.

Playing by the Rules

2008-07-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

So it was a week of ups and downs for me and my relationship with religion.

Some quick background: the Mister and I want to make the wedding ceremony more than traditional; we want it to be a worship service where we commit our lives to God. We’re cool with people who don’t want to do the same, but it’s part of who we are. One of the elements we want to include is communion.

Our religious rollercoaster week began on July 4th when our awesome friend/officiant said that we could have people of different denominations serve communion at our wedding. Unifying people of different traditions! I was beside myself with ecumenical enthusiasm. I invited as servers a few people I know will support us in our marriage, but who wouldn’t ordinarily be involved in the service. This included my kind-hearted boss and a trial judge I have known since I was a girl.

You know how they say that you should ask forgiveness, not permission? Well out of an abundance of caution, I thought I should check with another churchy friend to make sure our plan was acceptable. It wasn’t. Apparently, my church requires that ordained ministers, elders, and deacons serve communion.

It wasn’t just that I had to unask my boss and a judge – that was embarrassing. It was that I was disappointed that my church isn’t progressive enough to focus on similarities, rather than differences. I shot off what amounted to a “WWJD” email to the executive minister. His response was a kind description of church polity, but it never addressed my basic internal question: Wouldn’t Jesus think these rules are a bunch of hogwash? (Actually, when I ask myself this question in my mind, I use a cussword, but I’m self-editing here . . . .)

Cut to this past weekend, when the Mister and I attended a two-day marriage preparation retreat (good content, lots of unnecessary repetition, and some forced “thirty-second hugs,” which were somewhat mechanically prescribed as a marital panacea). Spending time in the church reminded me why I love it. It’s the church where I was baptized and confirmed, and my twin brother’s ashes are in the memorial garden. It’s like a member of my family, and when family members do things you don’t like (e.g., spending a zillion dollars on a new building addition or having stupid communion rules), you don’t just disconnect from them. You figure out how to move on together.

At the marriage workshop, between our thirty-second hugs, the Mister and I talked about the communion rules, and he was every bit as outraged as I had been when I first learned of them. But when he started criticizing the church, a funny thing happened. You know when you complain about your brother, it’s cool. But when your best friend agrees with you, you’re suddenly defensive? “Hey, man, that’s my brother you’re talkin’ about! Them’s fightin’ words!” Well, I got all in a huff and thought, “Hey man, that’s my church you’re talkin’ about. Cut it out.”

To make a long story long, I realized that we have to make some sacrifices to have our wedding at my church. If we want to have ecumenical communion, we’ll have to exchange vows elsewhere. But the fact of the matter is we want to be married in the church, just a few steps away from my brother’s memorial. So he’ll be there too. And that’s one of the reasons I’m willing to play by the rules.

Postbox!

2008-07-10T13:25:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, I became obsessed with card boxes. You know, the boxes that people put on their gift tables to hold the cards that some guests bring to the reception.

Some are birdcages, others are built to look like wedding cakes, while others look like wrapped gifts that match the wedding’s color scheme, and still others are mini wishing wells.

While indulging my new-found obsession with wedding porn . . . I mean wedding blogs (I call them porn, because they’re so addictive!) . . . anyway, while reading wedding blogs, I learned that some couples had trouble with the security of their card boxes. A bandit, it seems, was going around from wedding to wedding, stealing cards right out of those boxes! The worst part of this for me wouldn’t be that I wouldn’t get the card (and whatever was inside), but rather that I wouldn’t even know that the gift had ever been given, so I wouldn’t properly thank the guest who gave it. Some receptions have a gift card box attendant who watches out for the card-stealing bandit.

We’re having a bit of a British theme to our reception, and I thought it would be a grrrrreat idea to have an English postbox as the place where people could put their cards.

When the only one I could find was several hundred dollars (and the red didn't match our black-and-white color scheme), I envisioned myself making one out of a Quaker oats container. (Never mind the fact that gift cards wouldn’t fit inside a Quaker oats container.) My mom reminded me, however, that the first time I tried to make something for a wedding, it was an unmitigated disaster. It was a time capsule for my friend’s wedding. Made from a popcorn tin. That I spray-painted white the night before. The day of the wedding, the lid was permanently stuck on the tin, and I had to use a screwdriver and a hammer to pry it off, which dented the tin. And, the paint was still sticky, so I had to drive to the wedding with all the windows down to avoid getting high on the fumes. The poor bride has only one photo of someone carrying a gift into the wedding. And when I gave it to her, she said, “Um, is it popcorn?” Sooo, I thought I’d better leave this craft project to the experts.

When I couldn’t find an English-style mailbox, I started to think of the American version. But I wanted it to be locked up tight with a small slot through which guests would push their cards. I brainstormed vintage mail slots that were securely attached to wooden boxes (also known as the unfinished oak tissue box that I found on eBay). But I was worried that someone would look at it and say something along the lines of, “Um, is it a Kleenex box?” That’s when I remembered the Victorian mailbox on a stand that is on the porch of a house nearby. While I had a split-second thought about being a mailbox bandit myself, I quickly snapped back into reality and researched buying one.

I haven’t exactly mentioned this yet, but the Mister and I are operating on a budget (more on that later), and we couldn’t really afford a stand mailbox, so I found a nice one that could sit on the gift table. Man, was I excited. And I did what all girls do when planning a wedding – I called my mama. She said, “A mailbox at the wedding? No one will know what it’s for!” After I sent her online evidence that others had this same idea, she said, “Well why would you want to do that?! It sound like everyone is doing it. How unoriginal.” (I must note here that this is not my mother’s regular M.O. She’s enthusiastic and funny and loves creativity.)

And after thinking about it for a day or so, Mama decided that she liked, nay – loved!, the idea, but she thought that we should get a stand mailbox after all. It was my birthday gift. So, without further ado, I present to you our Wedding Gift Card (Post)Box!

What do you think?

Cracking the Code

2008-07-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

Speaking of grammar, the first place wedding guests get a taste of your grammar and etiquette is on the invitation. Nowadays, it is more than acceptable to make your own “tradition” by changing invitation wording to fit the formality and personality of the event. But it is helpful to know the traditional rules, so that you can make a conscious decision about whether you should deviate from them. Whatever language you choose, you're sending your guests a message. Be conscious of it.

In the modern world of divorced and remarried parents, there are a number of excellent sources out there that help you decide if and how to include parents on the invitation. More on that part of the invitation later.

The most fascinating part of a traditional invitation is that the wording is code for the wedding specifics. For example, when the hosts of the invitation request the guests’ attendance, the language they use tells the guest where exactly the wedding will be held. If the invitation requests “the honour of your presence,” the use of the British spelling of honour (with a “u”) indicates a ceremony in a house of worship. “The pleasure of your company,” on the other hand, indicates that the ceremony is taking place outside a place of worship.

The bride and groom are traditionally (dare I say always?) listed in that order – the bride’s name precedes the groom’s. According to Martha Stewart, formal invitations issued by the bride’s parents refer to her by her first and middle names and to the groom by his full name and title. If the couple is hosting by themselves, their titles are optional.

This is one place where the Mister and I plan to deviate from convention. Because my parents are divorced and remarried, and all four of my parents are hosting the wedding, we plan to put my full name (first, middle, and last) on the invitation. That way no one wonders whether it is Miss Stepfather’sLastName getting married, rather than Miss Father’sLastName getting married. The Mister has two middle names, so we’re including both of those, but we plan to omit his title (Mister, obviously!) to make the invitation uncluttered and to give our names and status equal importance.

As for the date and time of the event, all numbers are written out in full for formal weddings (meaning no numerals). The year is optional, because your guests will assume that your wedding is on the nearest such date. The time of day is likewise spelled out. If the wedding is on the hour, formal invitations use “o’clock”; if on the half-hour, they use “half after ___ o’clock,” not “half past ___ o’clock.” For casual weddings, numerals are fine.

The street address of the ceremony location is usually unnecessary unless omitting it would lead to confusion or your wedding is taking place at the host's home. The city and state are written out in full. Very formal invitations include reception information on a separate card. Otherwise, it can be printed on the invitation if there is room; if the ceremony and reception will take place at the same location, you may print "and afterward at the reception" or "reception immediately following." When the reception is elsewhere, the location goes on a different line. Include the time if not immediately following the ceremony.

Here again, the Mister and I have decided to depart from tradition. We want our invitations to indicate the formality of the event without killing hundreds of trees. Thus, we’ve elected to use a one-page invitation that includes the reception information. We’ve also decided to omit the tissue paper and inner envelope for environmental reasons.

While many couples choose to include a separate response card for guests to fill out and return in the mail, the traditional format was to request an r.s.v.p. in the lower left-hand corner of the invitation, implying that guests should send a reply on their personal stationery. Here again, we opt for a balance of formality and environmentalism. We want to make it easy for guests to respond to our invitations, but we don’t want to waste paper on extra envelopes, so we’re using an r.s.v.p. postcard. This also saves on postage, but the main reason is those lovely trees.
Again, the point of all this custom is not to set forth stone-set rules that all couples must follow. It’s to advise couples what they’re telling guests between the lines, no matter what words they choose.

Main source for information: Martha Stewart Weddings

Priorities

2008-07-09T13:33:00.000-07:00

To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure about the whole blogging concept. An online diary that anyone can read? As extroverted as I am, even I’m not that open. A method of communication that doesn't involve interpersonal interaction? I’m still getting used to the idea of texting on my cell phone. As someone who simply says what she's thinking to the people she knows in real life, the idea of a virtual conversation with people I haven't even met is more than a bit questionable.

On the other hand, I’m a newly-minted blog addict. Especially the wedding variety. I adore reading the creative ideas and stories of others. And I have so many ideas of my own that I can’t possibly use them all. I wake up in the middle of the night to jot down incoherent, dream-induced thoughts in the hopes I can implement them in the light of day. I’ve also been inspired by two types of wedding blogs: (1) the uber-creative DIY Martha Stewarts of the world (think most weddingbee.com bloggers), and (2) those that focus on sanity, responsibility, and mindfulness (like apracticalwedding.com).

My only complaint about the incredibly imaginative, inspiring, ingenious wedding blogs around the net –- grammar butchery. I cringe when I read an otherwise exceptionally well-written sentence that ends in a preposition. And the way that people have confused “my fiancé and I” and “my fiancé and me” befuddles me. I’m not arrogant enough to think that I always get my grammar right; I am a comma abuser, for example. But I’m on a one-woman crusade to share wedding sanity and creativity while using the best grammar I possibly can. That pretty much sums up the point of this blog.

As for the name, {cypress and oak}, I’m inspired by this excerpt from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet, entitled “On Marriage.”

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Gibran’s words remind me of three essentials in wedding planning:
1. The relationship that came before and that will follow the wedding matters most. It is called marriage, and it is not a dirty word.
2. There should be spaces in togetherness, even (especially!) in marriage.
3. Enough talk of “the best day of my life” and “the perfect wedding”! What I want is ever so much more real and honest. A togetherness that endures in the silent memory of God. Yes. That’s it.

So, welcome to my journey to marriage, oftentimes known as wedding planning. It’s sure to be an adventure!