Wedding Report #1: Paul and Lauren

I left on Thursday morning for Raleigh, parked at my aunt's house, and rode with her and her cousin and my granddaddy to the airport, where we met Mom, Dad, John (my brother), and Allison (his girlfriend). It was my first experience with the full-body scanner, even though I flew in March. They had to pat me down because of the underwire in my bra. Hooray! We had a direct flight to St. Louis, where our hotel was really awesome and I forgot to take pictures like I meant to, especially of the sign "Limousine parking only."

We had dinner in the hotel, which was actually quite good. Several others joined us, including the bride and groom. The young people planned to go out, but we ended up sending a party to the store for beer and drinking in the hotel atrium instead, which was great fun. Between deciding to go out and deciding to stay in, we called a cab, which arrived the minute we found out we were staying. The driver was not nice.

The next morning, after a delicious hotel buffet breakfast, we left around noon for St. Genevieve, about an hour and a half from St. Louis. On the way, we got to see a little bit of the city, and I liked it. The vineyard where we had the wedding is in really nice rolling-hills country, one of five or six vineyards there actually. I didn't know anything about Missouri and was kind of blown away by how pretty it was. Our car (Dad, me, Allison, and John) got there first, so we went to a brewery down the street and up a very curvy one-lane gravel driveway. At the brewery, there were an uncanny number of dead moths or moth wings in the yard, which was pretty but kind of creepy. Then we saw a nice kitty. I figure the cat was getting the moths. They had a beer called barleywine that was like a beer-wine hybrid. A larger group ended up going back later that evening, and John pointed out that they had homemade root beer. I figured I'd have just a try to see how it was--why would I need a whole glass?--but it was SO GOOD that I had to get it. Really. If you ever go to Charleville Brewery and Vineyard near St. Genevieve, Missouri, get the root beer. And the barleywine. And the winerita. And the strawberry beer if it's summer. And, well, pretty much everything. On the second trip, some of the bride's family was there too, and her granddad played the clarinet in the background. There was also a nice dog and pretty stained glass.

That night, those who were in the wedding went to the rehearsal, and then the rest of us met them at the rehearsal dinner in the winery's cellar, lined with barrels and nice and cool after a hot day. Allison and I were standing near a table with only one couple at it, deciding whether to sit there. I thought, "Surely these people can hear us talking about whether we're going to sit with them," so I said, "These people look nice. Let's sit here." So my nuclear family joined Elizabeth and Brian. Once we determined that we were all on Paul's side (although we're just as much on Lauren's side, too!), Mom said, "Oh, you're Elizabeth from summer P.E.!" Apparently, Paul and Elizabeth did not go to the same high school but both had to take P.E. in the summer, and they would walk around the track together, and they became friends. So my mom says, "Which high school did you go to?" and Elizabeth says, "Enloe." And I think, "I know only one girl who went to Enloe. And her name was Elizabeth. And she looks not at all unlike this one." So I say, "What's your last name?" because I am creepy like that and remember the last names and high schools of people I knew for a week twelve or more years ago. And she said it and yep, it was my roommate from summer writing camp at Queens College the summer after eighth grade. She lives in Chicago now, and she's marrying Brian in October. We had fun.

The next morning, Mom and I were hostesses of the bridesmaids' brunch in Lauren's villa. Oh, I didn't tell you, everyone stayed in villas, which are nice houses with good views decorated in the French Country manner, and so much more fun than a hotel. So we went to the girls' villa, and the winery staff delivered chicken salad sandwiches and chicken cordon bleu sandwiches and strawberry turnovers and homemade potato chips and dip and coffee the makings for mimosas. The hairdresser was working on Lauren when we got there, and everyone else took turns getting hair did or stepping out to the spa for makeup. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the good food and decorated handkerchiefs with Sharpies, because some ideas sound a little weird but turn out to be really good. The rationale: people will probably need to wipe their eyes at a wedding. Some probably don't have hankies. It's nice to have a party favor. It's fun to draw together. Voila! A good thing. I've still got mine in my purse.

After changing clothes, taking pics of Lauren in her dress, and semi-helping get the couple's villa ready for that night, I took up my post in the chapel vestibule. I got to see the string quartet pass a cello up into the balcony. As I handed out programs, one guy was making a funny noise as he came in, and we realized he had a cicada on him! We shooed him outside, and when he came back he said it had been inside his jacket.

A note on the chapel: It was about to be demolished, and the vineyard said, "We want it." So they dismantled it and brought it onto the grounds and rebuilt it, or something to that effect. It was teeeeeeny tiny and very cute.

The service was lovely but probably the least memorable part of the weekend for me. Funny how that works. Afterward, Paul and Lauren rode away in a horse-drawn carriage under a barrage of bubbles. Then we took a few family pictures and went to the reception. I was seated with Elizabeth and Brian again, plus some friends of Lauren's from her study abroad in France who were also Christian and might want to be missionaries and were excited about my going to seminary. After dinner and the best-tasting wedding cake I've ever had, I danced a lot and took blurry pictures and laughed and danced and laughed.

The next morning, we went straight to the airport even though our flight wasn't til 8 p.m. We were too tired to figure out what to do in St. Louis. It was actually quite nice to read and chill in the airport. I watched the first two episodes of Modern Family on Mom's iPad. The flight was uneventful except that we had a really funny flight attendant, and at the end when the seatbelt light went off, he said, "All rise." I slept at Aunt Kim's house for about 11 hours, then drove home and started my last week of work.

To sum up the weekend, I was felt up by a TSA agent, angered a Russian cab driver, slept on a couch with two towels and a tuxedo jacket for covers, ruined my watchband by sweating, lost a shoe for twelve hours, had no time to relax, did not have a date, broke a wineglass and cut my finger trying to clean it up, semi-flirted with a guy and then realized he was with someone, disagreed with part of the pastor's meditation, and worst of all, had to listen to "Beverly Hills" by Weezer. Really, is that what you play when someone requests Weezer? Including all of this, it was the best weekend I've had in a long, long time. Thank you, Lauren and Paul, for getting married. Thank you, Mom and Dad and Kim, for taking us there. Thank you, John and John and Allison and David and Caroline and everyone else, for making it so fun. Someone should get married at least once a month. Oh, wait! That is the case! Now I'm gearing up for Laura and Javier in July.

I'm going to put photos in a separate post. Stay tuned!

Lundi Links: Funny

Here are a few things on the 'net that consistently make me laugh.

http://catalogliving.net has a perfect eye for the absurd. The creator is the lady from this and several other funny commercials: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjHoxSKqE0M&feature=related.

http://slushpilehell.tumblr.com is a real agent's mental responses to real queries.

http://tinyartdirector.blogspot.com is a chronicle of a young girl's responses to her professional-artist dad's drawings. It is rarely updated, but maybe it is new to you.

http://www.unnecessaryquotes.com shows pictures of signs all over the place that misuse quotation marks, and a brief response about what they really mean.

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com is just a really good, funny blog.

On http://www.overheardinnewyork.com, people send in things they really overheard. From there, using the colored rectangles, you can find Overheard at the Beach, Overheard at the Office, Overheard Everywhere, and Celebrity Wit.

Enjoy! Next Monday will bring links in a new category.

The Little Things

Sometimes, I really don't like my job. You may have picked up on this from the blog, and you almost certainly have if you spend time with me in person (or on the phone like my patient and understanding mother). For instance, today, I left home at 7:45 a.m. to make it to a primary school music program at 9. This was not something I was asked directly to do by my supervisor, but the news is so slow that I need to do such things in order to have items in the paper each week (I accidentally typed, "I need to do suck things...." Like many typos, pretty apt). I realize it could be monumentally worse. I have a job, it pays a living wage, and it's not physical labor, to start with. Also, it is in the field I'm trained for. There are many advantages. Trying to make a news story out of five songs sung by first-graders is not one of them. So I get pretty crabby about it on occasion. But then something like this happens. I get to look at the old papers every few weeks to write the "This Week in History" column, which is one of the perks. Not so much writing it as spending time with bound copies of papers from 1981, 1991, and 2001, seeing pictures of the police chiefs and mayors when they were younger, studying the ads. Last time I did this, I got an extra special treat. Here it is. Now doesn't everything feel just a little bit better? It's amazing what a tiny thing can do for one's mood. Lent mode engage! Think of how you can be that tiny thing for someone. A smile, a compliment, picking up a dropped item, can work wonders, especially from a stranger. What a beautiful opportunity. Or you could cut your hair like this guy and seriously be a public servant.

I'm headed to Austin in a few hours until Saturday. After that, I will probably be able to make a quick decision about where I'm going. Hint: probably Union in Richmond, unless something unexpected happens in Austin. I've realized that as independent and world-traveling as I am and want to be, I don't want to have to take a plane or drive for days to see my family or many of my friends. Or eat at Flaming Amy's. Many other factors are also making Richmond edge ahead. Anyway, expect some sort of official announcement soonish. I may even break out the big fonts if I can figure out how.

Spoiler Alert

I watched last week's The Office online last night, and wow, what a great thing. Just when it gets too awkward or I start not caring about it, they come up with something fabuloso. Warning: if you haven't seen it yet and don't want to know what happens, stop reading now! Tune in for tomorrow's post, but skip this one!

So Michael asks Holly to marry him. At first, he wants to spell out the question in gasoline in the parking lot and light it on fire, but Pam catches him and calls a meeting to come up with a safe, reasonable proposal. In the end, Michael takes Holly on a tour of the office, telling her what happened in each spot: "I first saw you through these blinds," "This is where we first kissed," that kind of thing. Then he tells her the next part is going to be the biggest challenge to their relationship and goes through one set of doors, I think to the annex, and there's everyone from the office standing in two rows with a path between them, each holding a candle. "Will you marry me?" asks Phyllis. "No," says Holly. "Will you marry me?" asks Stanley. "No," says Holly, and so on as Holly and Michael walk down the line.

They go through another set of doors into Holly's office, which is full of candles. Michael goes down on one knee, and Holly kneels as well. He pulls out the ring, which is gigantic because he thought three years' salary was standard. He asks her to marry him in Yoda-talk, and she responds in kind. The sprinklers go off because of the candles, and they kiss in the "rain."

Here's a vid:

I'm sorry it's kinda cut off on the side. Here's the link in case you'd rather see it the regular way.

I'm not just sharing this because I'm obsessed with The Office. There's a lesson. God is always leading us through a gauntlet of competing loyalties. There are always people, or ideas, or groups, or other forces on either side of us asking us to commit to them, to love them, to follow them with our hearts and act accordingly. But we can't say yes to all of them, and if we want to be with God, we can't say yes to any of them. Even if you're not following God, you can think the same way about whatever it is you do commit to--your writing, art, studies, family, friends, sport, business. There will be challenges to your single-mindedness. Your role is to limit your yeses and choose them wisely. I believe strongly in the power of "yes" and the need to say it more often, but when it comes to the big questions, we have to be cautious sometimes. Otherwise, we will be drawn and quartered, pulled in opposite directions until we're torn apart. Committing to only one thing can keep us whole and healthy, moving in one direction to the delight of all.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig

I rolled in at about 11 last night, neck and shoulders stiff from driving and, I'm pretty sure, lymph node overdrive. When you combine seven days of fast action, a mostly-carbs-and-sugars diet, lots of driving, and the effort to be all reflective and discerment-y, it's quite an assault on the immune system. Luckily, the before-bed Emergen-C, as usual, worked wonders. This morning, I felt as good as one could expect to feel.

Boston University School of Theology seems like it's not the place for me. There's nothing wrong with it, but I didn't get that flash of glee or giddiness upon arriving or at any other time. It feels pretty good to cross a place off my list.

Union Theological Seminary in New York is a wonderful place. My trip there involved the car, a bus, the AirTrain, a train, and the subway, as well as leaving my phone in the car and buying the wrong kind of ticket for the train. Once I arrived, things were much better. I had breakfast at a place across the street from the school, and man, do I ever love sipping coffee while looking out through a window in a big city.

Union is the oldest non-denominational school of theology in the country. Many films and TV shows have used the grounds to get the quitessential old-school academia feel, like A Beautiful Mind and Mona Lisa Smile. (I first typed "A Beulaville Mind." That's the town I work in. It would be a really different movie.) All the housing, classrooms, and offices are basically one big building, with a tunnel connecting some of them so you don't have to go outside if it's bad. Some of the professors live there too. They have a professor of Theological Librarianship. The class I visited was really entertaining and educational. Chapel was led by a student who had made her own oil paints from natural materials and had some paintings on display. There was a labyrinth made of soil. The school has one main entrance with 24-hour security. There's no class on Fridays. It's sort of part of Columbia University, so the 300-odd Union students have access to a lot of other classes, the library, the fitness center, and the resources of a much larger, very good school. Someone estimated that about half of Union's students are gay, and they come from all denominations. It was a very good experience. It seemed to have all the advantages of Princeton, like pretty buildings and preparation for all different kinds of careers. But it's easy to arrange an apartment, unlike at Princeton, and living in New York provides so many opportunities for ministry and puts you next to so many people in need. Princeton seems to have less of that.

So, I went to Princeton and thought that was it. Then I went to Union in New York and thought that was it. Then I went to Union in Richmond.

I arrived really late, around 11 p.m., after a full day in New York. Because I'd just come from there, I thought Richmond was the most boring and lame-o place ever. The buildings were not impressive. I was very ready to write it off.

The next morning, I left my key in the admissions office before going to class, and the seats had all these pillows made from T-shirts. They had one of those cool one-off coffeemakers that also makes tea and whatnot, with those little cups, you know? The first class I went to, something about Ethics, was really good. The professor started by asking for prayer requests and saying a prayer. She was very funny and mentioned that she'd written a recommendation for one of the guys in the class. "Did you know that every time I write a recommendation for someone, they think that person has to be black? Like they don't think I would write a recommendation for a white person!" She's black. Later, a friend told me that her nephew is Nick Cannon, who was in Drumline and is married to Mariah Carey. "I found out that my nephew got married by watching Entertainment Tonight! I thought we were a close family!" she had said at the time.

After class, I went to the admissions office for a couple of talks, one with the dean of students and one with the financial aid person. But first, they told me I got in! They hadn't finalized the financial aid package but said it would be better than Princeton's. (That's how they put it, too. "We'll do better than Princeton." Just kidding!) Summer school starts in July, and they recommended that I go this summer. It sounds like a great way to adjust to living there and ease into having a full load.

The place I stayed was a one-bedroom apartment. Its condition and workmanship weren't anything special, but it was very spacious, with a study and a storage room. I've been assuming I want an apartment as opposed to a dorm, for various reasons, one of which is that I don't want to live in an already-furnished place. My tour guide mentioned that she might ask the housing people to take some of her dorm furniture out so she could bring her own, and I'd never thought of that! So I asked to see a dorm after all. It was much nicer than the apartment! Hardwood floors! Private bathroom! The one I visited basically had two rooms, at least one of which was much bigger than mine. The only disadvantage from an apartment is sharing a kitchen, but it seemed like people are pretty respectful about shelf space and not eating each other's food. There are two ovens, so the likelihood of both being in use is small. They did say that particular dorm might be full, and the other one is apparently not so great. It was a pleasant surprise, though, that at least the one dorm is so nice.

At chapel, the preacher was a professor there and a Davidson grad. His sermon was very good. We had a community lunch afterward, and I went to a class on theories of religious education, which was also very thought-provoking. I had a lot of trouble keeping my mouth shut, actually, because there were so many good ideas flying around.

I met with another professor who's also a Davidson grad, then had dinner with friends and hit the road, spinning with delight and dismay. Oh, well. No one ever told me it would be an easy or clear-cut decision. I'm very blessed to have had that trip and seen so many people I already knew as well as meeting new folks. I learned a lot, and now I have a bit more time to consider the various factors. I very much look forward to seeing how this will all turn out.

My favorite?

I hesitate to use the word "favorite" in most circumstances, or else I water it down and change the literal meaning so that all I'm saying is I like whatever it is. When asked my favorite color, I say, "It depends on what's being colored." A wall favorite color is different from my car favorite color or a shirt favorite color. Same with food, movies, music; it all depends on my mood and the situation.

But I think I have a favorite writer. Reading James Thurber feels like sleeping in one's own bed, the smell of one's own home, something that sets things right, something comfortable but not in a complacent way. I feel so fully "me" when I'm reading him. I cannot put my finger on why.

We had a dry spell for a while, but a few days ago I started reading People Have More Fun than Anybody, a book of never-before-collected items to celebrate 100 years since Jim's birth (published in 1994). There's a cake recipe from him in it, which to me cries out for a party. And thus it is. I'm celebrating his birthday early because it's in December and no one wants an extra party then. Making the cake and giving everyone a chance to read their favorite things by him. I haven't had a party in a long time!

This particular book is all items that would otherwise be pretty much lost, things from magazines or papers that hadn't been put in book form ever before. And that may be why I'm so impressed: he wrote these things as little ephemera to make extra bucks, not to be literarily lasting or meaningful, but oh how he is! It's like if someone collected the articles I'm writing in 84 years, and they stood the test of time. One thing Michael J. Rosen's introduction points out is Thurber's ability to refer to his time--fads, celebrities we don't know about anymore, sundry pop culture items--and still be relevant today. He mentions these things, and they're confusing briefly or require an editor's note to explain them, but the way he talks about them and the things he says are still enjoyable to read. Basically, we don't have to know what he's talking about to get what he's talking about. That's pretty amazing to me.

Also, I may have known his eyesight failed as he aged, and I certainly knew he did sweet cartoons, but I never put the two together. Apparently he was drawing in the dark some of the time, which is not hard to believe when you look at the drawings but is nonetheless impressive. Oh, and Matisse called him the best artist in New York.

A Pretty Sweet Week

Here I am chillin' at Panera of a Saturday morning, on the first day in recent memory that I haven't had anything scheduled. I do have to write an article, but it's a fun one and doesn't feel burdensome. Later, I'm going to run and shower for the first time in at least a week (the run, not the shower) and make granola and green tea and stretch and maybe call Lyndsay for movie/show-on-DVD chill time. This is what Saturdays should be!

So the article I'm (ostensibly) about to write: a response to Shadowlands, the play based on C. S. Lewis's late-in-life romance. I didn't know a dang thing about his life! And I learned it in the most enjoyable of ways. He met Joy Gresham when she was 41 and he was 58. He was a bachelor, and she got a divorce soon after they met but not because they met. They had corresponded by post for a long time. She came to visit from America, and then after her divorce she ended up moving to the same town as him, Oxford. I won't give anything else away, but I will tell you it's a great and unusual story. This is Big Dawg Productions' second time wowing me with atypical romance, which is the only kind I can really stomach in stories. A few weeks ago, I saw their production of Neil Simon's Chapter Two, a more light-hearted but still very affecting love story.

On Thursday night, I went to see the musical The Secret Garden, also for work. It was weird and artsy, like with ghost people showing up during regular scenes so you know they're remembering the past, and red cloths to represent cholera. But it's The Secret Garden, and by no means did they mess it up. I'm so ready to read it again!

Both plays made me feel kind of icky and eye-rolly, like "la la la, I'm not listening," because they were both about trust and loving people even though you know you're going to lose them. My deep dark side said, "Psshht. That's all well and good for other people, but I'm not capable of, or not interested in, that kind of love. I prefer the illusion that I and everyone I care about will live forever, and if maintaining that illusion means keeping everyone at arm's length, then that's what I will do." Not my best moments. Growing up is hard to do, especially when you keep thinking you're done. But Lewis's wife in the play said, "The pain then [later, when one person dies and the other has to handle it] is part of the happiness now. It's part of the deal."

Oh, and the actor who played Lewis was phenomenal. Real tears, I saw.

Speaking of illusions, it hit me a few weeks ago that disillusionment is a good thing. It doesn't feel good, and when I say I'm disillusioned I usually mean "I hated that." But when faced with a choice between illusion and reality, a choice we don't always have, you're not in your right mind if you consistently choose the illusion.

And I think I have some solid thoughts for my article! But before I go on to that, I'll leave on a lighter note.

The boss called my coworker at 8 a.m. the other day to tell her a plane had crashed on I-40. As she was getting ready, coworker thought to look it up and make sure it was true before getting all worked up over it. She found nothing online, so she called the county EMS. The desk worker who answered knew nothing about a plane, but coworker left a message for the director. He called her back much later, laughing hard, and said it was a crop duster. It happens pretty frequently, he said: people see the crop dusters flying very low and think they're planes in trouble. This one landed, on purpose, in a field, not by accident on I-40.
So coworker called boss to fill her in. During that same call, boss said, "Oh, and ask someone about the fire on Teachey Road on Wednesday."
I am so proud of coworker for thinking of it then and not after hanging up. She said, "Are you sure it wasn't a cookout?"

Also, I was really mad over food and drink being missing from the fridge, and then one roommate wrote me a note explaining that she'd been taking Ambien and it made her sleep-eat. The only explanation that makes me not mad! And the last one I would ever have come up with.

Oh, is God ever good.