And you can probably guess I'm not talking about Hewlett Packard.
I started reading the Harry Potter books on a trip to the beach with my family. I must have been in 7th or 8th grade (maybe 6th?), but Mom read chapters to me and John before bed. No one else knew about the book, really. It still had British spellings, and I loved the starry display font, which I copied over and over like a monk. Those first few books were sweet. Just adventurous enough, endearing, heartwarming. Once they caught on, we congratulated ourselves on having been among the first to know. The books started getting more scary and grown-up, and then came the movies. When the first movie came out, it was almost exactly as I pictured it: the colors, the visual style, the characters.
Last night, I watched the last movie in the series. My new friends from seminary went as a group. It was very good, perhaps in part because I'd forgotten many of the details and even major plot points. The acting and/or directing had clearly improved since #4, which I watched last weekend. But more than the movie itself, I'll remember the experience of watching it, the collective "oohs" and "ahhs," the swells of laughter, the sniffles in the dark. These moments have their origins in the earliest fireside storytelling, which was probably about what happened on the hunt that day and, like HP, may have involved fangs and fire. Ever since then, there's nothing like a good story heard in good company to make a person feel just right.
I have my issues with the series. The resemblances to Lord of the Rings are almost embarrassing at times. It's frustrating that made-up magic has limitations (as in, "Why can't you just do a spell and end the suspense?"). The intricacy, while stimulating, is also sometimes exhausting. I have a lot of muggle blood that makes me scoff and say the whole thing is stupid and childish. But my heart softens when I think of the collective enjoyment of this series. I've long thought that TV and books and movies were part of the collective consciousness Jung talked about, because we can meet someone for the first time and find quite a bit in common based on such things. I'm happy that I'm the right age to have Harry in my world. I'm happy that the series is so successful. And I'm thrilled that young children will continue to read, there and elsewhere, about risk and reward, loyalty, sacrifice, bravery, and the deeply moving truth that, in the end, the good guys always win.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Lundi Links: Sweet Charity, the Animal Edition
Lundi Links is back after a long hiatus! I'm sure you've been wringing your hands over its unpredictability.
Today's theme is animal-related causes you can donate to or just learn about. First, we have HeroRATS, who use their super-smelling to seek out landmines, tuberculosis, and more.
Then there's the Carolina Raptor Center, which I never visited even though it was just steps from my door at Davidson! Not literally, but it was pretty close. They take care of injured birds and do education work. Similarly, Carolina Tiger Rescue is taking care of the big cats right near Pittsboro. Pretty cool, huh?
I completely understand when people say resources should go toward people before we worry about animals, but I want to highlight these organizations because, well, it's just cool. The next one, the big one, is not part of that argument because it uses animals to help people. Presenting The Heifer Project, my all-time favorite charitable organization! I wanted to work for them abroad after college, but it turned out they only employed locals. Let down as I was, I couldn't complain. Of course they should! That way, the people who are running the operation know the area, the land, the people, and the customs, and there's less of that icky white-man-coming-in-to-fix-things feeling. Plus, that job means much more to a poor local than it does to some post-college ne'er-do-well who wants an adventure. Seriously smart move, Heifer.
The organization, also called Heifer International, provides animals to communities who make proposals to them. That way, Heifer doesn't dictate what the community needs; they decide what will work and how they want to go about it. All the animals are used for something sustainable, like milk or wool or honey or eggs. They range in size from bees to elephants. The first animal donated was a heifer (a cow that hasn't had babies yet), and the recipients ate it. Understandable! They were hungry! But it's sort of a give-a-man-a-fish situation, and Heifer is all about teaching them to fish, so to speak. Since then, they make sure to train all recipients in how to take advantage of the animals' gifts over the long term.
I worked at Heifer's educational farm in California for a few weeks (my consolation prize for not being able to go somewhere more exotic), during which my admiration for the organization grew and grew. I really want to write a book about Heifer someday, possibly combined with other humanitarian projects that work really well and make sense.
You can be a volunteer at one of Heifer's farms in Arkansas or Massachusetts (I believe the Cali one has closed or transitioned to some other use, but I could be wrong), either on a live-in basis or as a local who comes in during the day. If your Christmases or your friends' birthdays have been a little "eh" on the gift side, think about giving donations in honor of someone, to Heifer or to any organization. I personally love picking out animals that someone will like. Baby chicks never fail to delight.
When I lived at the Heifer farm, our dining-room table and chairs had been won on The Price Is Right and donated to the center. We had a piano in the house, so I had my parents send me a bunch of sheet music and almost got the hang of "Hey Jude." We had chickens, ducks, geese, a water buffalo, goats, an ostrich, turkeys, a heifer, sheep, alpacas, and a few cats that were unaffiliated with the project. The ostrich, Sweet Pea, was like something George Lucas and Jim Henson would make together. The turkeys sounded like old church ladies at the end of the barn. The goats were my favorite, and I'd love to have one someday. Sheep are really stupid, alpacas extremely aloof, and when all of the animals were together, I got to feeling just a little jealous of Noah.
Today's theme is animal-related causes you can donate to or just learn about. First, we have HeroRATS, who use their super-smelling to seek out landmines, tuberculosis, and more.
Then there's the Carolina Raptor Center, which I never visited even though it was just steps from my door at Davidson! Not literally, but it was pretty close. They take care of injured birds and do education work. Similarly, Carolina Tiger Rescue is taking care of the big cats right near Pittsboro. Pretty cool, huh?
I completely understand when people say resources should go toward people before we worry about animals, but I want to highlight these organizations because, well, it's just cool. The next one, the big one, is not part of that argument because it uses animals to help people. Presenting The Heifer Project, my all-time favorite charitable organization! I wanted to work for them abroad after college, but it turned out they only employed locals. Let down as I was, I couldn't complain. Of course they should! That way, the people who are running the operation know the area, the land, the people, and the customs, and there's less of that icky white-man-coming-in-to-fix-things feeling. Plus, that job means much more to a poor local than it does to some post-college ne'er-do-well who wants an adventure. Seriously smart move, Heifer.
The organization, also called Heifer International, provides animals to communities who make proposals to them. That way, Heifer doesn't dictate what the community needs; they decide what will work and how they want to go about it. All the animals are used for something sustainable, like milk or wool or honey or eggs. They range in size from bees to elephants. The first animal donated was a heifer (a cow that hasn't had babies yet), and the recipients ate it. Understandable! They were hungry! But it's sort of a give-a-man-a-fish situation, and Heifer is all about teaching them to fish, so to speak. Since then, they make sure to train all recipients in how to take advantage of the animals' gifts over the long term.
I worked at Heifer's educational farm in California for a few weeks (my consolation prize for not being able to go somewhere more exotic), during which my admiration for the organization grew and grew. I really want to write a book about Heifer someday, possibly combined with other humanitarian projects that work really well and make sense.
You can be a volunteer at one of Heifer's farms in Arkansas or Massachusetts (I believe the Cali one has closed or transitioned to some other use, but I could be wrong), either on a live-in basis or as a local who comes in during the day. If your Christmases or your friends' birthdays have been a little "eh" on the gift side, think about giving donations in honor of someone, to Heifer or to any organization. I personally love picking out animals that someone will like. Baby chicks never fail to delight.
When I lived at the Heifer farm, our dining-room table and chairs had been won on The Price Is Right and donated to the center. We had a piano in the house, so I had my parents send me a bunch of sheet music and almost got the hang of "Hey Jude." We had chickens, ducks, geese, a water buffalo, goats, an ostrich, turkeys, a heifer, sheep, alpacas, and a few cats that were unaffiliated with the project. The ostrich, Sweet Pea, was like something George Lucas and Jim Henson would make together. The turkeys sounded like old church ladies at the end of the barn. The goats were my favorite, and I'd love to have one someday. Sheep are really stupid, alpacas extremely aloof, and when all of the animals were together, I got to feeling just a little jealous of Noah.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Bluegrass Mass
This evening, I biked to an Episcopal church for Bluegrass Mass. This week it was all Carter family songs, including "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and "This Train Is Bound for Glory." I felt like I was listening to Dusty and Ace, at an intimate Avett Brothers concert, and a little bit Taize and Seagrove all at once. Tov, tov, tov. Tov m'od. (That means "very good" in Hebrew.) They handed out tambourines for the last song! And I ran into a classmate from The Personal Essay, AKA The Class That Changed Everything. I took it in my last year at Davidson, and without it I never would have thought about grad school for creative writing. So it was tov m'od to see her. And on the way to the church, I saw what appeared to be a family's pool that was open to the community, with an entry booth and everything. There's something really delightful about seeing people walking along the sidewalk with towels slung over their shoulders. Kind of like seeing cars full of adults--I always guess they're going somewhere fun.
Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me comes on at 3 p.m. on Sunday, and This American Life and Car Talk are nowhere in sight. Don't they know the three are supposed to go together, preferably on Saturday mornings? I broke my French press and had to buy another one. Something stung me, and I didn't get a good look at it. I couldn't find any shorts in my size when Old Navy was having a big sale, even looking at two different locations. It feels like I will never know my way around the city. I miss Wilmington and the people there like crazy. I found out I was supposed to sign up for classes, like, a month ago. But a bad day in seminary...pretty much better than any other day.
Ha ha! I knew I got that last sentence, minus the "seminary," from something else, so I just looked it up. Joey said it to Ross on Friends about a threesome. "Your worst day with two women...pretty much better than any other day." So I guess I'm as happy about seminary as some people are about (the idea of) being with two women. But as I was saying, I feel unfaseable. Boundlessly joyful. These things do make me grumpy, but it's like, "Eh. Not that big a deal." Because I'm still riding the wave of novelty and excitement from being in a new place with new people and new routines.
Most of all, I feel satisfied in a way that only living in a big city can make me feel satisfied. Solitary and social, mellow and frenetic, I feel like all my moods are allowed and taken care of when I have so many choices, even if I'm not yet taking advantage of them and don't even know what they are. At the Bluegrass Mass, the overwhelming feeling was of a deep hunger I didn't know I had, finally being satisfied. It's more than just feeling sophisticated and cosmopolitan or watching my calendar fill up with cool things; it feels, actually, like swaddling. There's something comforting about having businesses near my home, people always about but not always interacting with me, being able to walk and actually get somewhere worth going. I'll wish for a change soon enough, but for today, the Dixie Chicks can have their wide open spaces. As excited as I was to come here, I never expected to be this happy. Thank you, God, for this place and this day.
Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me comes on at 3 p.m. on Sunday, and This American Life and Car Talk are nowhere in sight. Don't they know the three are supposed to go together, preferably on Saturday mornings? I broke my French press and had to buy another one. Something stung me, and I didn't get a good look at it. I couldn't find any shorts in my size when Old Navy was having a big sale, even looking at two different locations. It feels like I will never know my way around the city. I miss Wilmington and the people there like crazy. I found out I was supposed to sign up for classes, like, a month ago. But a bad day in seminary...pretty much better than any other day.
Ha ha! I knew I got that last sentence, minus the "seminary," from something else, so I just looked it up. Joey said it to Ross on Friends about a threesome. "Your worst day with two women...pretty much better than any other day." So I guess I'm as happy about seminary as some people are about (the idea of) being with two women. But as I was saying, I feel unfaseable. Boundlessly joyful. These things do make me grumpy, but it's like, "Eh. Not that big a deal." Because I'm still riding the wave of novelty and excitement from being in a new place with new people and new routines.
Most of all, I feel satisfied in a way that only living in a big city can make me feel satisfied. Solitary and social, mellow and frenetic, I feel like all my moods are allowed and taken care of when I have so many choices, even if I'm not yet taking advantage of them and don't even know what they are. At the Bluegrass Mass, the overwhelming feeling was of a deep hunger I didn't know I had, finally being satisfied. It's more than just feeling sophisticated and cosmopolitan or watching my calendar fill up with cool things; it feels, actually, like swaddling. There's something comforting about having businesses near my home, people always about but not always interacting with me, being able to walk and actually get somewhere worth going. I'll wish for a change soon enough, but for today, the Dixie Chicks can have their wide open spaces. As excited as I was to come here, I never expected to be this happy. Thank you, God, for this place and this day.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Ta-Da!
Here I am in scenic, humid, friendly, unfamiliar, bustling Richmond, in my very own apartment, with three Hebrew books stacked in front of me, tummy full of strawberry shortcake (party at the dean's house) and chai tea (that's all me), knowing I ought to go to bed because orientation is tomorrow morning but unable to stop bopping from excitement.
We got here on Friday afternoon with generous help from Luke, Michele, and Tom on the Wilmington end. I overshot the exit from 95, but the exit I did take had signs that led me straight to the seminary. What up! Beautiful strangers helped unpack the truck, and as we returned it to the rental place, we saw fireworks. Mom and Dad spent the night and were very helpful and fun on Saturday. I'm just now feeling settled and able to take a deep breath, with internet connected (that's the "ta-da!"), books bought, pictures hung, and everything in its place for the moment. I have more space than one person really needs, and it's glorious. Five closets, a study, and an extra room that's intended for storage but is the art and reading room.
The neighborhood is stunning. Impressive houses with eclectic lawns, a purple flower I'm not familiar with that smells great, a walking trail just behind us, and I just found out, a gym across the street! I saw the most enticing garden party on my walk the other night. White tablecloths down to the ground, including on the bar. Every direction I go has new nice sights, and I plan to go farther and farther each way until it's not so nice. In a more immediate sense, my place is a prime location for harmless spying. Not exactly Rear Window because all I see of the next building is a brick wall, but I'm all about monitoring the sidewalk.
In eating news, the "New town, new habits" philosophy is going swimmingly. I've been crazy good for all 3 and a half days since Mom and Dad left! Seriously, I think I can keep it up. There are clothes I brought with me that I can't wear at present, in which I will soon look snazzy, because I didn't lug 'em here for nothin'.
I like everyone I've met, I can't wait to meet the rest, and I've even had a visitor already! Heather, my roommate from Wilmington, came by on her way back from her parents' in Maryland. I got to say hi to her pet frog, grab a coffee at Starbucks, and hear about her summer tutoring.
And it was very, very good.
We got here on Friday afternoon with generous help from Luke, Michele, and Tom on the Wilmington end. I overshot the exit from 95, but the exit I did take had signs that led me straight to the seminary. What up! Beautiful strangers helped unpack the truck, and as we returned it to the rental place, we saw fireworks. Mom and Dad spent the night and were very helpful and fun on Saturday. I'm just now feeling settled and able to take a deep breath, with internet connected (that's the "ta-da!"), books bought, pictures hung, and everything in its place for the moment. I have more space than one person really needs, and it's glorious. Five closets, a study, and an extra room that's intended for storage but is the art and reading room.
The neighborhood is stunning. Impressive houses with eclectic lawns, a purple flower I'm not familiar with that smells great, a walking trail just behind us, and I just found out, a gym across the street! I saw the most enticing garden party on my walk the other night. White tablecloths down to the ground, including on the bar. Every direction I go has new nice sights, and I plan to go farther and farther each way until it's not so nice. In a more immediate sense, my place is a prime location for harmless spying. Not exactly Rear Window because all I see of the next building is a brick wall, but I'm all about monitoring the sidewalk.
In eating news, the "New town, new habits" philosophy is going swimmingly. I've been crazy good for all 3 and a half days since Mom and Dad left! Seriously, I think I can keep it up. There are clothes I brought with me that I can't wear at present, in which I will soon look snazzy, because I didn't lug 'em here for nothin'.
I like everyone I've met, I can't wait to meet the rest, and I've even had a visitor already! Heather, my roommate from Wilmington, came by on her way back from her parents' in Maryland. I got to say hi to her pet frog, grab a coffee at Starbucks, and hear about her summer tutoring.
And it was very, very good.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Gratitude
I got back from church camp on Friday around lunchtime. The week was full of bugbites, humidity, delicious food, swimming in a lake that turns everything brown, very little time alone, the danger of stinging nettles, and SO MUCH FUN! I can't think of a better way to say (a temporary) goodbye to Pine Valley and to coastal North Carolina. My cabin was full of wonderful, fun girls, the other counselors were a great help, and I never stop marveling at how smart, faithful, fun, and self-sufficient our youth are. Thank you, everyone at Pine Valley, for making the week and the past three years such a delightful and challenging experience.
One of the highlights of the week was serving communion on the dock. I'd served once before at church and loved it. You get to look each person in the eyes and say, "This is the body of Christ, broken for you." (Or, if you're serving the juice, "This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.") One kid had the kid behind him take a picture, with a flash, which threw me off and made me laugh. Alex was playing the guitar behind us for ambience. Randy was serving the grape juice to my left. A perfect evening. Does anyone know whether a Presbyterian pastor would be allowed to serve communion in that style (people come up to the front instead of staying in their seats)? I think so. I hope so.
It didn't hit me until the next day that I can look forward to doing that kind of thing in my regular life. This also happened the day I got my first acceptance to a seminary, when I went to an MFA event and a professor told me all about how he grew up in the church and what made him leave it. "I'm going to get to have conversations like this all the time!" I thought. What an honor.
As I prepare to move on Friday, my calendar is filling up with lunches and dinners and other last hurrahs. Another cause for great rejoicing; I have so many great friends and so many great places to go and enjoy unique food. As hard as it is to leave, I try to keep in mind that you don't cry because a chapter ends (unless, as Ashley pointed out, it's the chapter in Harry Potter where Dumbledore dies, even though in that case you're not crying just because the chapter's over). You process it and get excited about the next chapter. So instead of moping about leaving (mostly), I look at Richmond churches' websites and the YMCA yoga schedule and my school email account and everything else that helps me focus on the possibilities and the growth to come. And I thank God for everything.
One of the highlights of the week was serving communion on the dock. I'd served once before at church and loved it. You get to look each person in the eyes and say, "This is the body of Christ, broken for you." (Or, if you're serving the juice, "This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.") One kid had the kid behind him take a picture, with a flash, which threw me off and made me laugh. Alex was playing the guitar behind us for ambience. Randy was serving the grape juice to my left. A perfect evening. Does anyone know whether a Presbyterian pastor would be allowed to serve communion in that style (people come up to the front instead of staying in their seats)? I think so. I hope so.
It didn't hit me until the next day that I can look forward to doing that kind of thing in my regular life. This also happened the day I got my first acceptance to a seminary, when I went to an MFA event and a professor told me all about how he grew up in the church and what made him leave it. "I'm going to get to have conversations like this all the time!" I thought. What an honor.
As I prepare to move on Friday, my calendar is filling up with lunches and dinners and other last hurrahs. Another cause for great rejoicing; I have so many great friends and so many great places to go and enjoy unique food. As hard as it is to leave, I try to keep in mind that you don't cry because a chapter ends (unless, as Ashley pointed out, it's the chapter in Harry Potter where Dumbledore dies, even though in that case you're not crying just because the chapter's over). You process it and get excited about the next chapter. So instead of moping about leaving (mostly), I look at Richmond churches' websites and the YMCA yoga schedule and my school email account and everything else that helps me focus on the possibilities and the growth to come. And I thank God for everything.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Photos from Wedding #1, Lauren and Paul
If you want to see some more photos, the public link to my FB album is http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150652364300243.688552.890485242&=16a19bed75. Here are a few others.
The church.
The carriage ride. 
The cake cutting. As I took many pictures of this, I was standing next to some teenagers who worked at the winery. I asked if they had a lot of weddings, and they said they were booked for 68 weeks. I said, "But this is the best one, right?" They said, "She is really pretty."
Some of the views we're talkin' about. Who knew this was in Missouri? I would seriously go back just for the heck of it.
Lauren's grandfather playing the clarinet at the brewery. He also played at the rehearsal dinner a little bit.
The sweet puppy at the brewery.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!
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!
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