Friday Sermon

I know you think that I'm going to give you a sermon right now, and I admit, that is something I've been known to do - from, oh, time to time - but - no - in fact - instead I'm going to summarize the best part of last week's sermon in church, because it has stuck with me all this week - and it's worth all of us going into the weekend together, thinking about it.

The title of the sermon was, "And the Greatest of These is Love." If you're like me, you sort of cringed just now. Your body tightened. You thought of all the weddings you've been to where Corinthians was read... love is patient, love is kind, love is not boastful... you know the bit. Needless to say, lovely as these sentiments are, this was not in my wedding ceremony and I always find it a bit, mmmm, ambitious, for a young couple. Maybe for a new parent, it makes sense as a parental vow. But at the outset of wedded life? Hmm, I say. Hmm.

So Reverend Bill read the familiar lines to us, and mentioned that they were, many years ago, in HIS own wedding ceremony. Then he stopped. Never insists on its own way? Endures everything? He admitted to falling short of those standards, and who doesn't? But that's not a description of human love, he went on to explain... that's a description of God's love.

Whoa. Hold the phone.

I bristle at the phrase "God's love" - but I work hard to translate it. I hear "the love of the universe" or "the love of the infinite" instead. Because if the language, and concept, of a knowing, or patriarchal, or authoritative God/god is troubling to me, I still can't un-know that someone watches the watcher. Some part sees the seer, and observes even the most conscious of my behaviors and actions. I mean, how can I observe my own thoughts? How can I sit back and see myself? I only do so from the perspective of... yes, a soul. A spirit. A calm, content, wise and loving center within me - within each human being - that is infinite and unaltered by the tribulations of any given day.

So Reverend Bill, what you're saying is that within each of us is a love that can bear all things - even the accidents and deaths we think will break and kill us - and endure all things - even the endless madness of polls, politics, people voting against their own self interest - and hope all things - even if past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior, the world might change, and so might my family - and believe all things - even that my mind might not be the Very Best Judge Of All Happenings Planetwide, and there might be things I don't understand, or even things that contradict each other but are simultaneously true.

So of course we read this at weddings. Of course we want our partner to be perfect, and for the holy sacrament of commitment to make the new "us" perfect - for the reading to infuse guaranteed success.

But what we forget is that it's already within us. Heavy stuff, to be sure. But remember that that love is within you this weekend, while you're out there in a rather mean, cold, dangerous, unlucky world. Because if you forget it's there, you might get way, way, scarily, off the path. And even if only one other person in the world loves you, they'll miss you on the path with them a whole lot.

Coming up on the anniversary...

This week will mark 3 years married and 8 years together, and the biggest thing I've learned about my husband is that he has a natural ability to be great at it. It comes as second nature to him to just live the advice in the newspaper columns; he is nice 7 times or more for each time he snaps or snips. He remembers to stop and welcome each morning and evening with a kiss. It's a rare day when he brings a bad mood into our house from the driver who just cut him off in traffic, or from the grocery trip turned into 3 hour quest, or from the Weight Watchers scale that shows a disappointment that week. He is one of the best influences in my entire life, every day, and I love him so much for all his humor, his patience, his intelligence, his drive and his all-but-hidden-from-everyone-else tenderness. So on marriage, this one - the one with the lower case 'm' I'm in - I am happy to admit it's getting better - getting better all the time.

8.95 months later

Remember this? It was a trackback to an even earlier post, about giving a wedding gift to a relative and how long is too long for her to wait to cash the check.

Well, I wrote that check on May 27th and it was cashed today, a few days before the baby is born... the baby conceived on the honeymoon after the wedding for which I wrote said check.

A couple days shy of nine months is TOO LONG! It's official. And the saga is over, at least.

Personal Inventory: Purses.

Perhaps I own more suitcases than purses. Perhaps.

Ok, yes.

I do. At this very moment.

But, there are suitcases now IN the trunk of the car, ready for the Goodwill drive-up drop-off!! I am down to three suitcases (S, M and L) a backpack and two more overnight/weekend-sized bags. What can I say? Suitcases represent travel, and travel represents financial flexibility, and financial flexibility represents happiness. It's a very snug, neat and comforting loop.

But, on to the purses. The classic women's accent piece.

I own six. Two are regular sized, every day types. Four are very small "going out dressing up" bags.

Hmm.

First, I am not a purse person; I don't salivate over LVs or Birkins or the like. But in the personal inventory department, this count seems poorly planned. Of the two normal ones, one was a college graduation gift (circa 2003) and one is badly shaped and can barely zip up (circa 2008).

But the four tiny (and adorable!) ones... they hardly take up any space! One is shiny! And gold and from my wedding day! Could I pare down to two from four? Taking a boulder of salt in hand with my first world problems here, it seems reasonable to have a 5-to-1 ratio of shoes to purses. Keeping that previous inventory at 20 means keeping this at 4. Two tiny and two normal.

Oh, I know what you're asking. Is it OCD-like behavior to create a 5-to-1 ratio? Certainly. But in a consumption-based society, without any limits, with endless pressure to buy! buy! buy! and replace! replace! replace! with new! new! new! items, I respond well to firm boundaries.

Besides, when I say it out loud, FOUR PURSES seems insane. Who needs three more things to back up the one thing they carry!? That hauls around even more stuff?! It's madness! And it's decided. 5-to-1. I will report back with obituaries on the two tiny purses that get the axe.

PS. I have not included my briefcase computer bag in all this. It's, like, a totally different thing, duh!

The magical moment of transformation.

I can't think of anything in life, that I've done yet, that is a single, solitary magical moment of transformation.

Sure, I graduated high school and college, but in both cases, there was no diploma in the fancy case that was handed to me with a handshake. I had to pay fees, return library books, wait for the finals to be graded and recorded, and only then was I magically turned into a B.A.

Sure, I got married last year. But to do this and have the state recognize it, a couple has to apply for a marriage license at least three business days in advance. Then they must file said marriage license, which does not happen on day of the wedding (unless you get married at noon on a Tuesday) and it takes a month or so to be recorded. Only then are you magically bound by law. (You could just skip out on filing the license, have a party, and go your merry separate ways, which I find odd; shouldn't "they" bind you to it at the ceremony!?)

Sure, I've been hired at cool jobs, but I've also had to wait to start working at them. Sure, I've turned 21 and waited for that first legal drink... but even then, they let me drink at 11 PM at Montana AleWorks in my hometown, even after seeing the date on the license. An sure, before that wedding I got engaged, but we're a collaborative type of couple; it wasn't insanely out of nowhere, ya know what I mean?

Much like these milestones, I'm on the precipice of owning a house today. At 5 PM, or a few minutes before, the county recording agency will change the title from someone else's name to mine and John's. But before this, we've applied for a loan, signed all the documents, signed some more, send even more to the banks... and at 5 PM tomorrow, the supposed magical moment of transformation will happen.

But alas, we won't get the keys till an hour later. Or on Wednesday, or actually as late as Thursday at 5 PM, since we're such darn nice buyers, so it is another contribution to the hum-drum-ness of real living and the lack of a true magical moment of transformation.


For what it's worth, I think having a baby biologically must be the only true moment of transformation; you may think of yourself as a mother or a father before that, but in a single moment, you become the mother or father of that baby. So THE single magical moment, at least, does exist for some folks!

Learning on the fly.

Buying a house is a whole lot like planning a wedding... they are both things you don't learn to do till you're in the midst of doing them, and they're things that don't get repeated with enough (or ever) frequency to really get good at it (at least for most of us plebs).

So, a couple more comparisons betwixt the two:

Like women who buy a wedding dress and then inexplicably KEEP LOOKING at dresses, there are those who encourage me to keep looking at houses. No, thank you very much! Until/unless the inspection goes bad, this house is a lovely first one for us, and I'll be keeping my nose off the realty websites, indeedy.

And like figuring out how to book a wedding venue whilst picking out flowers and clothes that coordinate with the vibe of said unknown venue... this is much the same as paying for various inspections (sewer, oil tank, regular, radon) while choosing a lender while thinking about putting in notice at your current place while, while, while.

More news from the front as developments roll in!

Complaint week continues.

There is a line where enough is enough... and I don't know *precisely* where it is... but I can safely say that 10 groomsmen, 5 bridesmaids, 2 junior bridesmaids, 2 ring bearers and 2 flower girls is way, way, way past that line.

Why Honeymoons are better with Friends.

Cuz look at that guy? You KNOW that guy has a sense of humor.

That's Hanna and her husband, with me. She and I have been friends since Halloween of 1993, 7th grade, in Montana. Thick and thin, from tiny concerns to deaths in the family, we've been there for each other, for all the things in life. And she and her funny husband - who knew us in 1995 and thus the facial expression there - had the guts to toss away the negative concerns of others, and join us on honeymoon in Jamaica.

Best. Time. Ever.

So much fun... after the madness of a wedding, we took the party on the plane, all together! We swapped "OMG did you hear about THIS?!" stories. We swam, drank, sunned, ate and ate some more. We teased each other, we hiked the falls, rode horses, and felt no guilt about slipping away for couple-only trips to the nude island, afternoon naps or visits to the spa. It was decompression after the wedding without too much time to say, Holy Crap I Just Got Married! And after mega-socializing, it was like a nice calm tapering down instead of quitting cold turkey and staring at each other for over a week.

So we were gone 9 days; 5 with our friends, and then 4 alone. It was absolutely ideal. With no reservations, I heartily recommend that if you only get a vacation a year or less, and if you've been with your partner for many years, combine the friend-vacation with the honeymoon, and you will not be sorry.

/salespitch.

Destination: Check. How to get there?

This ground has been basically covered in the previous two posts, but I did promise one about it. Starting with the destination of a wedding item, and then figuring out how to get there, was very helpful for me. I knew I wanted our first dance to NOT be "all eyes on us" - to me, it gets a little boring after a minute, and I wanted there to be something else to look at. How to achieve it? Get the amazing Joe to sing the first dance song! He introduced us! He sings well! He is handsome and easy on the eyes!

And it worked even better than planned. Many people have since said to me, "It wasn't until a minute or so into the song that I even realized someone was singing. It was so good it sounded like an album!" A compliment for Joe, certainly. But also proof that after a minute or so, people get antsy and tah-dah! They had something else to watch! A live musical performance.

I am now applying this theory to my life. Do I want to have a nice day? Then I better be patient with the driver who cuts me off and the adorable kid who screams all throughout lunch on the other side of the restaurant. Do I want to not obsess about a stupid thing I said to a friend? Then stop thinking about it - either apologize or refuse to let my mind riff and spin on it, and move on in my own head.

Choosing what kind of experience I want and then determining what behavior or choice will GET me that experience is turning out to be very powerful. Scarily powerful. Because, of course, it is individual. If I want a relaxed morning, that means I do the dishes at night and wake up to a clean kitchen. For someone else, a relaxed morning might mean doing the dishes while watching The Today Show. Still another might leave the house entirely, dishes be damned. Perhaps in the end, this works so well because it forces one (me) to ponder and define needs and wants, forces one (me) to make a choice and an action, instead of passively reacting - a sure recipe for unhappiness. Is this... like... growing up?

The Rules.

Nope, not that wonderful book from a decade ago about how to "snag" and "win" a "man". Just a couple thoughts on bucking the WIC rules...

1. You can't see each other before the wedding.

ACK?! What? Who? If you don't live together, I can see it. If you live your life according to horoscopes and fortune cookies and with good luck socks, then go for it. But for us, one of the best choices we made was hanging out the day of the wedding. He made breakfast in regular Sunday-style... a reminder that we are people, regular people, ourselves and not BRIDE and GROOM, enjoying a Sunday morning. Oh and later we're throwing this big party. Breakfast, followed by massages, followed by a rehearsal in our regular clothes at the venue... all lovely. Seeing each other made it feel real, made me feel present and connected to the day's activities. Plus, doing pictures before still captured the "Oh look at the dress!" moment in the park but we got to hang out upstairs before the ceremony together, laughing and practicing and not pacing or, as one bride I knew (and was helping) yelled at me angrily, "If they don't start this wedding NOW I am going to effing puke!" Nice. And it resulted in a pic like the one above, seconds before we walked down the aisle together.

2. You have to be walked down the aisle.

Pick your battles. My feminist battle was about the symbolism and for me, the symbolism of two adults, committing to marriage together, walking down the aisle of life together, was too precious to skip. Plus I got to say hi and smile and love on my guests instead of nervously looking at John! The walk down the aisle was Teh Bestt, as the kids say.

3. The bouquet toss is fun and women like it. There are good pictures from it.

Uh, no. It is not. There might be good pics, I'll grant that. People groaning and being adorabley miserable. Isn't it cute to tease single women about when they're going to achieve the best thing in life ever, marriage to a man?!?!?! And while we're at it, neither is the garter toss. And not a single person asked about when it was going to happen. Win!

4. Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

Well, but some women like pearls better. All the work (and cost) of a custom design with pearls was worth it. Ain't it hard to be creative? Ha.

5. You have to have a wedding party.

This was tough, because I have about fifteen or more women and men I love dearly enough to honor with a spot in the wedding party. But in the end, ending this post on a selfish note, these men and women were more helpful and amazing when not part of the wedding party. They ran errands, fixed a broken zipper (!!!!), held up the dress out of the dirt, worked the room, the dance floor, the mic, opened wine, got us food, hailed us cabs, drove us home at 4:15 AM and generally were supportive beyond expectation. Having no one to coordinate or corral during the day, or during formal photos, was, as Billy says on the MasterCard ads, priceless. K I S right? Keep It Simple. That's my rule.

Surprise!

Of all the many overwhelming aspects of the WIC (Wedding Industrial Complex), perhaps the most mentally crushing is the control factor.

Monogrammed napkins, matchbooks, champagne flutes, gift boxes of Jordan almonds for your guests (boxes AND almonds). Perfect toasts, ceremony, dances with nary a misstep. Breakfast with your family and a massage under the sun, perfect hair and unchipped nails, enough time to enjoy it all but each tiny, minute, insane detail organized and expected. A movie montage, frankly. Or, from my planning process, the suggestion from a magazine of beautiful nosegays at each dinner plate... of lily of the valley... which is $12 a stem.

Hmm. OK. Yes. We know what this is about. These wedding things.

So, I decided to put my trust in other people. I didn't want to be the director of the wedding... mouthing memorized lines behind the camera, jumping before the flare goes off, conducting the orchestra and hearing the symphony in my head. I wanted to feel In The Moment above all things... and to do this, for me, some things just HAD to be surprises, so I could get snapped back to the moment, like with a meditation gong. Or a rubber band on the wrist.

The success came from sagely choosing people who have continually been to me and John reliable, loving, appropriate to any situation. What came of these choices was...

1. Our perfect officiant, an old friend of mine, wrote a ceremony with the vows we'd written, but with an introduction commentary and closing benediction that we heard for the first time along with our guests. It was laugh out loud funny. It was poignant, moving, tender. It was serious by turns. He brought his gravitas and his dry wit. He set the tone and was an utter delight.

2. Our readers, John's friend and my mom, spoke with confidence and love. They spoke slowly and clearly... they both valued the texts I lovingly picked out. My mother blessed us with the only mention of "God" in the ceremony, as the person in our life with the deepest and most compassionate relationship with him/her. D brought a childlike exuberance to his reading, in a way no other person there could have.

3. The cake was imagined over emails and phone calls with Bill, and it was perfect. I didn't see it till around 5 PM, never tasted it till my first bite, and I clapped my hands and squee'd. Perfect! It handily beat cakes I tasted elsewhere, and whether that's because he's such a damn fine baker, or because we were all so in love with love, or because he baked it with affection for us, we'll never know. But it is wrapped in two layers of saran, two of foil, and patiently sitting in the freezer for May 24 2010. Related to this was the joy of seeing the cake topper for the first time the night before... made by my cousin, it was awesome. It was us! It was like cartoon Emmy and John, in our wedding finery, and it got him a gig making one for someone else... THAT damn good.

4. I didn't even know who was giving toasts till ten minutes before. Yay for In The Moment!

5. Serendipity ensued. Jennifer's handpainted champagne flutes could not have better matched the cake and roses if she'd mixed the paint herself. I marveled and marveled at the matchy-matchy-ness, which warmed my little domestic heart.

6. Things that easily could have caused a freak out... flower errors, table assignment misplacement, forgotten boutonnieres, kidney crushing Spanx... I dismissed. Choosing to dismiss something is HARD, but worth it. And lo and behold, no one else noticed them. No one else noticed anything I thought might be A Problem.

Clearly, many things must be decided to plan a wedding. But no one complimented the sage green chair sashes or, yes, the monogrammed matchboxes I ordered. Because no one cared about them; it was not the focus of the night since instead and luckily, an exuberant celebration of love, compassion and commitment was. And I, amazingly, felt totally with them... delighted and surprised by the dances, songs, comments, cheers, and general happenings. Fun!

Some Things That Worked.

I'm back!

I'm gonna write the next few posts on some things that worked at my and John's wedding, a sort of completely unrequested advice section on the blog, as it were, or just a few nice self-congratulatory segments.

So, I'll be talking about:
- surprising myself and picking A+ peeps to do so
- not following the rules
- starting with the destination and working backwards for success
- why honeymoons should not be taken alone
- accepting the beast; or, mouse versus lion
- the fight for the present

There it is. Six nice little reflective blogs, all ready for me to ruminate on. Meanwhile, work this week is a DOOZY so this big list begins, like all diets, tomorrow! Yeah mon. (Jamaican residue there.)

Rebel, Rebel.

I was not much of a rebel when living under my parents roof. There are many reasons for this, but foremost would be my ESFJ personality type and parents who were not interested in being my friend. Their rules were scarce, but firm, and my mother tells me now that, yes, I rejected her in favor of other adult role models during the teenage time, and it wasn't very fun for her, but hey, look how it turned out! She and I have an element of great friendship in our relationship now, and everybody's happy forever the end.

You know what I mean.

Anyway... there were not a lot of exterior things to be frightened of in my house. The things that were full of fear seemed reasonable: gun safety was a big one, driving in the snow with great caution was another. Slamming doors and hanging up phones: strictly verboten. But we swam without waiting a half hour after eating, we ate in the living room, brushed our hair in the kitchen, said "sucks" if something did, and tried to rely upon reason and debate to settle things.

However. One of the funniest exceptions: tanning salons. There was an element of, "If you get skin cancer and you've been to tanning bed, EVER, then hey, you asked for it. No sympathy here." Tanning salons were DEFINITELY verboten. They were alternately gross, damaging, declasse, expensive, wasteful, for spoiled brats, etc. Sometimes conflicting reasons, but always the same outcome: no, no, no.

So it was with great rebellion in my heart, feeling like I did when I smoked my first cigarette, that I went to tanning salon for the first time last week. The guy was out of Central Casting; exactly the kind of early-40s guy who runs a tanning salon. I said, "Um, hi. I've never tanned before, I don't know exactly how it works."

He gave the pricing rundown, the timing rundown, the hours of the place, and added, deadpan and totally casually, "We use Gemini bulbs. Prob'ly the best bulbs in the business," before assigning me a booth.

It was a strange experience; I felt like someone was going to yell at me, "HEY! You can't go tanning! What are you doing!? You're grounded!" (Even though I was never once grounded in my life, save a single evening at age 8 which was clearly my brother's fault.)

So the next time you see me, you can tell me how the tan looks. And this is a limited time thing, I promise Mom and Dad, in prep for a one-day event. I swear.

Side Note: Happy Birthday Mom!! Many happy wishes and lots of love to you today and everyday.