While I’m waiting for my ride to my friend’swedding, I thought I’d bring you up to date.
Last weekend I played fashion consultant. Ifyou’re rolling your eyes right now, it’s okay. I’m so happy for myfriend, I’m a little gushy, so bear with me. My friend doesn’t wanta traditional wedding dress, so she bought a lovely ivory dresswith delicate pink, blue, and yellow flowers (you know I loveflowers) down part of the front and part of the back of the dressfrom a department store. It’s off the shoulder with a scallopneckline and sleeves. I’m not doing it justice, but she looksmagical in it.
To top off the outfit, she has a wide pearland crystal (fake, but good fake) headband that looks like a crown,it’s that pretty. Of course, she has fancy shoes with crystals atthe toes, and really high heels, which she needs since she’s tinyand her man is tall.
Got to go. My ride is here. I’ll finishtelling you everything when I get home.
I’m back home now. Boo was happy to see me.His standard “You’ve been away too long” greeting is to jump anddown, then give me kisses until I’m coated with dog goo. Nothingwrong with being kissed all over.
The wedding: When we got to where we weregoing, we checked in at a lovely hotel. Even though the wedding wassmall and not entirely traditional, everyone got dressed up, whichI enjoy. Pretty dress, hair done up, more makeup than usual, spikeyheels – it’s not something I’d want to do every day, but every oncein a while, it’s fun.
The church was small and historic, and thepriest was so old I was worried he wouldn’t be able to staystanding. But the ceremony went off without a hitch. The bridelooked like an angel, and her husband couldn’t take his eyes offher. They are very taken with each other.
Since we were a small party, we had thewedding dinner at a fabulous restaurant that served traditionalItalian food, Honestly, I don’t remember ever eating such a goodmeal in a restaurant. The wine flowed all night, and we drank toomuch, which made for loud and happy conversations. We all talkedover each other, and by the time the wedding cake was wheeled out,pretty much everyone was stupid drunk. Except the father of thebride, who is not the type of person to lose control. While Ididn’t keep an eye on him all night, I don’t think he had more thana couple of glasses of alcohol, and we were there for over fourhours.
The next day, three of us had lunch withfriends. I didn’t think I’d be hungry after all that food the nightbefore, but this restaurant has mainly bar food, but someinteresting dishes. They have a Kung Pao Brussel sprout dish I hadto try, which was fantastic. The foodie in me also had to taste theMexican corn salad, and that didn’t disappoint either. No hair ofthe dog for me. I stuck to tea and bubbly water.
I had a great time. One of those memorabledays you know you’ll never forget.
Our friends were excellent company, funnyand engaging, but too soon we had to leave to go home.
I’m going to unpack, do laundry, and feedBoo.
Back to work tomorrow.
Flower
I want to call him and tell him about my day.I want to hear his voice to make sure he’s all right. I want him tobe here so I can cook him dinner. I want him to hold me while wesleep.
I can’t have what I want, so I write anotherletter, knowing he’s cut off from his world while trying to puthorrible people behind bars.
Ross,
Ugh, what a day. Not work. That wentsmoothly. But the minute I got in my car to head home my phone wentoff. First, my sister – older by three years – called to inform mewe’re having Thanksgiving at our parents’ house since they don’twant to drive to my sister’s home to celebrate. For the past twoyears we’ve been going to my sister’s because the day afterThanksgiving is her youngest daughter’s birthday. We make it adouble event. I got the full-on bitching and moaning tirade abouthow intractable our mother is, and my sister was in rare formtoday. While I don’t disagree with her, at this point in our lives,she shouldn’t be surprised.
For as long as I have memory, my mother,whose career was a homemaker, was cleaning or organizing something.If she wasn’t washing the dishes – she eschewed the dishwasher – orscrubbing the floor, she was cleaning the bathroom. The closets andcabinets got rotated and wiped down regularly. Our garage wascleaner than the interior of most people’s homes, and our yard wasmeticulous. Weeds wouldn’t dare grow there.
One hundred percent true story: Our motheris a small woman, as in barely five feet tall. One day my sisterand I come home from school and we hear vague banging noises. Wewalk through the house and look out the back to see if for somereason our dad is home doing yardwork. When we don’t see anythingout of the ordinary, we go into the kitchen and our mother isstanding inside the refrigerator – the freezer was on top and themodel was old – cleaning it from top to bottom. All the shelveswere on the counter – what we must’ve heard banging – along withthe food, and she’s inside muttering about how filthy everythingis. She used strong cleaner, probably some bleach solution, and wascoughing while she’s inside that oblong box scrubbing like her lifedepended on it.
That is not an extreme story, but anemblematic one.
She, way more than our father, needs tocontrol her environment, and she doesn’t like to deviate from theknown or the plan. She’s been to my sister’s for Thanksgiving thepast two years and has been there in years previous. No way wasgoing to my sister’s house a surprise. But by our mother’sstandards, since my sister mentioned it ten days beforeThanksgiving, my mother said that it was last minute and shecouldn’t be there with such short notice. The best part of thestory is my sister lives fifteen miles away from our parents, whileit’s over an hour drive for me to get to either of them.
Apparently, my sister tried to get my motherto change her mind, but when she told my sister she could haveThanksgiving without her and Dad, that was the final straw. Hence,the phone call to me.
One of the consequences of being in myprofession is my family thinks I can “shrink” wayward familymembers into good behavior or compliance. What everyone seems toforget is that those people are my family too, and we have dynamicsof our own. Regardless, my sister was on a tear, and to keep herfrom breaking the full set of Waterford crystal glasses my parentsbought as a fifth anniversary present – yes, my sister likes tothreaten the Waterford regularly, and the glasses are really prettyso it would be a shame for her to smash them against the diningroom wall – I agreed to call our mother.
At this juncture, I should’ve driven home,changed my clothes, spent some time with Boo, and had a glass ofwine in my hand when I spoke to our mother. But, in the interestsof getting what I knew would be a fruitless endeavor done asquickly as possible, I sat in my car, in the parking lot behind myoffice building, and made the call.
Two minutes into the conversation, I gaveup. Mom was loaded for bear and waiting for me to ring. She pickedup so fast, it was as if her finger was poised over the button.Immediately, she snarled, “I knew she would use you to get me tochange my mind.” All hope of détente was lost before I fired myopening salvo. I tried for a couple of minutes, said I’d see her onThursday, and hung up. Then I went home, changed my clothes, andspent some time with Boo. I made sure I had a glass of wine in myhand before I called my sister to tell her the happy news.
Things devolved from there. I’d failed thechallenge, and all hope was lost for a joyful Thanksgiving dinner.Did I mention my sister can be a little melodramatic? In less thanan hour, which might be a new world record, I managed to talk heraround, and promised I’d get there early to be part of thefortification team. The other member of the team is my sister’ssister-in-law, Andie, who I adore. She’s the antithesis ofeverything my mother treasures in a “young woman”: dresses like alady – don’t get me started – has an “acceptable” profession – FYI,I don’t – is married to a “good provider” – as if a woman can’tprovide for herself – and she has at least one child by the timeshe’s thirty.
Andie is five-nine, is built like a Vegasheadline stripper, has different color hair every time I see her,dresses in super-bright t-shirts she wears under farmer’s overalls,and has a variety of vintage Doc Martens boots, mostly red. Myfavorite is the bright red pair with white polka dots.
Andie’s thirty-nine, has never been married,has been living with a fairly well-known rock star for aboutthirteen years – who I pray is coming on Thursday – and Andie is awell-regarded sculptor. Andie’s older brother is my brother-in-law,Sebastian, who is a tenured English professor, and used to be mysister’s college professor – he’s ten year older than her so it’snot as scandalous as our mother makes it out to be – who “charmed”my sister into eloping when she was a junior, and they didn’t starthaving kids until six years ago.
Families… You gotta love ’em.
