Wedding Day

This morning, as I was texting all my sisters and my mom throughout the Royal Wedding, I naturally started to reflect on my own wedding.  My wedding plans started about the time I was five years old.  My mom brought home some Vogue pattern books to help me pick out some sewing ideas for Kindergarten jumpers that she was willing to make her first daughter.  I thought that the jumpers were boring, but THE WEDDING section.  HEY! Now you are talking! I poured over the pictures taking mental notes on gowns, veils, flowers, and bridesmaid dresses.

I think I looked through 3 different catalog books, and settled on this gown as the most beautiful.  I asked my mom to make it.  She said... "Uh - that's not for school," but seeing an opportunity of a willing mother, I swore that I would wear it to school. Maybe in a different fabric.  If she could shrink the pattern a bit.

  She compromised, and allowed me to cut out the picture, put it in a folder, and visit it over the years.  And I loved it each time I would pull it out.  I did.  "That's it!  That's the one!" I would think.  Some day.

By the time Lady Di's wedding rolled around, I was all of 9 years old.  Mom and I got up early to watch the young princess and the fairytale wedding.  Like everyone else, we didn't care much about the groom (meh) or what he wore (double meh), but the BRIDE,- oh WOW!  So adorable!  So unsure of herself and innocent that you felt like you were walking down the aisle with her, not quite knowing what to do, but loving the pomp and beauty of it every step of the way.  Huge train.  Puffy sleeves and sparkly sparkly tiara.  It was the start of a lifetime hobby we would dub, "Wedding Watching."

As I grew into my teens, and one sister after another joined us in our hobby, we begin to informally stalk weddings.  If we found ourselves driving around on a saturday and there were limos and people lingering outside of a church, we would screetch the car to a halt to pull over to watch for that fluff of white emerging from the church doors.  We would give each other our personal wedding critique, and then drive on, hoping to score a double wedding over at St. Pats. What fun to see someone's dream being showcased.  We looked, but did not touch.Well, except for the time where my sister and I actually got curious enough to go INSIDE a wedding we weren't invited to.
 It just happened about the time I was 20, and Reagan was 14 that we had a car and some time on our hands downtown.  We spotted a wedding and nervously dared each other to duck in unnoticed.  We sat down before anyone could see that we were in jeans and t-shirts instead of formal wear. We chose a seat based on where to best successfully dodge the 3 video taping cameras, and not let anyone see our jeans, (looking like the total wt of someone's family). Our prime spot was near the front. Oh - it was the best seat in the house!

After the ceremony, and whispered critiques (off the shoulder, iridescent green floor-length bridesmaid's gowns for a day time wedding?! NOT! *thumbs down*) we had enjoyed ourselves immensely.  We knew it was time to start edging to the end of the pew for an edge-of-the-church speedy exit.  The bride and groom exited to the "Hallelujah" chorus,  down the aisle and out the church as we were covertly scooting over the pew to the edge, trying to make our escape.  And that's when the bride and groom... unexpectedly came back UP the aisle together and decided to dismiss everyone row by row.  Starting at the FRONT!

I believe beads of sweat sprung to my head as I realized we could NOT get out of this.  They were only one row ahead of us.  Naturally, I followed my little sister's lead as she was closest to the aisle.  She stood up, swept the bride in her arms, and said, "I'm SO HAPPY FOR YOU!" as she buried her head in the brides neck.  I distracted the bride from the startled gaze she gave her new hubby as if to say, "And this isssssss.....?".  I said a short, "It was just lovely!"  And then we marched swiftly down the aisle, t-shirts, jeans and all as they went to dismiss the next row of now startled guests; each newlywed trying to figure out whose family we belonged to. We hoped no one was going to try and follow our car to the reception. "Step on the gas!! GO! GO!!"

Once was enough of that adventure.  Then I was 25.  Post mission, and post dating a lot of guys, I met Matthew.  He was my home-teacher at BYU for my last year of studies.  I had a bf for the first semester who was living in England.  After one fateful date with Matthew to see the International Cinema's "Shall We Dance," and two weeks later, however, we were engaged.  I had been accepted to law school, and he thought he would like to take me to the temple instead.  I took him up on his offer.

"Happy" doesn't begin to touch how I felt around him.  More like "deliriously happy."  We were both from large families, had served missions in Portugal, and had a comfort level with each other I had never known before.  Other men had asked me to marry, and I would say, "Oh yeah, sure.  Someday..."  but with Matthew, I said, "Yes." And I meant, "Yes, and I'll actually get the dress and meet you there."  I had never felt that before.  And it couldn't happen soon enough!  I smiled like crazy.  The day we got married I couldn't stop putting my arm around him, holding him, and kissing him.  My own fairy-tale was coming true. 

Since my mom had had to construct my dream dress from half a continent away, with no pattern, and using my partner-in-crime sister as a model, there were a few mishaps when the dress came a few days before I got married.  I panicked, my mom cried, and I had to make a quick substitution with a display dress by Alyson Wright.  She had made it up for McCalls who decided which of her wedding design patterns to carry.  The veil was a cast off from the alteration lady's daughter that I immediately started to alter it to my five-year-old fairy-tale dream right up until the night before my wedding.

My hair was lacquered in place with 110 bobby pins that a startled hairdresser had thought was just a "run through" for a wedding sometime in the next year.  Nope!  I was getting married the next day.

The night before my wedding, I was at my paternal grandparents, and my father gave me a special blessing.  He said many things, but mostly I remember him saying that even though I couldn't imagine loving Matthew any more than I already did (and I couldn't), that we would develop a deeper love that would continue to increase and deepen the longer we were together.  So true.  I was so unaware of the things the future would bring.

And now that my marriage, timeline-wise, is somewhere between Charles and Di, and Kate and William, I have to wonder,  "What will it be like for them?"  Diana proved that you could marry a prince, have unlimited funds, the adoration of the world, and still be quite miserable. Fairy-tales are in books, and even the real ones have a short shelf life.  Life has a way of inserting itself, - its lessons, storms, and trials into every life.  And you can't choose those lessons either.

You don't really know what the future will hold the day you get married. Marriage itself is an expression of faith in the unknown, and deciding to face it together, come what may.   On that day everyone (except the ex's perhaps) wishes you well; hopes the best for your future, and that you will use your love and devotion to make the best of it.  Cynicism is squelched for a time.  Love reigns supreme. Beauty is the order of the day.  And even for the most humble bride, there is magic.

So, sitting on the couch, 30 years after that first fairy-tale wedding, and quite a few years into my own marriage I am reminded of a duet sung by Aaron Nevill & Linda Ronstadt that paraphrases my current feeling: "I Don't Know Much:"

Look at this face,
I know the years are showing,
Look at this life,
I still don't know where it's going.
I don't know much,
But I know I love you,
And that may be all I need to know.

 So on this day of fairy-tales and dreams for Kate and William, I remember the best of my own wedding and what the future still holds for me and my prince.  I don't know much, darling, but I know I love you.  And that may be all there is to know.

Lasagne Soup

This is just a public service.  This recipe was circulating on FB, but you had to download a bunch of pictures and what not, so this is the condensed version, click, print, shop for ingredients!  If you want to see all of the pics, here it is! http://fix-itandforget-it.com/blog/2011/04/27/yes-lasagna-can-also-be-a-soup/

Ya Welcome!

Katrina

Toot Toot!

Okay, this is a gratification post - sort of.  My sister did her own take on the Medical Binders, and -of course - she did a better job in every way.  Writing the post, the way she arranged her own binders - even the pictures of her kids are cuter.  So, if you want a better uber way to do your binder, take a gander at THESE instructions:

http://wuehlers.blogspot.com/2011/04/medical-binders.html

Dun Dun Da DA Da, I'm lovin' it!

You Know You've Been on a Sewing Retreat When....

Having just returned from my second quilting retreat with Red Dirt Retreats I've noticed that there are some hallmarks of a great quilting retreat:

1. You came with five projects to do, completed two, and started three more new ones.
2. There are so many threads all over your clothes that you will have to change the dryer's lint trap mid-cycle to avoid burning out the heating element when you next do your laundry.
3. You don't want to tell your husband that while you were you gone, you didn't shave, use deodorant, make your bed, or get out of your pajamas either.
4. People you would have passed on the street are now your dearest friends,
5. There are enough meds between you to stock a small Walgreens.
6. You learn something new. And things that you never thought you might be interested in - you are!
7. Like the chautauquas of old, theres a lot of storytelling, and a lot of wisdom shared.  You will laugh for years about things that you heard - Vegas ain't got nuthin' on a quilters retreat.
8. You came with your fabric, but left with someone elses.
9. You got to use all of your 25,000 words each day, and didn't have to shout once.
10. When its time to go, its as depressing as watching Ringling Brother's take down the circus tents.
11. You immediately want to start planning your next retreat...

 In the words of Ferris Bueller, "It is so choice.  If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up".

My Good Opinion

I have been thinking on the subject of My Good Opinion.  In preparing for some nuptials I was asked if I didn't have a high opinion of ... someone... (who doesn't read my blog, but may - at some point) "because she had decided to serve a mission."  I don't.  I have met this girl on one occasion and she did NOT make a good impression. At all.  I remember her whispering to her boyfriend behind her hand throughout a family event, not engaging anyone, and then skulking out the door with bf in tow to "get away" from the family without so much as a "thank you for inviting me to your family event."  A family who is about as menacing and intimidating as, say,  a fluffy baby bunny with a bow around it's neck in a silk basket with taffeta ribbons.

I am not a great socialite mind you - and oftentimes in engaging people in conversation to draw them out, I have spoken hastily and/or awkwardly. Social situations leave me drained.  But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault -- "because I would not take the trouble of practicing." And because it is difficult for me, it is also hard to ignore the actions of someone who is so downright rude and thoughtless.  Her bf said that she was just "shy," which I have always attributed to another form of selfishness - someone more worried about themselves than the people around them. At least in my opinion.

Do I have a good opinion?  Anything that someone would desire?  And if so - what is it based on?  In "thinking out" this quandary I keep coming back to the interaction between Elizabeth Bennett, and Mr. Darcy from Jane Austin's novel, "Pride and Prejudice." In one scene the hero and heroine lock horns over their opinion of each other:

Lizzie launches: "I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."

"No," said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding-- certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

"That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."

"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil-- a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome." 

"And your defect is to hate everybody."

"And yours, "he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

I wouldn't say that they have a high opinion of each other - would you?  If you have read the novel, then you know that they are both right, and they are both wrong in their assessment.  A grain of right in a sea of wrong, as it were.  In the end, Lizzie discovers -via her visual prejudice - that she has "willfully misunderstood" Darcy - he doesn't hate everybody he just hates country dances and country manners.  Darcy realizes too that his pride has kept him from having the same easy association with strangers as his own familiar circle. He comes across as though he hates and criticizes everyone. Largely because he makes it look that way.

What changes the opinion of these two over the course of a whole novel?  Actions.  Darcy sees Elizabeth's actions with her family, with her friends, with visitors and even among his own friends and family.  His good opinion is not lost forever in circumstances of the heart because though born in the country, Lizzy pays no attention to social norms, but very good attention to people and the things in life that matter.  She walks because she enjoys it, cares for her sister when ill, is highly respected among her peers, and tries valiantly to bridge the divide between family, obligation, and social grace.

Lizzy opinion also begins to alter when must sit silent as Darcy's character and talents are unwittingly sketched for her by her aunt, uncle and the Darcy's housekeeper:

Housekeeper: I'm sure I know none so handsome, nor so kind.
 Mr. Gardener: Indeed.
 Housekeeper: Aye, sir. I've never had a cross word from him in my life, and I've known him since he was four years old, but then I've always observed that they that are good-natured when they are children, are good-natured when they grow up.
Mrs. Gardener: His father was an excellent man.
Housekeeper: He was, ma'am, and his son will be just like him: the best landlord, and the best master. Ask any of his tenants or his servants. Some people call him proud, but I fancy that's only because he don't rattle away, like other young men do.

So, we must own that not everyone is at their best all the time.  Surely it is wisdom that we leave room for opinions to change as we observe others and their actions.  Actions do speak louder than words.  Actions over a long period of time speak volumes.

Like Mr. Darcy I do make judgments.  I like to allow for the better in human nature, but I also prepare for the worst. Though imperfect and riddled with faults of my own, I also have a calm assurance of rights and wrongs and act accordingly.  My dad once said of me that I was like a clear channel.  It is a communication channel on which only one transmitter operates at a time.  No static.  No interference from competing stations.  Just a clear signal.  And I try to be that.  Constant. Predictable.  I do not mask what I think, or flatter someone I despise.  Social? Yes.  Fake?  No.  Only one feeling operates at a time.

And what is it worth?  I am true to myself.  I am a truth-teller.  I believe that I would have been the one saying out loud, "The Emperor has no clothes!" Or - "The first time I met you, you were really rude!  Nice to see that you changed.... or not."  I can't understand the desperate lengths some go to to avoid speaking the truth.  Voicing a sound and salient opinion. Surely this attribute won't win me any popularity contests, but this I know; it doesn't really matter what others think of me. I just try to align what I do and say with that of the one person whose good opinion I do crave. And if you want my opinion, I'll note your wisdom for asking, and then let you have it.  But, in the end, it is only God's opinion of me that will matter. Well, at least that's what I think, in my humble opinion.

Adult Temper Tantrum

If you look at the anatomy of a temper tantrum, it follows some very basic requirements: failure to comply, bodily resisting, loss of temper, irrational tirade and tears.  I see it in my kids time and again. Emotions out of control.  And I hate having to deal with a toddler at this level because the toddler doesn't understand something about mom.  Mom wants to have a temper tantrum too, and it takes every ounce of carefully cultivated sense of responsibility to not just lose it right back.  And I don't.  Typically.

I am in the middle of one right now. Yes, I had to pay this model to look like me, because its really super hard to photograph yourself losing it and simultaneously not lose the steam of the temper tantrum turning into pathetic self-loathing,  "I look like the Bride of Chucky there... no, this one makes me look insane - fat and insane, I'm not using that one...WOW - I wasn't even TRYING to make my eyes pop out,  look at that..."

My temper tantrum started with the Failure to Comply element AND bodily resisting.  On snowy mornings that are overcast, it is just the hugest motivation sucker.  I don wanna get up- or articula senences, everything about today says, "Go back to bed."  So I obey that feeling, and resist doing what I know I OUGHT to do.  But time marches on, kids get up no matter what nature is telling me, and it gets later.  Hubby is not a morning person either, and upon discovering that mommy is not marshaling the troops, he comes out to see if... if I'm dead, I guess.  Nope.  Just failing to comply and bodily resisting.

He looks at me and says, "Uh... its late."  Yep.  "We gotta get going..."  Well. I don't WANNA get up.  I don't WANNA hustle everyone around.  I don't WANNA start wiping off a sticky counter or the endless baby bums that have been producing acid waste poo lately!  I don't WANNA see if everyone got their homework done, or valentines written out! I WANNA sit right here, with my eyes shut and pretend that its all not there!

And then, like a storm gathering, it hits; emotions out of control. All of the frustrations and unrealistic expectations come pouring forth in a tirade against poo, laundry, grocery shopping and little projects that have become the fodder of your small, non-award winning, insignificant little fiefdom of a life; the irrational tirade:

"You said we could have adorable obedient children in perpetual new clothes romping over green grass hills carrying balloons to an impossibly thin me! We were supposed to be gazillionaires by now, with a nanny and facials not vacuuming up pasta from the food storage and changing a hundred disgusting diapers while the kids wiggle their poopy bums onto our gross carpet.  I am supposed to wear white pants, crips collard shirts and wipe up 4 x 4" messes with paper towels, not entire jars of peanut butter spread around while other kids are flushing my brand new expensive bath gel down the drain in the bathroom and the other ones coloring on the computer monitor screen! I went to college so I could appreciate architecture not wipe off a booger collection off the wall and, once upon a time, I WAS NICE! not an army sergent to a bunch of disobedient munchkins!!" *breathe sob breathe sob sob sob*  Let us quietly shut the door on the rest of this tantrum.  Tears are flowing, tempers are burning hot, and they just need a quiet spot, and a little time, to burn themselves out.  As my mother would say, "Go to bed.  Tomorrow will be a better day."  And that is what Mother Nature is telling me to do now.

Toddlers do get to take that time out, but mom's do not. Now I remember why it is not prudent for mom's to throw a temper tantrum so early in the day.  Cuz now I am up, showered, and dialing the school attendance line, "Hi, I am the irresponsible mom who had a temper tantrum instead of getting my children ready on time with a nutritious, well balanced breakfast - but will be sending them off late, hair all askew, clutching a chocolate coated granola bar.  They will not be arriving to school in matching clean clothes with backpacks full of carefully reviewed homework - but rather they will be the ones looking like an unmade bed today and partially filled out homework.  They will be there though, and I will be put on your list of volatile/irresponsible parents."  I just hope that I'm not the only one.  Mother Nature called you this morning too, right? *tears*

Mind the Gap

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73YjnOPM324&ob=av2nl <---- what I listened to while writing this...

My dad is famous for a gesture that is a hand waving back and forth in a horizontal way that is meant to indicate a spectrum of color ranging from black to white.  "Noooo gray area..." he would say.  Whatever the conversation, what he meant with that wave of the hand was, "Lets make sure that there are no missed expectations.... no gaps in understanding. Stick to the black and white of things."

Gaps can be rather harmful, and the London subway system goes to great lengths to advertise a gap between the concrete ledge and the train.  But even greater dangers seem to be those gaps in understanding between spouses, children and people we love.  "I thought YOU were bringing the paper plates!"  "Nooo, I was already bringing the silverware, so of course I thought YOU were bringing paper plates."  It is this "gray area" of misunderstanding that leaves things implied, not spelled out, that my father strives to eliminate.  The same sentiment is expressed by Henry David Thoreau when he said,

"In human intercourse the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood."


I am trying to eliminate this area of missed expectations in my life.  As I turn the ripe old age of 39, I see the gaps between what my younger self had planned, and what life has planned for me instead.  Without an accounting and clarification of what dreams I traded in for what I got, there is ample room for disappointment.  And in some cases when I review the crossroads in my life, I must just repeat to myself another one of my dad's pithy statements, "Well THAT was an expensive mistake!"   

For the others, however, I just have to take a good hard look at the gap.  According to the Buddha, we suffer because we crave.  What about the gray area is a misery of my own making?  Can it be bridged?  Can it be fixed?  Should it be bridged?  Did I miss a train somewhere and fall into a gap of missed expectations?  I'd hate to admit here how horrifyingly dumb I've been in my life, but there it is.  And I'm not alone.  Some missed expectations have come from my dealing with others.  The desire to change the core personality of others that... will never change - no matter how much reasoning and common sense is presented to them, has brought about a newfound wisdom: You can't change people.  I include myself in all this; hardly going from grace to grace myself, I feel like I've tripped face down from one mud puddle into another.  I really saw a lot of things going differently in my head....


But I did not miss the boat on a spouse.  He is the envy of all I know.  I did not miss the train when I got each of my kids that make my life interesting.  Whether on a diploma'd piece of paper, or ability I have gained, I have learned a LOT in the past 39 years.  I just have to figure out how to mind the gap between what I expected, and what has been presented.  Am I wise?  OH heaven's no.  I can't fix all the gaps and gray area's in my life.  I'm just smart enough to recognize a gray area, a gap, or a missed expectation when I see one.