Grandparentage

My dad’s mom – “Gram,” as Josh and I called her – passed away when I was 21. We had always been very close, and I went to visit her in San Diego every year in addition to her trips to the Midwest to visit us. I have wonderful memories of my San Diego vacations and of my time with Gram, and it was really, really hard for me when she died – especially because I was just finishing the school year and couldn’t be out in CA with my parents.

One of our yearly San Diego adventures – the San Diego Zoo and Wild Animal Park!  source

She and I had a lot in common – loves of reading, arguing, politics, Brahms, and Scrabble. Ohhhh the Scrabble games… she taught me a lot about strategy and two-letter words. Ernie, her companion after Gramps (Gramps died before I was born, so sadly I

never got to meet him), and Gram would play VERY competitive Scrabble every night. In fact, sometimes they went to elderhostels that were actually Scrabble tournaments! After she died – Ernie had died several years earlier – I inherited their well-worn Scrabble board and dictionary. In the dictionary was a letter from Ernie that started “My Love” and proceeded to describe a tournament in detail! It’s simultaneously hilarious and poignant – I still look at it sometimes.

Gram’s favorite game – here are some of her strategic words.

One thing I loved (and admittedly resented sometimes) about Gram is that she liked to win, and she wasn’t about to let her granddaughter off easy when we played Scrabble together.  I vividly remember the only time I beat her – we were eating Trader Joe’s blue corn chips (her favorite) and sitting at her dining room table. When I realized that I was about to win, I got a little nervous that she was going to be mad! Well…. she might not have been mad, but we did have a pretty quiet evening after that.

A French beaded flower similar to Grandma’s from here 

I have some ideas for ways to incorporate my mom’s mom’s memory (Grandma) into the wedding, like using in my headpiece the bead flowers she used to make. My grandpa also recently gave me her ring to use as my wedding band. But I was struggling with a unique idea for Gram – I have her beautiful star opal/yellow gold engagement ring, but I already wear that a lot – it’s not necessarily unique to the wedding. Then I was reading this post from Offbeat Bride, and I thought, “Of course! I’ve seen these all over Etsy!”

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These charms are made from Scrabble tiles, and most sellers will work with you to incorporate your own picture. The photo side of the charm is covered with a sturdy, shiny resin. I think I’d like at least one of them – or maybe a picture of Gram & Gramps, or separate pictures – to hang from my bouquet like this:

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I know that details like this will go unnoticed by most people, but I kind of love having that little private meaning, and it’s important to me that my grandparents are still “with” me on our wedding day. Gram would have loved Tim, and it’s always made me sad that they were never able to meet. This is a way for her to be there with the two of us. (And Tim doesn’t even have to play Scrabble, a game he hates.)

What creative and meaningful ways have you chosen to incorporate family & friends who have passed away or can’t make it to your wedding?

Ouch.

File this under [purple suede] stupidity.

Now, I do love me some Stuart Weitzman. His ads are amazing and clever, his shoes fabulous *and* comfortable. In fact, my favorite concert shoes are a pair of SWs that I bought for $30 at an outlet in Freeport. Woot!

HOWEVER. Not only do these shoes look unduly painful (the platform just makes me giggle, since the stiletto is 4″), but someone decided that the Spanish word for “skewer” would be a good marketing device. Yes, folks, that word would be “Pincho.”

Sport these skewers and pincho your toes!

10.5 is the loneliest number.

After my accident, I was dismayed to discover that my left foot–formerly a size 10, like my right foot–had decided to become a size 10.5. You know how when you turn a shoe over at a store to check the price, it usually also says something like “6-10; 11?” That means the shoes come in half sizes from 6 to 10. And then skip to size 11. For some reason, women who wear a 10.5 are SOL. I can more easily understand stopping at size 10, or just coming in whole sizes to begin with. But “6-10; 11″ always confounded me, and now it makes me just plain cranky.

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Zappos, Piperlime, Endless, Nordstrom, and even–I’m a little embarrassed to say–the Bible-happy Sierra Trading Post (religion is cool; I just think it’s a little weird they put this right in their mission statement… so to speak) have all provided me with the wondrous “search-by-size” option. And they have SO many 10.5s! Some of these sites even have a heel height search, which is pretty sweet. At least a few of these stores generously offer free shipping and free returns. Awesome! The sad part is that I don’t often find well-fitting shoes when I’m shopping in a brick-and-mortar store anymore, and I also usually can’t buy cheap shoes because they’re just so bad for my ankle. In the process of buying many, many new pairs of shoes to experiment with (all in the interest of my health, of course!), I’ve discovered that moderate wedge and kitten heels are the best for me because they offer sturdy support, aren’t too tall, and take a little pressure off the *^%&^ ankle.

Since I have such a hard time finding shoes, they were accessory priority #1 after figuring out my dress. Alas, I’m still hunting for the perfect pair. I don’t have too many constraints except the heel height and the type of heel (not too skinny), and of course, the size. European sizes seem to work well for me, too. 

Here are a few I found just browsing on Zappos tonight:

Bandolino, Stuart Weitzman, La Canadienne, La Canadienne. All from Zappos.

And these at Nordstrom: 

Bruno Magli, Linea Paolo, Linea Paolo, Linea Paolo! All from Nordstrom. 

I’m fairly certain I’m in love with these purple ones, which look like they’d very closely match the purple bridesmaids’ dresses and the purple on my dress. The site says they run narrow, though, so I’d like to try on a few sizes. Unfortunately, Nordstrom doesn’t offer free shipping, and I’d probably have to ship them back to return them instead of going to a store = even more shipping costs. What to do???

Not a ringing endorsement.

Today we took a trip to the Big Mall because Tim’s hard drive conked out. Luckily, he had everything except iTunes backed up, but it still meant 2+ hours of driving. A trip to the mall is sorely tempting for someone like me.

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Of course, I’m remarkably good at finding things to do in a mall even when I can’t spend money. I can *pretend* to spend money! While we waited for his computer, I had the brilliant idea of stopping by a jeweler to get his ring size checked and suss out what a good width might be.

There is no shortage of jewelers at the Carousel Center, but I figured we should just find one that didn’t look too busy – we’re having his ring designed by someone on the fabulous Etsy, so the size details were really all we needed to figure out.

Tim put on about 8 different rings and had basically the same reaction to

 the widths of all of them: “……………………..” or [shrug] or :::sideways glance at me:::. Not exactly helpful. I kept prodding, saying things like, “Well, you could get that width but not as bulky,” and “Which fit feels the best?” just trying to gauge *any* kind of reaction. Nothing. And he and I could both see the saleswoman’s annoyance that she wasn’t going to make a sale.

Tim has never worn a ring before, and he’s concerned about it fitting badly and feeling weird and/or too heavy. The tricky part is that he wants it to look very irregular and handmade, so it might be hard to find something that’s comfortable with those characteristics. The rings he likes look like these, but in yellow gold and about 5-6mm wide:

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I thought it would be be good to ask the designer to make it as thin as possible, with the inside being polished smooth and the outside texture taking care of making it look “substantial.” The woman at the jewelry store warned that with anything besides a comfort-fit band, he will probably end up with a callous. I have a very, very faint callous from the ring I wore for 10 years, and my engagement ring hasn’t caused any problems so far. He will probably have to take it off when he plays most of his instruments, anyway, so although it should be comfortable enough to play in once in a while, that’s likely not too much of an issue. (N.B.: This resulted in a Wendy-instigated bickering session about how I think he’ll leave it in his jeans pocket and put it through the wash.)

Do you have other ideas of how we can make Tim the perfect (not-too-expensive) ring that will satisfy all our criteria?

Parentheses and me

I realized I’ve never really explained the thought process that led to my blog name. I’ve always had a thing for parentheses. Of course, I sometimes utilize them as a way of setting off an explanation, but more often I find myself using them to make a remark “under my breath” in writing. Snide comments = always in style.

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The other reason, though, is more apropos to the point of this blog: being a capital-B Bride just isn’t me. I’ve never really dreamed about my wedding in a fairy-tale way. When I started planning, I picked my favorite colors as my wedding colors, sought a dress that wasn’t in a bridal store, and found myself wanting to plan more of a dinner party than a wedding reception. Having the ceremony reflect us as a couple and as individuals is very, very important to me… the stuff about “joining two hearts into one” and “two individuals merging into one” has always made me nauseous. 

That’s not to say being a Bride is wrong; after all, lots of women have dreamed about their weddings since childhood. I just can’t see myself in plain white strapless tulle, or even ivory or champagne. I love colors! Why can’t I have them on my dress – especially since I inevitably spill when I’m wearing white, anyway?

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When I was first looking for creative ideas, Indie Bride and Offbeat Bride were so helpful in making me see that people can have beautiful weddings without being completely traditional. I’ve since found so many other blogs that are incredible founts of creative ideas. I’ve discovered that I can find inspiration on The Knot and don’t have to be embarrassed about liking some of the things I see there – because the important thing is just to discover ideas I love.

So although I am by definition a bride, I don’t think I quite fit into this. And thus, a (bride.) was born!

Save the Date! and the whales! and Ferris!

Wish I could take credit – I’d like to thank Capella for the title of this post.

Our save-the-dates turned out so beautifully, and I can’t wait to post about the invitation design that should be done next week sometime! None of this “holding off until all the guests see them!” They’ll still look prettier in person, so I think it’s OK to post here… right?

Here’s a shot of the full save-the-date, as it looks on the computer screen:

And here’s what the text looks like printed on cream-colored recycled paper:

I have had an absolutely fantastic experience with Stephanie from Etsy‘s Stelie Designs. She is always willing to make changes and charges SUCH reasonable prices (especially for the amount of customization I’ve requested): for each set of postcard save-the-date, invitation, envelope, and reply postcard, we’re paying under $5. We came up with the idea for the graphic together, and now she’s using it on a lot of her other products! I’m really happy she likes it so much. I knew I wanted something with a tree branch and some fruit to fit the rustic farmers’ market idea, and not too complicated or busy. We’ve been tinkering with the invitation design for a couple weeks (just as we did with the save-the-dates… aw crap, I’m just going to call them STDs), and I know she won’t feel good about saying they’re done until we’re both totally happy with them.

I know there’s some discussion about whether or not postcard STDs get noticed in people’s mailboxes and that they get a little mangled by the P.O., but I still felt that in addition to the postage we saved, using twice as much paper to send envelopes seemed a little silly. I wasn’t crazy about the fluorescent orange lines that got scanned on there, but I really think people were so taken by the design that they didn’t care about that little imperfection. At the end, it’s about the information, anyway. I’ll just keep telling myself that.

We used these stamps for the STDs and will also use them for the reply postcards:

I must say that I do find the tropical fruits – especially the guava and papaya – a little sexual (come on, you know you did too) and think that’s kinda funny.

These will probably go on the invites:

I love that there’s still a little symbolism since Charles and Ray Eames were married, and Tim’s a big architecture buff, but they’re not too overtly lovey-dovey like these:

I can just see Tim’s face if he saw those on the envelopes.

But these are very sweet and not quite as frilly:

Something tells me he might not go for those, either. Eames it is!

All stamp images from here.

Looking for a sign

I’d like to greet our guests with rustic wood signs, kind of like these from the now-Mrs. Penguin of Weddingbee:

Do you think ours should say Cathy + Mark, instead of Tim + Wendy?

I’m also interested in making/finding some rustic “farmers’ market” signs to put around the buffet tables and make our “theme” a little clearer:

Well, how ’bout that image that came up when I Googled “farmers’ market sign,” huh?

Problem being this: I’m totally fighting with myself over the cuteness of the theme and Tim’s and my aversion to all things cutesy. Actually that’s a total lie. I really love cute. But I want our wedding to be special and sweet and unique, not cute.

This  just screams “us,” though… doesn’t it? Tim’s hair looks like that sometimes…

So I think I’ll try my hand at some of the nametag/direction signs… what do you think about having signs that say “T & W’s farmers’ market,” too? Is that too much? Help!

Do the right thing.

On Nov. 18, 2003, an historic decision was handed down by the Massachusetts Supreme Court.

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Goodridge v. Department of Public Health was the first U.S. ruling to find in favor of gay marriage. Since then, several other states (most notably California, which will allow same-sex marriages starting on June 16, 2008) have joined the quickly-growing national debate.

At the time of the Goodridge decision, I lived in Massachusetts and was so proud to reside somewhere that followed the progressive decisions made in other countries (the Netherlands, Belgium, Canada, Spain, South Africa, and Norway). One of my close friends, Gabe, worked tirelessly in support of this cause, sending out literature with information

 about the case, making phone calls, and even spending nights outside the Massachusetts State House.

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Several years ago, Gabe and I (along with our friends Gabby and Ben) were playing in a Harvard Group for New Music

concert. We happened to be assigned a piece written by a musicologist named Drew, who visited one of our rehearsals before the concert… and the rest is history.

Last Tuesday, Gabe and Drew were married in a civil ceremony in Cambridge, MA; on Saturday, their wedding was held at the historic  Adelphi Hotel in Saratoga Springs, NY. It was one of the most beautiful weddings I’ve ever had the privilege of attending. More importantly, the 120 guests all had such a wonderful time not just because of the great food, band, and decor, but because Gabe and Drew are so obviously head-over-heels in love.

Apologies for the fuzziness… I forgot my real camera.  :-(

Congratulations, Gabe and Drew – I wish you guys a lifetime of happiness and health, and as many wonderful times as we all had last night.

Our story, part 2: Why I’m pretty darn sure he’ll take good care of me when I’m old

Warning: long post. There’s a lot of back story.

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In March 2006 I was in residence at a museum/theater space in western MA, rehearsing and preparing to play a newly-written opera. One fateful night, before the dress rehearsal started, I put my viola on my seat and went backstage to go to the bathroom or get some water. Apparently there was an announcement that the tech guys were going to run through light cues, but there wasn’t an intercom backstage, or I didn’t hear it, or something. Anyway, when I came back out, the theater was pitch-black. In the commotion of trying to get back to my seat and waiting for them to turn the lights back on, I stepped around what I thought was the conductor’s podium… but it was actually the edge of the stage.

Now, this was not a normal stage – the musicians were on sort of a “reverse pit” that was a 6-foot-high build-up atop the 4-foot-high stage (or maybe it was the opposite). In any case, I fell once, rolled on the stage, and fell again to the floor. The whole time, I was yelling, “oh my god oh my god oh my god,” and there was total commotion. People were swearing (amazingly, *not* me) and screaming, “turn the lights on! someone just fell!” In a rare moment of lucidity, I held my arms to my chest to protect them, and I ended up falling on my back with my neck cradled by three giant spotlights. It was the most frightening moment of my life.

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My elbow kind of hurt, and my head also kind of hurt, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t pass out. I was more concerned about my arms than anything else, so I kept flexing my fingers and trying to make sure my hands still worked. I didn’t even think to look at my ankle, which was in a big suede boot and therefore not obviously messed up. Soon, I ended up at the very small local hospital that was near the museum. They took X-rays, set my broken ankle, and told me I’d be OK to play the performance. Setting it was horrendously painful… and I would soon find out why.

At 7 the next morning, I was awakened from my Vicodin-induced slumber by a different doctor from the one I’d seen the night before. He said that X-rays unfortunately can’t capture most of the talus, which is the bone “inside” the ankle that allows it to move around. They had already seen that my tibia and fibula were broken in several places, but this doctor thought that from looking at the corner of the X-ray, something might be wrong with my talus. In fact, he was virtually certain, and he said I should go back to Boston right away for CT scans and likely surgery. I made dozens of phone calls to my parents, Tim (who had been playing a show the night before), and a doctor my parents were friends with, trying to convince them I was fine and could play the opera that night… I could go back to Boston the next day. The doctor friend was the one who put his foot down and said, “If they’re telling you they won’t do the surgery at the local hospital, you know this has to be bad. And I’ve seen some bad talus breaks.” 

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So Tim hopped on a bus from Boston to North Adams, drove his drugged girlfriend’s rental car to Mass General in Boston, and sat there while I tried to answer a bunch of residents’ questions about why I hadn’t come to MGH sooner. Um… because the accident didn’t happen here? (And you’re a doctor?)

It turned out that in addition to multiple fractures in my tibia and fibula, I had completely shattered my talus. (In fact, each time I visited my surgeon the following year, his version of the verb got worse: shattered, crushed, pulverized, turned into smithereens… no joke.) I wound up with 2 stainless steel plates and 15 screws (some titanium, some stainless) that are in my leg to this day. They still give me some trouble, and it’s possible that at some point I’ll have to have more surgery to remove them and maybe even (PLEASE no!) fuse my ankle. Interestingly enough, I do not set off airport metal detectors, which doesn’t exactly increase my faith in that technology – I mean, they’re millimeters from the surface of my skin! 

my x-rays

I was on crutches and had a giant Aircast boot for 3 months, and then I used a cane for another 2-3 months. As far as learning to walk again, well… I conveniently forgot that it would be an issue until it actually was one. Damn, that was hard – especially stairs. They’re still tough.

The boot. Tim threw it away about

 a year ago… it felt really strange.

The whole thing gave me an enormous sense of appreciation for nurses and for people with any kind of handicap. I know that I was extraordinarily lucky and came away from that fall relatively unscathed. In some ways, it’s harder now than it was when I had crutches/a cane – at least then, I had something that people immediately recognized as an impediment. Now, I have to ask for help or suck it up. And even when I ask for help sometimes, I of course get suspicious looks because why should this normal-looking person need someone’s help? So that’s been tough. Again, I know how lucky I am to have such a minor handicap. I just mean that if I feel like I have a hard time, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for people with 1) problems that don’t get better, 2) lack of medical care, 3) a need to take public transportation all the time, and 4) no one to help them.

The Orpheus X band. I’m in the lower right corner

 with my legs up… not because it’s comfortable.

It’s been a really, really long process – physically, of course, but especially emotionally. If Tim hadn’t been there for me, I don’t know how I would have gotten through it. In an incredible stroke of good luck (or at least karma), we were working together at the American Repertory Theater for two months, so logistically it worked out really well. I can’t imagine if I’d had to drive all over the Boston metro area to do all my teaching and gigging. He drove me everywhere, dropped me off and went to find parking, carried all my stuff (and there was a LOT of crap… I always carry giant purses, but they definitely expanded during that period), made sure I was comfortable in my seat wherever we were going, and was always checking up on me during rehearsals. Then when we’d get home, he carried all his own stuff and my own up 3 flights of stairs, changed my bandages, washed the special socks I had to wear under the boot, helped me bathe until I got the hang of it myself, made me food, massaged my ankle and leg, and just generally took really good care of me. He did all the grocery shopping and laundry, too (there was no laundry in our building, and we usually share those duties), until we discovered grocery delivery and wash & fold! Keep in mind that this went on for THREE MONTHS. 

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Of course, he had his share of grumpiness about it, and we both had to put up with a fair bit of depression surrounding the whole thing. It was really hard to keep everything in perspective, and he was good about gently reminding me that it could have been much worse while still commiserating over how much it sucked. Basically, his feeling is, “what else could I have done?” Well, I can name any number of things that wouldn’t have made me very happy but nevertheless would have been options. A lot of my friends, since they didn’t see me every day, didn’t understand how bad the injury was – it wasn’t a normal leg- or ankle-break, which are bad enough. A lot of people were and still are really wonderful about asking me how I’m doing with it, but Tim had to live with it every day and still does. 

Even though I already knew that he was the guy for me, that 6-month period – and the amount of attention he still pays about my ankle – sealed the deal. He is so sensitive about it, running to my defense when someone forgets that there’s something wrong with me. He’s been my biggest cheerleader through the whole thing and is always trying to get me to work harder at getting better, still remaining totally considerate of the ups and downs.

The day I got off crutches, we celebrated by going to a Red Sox (my team)/Yankees (his) game at Fenway Park. I will [grudgingly] admit that maybe, just that once, it was OK that the Yankees won. This one’s for you, Timmy (and you’re never going to see me do this again, so you’d better appreciate it):

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Sigh. That was really hard to do. I don’t know if I can. OK, here:

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Yeah, that feels better.