Here Come The Sobs

OH. MY GOD. YOU GUYS.

I know it's been like two weeks, and I have so much to talk about! I could tell you all about school -- which, BTW, I should probably have written the last part of that last sentence as "... I have so much about which to talk," but whatever -- or I could tell you about work or I could tell you about my very recent truly traumatic experience at kindergarten (!!!) orientation (???) or I could tell you about how my neighbors' approximately 178 kittens have been hanging out on my porch making me pretty much The Simpsons' Crazy Cat Lady.

But.

Instead let me tell you about how a quick, spur-of-the-moment decision to play dress-up with my kid just about gave me a nervous breakdown. How about that, instead?

You may remember that approximately 142½ years ago -- okay, it was 2½ years ago, but it FEELS like it was very very long ago -- Shae was the flower girl in my sister's wedding. She wore a love white dress that was about eleventy sizes too big because she was two years old then, and the dress was a size 4T, because that was the best we could do. Shae's just about a month shy of five years old, and she's LITERALLY four feet tall now, and she wears a size 6 or a 7 because we need everything to be long enough to cover her ankles and her belly button, but I was looking for something in her armoire at bedtime -- don't ask me what, because I can't remember -- and I caught a glimpse of Ye Olde Flowere Girle Dresse out of the corner of my eye, and I know, "What the heck? Let's see if it still fits!"

  

And lo and behold,whaddaya know? It still does! It's significantly shorter than it used to be -- way back when, it went almost down to the floor, and now it's above the knees, and it looks kind of like some kind of empire-waisted babydoll thingy, and it's definitely tight in the armpits because Shae's shoulders are broader than they used to be -- but we could zip it up fine. She had room in it, even. And while she was twirling around her room and putting on her white Easter shoes from last year (the ones that definitely DON'T fit any more, and can I just tell you how much I HATE buying white shoes every Easter?), I got what I thought was a brilliant idea.

  

I got out my veil, from my wedding ensemble, which we played with before. And I don't know how it happened, I must have stopped paying attention for a second, or I blinked, or something, but when I looked again ...

  

 ... my little girl was standing there ...

  

 ... with chocolate still on her face from an ice cream sandwich she had eaten earlier ...

 

... and she was about to get married. And I needed to lie down for a while.

  

WHAT IS HAPPENING? HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN AWAY?

Worth A Thousand Words

I have a million memories of my grandfather. He's the person who taught me how to read a stock prospectus and a racing form. He bankrolled my first trip to an Atlantic City casino, although I doubt he was aware of it at the time. He and my grandmother used to take me out to dinner at the Palmer Dairy Bar when it was still around. He was with me the first time I remember eating fried clams, and I think it's because he liked soft-boiled eggs and strawberry shortcake and rice pudding and peaches in cream -- actual peaches, sliced up in a bowl, with actual cream poured on top -- because he liked these things, I used to eat them when I visited my grandparents as a kid, and they still take me back to my youth when I eat them today.

What I don't have are many pictures of me and my grandfather together.

I think that having a digital camera throws into stark relief how really different his generation and mine are. Were. Whatever. To me, it is no big deal to take 300 pictures in a single afternoon, but back in the day, when everything was on actual film and developing cost money that we didn't always have, pictures seemed like more of a luxury. There are pictures of us together somewhere, no doubt, probably in my mother's attic and closets somewhere, but it took me hours of the last few days to find only a fraction of the quantity of photos of the two of us that I was able to find of him and my daughter together in only a few minutes.

And the weird part is: most of the pictures that I can actually find are things I don't really remember.

Maybe the best picture I can find of us is a picture of him dancing with me at a wedding. I can provide context -- it was the wedding of a good friend of the family, the sister of one of my aunt's ex-boyfriends who also happened to live up the street from me until I was 11 years old, and I was one of the bridesmaids, and I can't remember the exact year, but you can tell from my hairdo that was most definitely during the Bon Jovi era, probably right before I starting dying my hair with Kool-Aid and listening to The Cure, and the happy couple twirled around the dance floor for the first time as man and wife to "I'll Always Love You" by Taylor Dayne, and afterwards I repurposed that pink dress, shortened the hem to tea-length and then wore it when I went to the "Prince & Princess" dance in 9th grade with my first really big heartbreaking crush who ended up spending the evening trying to get one of my classmates-slash-arch-nemeses to make out with him in the corridor by the lockers, so I guess the wedding must have been in 1988 or early 1989, when I was 13 or 14 -- but I cannot remember one thing about being in that wedding, except that there were like eleventeen people in the bridal party and my sisters were junior bridesmaids and the reception was at the Elks Lodge and the bride and groom are now divorced for about 10 years.

For sure, I don't remember this moment when I danced with my grandfather, when we were both smiling and happy and clearly having a good time, and more than anything in this world right now, I wish I could.

There are pictures on my hard drive of my grandfather dancing with one of my sisters at my wedding, and with my other sister at her own wedding, and I swear that I can close my eyes and remember every single thing about those times, even though I am not even 100% positive that I was even actually there when the pictures were taken -- I can hear the music and tinkling flatware and smell the food and wafts of perfume and feel the love and laughter in the reception halls, but I just cannot remember ever dancing with my grandfather like this, standing close and letting him hold me, just being near him.

And I would give anything, absolutely anything, if I could.

Already I have forgotten how handsome my grandfather once was, so tan from being outside all summer long, tending his gladioluses and strawberries, skimming and vacuuming the pool, playing cards and having the occasional beer, drinking ice water from my great-grandmother's tin tumblers and eating tomatoes fresh off the vine like they were apples. Almost a mythic creature, a well-aged classical hero with his shimmering silver hair and his strikingly blue eyes and the birthmark on his temple shaped like a heart. He spent most of his last two years in that damned chair in his living room, watching baseball or Notre Dame football or cable news, his health and his strength and his color slowly waning, leaching out of him into the ether somewhere. He was not himself at the end, not the Poppy that I will always see when I close my eyes and think about summertime and slot machines and strawberry shortcake.

Dear God, I miss him so, and I will lay awake nights for the rest of my life trying to remember all those moments that have not been captured in pictures.

Disneyland: The Everything Else

I know it's hard to tell what with all the yammering I've been doing, but we didn't spend our entire time in California on Disney-owned property. Just most of it. We did some other stuff, too. Unfortunately we did not get to spend as much time as we would have liked to doing the "other stuff" -- damn you, airline! -- but the little tastes we got were enough to convince me that, like Jack and the rest of the Oceanic 6, we HAVE to go BACK!

The boy in this picture is Adrian. He belongs to one of my husband's cousins and her husband. They live somewhere in SoCal, about half an hour away from Disneyland. Adrian's parents and his aunt (also G's cousin, go figure, since she's Adrian's mom's sister) came to meet us for dinner at the Rainforest Café in Downtown Disney on Saturday night while we were out there, and we had a spectacular time, and it makes me so sad that they're out there and we're out here, because I really think they'd like my family. Shae and Adrian got along famously, of course, and Shae still asks for "her new cousin" and it will never stop being adorable. I wish we had more time to spend with them, because they all made me laugh and made me feel so welcome and made me feel at home. Like Disney wasn't fun enough -- the only thing that could possibly have made it funner would have been spending it with more awesome people.

On Sunday, before the wedding, we met a high-school friend of mine and her husband and new baby for lunch. (Yowza, we ate A LOT on vacation. Like, a REALLY lot, and delicious amazing food, too. Not a cruddy meal in the bunch, not even when we ate at El Pollo Loco that first night, and apparently that particular chain can be sort of hit-or-miss. Thank heavens for all that walking we did or I'd never be able to get my pants buttoned.) It was super-great to be able to see her again, and meet him, and sit there and stare at their delicious baby, and just catch the short version of what's been going on for the last 10 years or so. For the first time in a very long time, I missed high school, although to be 100% honest, what I really miss are my high school friends, who I never see any more. Where are you guys? I MISS YOU! Call me!

They drove all the way down from Pasadena (an hour away, I guess? I have no idea about California geography -- I always thought Anaheim was, like, hours away from Los Angeles, and I always figured that calling them the "Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim" was like calling a team the "Philadelphia Phillies of Pittsburgh," but as it turns out, LA and Anaheim are pretty close -- about 30 miles, I think, but it's like LIGHTYEARS when you figure in the traffic -- OK, so I guess technically Anaheim IS hours away from LA). After lunch we wanted to hang out a little longer, so we asked if there were any parks nearby and we got directed to this mall.

A MALL WITH PALM TREES AND A FERRIS WHEEL RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT. I am not even kidding; you can't make this kind of shit up. And fountains that are deliberately designed for kids to play in them. Also: salted caramel Pinkberry. Believe the hype. I think California is my home planet, you guys, I really, really do.

Sunday night was the wedding, which was totally awesome and I cannot possibly overstate how beautiful it was, the setting and the food and those two crazy kids goin' and gettin' hitched, all of it, and how wonderful it was to be there. I am still in awe that we (1) got invited in the first place, and (2) actually got to attend. One of the best weddings ever in the history of weddings, and I swear to God that I am not just saying that because this was the last of our high school friends to get married. It really was just that special.

Oh and at the wedding Shae got dumped for the first time, by the rakish and charming ring bearer, the groom's nephew, who up and left poor Shaezie in the middle of the dance floor for the flower girl. Shae got revenge by boogie-ing with everyone else's date and pretty much being the first runner-up to the bride in the "Belle of the Ball" competition, though, so it all turned out okay. (And, BTW, this was the best her hair looked for the whole trip. You can't see her cute little bling-y barette, and you can't really tell that I let her wear lip gloss and eye shadow, but she partied like a rock star with nary a hair out of place. TRUST.)

Here Comes The Bride

Over the weekend I was looking for my Syracuse sweatshirt that I got from "Santa" that one year that my husband had to spend the week before Christmas in Rochester, because it has been cold lately, and I hate being cold. Mostly I've been wearing this gigantic housecoat that is big enough to wrap around myself twice and was also a Christmas gift from a different year, because I never did find that stinkin' hoodie, but what I found instead was my veil from my wedding.

My husband says he doesn't even remember my veil. I do, but I can't remember whether I wore the blusher over my face or not. I think I did. Most of the pre-"I Do" portion of the ceremony is a blur, except for the part where my Dad stepped on the hem of my dress at the top of the stairs and I tripped and said, right out loud in a Catholic church in front of God and the Monsignor and my grandmothers and everybody, "OH SHIT." And then I freaked out because, oh shit, I just said "SHIT" in church!

Yeah, I have issues. You'd have issues too, if your grandmother was born in the manger next to Jesus. But anyway, I found my veil, which I didn't even know was missing. I figured all this time that my veil was in the bag with my weddirng dress at my mother's somewhere, and not in the top of one of the office closets in a shoebox with my pocelain Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz collector's doll.

G didn't even want me to show it to Shae, because he was afraid she'd wreck it. Personally, I don't care much. My veil was pretty much an afterthought anyway, something I grabbed at the florist's at the last minute because I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my hair. It was $12. The florist made it. I can't even really deal with it right now, because my kid is only three and I am not yet prepared to deal with how beautiful a bride she is going to be. In thirty years or so. When I am ready to let her grow up.

October 19th

Know what happened on this date in history? In 1873: Yale, Princeton, Columbia, and Rutgers universities drafted the first code of rules for American football. In 1917: Love Field opened in Dallas. In 1959: The world's first disco opened. In 1973: My parents got married.

The fortuitousness of these things all happening on the same calendar date is no doubt entirely coincidental, but I can tell you that there has been a lot of love, a lot of dancing, and a hell of a lot of football in the history of my parents' marriage, so maybe the Universe has a way of sorting things out.

I won't embarrass my parents with any stories; there really aren't that many to tell, anyway. For most of the time they've been married, they've had to deal with me, so they've already been punished more than enough anyhow. But what they haven't gotten enough of is thanks.

So: Mom and Dad, thanks. For everything. For being yourselves. For being awesome. For being good people and good parents and good examples. You've shown me what a marriage can be -- up, down, and sideways. You still hold hands, and still slow dance at weddings, and still celebrate the little days that all added up to this one big one.

The 37th anniversary isn't a particularly big milestone, it's not a big number that ends in a five or a zero or a fancy metal or gemstone (the traditional gift is alabaster), but it's still worth honoring and recognizing. I certainly respect it. So congratulations, Mom & Dad, on another year. You guys are awesome. And I love you both: always, and all ways.

Love xoxo, R.

PS -- Don't have any pictures from your wedding day handy, but I hope that these pictures from our weddings will suffice. You've set a standard, and I hope these help to remind you how good an example, what an inspiration, you have been to your daughters and sons-in-law.

Fly Me To The Moon

Today is my cousin's wedding anniversary. I didn't remember it until she asked me if I had any pictures; for some reason I have been thinking her anniversary was in April all this time -- I must have been conflating her birthday and my anniversary and jumbling them up for the last eight years.

Also, in my own defense, I was kind of tanked at her reception. Not drunk and disorderly, not exactly, but I don't remember much except that one of my former co-horts from my high school swim team was a bartender that day, and she was making me all kinds of fancy delicious drinks that came with maraschino cherries and whose names ended in "-tini," and there was a big ol' wheel of brie cheese baked in puff pastry, and the food was good. Damn good. And apparently I had a rough time in the ladies' room, and had to get an assist. (That part I don't remember, but I've had anecdotal evidence since.)

I wish I could say these pictures brought back memories, but unfortunately they don't. That's the trouble with a good bartender, I suppose. You look at pictures of that special day when you're a decade removed from it and you're all, "The HELL?" I still have the dress I wore, though. Doesn't fit any more -- was too small, now it's too big, and either way it was never particularly in style anyway -- but I still have it.

Still have the husband, though. That one's a keeper. Even though it appears on this particular occasion that he did not consent to coordinating his tie to my outfit. The bastard.

I always dance with my Daddy at weddings when we're both in attendance, even now that we're both basically old people. It's like a rule, dating back to middle school or so, when I danced with him to "Angel" by Aerosmith when one of his siblings got married. Don't ask me who, because I don't remember that, either.

It would be almost three years later when these two crazy kids would up and get hitched. That was another kick-ass wedding. But boy oh boy, are they kids here. My sister can't be older than 25 here, if she was even that old (if I did the math correctly, I was 28, basically a baby myself still).

... Anyway, I kind of lost the plot here. (Go figure.) One of the things that I DO remember about Tina & Sam's wedding was their first dance: "Fly Me To The Moon," by Frank Sinatra. It was something really, really, once-in-a-lifetime special. It's such a great song to begin with, one of my all-time favorites, and on top of it all, they did a fancy little choreographed ballroom dance number, and it was SPECTACULAR. The whole room filled to overflowing with joy, and for a few short minutes nothing in the world existed but those two, and the music, and their love, and it was nothing short of awesome. Really and truly.

All of this is a long way of saying: Happy Anniversary, you guys. I hope you continue to be as happy now as you were then, and I hope you always are. You're awesome, and your family is awesome, and even though I ate my weight in maraschino cherries that day and therefore don't remember everything quite as clearly as maybe I should (although I assure you, I tipped the bartender well), I am glad I got to be part of that day, and that I still get to be part of your lives, even if it's across the miles over coaxial cable.

In other words: I love you.

Champagne Music

A few more little details from the Wedding Of The Decade So Far that I managed to not screw up pictures of. (Yes, this is going to be another one of those 2½ day trips that I manage to stretch into a week of blog posts -- so sue me! It's the busy time of year at work where I am putting in 11-12 hour days and I barely have time to go potty.)

We had the champagne toast immediately following the ceremony, right there in the Broderie Room. It was actually kind of a neat touch, not something I would have thought of. I really liked it. Obviously this would never fly in your traditional church environment -- but that is what makes non-"traditional" weddings wonderful, isn't it? Little things that are different, but somehow perfect?

The reception was held at the Omni William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh. This is without a doubt one of the nicest hotels that I have ever seen, let alone had the pleasure of staying in. I can picture my homeslice Eloise living it up in a joint like this. Classic, old-fashioned luxury, honestly: crystal chandeliers, marble floors, brass railings, real wood, soft fluffy white towels. If I ever win the lottery and run away from home, look for me here.

We had dinner in the Lawrence Welk Room, and it was fabulous. (And the fact that Shae was a perfect little lady who charmed the snot out of the entire waitstaff with her "Thank you, sir!"s and her "Oh please!"s only enhanced our dining experience.) I had the chicken stuffed with crab, and it was nothing short of sumptuous. Really. I do not lie about food. Even the weed salad was fantastic.

Oh, and that cake! OMNOMNOM. Don't know where it came from, who made it, nothing, except it was a spice cake with pumpkin filling and about three inches of whipped cream frosting and it was ABSOLUTELY DIVINE. God's own wedding cake, or something. I wish I had asked for a piece to bring home, except it would never have made it home -- more likely that I would have snuck into the walk-in closet in our hotel room and sat there in the pitch black in the middle of the night with a fork and my cake and they would have found me in the morning in a puddle of my own drool with an idiotic smile on my face. It was that good.

Just like the rest of the evening, really -- it was that good. All smiles and crystalline moonlight and happiness and win and awesome. And really, I can't thank Beth and Chris and their families enough for inviting us. Let's do it again sometime, okay?

Nice Day For A (Winter) White Wedding

So we were in Pittsburgh over the weekend for my cousin Beth's wedding. Here is all the background you need about our relationship to western Pennsylvania: I was there exactly once before this weekend, but my husband used to live there, and that is apparently enough for him to insist on raising our daughter as a Steelers fan. (Although technically I believe that we are splitting the difference.)

Anyway: back at the dawn of time when G and I were planning our wedding, we talked briefly about doing something small, maybe on an island somewhere, but something quiet and intimate and maybe in a garden. Beth and Chris's wedding? Almost exactly what I would want if I had to do it all over again. The ceremony was at the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, and there were only about 30 people there, and we all got to be part of a beautiful moment.

It's unfortunate that none of these pictures do justice to the bride and groom, or to the Parterre de Broderie (Broderie Room), a small-scale French palace garden. Basically, I over-reached my skillset as a photographer. I didn't use my fancy equipment correctly (or at all, in the case of the tripod), and I tried not to use a flash, and so a lot of the pictures are either far away or too jiggly and blurry. Ambitious amateur fail!

But none of that is important, really -- it was a beautiful, beautiful day. Beforehand, I described the wedding to someone at work as "high-end hippie," but I was grossly mistaken. There was nothing less than classic elegance about this wedding. Beth looked breathtaking, as she always does, and her new husband Chris was just as handsome and sweet as ever. I can't imagine a setting or an evening more perfect than this was.

And then afterwards we went back to one of the coolest hotels I have ever visited and ate great food and wore Lady Gaga glasses and some of us might even have posed for pictures WITH CANDLES ON OUR HEADS but I am not going to point any fingers ... and I am not going to talk about that until tomorrow.

Same Auld Lang Syne

We're going to Pittsburgh for the weekend -- we've been meaning to visit with family out there anyway, and my cousin is getting married tonight, and truth is, we'll take any damn excuse to get the hell out of Dodge for the weekend. The plan is to post at some point over the weekend, but I'm not going to lie: if we're having a good time, I'm not about to let myself get in my own way. We very rarely get to have any unfettered amusement these days, so if someone else wants to entertain us for a couple of days, who am I to stop them?

(And yes, I know I'm supposed to be starting a Project 365 today. Technically, I am: I will be taking pictures at the wedding, so I think I'll just backdate the posts. Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it. {I don't think.} I understand that the point is to be creative every day.)

Anyhow, whatever you're doing today -- eating pork and sauerkraut, watching football, getting some much-needed rest -- do it with gusto. Time's yours.

From This Moment On

So ... I was stuck in the city for two days. We're rolling out a new computer system later in the month, and some of us had to have training. I also had several nervous breakdowns, because I hate driving in the city -- doubly so when I get lost. The less said about that whole debacle, the better.

Anyway ... while I was busy not being able to get one damn productive thing done, some people *cough*Jaime*cough* were heckling me about not putting more wedding pictures up. Can you believe that? I was trying to make it out of the city alive, and she's harassing me.

Dear sis: YOU'RE LUCKY I'M NOT STILL STUCK CIRCLING CITY HALL, OH MY GOD WHY DON'T PEOPLE IN PHILADELPHIA DRIVE LIKE ACTUAL CIVILIZED HUMAN BEINGS AND NOT MUTANTS FROM OUTER SPACE, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THAT AGAIN.

But I digress.

I left G in charge of the camera for most of the day, so a lot of these pictures have Shae in them, and we already know how cute she is. But my sister is pretty cute, too, especially in this picture.

My dad and the bride during the father-daughter dance. I don't remember even seeing the father-daughter dance. What song did they dance to? Does anyone know?

This is my cousin Tina, looking hot in a red dress. (Other people might know her as Justine, but other people are WRONG.) There were lots of kids at the wedding, which is always nice to see. Here Tina is dancing with her adorable son Brendan, in an orange tie. Well, it's more of a pumpkin.*

NO FRICKIN' IDEA, but I like it. I think the people in this picture are (L-R) The Bride, my cousin Holly, her niece Bianca (my cousin Steph's daughter), Brittany, Shae (that one's a definite), my cousin Autumn, and me. The bridesmaid on the far right could also maybe be my sister, but I am pretty sure that is me, rocking my Phillies Crocs.

Actually the lower right-hand corner of a picture of something else -- the bouquet catch, I think -- but I totally love my cousin's wife Jess's complete "WTF!?" face here. Do NOT mess with her, she will CHOKE A BITCH.

My contractually-obligated picture of Shaezie and her Pop-pop. This is one of the last pictures from the "roll," and I think this was taken near the end of our night. Shae danced for like four straight hours or something, and when we got back to our hotel room we had a hell of a time getting her to sleep. Nobody ever bothered to tell her she's supposed to be tired once in a while, I guess.


* = Bonus points to Tina if she remembers the reference.

Wordless Wednesday: More Cake

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Here are just a bunch of pictures from wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. First, though, a caveat: since I was in the wedding, I had stuff to do, so I left G in charge of the camera. That's enough said about that, I think.

Little Miss Supermodel, looking for all the world like a recent graduate of Miss J's Runway Academy. This girl is FIERCE. And she does have excellent posture.

My sisters. Real smiles. It was a really great rehearsal dinner, at Gaetano's Italian Restaurant at the Southmoor Public Golf Course. The food was fantastic and the company even better.

The Girls' Club, 2009 edition. I have no idea what we're saying here, but I'm willing to bet money that none of us are talking about the same thing. Unless it's ice cream.

With this blue light action going on, and all his wee teefers showing, my nephew looks for all the world like a tiny adorable little vampire, doesn't he? The kind you sort of want to bite you in the neck, or the finger, or whatever. Except, we're usually trying to nibble on him.

Michele & Joe's Wedding Recap: The Short Version

OK, first things first -- it wasn't Jaegermeister, it was Sambuca. And I didn't drink any of it until well after the toast was over. Which is probably why I forgot my speech in the middle of it. NOTE TO SELF: they call it liquid courage for a reason.

Anyway, it's been one hell of a weekend, and I should be asleep already because we're getting up before the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow to go to the beach for the day, so here is the very very brief version of the story of Michele and Joe's wedding day:

(1) We ate cake.

(2) We danced like fools.

(3) And we partied like muther-truckin' ROCK STARS.

It was a beautiful, beautiful day.

And like I said -- and I meant it -- I was glad to be a part of it.

My Toast (Or At Least The Original "Final Draft" Version Before Jaegermeister Got Involved)

Hi everybody. Thanks for being here to share in Michele and Joe's special day.

Congrats, guys. It's been a great day, and I am glad to be a part of it.

I was truly honored when Michele and Joe asked me to say a few words -- and I promise, there will only be a few words. Even though I've been writing this speech in my head since 1978, when I found out I was going to get another sister and not a pony.

So, look: you know I love you guys. We all love you. We wish you all the happiness in the world. Fairy tale, happily ever after happiness.

The only advice I have for you two is really the best piece of advice that anyone's ever given me, and it's the same advice that I gave our sister when she got married, and a bunch of other people in this room, too. It's the same thing I'll be telling Shae and Joey someday, and it's what's worked for [G] and me for the last hundred and ten years.

Seriously, it's simple, and it's real, and it can be applied to everything: be excellent to each other, and party on!

Congratulations. Cheers.