Like other special days in our lives, Christmas, New Year and the days around them tend to invoke my very vivid memories of my fifty-mumble Christmases. Daddy never talked about his childhood Christmases (stupid me, I didn't ask), and Mother's biggest memory was of the time they all got some candy, and her older sister hid hers in the sewing machine drawer so that when their brother ate all of his, she could retrieve hers and eat it in front of him. He beat her at her own game by finding the hiding place and consuming the goodies, then laughed at the sister when her big moment fizzled.
My Christmas memories are divided by the places we lived. Lexington, a snowy city when I was young, California and warm Christmases later on, and Arkansas and the decorated staircase banister. Hunting for Christmas trees every place we lived, until I married a man allergic to evergreen. Through all of those years, Mother was baking and decorating. She made fruit cakes (and you haven't had fruit cake unless you've had one baked in October and given a "little drink" every few days until Christmas), fudge, divinity, marble divinity, cookies. And those are just the sweets. Midnight Mass, the big breakfast on Christmas morning (which drove my wanting-to-open-presents husband nuts as we were finally ready for "The Tree" at 11:30 when Mother realized she didn't have film for her camera and sent Daddy and me out to locate some). In earlier years, there was always one unwrapped gift waiting to surprise us as we entered the room. Mother loved Christmas and the wonder, and her devout belief in the religious origins and adherence to many Advent customs (Advent wreath with, yes, daily prayers, and I used to get up early to go to daily Mass with her) didn't prevent her from enjoying the secular traditions. When Darling Daughter was about 7, I asked Mother when I stopped believing in Santa. My then 77-year old mother turned wide eyes on me and said, "You don't believe in Santa?" And that was the last word on that!
Once we had our Darling Daughter 26 years ago, many Christmases were spent at our own home, although there were a few during which we traveled 876 miles to my Mother's. Each time, Dearest Husband declared that never again would we traverse snowy and icy roads for Christmas in Arkansas, but he gave in and we would go back. I have so many memories of Christmases the past 26 years. There was the year our Darling Daughter needed a nap during the opening of presents, the time she'd rather play with the bows than the gifts we bought her. The time Santa's Helper at the Mall told her that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were boys' toys and she asserted, "Girls, too!" I was so proud! There were years she hounded us out of bed at 6, then the years we had to haul her out at 10:30. The year we gave her Dad a Razorback Beanie Baby, the year we gave her a red Tommy coat, the year she and I wrapped "Apollo XIII" in a BIG box so Dearest Hubby wouldn't know he was getting it. I remember movies a lot. We always had a new one on video to watch, and then, after our Darling Daughter got a job at a movie theater, we actually saw a movie on Christmas Day while she worked. Just being in the same building meant Christmas together. More recently, DD's had to fly home and Christmas has meant DH's compulsive collecting and decorating. Picture the house from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation," only inside.
And now, 2009, a new set of memories begin: our first with our Wonderful Son-in-law (hereafter just Wonderful Son; the genie in me wishes precise definitions of relationship, but my heart just thinks Son). He came to visit during the Christmas season shortly after we met him, but left to be with his family for the big day. For a while, I couldn't remember if he was with us for Christmas Day that year or not, since I associate that year with his visit. I remember him making snow angels and decorating cookies when he was here. And snuggled up asleep on the couch with Darling Daughter. Last year, his responsibilities prohibited him from being able to come up and we missed him, but this year, we get to have the pleasure of his company.
And, of course, coming up with DD & WS will be Fabulous Grandson, making his first Christmas appearance anywhere. And we get to share it. What will the future hold? FG decorating cookies along with Dad. DD reading to FG? FG helping DH with the Village? More snow angels in our yard? Noisy toys? Games? Visits to their house for Christmas, watching his Mommy & Daddy tuck him in several times on Christmas Eve? All that and more. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, I can't wait.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Defining Heat, (probably) Part 1
There's a television show (bows to my Snow Queen friend who equated geekdom by her television shows, either the number, or the shows, or the fact that she could rattle them off so easily, I'm not sure) that's been on the USA network for two seasons now, Leverage. The characters are interesting and I like Parker best, the thief who's a bit crazy, but, even the first time I watched it, at my advanced age of 29+++, I realized that some of my friends, and probably many women, would enjoy it to watch Eliot, the martial arts-warrior member of the crew. His face is nice, but not wildly handsome. He's got muscles, which most of us find somewhat attractive, but there's just something that he exudes that says, "I am the hottie around here." This character wears workout clothes, sometimes gloves without fingers, a stocking cap (Daddy called it a watch cap, but I am sure there's another name now), and a ponytail, from which his hair occasionally falls. I've always liked long hair (although I never could get DH to grow his long), and the relaxed look this character is just amusingly appealing to me (I may be a grandmother now, but I can still appreciate art, right?).
This past weekend, a customer (although not necessarily one of OUR customers) came in and headed immediately for the computers to try to get on and do who-knows-what-but-not-genealogy. I saw him from the side and back (no face) as he entered and immediately though, "Ugh!" Then I realized he was dressed exactly like Eliot does on the show, the clothes, gloves, cap and ponytail. The difference is that this guy looked (and smelled) like he hadn't bathed or washed his clothes in a week. The contrast of well-packaged scruffy guy (popular in cinema, television and fiction) and street-person scruffy guy (common in real life), so similar yet so different, was startling. Therefore, my first definition of hotness, which was probably a given anyway, is that of cleanliness. One may look ragged, but one's clothes must be clean and one must have bathed within recent memory. In other words, bad boys must not smell bad(ly).
This past weekend, a customer (although not necessarily one of OUR customers) came in and headed immediately for the computers to try to get on and do who-knows-what-but-not-genealogy. I saw him from the side and back (no face) as he entered and immediately though, "Ugh!" Then I realized he was dressed exactly like Eliot does on the show, the clothes, gloves, cap and ponytail. The difference is that this guy looked (and smelled) like he hadn't bathed or washed his clothes in a week. The contrast of well-packaged scruffy guy (popular in cinema, television and fiction) and street-person scruffy guy (common in real life), so similar yet so different, was startling. Therefore, my first definition of hotness, which was probably a given anyway, is that of cleanliness. One may look ragged, but one's clothes must be clean and one must have bathed within recent memory. In other words, bad boys must not smell bad(ly).
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Flights of fancy
I'm one of those people for whom air travel has been an occasional pleasure. A couple of business trips, a few vacations. I could count the number of round trips without taking off both shoes, which, in a life that's well into the sixth decade, isn't that many. I'm lucky that, unlike some friends, I don't get an upset stomach, and I am not terrified. The acceleration and little bounce as the plane takes off, and the drag of the wheels and sharp breaking as it lands are still exciting. I love to sit by the window and watch the landscape go by, although I never know for sure where we are. And, as far as fear is concerned, I figure that crashing would be terrifying for a moment, but would go fast and probably leave no pieces requiring medical intervention. Plus the family might get a nice settlement.
So, as everyone who knows anything about me is already aware, my daughter and son-in-law gifted the world with a child on August 11, providing, as a colleague says, a branch for the family tree. Although we had already decided that, due to the press of work commitments and the distance (and cost) of travel, we would wait to go visit in October, dearest husband decided that our daughter needed me just as much as I needed to see them. He had me arrange time off and put me on a plane for a week-long visit. I was lucky because I felt needed and useful, lucky because I was wanted by my daughter, and extremely lucky that my son-in-law is so welcoming and adaptable. And fortunate beyond measure that our new grandson is healthy and strong and beautiful. He eats enough to grow, sleeps enough to allow his parents some respite, and cries enough to keep his lungs clear. As he grows, he won't be perfect, but he will be loved enough to be secure and respectful.
My flight back on Sunday was a bit sad, two months is a long time in baby time. He will be older and more lively when I see him again, the cuddly newborn time past, but the active baby time to be anticipated. I got to thinking about my first airplane trip, to my grandmother's funeral when I was nine. She was the only grandparent I ever knew. I, along with one cousin, was at the tail end of 20 years of grandchildren. My cousin lived near her and knew her very well. I lived 600 miles away when I was small, and, at the time of her death, 1500+ miles distant. She had visited us for long blocks of time in my early years, often a month or more at a time, and I do have pleasant memories of her. She liked to walked our Chihuahua when I was small. She disapproved of litter-bugs. She let me play with her green eye-shade. But generally, I think she was bored with grandchildren, and perhaps worn down with a life she hadn't expected, so I didn't know her well and have no real personal memories of her. Mother was devastated by her death, and Daddy, much like dearest husband, knew that she needed to fly back for the funeral, and needed someone with her to distract her. He selected me. After all, I bore the same first name as both my mother and grandmother, and could ride on a child's fare. We flew out of Fresno two days later. After a few moments of panic at the start, I loved flying, and have ever since. But I always think of Grandmother when I fly, with a pang of regret that I couldn't mourn her as my cousin did. I really didn't know her. But this time it really hit me that I never really knew the only grandparent who was still living when I was born.
I don't want to be the type of grandmother that isn't known by my grandchild except as a vague memory. I want to see and hear him, even if it's over Skype. I want to know him through photos (thank you, dear son-in-law), texts and emails. I want to see him grow, know of his fears and joys, his small disappointments and great successes. Even if I can't always understand what he says, I want to listen, and even if I don't comprehend his activities, I want to watch him do them. I don't care about being fun (I won't be out playing touch football with him) or cool (certainly I'll be no competition on the computer games), although I wouldn't mind being the grandma who knows what treat he likes. And I'd like to be able to tell him about my parents and our trips across the country, about his mother as a child, how strong and beautiful and talented she was. And I want to tell the story of grandparents' first meeting with his dad and the forty questions. And when, I hope many years distant, he perhaps flies to my funeral, doesn't feel regret that we never knew each other.
So, as everyone who knows anything about me is already aware, my daughter and son-in-law gifted the world with a child on August 11, providing, as a colleague says, a branch for the family tree. Although we had already decided that, due to the press of work commitments and the distance (and cost) of travel, we would wait to go visit in October, dearest husband decided that our daughter needed me just as much as I needed to see them. He had me arrange time off and put me on a plane for a week-long visit. I was lucky because I felt needed and useful, lucky because I was wanted by my daughter, and extremely lucky that my son-in-law is so welcoming and adaptable. And fortunate beyond measure that our new grandson is healthy and strong and beautiful. He eats enough to grow, sleeps enough to allow his parents some respite, and cries enough to keep his lungs clear. As he grows, he won't be perfect, but he will be loved enough to be secure and respectful.
My flight back on Sunday was a bit sad, two months is a long time in baby time. He will be older and more lively when I see him again, the cuddly newborn time past, but the active baby time to be anticipated. I got to thinking about my first airplane trip, to my grandmother's funeral when I was nine. She was the only grandparent I ever knew. I, along with one cousin, was at the tail end of 20 years of grandchildren. My cousin lived near her and knew her very well. I lived 600 miles away when I was small, and, at the time of her death, 1500+ miles distant. She had visited us for long blocks of time in my early years, often a month or more at a time, and I do have pleasant memories of her. She liked to walked our Chihuahua when I was small. She disapproved of litter-bugs. She let me play with her green eye-shade. But generally, I think she was bored with grandchildren, and perhaps worn down with a life she hadn't expected, so I didn't know her well and have no real personal memories of her. Mother was devastated by her death, and Daddy, much like dearest husband, knew that she needed to fly back for the funeral, and needed someone with her to distract her. He selected me. After all, I bore the same first name as both my mother and grandmother, and could ride on a child's fare. We flew out of Fresno two days later. After a few moments of panic at the start, I loved flying, and have ever since. But I always think of Grandmother when I fly, with a pang of regret that I couldn't mourn her as my cousin did. I really didn't know her. But this time it really hit me that I never really knew the only grandparent who was still living when I was born.
I don't want to be the type of grandmother that isn't known by my grandchild except as a vague memory. I want to see and hear him, even if it's over Skype. I want to know him through photos (thank you, dear son-in-law), texts and emails. I want to see him grow, know of his fears and joys, his small disappointments and great successes. Even if I can't always understand what he says, I want to listen, and even if I don't comprehend his activities, I want to watch him do them. I don't care about being fun (I won't be out playing touch football with him) or cool (certainly I'll be no competition on the computer games), although I wouldn't mind being the grandma who knows what treat he likes. And I'd like to be able to tell him about my parents and our trips across the country, about his mother as a child, how strong and beautiful and talented she was. And I want to tell the story of grandparents' first meeting with his dad and the forty questions. And when, I hope many years distant, he perhaps flies to my funeral, doesn't feel regret that we never knew each other.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Saving & Genetics
My Mom really knew how to use save and reuse things. I am sure this was due to her early life, part of which was spent on a small farm, and then her early adult years during the Great Depression and WWII. Among other things, she saved plastic plates, cups, spoons, forks, etc. She'd wash and reuse them. I am her daughter, and have the same genetic predisposition save junk for reuse. So, although I don't save the plates and seldom save the cups, the plastic forks and spoons get saved and resued. What else does one put in a lunch or dinner for work? Some people will carry metal ones, but not us! The loss of a plastic spoon won't bother us like losing another of our flatwear spoons will.
Mother was an early recycler, washing out and resuing the occasional glass jar (as I do now), and her biscuit/cookie cutter was a metal baking powder tin with the end cut off. When I was first married, I promptly bought and used some of the same brand baking powder so I could make my own biscuit and cookie cutter. (Good thing I did it then because now that brand comes in cardboard.) Margarine tubs are reused in my house just like they were in hers. I've even gone a step farther. I reuse the plastic tubs that frosting comes in. Since Mother NEVER used prepared frosting, she never had the opportunity to reuse these tubs. So, although we never wore flour sack clothes, she was sharp about getting another use from things, and passed that along to me.
Why am I thinking of this? Recently, my grocery has sold these nifty little tarts for a low price, each baked in a tiny aluminum pie pan. These aluminum pans look too nice to just throw away, so I have a little stack of them ready to use ... how? Dunno yet. William finally noticed my little stack and asked, "Are you saving those?" Yes, I said, because maybe I could reuse them someway. He then said, "Aunt Mary." and left the room.
This is a reference to my mother's older sister, Mary (born Narcissa Mary) Holt Cunningham. She had the remarkable ability to take anything that was a good idea just a little too far. She too saved and reused. To excess. When her house (in which she had lived for 40 years) was being cleaned out after she died at age 95, we found she had saved, pressed flat, folded and stored in boxes, dozens of foil and paper Arby's wrappers. We aren't sure what she planned to do with them, and I am sure rolled in her grave was as threw them away.
I'm not sure what I'll do with the aluminum pie pans, but I'll keep them for now. But keep an eye on me when I got to Arby's, OK?
Mother was an early recycler, washing out and resuing the occasional glass jar (as I do now), and her biscuit/cookie cutter was a metal baking powder tin with the end cut off. When I was first married, I promptly bought and used some of the same brand baking powder so I could make my own biscuit and cookie cutter. (Good thing I did it then because now that brand comes in cardboard.) Margarine tubs are reused in my house just like they were in hers. I've even gone a step farther. I reuse the plastic tubs that frosting comes in. Since Mother NEVER used prepared frosting, she never had the opportunity to reuse these tubs. So, although we never wore flour sack clothes, she was sharp about getting another use from things, and passed that along to me.
Why am I thinking of this? Recently, my grocery has sold these nifty little tarts for a low price, each baked in a tiny aluminum pie pan. These aluminum pans look too nice to just throw away, so I have a little stack of them ready to use ... how? Dunno yet. William finally noticed my little stack and asked, "Are you saving those?" Yes, I said, because maybe I could reuse them someway. He then said, "Aunt Mary." and left the room.
This is a reference to my mother's older sister, Mary (born Narcissa Mary) Holt Cunningham. She had the remarkable ability to take anything that was a good idea just a little too far. She too saved and reused. To excess. When her house (in which she had lived for 40 years) was being cleaned out after she died at age 95, we found she had saved, pressed flat, folded and stored in boxes, dozens of foil and paper Arby's wrappers. We aren't sure what she planned to do with them, and I am sure rolled in her grave was as threw them away.
I'm not sure what I'll do with the aluminum pie pans, but I'll keep them for now. But keep an eye on me when I got to Arby's, OK?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Good grief! A movie review, for heaven's sake!
Well, we saw the movie Marley & Me last night. I had been looking forward to it after having heard from someone that it was the "Ole Yeller" of the 21st Century, a tale of a man and his dog. What an uncomfortable disappointment. I absolutely hated watching this giant dog race and chew his way through the movie (although I suppose it was good at portraying how difficult managing a large dog can be, so that viewers don't rush right out to find big, lovable dogs of their own without some thought to discipline), and I despised the main character. I am one of those people who cannot see Owen Wilson as an intelligent hero, which was good here, because he played an irresponsible man who gives his wife a puppy so she won't want kids too soon, who whines constantly because his career is a success until his wife allows him to uproot the family so he can find real happiness doing what he really wants to do, only to discover that, surprise, he had what he wanted all along. What a pain. The only real bright spot in the movie was Kathleen Turner in a brief appearance as the dog trainer.
So, I say required for anyone thinking of getting a big dog, but anyone else: pass.
So, I say required for anyone thinking of getting a big dog, but anyone else: pass.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
GTT
I've run across this common notation in 19th Century documents many times. Especially in the Southern states, this mysterious note may have been the last mention of a person or family in local records. It meant, of course, Gone to Texas, signifying that the person or family had decided to give in to the temptation for adventure, the promise of prosperity, the need of desperation and go to the wide open wilderness of Texas. Although such moved often heralded success for the family, it also signified a separation of the extended that often lasted for the rest of their lives, so mixed in with the excitement of the journey was also mixed with the sadness of parting.
As of Friday, June 26th, I can write GTT for my daughter and her new husband. Of course, they were only going from Oklahoma, where she had gone to school and they had met, and he is a Texas native anyway, but GTT came to my mind. And, of course, they aren't gone, perhaps never to be seen again. It's no longer a long day's drive to see them, but is instead a two hour flight, and we hope to go down in October, so it's not nearly the same as when my great-great grand-father's brother left the family in Kentucky to go to Alabama and then was GTT, but this has made me sympathetic to the brothers who never saw each other again.
For now, we wish them the best, rejoice for their adventures ahead, and are glad they have family and friends already in place.
But, please, no Longhorn tee-shirts!
As of Friday, June 26th, I can write GTT for my daughter and her new husband. Of course, they were only going from Oklahoma, where she had gone to school and they had met, and he is a Texas native anyway, but GTT came to my mind. And, of course, they aren't gone, perhaps never to be seen again. It's no longer a long day's drive to see them, but is instead a two hour flight, and we hope to go down in October, so it's not nearly the same as when my great-great grand-father's brother left the family in Kentucky to go to Alabama and then was GTT, but this has made me sympathetic to the brothers who never saw each other again.
For now, we wish them the best, rejoice for their adventures ahead, and are glad they have family and friends already in place.
But, please, no Longhorn tee-shirts!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
More about Bea Bea
Bea Bea's fine. She and Mercedes are very friendly, playing and running. They touch noses once in a while. Bea still likes to sleep near her carrier. She stays off of the couch and blue chair (she smells that those are Mercedes) and got a bit hissy when Mercedes started sniffing around the carrier, which was OK. It's hers. Mehitabel is still stand-offish. She comes around and then Bea Bea will show up, hoping. Mehitabel hisses and retreats, but she doesn't retreat very far, so we still have hope.
Bea Bea is so sweet when we come home. She jumps up on the counter or table, stretches out on our newspaper, and rubs our faces. William thinks she's gaining a bit of weight, but says he doesn't have time to regulate her eating habits, as her parents did. We are hoping she will adjust.
Bea misses Mommy & Daddy, and runs to the front door whenever it opens, waiting for them to return. In fact, we were wondering where she was the other day, so I just went and opened and closed (quickly!) the front door. Sure enough, here she comes!
She goes Monday for her surgery, laser de-clawing. Although she doesn't scratch us anymore (much), she is doing a number on our curtains, screens, and various pieces of furniture, plus, eventually she will be around David, so we think this a logical step.
She still plays a lot, with her toys or anything else she can find (like the pear shaped pepper shaker), and loves to get on the counters, behind the small appliances and canisters, although I worry about her wandering around the stove when I am cooking. She enjoys looking out the windows, but I doubt she sees as much interesting stuff in quiet suburbia as she did looking out the windows of her former campus home. We keep telling her that in a few months she'll be at her new digs. But for now, we are certainly enjoying our Grandkitty.
Bea Bea is so sweet when we come home. She jumps up on the counter or table, stretches out on our newspaper, and rubs our faces. William thinks she's gaining a bit of weight, but says he doesn't have time to regulate her eating habits, as her parents did. We are hoping she will adjust.
Bea misses Mommy & Daddy, and runs to the front door whenever it opens, waiting for them to return. In fact, we were wondering where she was the other day, so I just went and opened and closed (quickly!) the front door. Sure enough, here she comes!
She goes Monday for her surgery, laser de-clawing. Although she doesn't scratch us anymore (much), she is doing a number on our curtains, screens, and various pieces of furniture, plus, eventually she will be around David, so we think this a logical step.
She still plays a lot, with her toys or anything else she can find (like the pear shaped pepper shaker), and loves to get on the counters, behind the small appliances and canisters, although I worry about her wandering around the stove when I am cooking. She enjoys looking out the windows, but I doubt she sees as much interesting stuff in quiet suburbia as she did looking out the windows of her former campus home. We keep telling her that in a few months she'll be at her new digs. But for now, we are certainly enjoying our Grandkitty.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Bea Bea!
So we have a little visitor right now: James and Catherine's Bea Bea (age one year). While they job hunt and until they get settled, they decided that maybe leaving her with us might be a good idea. We first got her in Greenfield, IN, the Sunday before the wedding. They had to go to Ohio and it seemed easier, on them and on Bea Bea to bring her to us sooner rather than later. She travels well, and slept in her carried the whole way back to Fort Wayne, although J&C tell us that she is happy to sit on the seat as well. Our Mehitabel (age 7) and Mercedes (age 8) yowel like we are skinning them if we even take them outside.
Bea's been to our house before, so we showed her food and the litter box and let her go. She cased the house over the next day, getting comfortable, btu was very happy when "the kids" arrived. Lots of upheaval followed as we got ready for the wedding, left, and then returned, but then we had visitors, so all three kitties were skittish.
We have tried to give Bea Bea her space while she adapted. Well, she will TAKE her space most vigorously if we don't! She's discovered several spaces that are "hers," like beside the cabinet in the dining room, and she LOVED to be up on the counters. She wanders behind the small appliances and up on the kitchen sink windowsill. She's started playing with Mercedes, running back and forth through the house, but sometimes when she wants to play, Mercedes just looks at her. Bea Bea's careful to stay away from Mercedes's "places" like the blue chair and our bed. Mehitabel, our extremely shy kitty, has not been around often. Bea Bea tries. We've heard a bit of hissing and Bea Bea's chased Mehitabel under a bed. My hope is that Bea may help Mehitabel play more. But my belief is that Mehitabel just wants to be left alone.
But now we see what Catherine and James about Bea being so loving. When we come home, she jumps on the table or up on the counter to greet us and rub faces, a cat's way of claiming and marking us. She's great and lots of fun, but we remember that we are only caring for her, and that soon she will be back with James and Catherine. We will have fun with her while we can, but we know that she really wants her parents back!
Bea's been to our house before, so we showed her food and the litter box and let her go. She cased the house over the next day, getting comfortable, btu was very happy when "the kids" arrived. Lots of upheaval followed as we got ready for the wedding, left, and then returned, but then we had visitors, so all three kitties were skittish.
We have tried to give Bea Bea her space while she adapted. Well, she will TAKE her space most vigorously if we don't! She's discovered several spaces that are "hers," like beside the cabinet in the dining room, and she LOVED to be up on the counters. She wanders behind the small appliances and up on the kitchen sink windowsill. She's started playing with Mercedes, running back and forth through the house, but sometimes when she wants to play, Mercedes just looks at her. Bea Bea's careful to stay away from Mercedes's "places" like the blue chair and our bed. Mehitabel, our extremely shy kitty, has not been around often. Bea Bea tries. We've heard a bit of hissing and Bea Bea's chased Mehitabel under a bed. My hope is that Bea may help Mehitabel play more. But my belief is that Mehitabel just wants to be left alone.
But now we see what Catherine and James about Bea being so loving. When we come home, she jumps on the table or up on the counter to greet us and rub faces, a cat's way of claiming and marking us. She's great and lots of fun, but we remember that we are only caring for her, and that soon she will be back with James and Catherine. We will have fun with her while we can, but we know that she really wants her parents back!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wedding!
Well, the wedding, so looked forwarded to and planned for, has come and gone, so quickly it seems. It was a great day, a great time all around.
James and Catherine came up the week of the wedding to spend a bit of time with us and do some last minute stuff. Catherine had to get a new license, and she and James allowed me to go along when they purchased more centerpiece makings. Between James's great ideas and Catherine's ability to put those ideas into action, the centerpieces were wonderful: varied shaped glass vases filled with red stones holding various white flowers. Add those to the personalized baseballs and tiny boxes of candies and the tables were beautiful. (Due to a glitch, they didn't get decorated until the last minute, but friends and family stepped up to the plate and took care of it.) We also had a great time on James's birthday, the two of them and the two of us going to see Star Trek and Up.
James and Catherine each had celebrations with their respective wedding parties on Friday night, and William and I went to dinner with his sister and brother-in-law, Patty & Kevin from the Atlanta area, and my cousin and Aunt, now living in the Orlando area, after which we six sat in the lobby and talked and visited with incoming guests.
I could go into GREAT detail about the wedding day itself, so will concentrate on the wedding itself. It was beautiful. Catherine & James had, with the minister’s help, organized a moving service. Before the ceremony, Catherine was a tiny bit stressed. I can’t say “scared,” because she wasn’t. I can’t say “nervous,” because she wasn’t. But I could see the build-up of energy inside of her, but she handled it. When the doors opened, James’s face was transformed: excitement and over-whelming happiness. I was so pleased that such a nice man is so in love with my “little girl.” William said he had to hold Catherine back from galloping towards James (which was short and he wanted to enjoy walking his daughter down the aisle!)
They wrote their own vows, which were beautiful. They didn't try to memorize them, as if they had just thought them up. Catherine even stumbled over a word, correcting, which indicated to me that she knew what she wanted to say and said it. She laughed and apologized that her vows were longer than James's, an dit spoke of how relaxed they are with themselves, each other and their commitment. The exchange of rings was smooth, and they lit the unity candle, which went off without a hitch. I may be getting some of this out of order, but I do recall the kiss, and the pronouncement of them as "Mr. and Mrs. James and Catherine Pickrel!"
The reception at Wrigley Field was really fun, once they got there! They had a table with just two chairs, which was a great idea. They got some time alone and people came up to take photos and chat. William and I ended up sitting at separate tables to eat. When we had arrived the table where we were supposed to sit had been taken over by too much family and there wasn't space for two. My sister helped me drag another table over, but by then William was sitting with friends, and ended up returning there, which was actually nice as we got to talk to lots of people.
The food was great. Catherine and James had selected two great cakes: the wedding cake with a passion fruit filling, lightly decorated with red baseball-like stitching, and a chocolate (which I never got to sample!) groom's cake. The cake cutting was sweet. The DJ's query of a "neat" exchange of cake vs a messy one prompted Catherine's "neat!" So of course, I could see James Pop the cake neatly into her mouth. Lots of dancing and talking. I was very emotional but changeable: Peggy's comments about the wedding elicited a laughing response, but Melissa's same comment two minutes later turned on the waterworks! Catherine and William's bride & father dance also turned on the tears, not form sadness but from happiness that they had that special moment. James's brother Edward was so nice. He noticed my tears and came to give me a hug, saying that I'd really gained TWO sons, not just one!
I really appreciated all of the friends and family that came: the Chapmans, the Culbertsons, the Shimkuses, Colette & Patrick, and of course, Peggy, our sisters and husbands, my cousin and aunt, William's mom and her friend, his aunt, cousin and his wife, Jerry and Elizabeth from SL, and Bobbi & her hubby who "crashed" the party. It was great seeing everyone and having them celebrate this wonderful day with us. It went so fast but I will remember it forever.
Thank you! Now, on with life!
James and Catherine came up the week of the wedding to spend a bit of time with us and do some last minute stuff. Catherine had to get a new license, and she and James allowed me to go along when they purchased more centerpiece makings. Between James's great ideas and Catherine's ability to put those ideas into action, the centerpieces were wonderful: varied shaped glass vases filled with red stones holding various white flowers. Add those to the personalized baseballs and tiny boxes of candies and the tables were beautiful. (Due to a glitch, they didn't get decorated until the last minute, but friends and family stepped up to the plate and took care of it.) We also had a great time on James's birthday, the two of them and the two of us going to see Star Trek and Up.
James and Catherine each had celebrations with their respective wedding parties on Friday night, and William and I went to dinner with his sister and brother-in-law, Patty & Kevin from the Atlanta area, and my cousin and Aunt, now living in the Orlando area, after which we six sat in the lobby and talked and visited with incoming guests.
I could go into GREAT detail about the wedding day itself, so will concentrate on the wedding itself. It was beautiful. Catherine & James had, with the minister’s help, organized a moving service. Before the ceremony, Catherine was a tiny bit stressed. I can’t say “scared,” because she wasn’t. I can’t say “nervous,” because she wasn’t. But I could see the build-up of energy inside of her, but she handled it. When the doors opened, James’s face was transformed: excitement and over-whelming happiness. I was so pleased that such a nice man is so in love with my “little girl.” William said he had to hold Catherine back from galloping towards James (which was short and he wanted to enjoy walking his daughter down the aisle!)
They wrote their own vows, which were beautiful. They didn't try to memorize them, as if they had just thought them up. Catherine even stumbled over a word, correcting, which indicated to me that she knew what she wanted to say and said it. She laughed and apologized that her vows were longer than James's, an dit spoke of how relaxed they are with themselves, each other and their commitment. The exchange of rings was smooth, and they lit the unity candle, which went off without a hitch. I may be getting some of this out of order, but I do recall the kiss, and the pronouncement of them as "Mr. and Mrs. James and Catherine Pickrel!"
The reception at Wrigley Field was really fun, once they got there! They had a table with just two chairs, which was a great idea. They got some time alone and people came up to take photos and chat. William and I ended up sitting at separate tables to eat. When we had arrived the table where we were supposed to sit had been taken over by too much family and there wasn't space for two. My sister helped me drag another table over, but by then William was sitting with friends, and ended up returning there, which was actually nice as we got to talk to lots of people.
The food was great. Catherine and James had selected two great cakes: the wedding cake with a passion fruit filling, lightly decorated with red baseball-like stitching, and a chocolate (which I never got to sample!) groom's cake. The cake cutting was sweet. The DJ's query of a "neat" exchange of cake vs a messy one prompted Catherine's "neat!" So of course, I could see James Pop the cake neatly into her mouth. Lots of dancing and talking. I was very emotional but changeable: Peggy's comments about the wedding elicited a laughing response, but Melissa's same comment two minutes later turned on the waterworks! Catherine and William's bride & father dance also turned on the tears, not form sadness but from happiness that they had that special moment. James's brother Edward was so nice. He noticed my tears and came to give me a hug, saying that I'd really gained TWO sons, not just one!
I really appreciated all of the friends and family that came: the Chapmans, the Culbertsons, the Shimkuses, Colette & Patrick, and of course, Peggy, our sisters and husbands, my cousin and aunt, William's mom and her friend, his aunt, cousin and his wife, Jerry and Elizabeth from SL, and Bobbi & her hubby who "crashed" the party. It was great seeing everyone and having them celebrate this wonderful day with us. It went so fast but I will remember it forever.
Thank you! Now, on with life!
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