A year

Every year the sun tucks in behind a cloud; every year the wet winter draws curtains closed and night time closer; every year I am surprised: Is it really already August... Septe-- October? This time last year I was parading Erin around the streets of Seattle, carving pumpkins and making pie. I lived on the crowded, rowdy streets of the U-district, said hello to the folks selling Real Change at the Safeway, made my way to banks and coffee shops and the Post Office, all mercifully within walking distance, all tucked in the space between Greenlake and Lake Union, north of the bridge, south of the suburbs, right off campus where the parties never end and the stores don't bother to open their doors until 10 AM. Last year I worried about walking the Ave passed 10pm and ran the four blocks to work at 5AM half because I was late, and half to avoid trouble. I tip toed by the door way where a homeless man snored. I pounded my way through the neighborhood, around the university and ran in their community races. And this year.

I can't get over all the changes taking place. My neighborhood is quiet and woody, sweet with neighbors who know my name and stop by with offers of produce. The closest grocery store is a twenty minute walk away, and though they care about local produce and ethical companies, charge five bucks for a box of cereal. Patrick makes an... altogether different roommate. I work a day job. I spend long Saturdays doing chores, and planning for Sunday school. At night I write grocery lists and if its a good one, we walk to 7-11 to buy beer before we watch Lost on Pat's computer. Or read John Irving under the lamp Christy left us when she moved to England.

Christy moved to England one week ago yesterday. This is perhaps the biggest change of all. The little pieces of her that are missing surface all the time. Sometimes I want to send her a text. I see a movie, a book, or smell the coffee in the U-district, as I did last night, there again for the first time in a while-- I touched the lamp post on 11th, one I used to run by every day, that I have clung to at the end of a 20-mile run just to feel something solid and cool. Oh, Christy. This is our Seattle. The skyline at night from Capitol Hill. The morning kayak-ers under University bridge. It all meant that we were together and on our own. Now just on our own-- but I am excited for her too- I picture her drinking wine and reading a novel in a cozy, crowded pub, or walking in the rain.

So, it is October again- this is the month where the preschool looks normal to me. Where the days consist of rainy boots and 30 pairs of rain pants and hot tea and buns baking shaped by children with miniature rolling pins and aprons. Where the outdoors require long johns and wild imaginations. And this time last year I was beginning to form the plans that would end in a freezing cold night on Fremont bridge (over while I commute daily this year) and a ring on my finger.

Speaking of that.

from this day forward

Ever since that day- the last day of July- my head has been full of vows. And it never really hit me, though I had typed them out line by line on this same computer just how serious they are. 'Sure,' I had thought while scanning them for offensive misrepresentations of our relationship or our faith, 'these seem appropriate.' Fitting. The same old words I've heard a million times before. Yet the shock I felt upon hearing Dr. Hartley request those words of me on that day- It's worth saying that I never thought I'd really be standing in that place.

Getting engaged in the first place is an exercise in drawing attention to yourself. And no, you really DON'T have to do it, and that's what takes so much practice if you decide marriage is something you want. Many unwed couples have respectable, beautifully interwoven lives together. Furthermore, many wed couples spend less time and hooplah that we did. Yes, we actually want you to spend money on a plane ticket. Yes, we actually want you to buy an outfit, drive for hours, do your make-up, watch us say some ridiculous vows that are- let's face it- mere words, words we could say to each other in our living room and then email you about later. To admit you want to go through with it can actually be somewhat embarrassing, and you walk around in an apologetic posture for weeks before you learn to take yourself seriously. But the bottom line is: we believe in community, and in public vows and it is something we wanted. Marriage, the wedding (you know, within reason), the whole enchilada.

And so I was beginning to get used to the fact that when the photographer barked, "And everyone now move in around the bride," he was actually talking about me. I didn't really do the whole hide-from-the-guests thing and as I've mentioned, Patrick and I had already seen each other, so one of my favorite parts of the day was easily greeting friends who came in while we were taking pictures or while I was rushing around the sanctuary, clutching my massive train in my left hand and talking a mile a minute. I had seen their names on paper, but it was wonderful to see my dear friends file in and the family I had only seen for a minute or two the night before.

Moments before the ceremony I think it hit me for one of the first times what was actually going on- not just the festivity, but he MARRIAGE and when Erin said- here we go, you and Pat are going to get married now, all I could do was whisper loudly, 'Holy Fuck!' which at least won the favor of Pat's best friend Josh.

In the end, it is a beautiful thing to say vows while people are watching. It creates witness for the words you do exchange in your living room. Sure you're nice when you're wearing white, but later, a month later when the money is scant and the lights are left on all night? But we said those vows, those things and everyone knows it, and it would be to dishonor their presence for us to give in so quickly to impatience, bitterness, despair.

So thank god for the vows, for the witness, for the hooplah. It is now not only sweet, but prudent (financially if nothing else) to make some attempt to remember them.

Oh, the places

My brain:

1. pasta and sauce to make for the preschoolers today, and Jennifer, Julia and I are determined to make lunch a calm affair. The fragrance of new wood chips in the backyard, an afternoon with little p.

2. Laura and Jeremy's lovely wedding last weekend, and the spectacular reception.

3. Jonathan Safran Foer coming to town hall on the 20th!

4. the half-marathon in Euguene, visits to portland.

5. Kyrianne's baptism- November

6. visiting an old friend tonight- cleaning my house and finally getting everything organized

7. letters from a VERY old, very young friend in distress-- and yet the day-today is overwhelmingly beautiful...

and all of this last week has reminded me how much I want to write and remember the wedding which means something new to me every day- especially this tricky puzzle called actually being married, how it feels like trying to see the world through a kaleidoscope- all those constantly changing and bleeding colors of authority, rightness, fairness, intimacy, determination, and destiny...

Meanwhile, reading Peter Singer and John Irving and running on a hip that's ruined from miles and dancing the night away...

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.

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.

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.

And then she flew the coop

I wish I had the time to sit and unpack all of the ways I am feeling about what happened last Tuesday, just a week ago today, but I don't. Around me there are family and phone calls, flooded apartments and photographer timelines. Outside their are porch swings, grills sizzling in muggy air; in our car there are stacks of plates-- 110 in total. Tomorrow there are appointments and airports, meetings and cups of coffee and soon there will be cars to juggle, babies to meet, people to visit and with whom to reunite, schedules to organize, cakes to decorate, and then hair, make-up, rehearsals, outfits and last minute rentals, ironing and a lot of --gulp-- praying for the rain to stay away. I am thinking about meeting my niece, dreaming icons with my sister, all our matching outfits, cleaning the barn, running all my old college routes, mile after sweet-smelling mile...

when all I really want to do it sit down and think about what happened which is that I quit last Tuesday, the 20th of July. I quit the grocery store, and it's all over.