One hundred and Thirty-Five Glasses

It is a little ridiculous. Okay, a lot ridiculous, I admit.  As I pile the tomatoes, cream of mushroom soup, and  the ninety-nine cent napkins on the grocery store's conveyer belt, my eyes wander over to the breaming bride on the front cover and I can't help it; I still look at bridal magazines, pick-them-up-and- look kind of look. It has been five months since the event has taken place and I can't let go.

Friends of ours, a recently engaged couple,  joined us for dinner last week; he teasingly asked, "So when will I get my Rachel back?"  Darts from green eyes shot across the table. Wrong joke to make. But you know what is really not funny? The answer is never. You will never get her back. I know. I know because I will never be back to that person I was before the whole blessed event (and please read that adjective as its true meaning and not a curse) began to take motion. Certainly I am not the same person since I planned the wedding and this is a good thing. A very good thing.

My friend Lauren sent me paint chips so I can find a bride's maid dress of a matching color for her wedding in April. "Ohhh," my older sister Stacey teased, "After all you put her through on your day, you better be ready to serve your booty off." (Or something more or less refined to that affect). And I am excited to be on that side again. On the phone with Lauren the other day, I hear her exhaustingly express what most brides wonder, "Why should we not just go away? It would be so simple."  She doesn't really mean it; most of us don't. I reminded her, as she reminds herself, about the meaning of it all.

Even for simple weddings, there is a lot to be done, many decisions to make, and many people to keep informed. We are told over and over again that this is the bride's day, a once in a life time moment, the day little girls dream about all their lives.  Not really true, but sometimes you are told this so much that you begin to think it yourself and there are the price tags to prove it.  What is the wedding day really about? And all these traditions? What is with the garter toss anyway? What is the meaning of it all?

I had collected (with a little help from my mom) over one hundred and thirty five various drinking glasses, wine glasses, dinner plates, cake plates and mugs from various thrift stores in California. It was quite the work but little by little with help along the way, I had my treasure ready for the wedding day. Reluctantly, I listed them on Craig's List just a few days ago. (Really, what was I to do with them in our studio apartment?) In an hour, I already had a contact and by the evening, seven emails.  One of the brides came over the following day and I showed her all the details of our wedding in the woods. I also gave her the table runners I had made in China.  She gushed over it all and couldn't believe how much I was generously helping her, sparing her from all the time and agony of thinking through such and collecting it all herself. She even insisted on giving me the scones she made that morning from her peach tree and promised that she would pass the collection on to the next bride. I told her I hoped she would.

And this is what I pass on to the next bride: You will not be the same once you start planning your wedding. You will look at the world differently, look at yourself differently.  I go hiking and see flowers that would make a good bouquet. Patterns on a wall would make for good table cloths. Such observations might fade in time but what is lasting, I think, is that I am more aware of beauty and the beauty I bring. Honestly, I feel more beautiful myself. I also came to the shocking realization of how self-absorbed I truly am and this is a great confession as one ventures into a life long covenant. All the details agonized over, all the energy spent, all the money expended, was all well worth it for the greater lessons of what it means to celebrate life and love with the ones you love and love you.  We are made up of so much more than ourselves and a wedding, including all its details, is a reminder of such and so much more.  I can't let it go for I am not the same. For better or for worse. And hopefully better, despite my obsession with bridal magazines.

The Buoyancy of Citrus

It is a classic exercise. The teacher tells the students to take out a blank piece of paper. "Don't write on it until you have heard all the instructions,"  he directs. "First put your name in the upper right hand corner." Some eager students pick up their yellow Ticonderogas and begin to scribble. Teeth over lower lip, one leg tucked under the other, back bent over the top of the desk, focused. "Next, draw a circle in the middle of the paper."  Pencils move. In the front row, the smallest kid in the class begins to wave his arm to ask how big of a circle. The teacher goes on, "Now, ignore everything except step one."  Hands shoot up into the air as if they were all under arrest. Confusion spreads across the room. The teacher smiles, "Turn in your papers..." 

One of my favorite things about having all this time in our first year of marriage is the space we have to cook together. We set up menus on www.recipezaar.com, create shopping lists, print out the recipes on card stock, and invite friends to join us occasionally when the food preparation has taken longer than value of just two people dining. Although the kitchen in our studio apartment can hardly be called such, we somehow manage to maneuver around each other more fluidly than frantically. The knockings, scootings, bumpings and pushings are followed by genuine apologies and are even part of the fun. (Truly signs of newlyweds, in more ways than one!) 

Tonight we made these simple tuna cakes, that in the end, surprisingly, could be mistaken for something quite fancy on a restaurant menu--if I do say so myself. (Perhaps it is just the word "hollandaise" that makes it sound more uppity than it really is.) As Ben and I were floating around each other in our newlywed world, throwing cups of this and tablespoons of that into the bowl like it was a recipe for love (yes, I will stop here before you gag), Ben shouts,hands proceeding his words, "Nooooo! Not yet with the hollandaise!"  I abruptly tip the opened can back into an upright position. "But," I begin to argue, sauce still dangerously poised over the bowl, "Look: step number one clearly says, '1. Mix all ingredients.'"  I scan the recipe knowing Ben had seen something I hadn't.  Number seven brings enlightenment, the brightness of which is as yellow as the sauce itself. "Drizzle prepared hollandaise sauce over cakes." 

"Well, why did they put it that way! It's totally like that thing teachers do to make kids know that they should  listen to all the instructions first. There's a life lesson in here somewhere..." I drone on. We go back to twirling and spinning around our 4x8 foot wonderland.