Monday, August 23, 2010

Part III

I have just woken up from what has been my third wedding dream. Everyone told me I would dream crazy things in the weeks leading up to the big day, but much to my disappointment, I didn't see so much as a sugarplum. I happen to be a lucid dreamer; I dream in spy movies and apocalyptic events- I couldn't wait for the big show! But the wedding came and went and I continued to dream of unborn Kyrianne, of work at the grocery store and of course, the occasional meteor-destroying-earth-and-the-resulting-evacuation-bus scenario. However, since the wedding, I have dreamt thrice of white dresses and orange bouquets only to wake up melancholy that it is all over. But the sweet memories persist.

After Erin and I finally made it back to the hotel and showered, our buddy, the photographer came over to take some shots of us getting ready. Erin fixed my hair, which I loved and Shea even found a window in feeding times to stop by the room and say 'we' (to the hair-doing that is). We scrambled to get our things together and make it over to the church where my lovely friends were waiting. Al: making the communion bread. Laura: scratching out a misprint in the program (OMYGOSH, that's another epic tale) And Christy: setting up parking signs and waiting with my much-anticipated soy latte. Our buddy, Mike got some shots of us slathering my face with Mary Kay and before I knew it, it was time to pass out the bouquets and take one helluva lot of pictures.

I've witnessed the moment before where the bride and groom see each other for the first time- it always feels like an odd thing. Like the emphasis becomes the outfit, the surprise of seeing each other in that old, traditional garb: the white, the tux, the shiny cheeks and foreheads. In fact, I have loathed this moment to a lesser scale: when going on dates or to formal dances, that horrible precarious moment of walking down the stairs, thinking- am I trying to hard? Is this justified, its only a dance? But when Mike told me its time to see Patrick, I looked up at the door to the sanctuary and somehow I didn't feel any of it. It is a testimony to how close we've gotten over the past couple months that I burst through the door with a grin and we smiled like it was Scott field and we were going to the antique store with a stop at the vegetable stand.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

And, for the tables...

Its the third day of my new full time work and for the first time, I'm not deliriously tired. In fact, it is so serene and cool sitting here in the living room this morning that I feel the ability to throw together a few more details. Though the morning of the wedding held this feeling of calm sweetness, I can't say the weather was cool.

My mom and sister, Erin had thrown together these table ideas: white clothes with beautiful pink runners and since Laura and I have worked tirelessly (with Patrick, too, of course) to sew orange napkins out of bedsheets, we stuck those in the drinking glasses- the cherry on top. Each runner was set with potted herbs (some of which Erin transplanted into the garden last night)and stuck with a table designator. After some debate we chose fabric prints: stripe, checks, hound's tooth, paisley, argyle for all the professors. The bridal table was eyelet.

We had been there days before, almost all of Thursday, marking in our memories the most shady spots, and though I had envisioned all the tables in some beautiful continuous half-circle, I eventually came to my senses and we clustered them in groups beneath the trees. As it was, several tables all picked up and moved a few times during the party to chase the tree-cover, making me feel that the gesture was appreciated.

Though heavy and humid, there was still a light breeze at around 8 o'clock when I arrived. Erin, her mysterious friend, Robert, my cousin and her best friend, my faithful aunt and of course my mom (my dad and uncle were in St. Louis picking up the sound system) and I went from table to table, laying out the plan, carrying heavy stacks of freshly washed dishes from the barn to lay at each place, trying desperately to keep track of the seating chart, 10 paisleys, 6 polka-dots, 8 plaid. At 9:15 I hurried Erin to the car and we raced back to Greenville to get ready. At 9:30 I had the treat of meeting the caterer! She was staying in our hotel and we found her eating breakfast. What a delight.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

It's gonna be so great

"It's gonna be just like my wedding day," someone wise once said, and then went on to describe a car trip filled with cigarettes, truck stops, and singing out the window. This morning as I sit here in the one blessedly tidy space in this hazardously cluttered apartment, all I can think about is packing up the car and heading for the cowboys. Our cooler is clean and waiting, two bags of ice are perched in the freezer and our backpacks hold two sleeping bags, a tent and 12 new peaches from Trader Joe's, where I get a discount now because I have a ring on my finger. And while I can't wait for the miles of driving ahead or the sweaters and loose change, it was all really nothing like my wedding day.

But its so close that if I reached out behind me, I could still swipe it with my outstretched hand, a little soft around the edges now, but bright, full of meaning. So anyway, I wanted to write down a few memories before the now-vivid pictures in my mind thin to fragments and float away into the whirl-wind everyone describes in which they ate nothing and spoke to no one, because at the moment, when I think about that food, I still feel full...

The morning of the wedding day dawned hazy, with an appropriately complicated sunrise, blue swirled with amber, streaked with pink giving us the sense that the weather wanted to be on our side. Erin and I lay in bed, giggling at Mom and Dad who had assumed their normal postures at 5AM: scurrying around the room, calling out lists to one another, thinking out loud through vehicle options. We relived the night before in which we'd each drank several beers in our buddy's hotel room down the hall with as many friends as we could pack in the place, then listened to everyone offer Pat sex advice as the night drew to a close. When we finally gave into the fact that sleep would not come again, we rose, dressed, and went downstairs to eat breakfast, where she filled me in on the details of her week so far: an adventure so epic, so downright surprising it deserves its own blog entry. I ate oatmeal and we watched the buffalo. At 6:35, I grabbed the car keys and walked out into the day.

A friend of mine (whose adventures are also epic) had managed a free ride to Greenville, IL the night before from St. Louis and having come across the Econolodge in her travels, decided to stay a few nights. "Great, now you can run with me!" I told her when she texted me the night before. "Oy," was her response when I told her the time, "See you then." We caught up on the car ride to campus; it could have been any other day, which I loved. She's not from the midwest like I am, so she was thrown by the humidity. "But its morning!" Yeah, here in Seattle, mornings mean sweaters and socks and uncomfortably chilly breezes. In Greenville, the sweater hangs in the air.

We wound our way to the rec center and met my old running pal who was just married about two months ago, though two years my junior. We rolodexed through our running friends, catching each other up on the details. "if it seems like everyone we know is married with babies, its because they are," we explained to the northwesterner among us. Three miles later, we panted around Scott Field like the old days and ran into Christy, ecstatic with the morning. Seeing her walking up the road to Jo's Java like that made me feel like we were still in college. She ran to me, kissed me on the cheek, yelling, "the bride!" and we talked through the day. I checked my watch and we hustled back to the car. I dropped off my pal at the Econolodge and made haste for the barn where my aunt and cousin and mom were already tirelessly setting up the rest of the tables and unpacking the various table clothes.