Happy New Year!

The Jewish Rosh Hashanah festivities are upon us. Filled with golden honey poured over slices of shiny red-skinned apples, noodly kugel and doughy challah, and celebrating and reciting prayers with family and friends. The cool breeze of autumn is slowly replacing the almost relentless summer humidity and students are suiting up for their first days of school. It's football season, again, too, with every team hopeful for a long, winning record. Anything is possible, it seems. And so, in between my mouthfuls of comfy New Year food and sitting at shul, listening to the sound of the blaring shofar, I start to think of the year that has just passed me by, and the one coming right up. This last year has been, for lack of a better word, eventful. As I reflect on my 5:00 am engagement, our weekend away to celebrate alone and then all the wonderful calls, e-mails, hugs, cards, and other forms of well wishes from family and friends, I feel very happy. Then I turn my head to the next year, which will undoubtedly offer more excitement (and more planning) as our nuptials draw nearer and nearer. June will be here before you know it, many people have told me, and I believe them. But as much as the new year is a time of celebration, of bonding with family and looking forward to a new beginning, of endless possibilities, it is a time of reflection. Of thinking of how you may have wronged others, or yourself, in the previous year and repenting and trying to make right in the year to come. A new year isn't only a fresh start, but also an improvement on you lived the year before. That's why, next week, I'll put aside the savory foods and fast for a day. Remembering the wrongs and trying to make this next year--and all the exciting promise it holds--a bit sweeter.

Making Your Own Waves

And now, for my second guest writer, I bring you my friend Anne, who married her husband in a small, unique ceremony.

On June 1, 2002, I married Kevin Andrew Hurst in a simple ceremony at a B&B in Manteo, North Carolina. For recent college grads, our wedding was a bit unconventional:

*We didn’t have a first dance (in fact, there was no dancing);
*I didn’t wear a veil;
*Kevin didn’t wear a tuxedo;
*I did not go to a salon and have my hair and makeup done;
*We didn’t have flower arrangements besides the daisies I chose for my bouquet at the florist the day before;
*We did not have a DJ (though we did hire a local couple who played the violin and the mandolin);
*We did not have a complex, tiered cake (Kevin doesn’t like cake); and
*We did not register for anything.

But you know what? Our wedding was perfect—for us.

We did not want our parents pouring money into an event that lasts a single day. And being frugal (okay, cheap), we wanted to save our money for traveling and purchasing a house. I’ve never been much of a girly girl and Kevin dreads crowds so a small, intimate wedding was logical. The B&B had an onsite wedding coordinator who made all the arrangements. Kevin picked out a seer sucker suit from Banana Republic and I found a simple linen J Crew number (before their wedding collections!). Of course, it was difficult to tell friends and extended family that we were just having immediate family at our wedding. There were some hurt feelings, but most of our social network was supportive, realizing it was our wedding and we should choose the framework for it.

The wedding weekend felt like a family vacation at the beach and was low key. Since our families had not spent time together, it allowed them to get to know each other. We had several dinners together and had leisurely breakfasts on the B&B’s veranda. After the wedding ceremony, we listened to the string musicians, sipped champagne, and munched on sushi in the B&B’s sun-dappled courtyard as Kevin’s nephews tumbled around on the ground. Then we walked to a nearby restaurant and had a lovely meal. The following day, Kevin and I had a beach picnic and biked around the island exploring its historic, moss-covered neighborhoods, a perfect coda to our wedding weekend, and so very “Anne and Kevin.”

Having a small, intimate wedding is not for everyone, but far too often, I hear my friends say, “oh I wish I would have done what you did.” Hearing this makes me sad because a wedding should be about the couple and should reflect their unique style. I think Kevin and I achieved that with our wedding. You should, too!

For Now, A Wedding Guest

I am sitting at a computer in hotel's business center in New Canaan, Connecticut. My parents, Dan, and I drove up 1-95 last night for a friend's wedding later on today. I really can't wait for the festivities. For a lot of reasons. I lived down the street from the groom growing up--he and his brothers and sister were such an integral part of childhood. Going to a wedding of a friend who you'd play kickball with and roller bladed in the neighborhood streets has a special sense of nostalgia. Plus, I always love an opportunity to wear my favorite knee-length, flowy, turquoise dress with silver rhinestones embroidered on the straps...and matching blue shoes and a shiny silver hand bag. But also, as I've ventured into this crazy wedding planning process, I've gained appreciation for what really goes into making such an affair come to life. It reminds me of an article on music I wrote for work: One of the world's most beloved composers, Beethoven, was deaf when he wrote Sympathy No. 9. To enjoy this musical selection, a listener does not have to know that Beethoven couldn't actually hear the notes he was writing. But if you know the whole story and have a better glimpse of the process, you may enjoy the music just a bit more. The end result may be a bit sweeter.

Climb Every Mountain

Okay, I know what you're thinking: I am Sound of Music obsessed. This is the second time I've borrowed my blog title from the 1960s movie chronicling the musically inclined Van Trapp Family's escape from Austria on the brink of World War II. What can I say: it's a good film.

But I digress. My purpose with this post is not to tout the movie, but to reflect on how important it is to meet challenges head on, to try something new and when it's hard...to keep going. A few weeks ago, my father embarked on a nearly week-long, 60 mile trek in California's Yosemite National Park (elev: 8,000 ft and higher). Every morning, he'd wake up at the campsite, and after a hearty breakfast (the food, apparently, was to die for), load up his 30-pound backpack and hike across some of the country's prettiest passages. Under clear, cloudless skies he'd pass by navy crystalline lakes and spy wild deer prancing in their natural habitat. At night, the sun would drop, chilling the air and forcing him to bundle up in hats and gloves for an appetizing dinner meal.

My brother, too, adventured this summer. A timid traveller, he bit the proverbial bullet and flew over to Israel for a two-week Birthright tour. There, he rode camels in the Negev desert, floated in the salty Dead Sea, watched the sun creep into the sky from the top of Masada, and relaxed on the Tel Aviv beaches.

When I talked to them both about their experiences, saw their pictures and heard their stories, I thought that I too needed to take leaps sometimes. Try the untried. Go onto unchartered territory. Fear nothing. What should I do, I thought. A total physical adventure is off limits right now, thanks to a persistent leg injury. But then I thought of something so painfully obvious, I am embarassed it wasn't at the top of my mind. Getting married! Not planning a wedding and thinking of flowers and guest lists, but actually embarking on a lifelong commitment with someone. For me, it's untried and unchartered. It's perfect. And, if the smiles on my dad and brother's face after their respective trips are any indicator--it's that new things, even if they're tough at times, are really rewarding.

A Great Conversation Piece

On Tuesday, I met with a financial consultant at work to discuss my 401k plan. Before you knew it, the conversation on stocks and bonds had evolved into a chat about wedding flowers and cakes. Where are you getting married, she wanted to know. When? Then she went into some of her family's wedding day disasters. Once, the hair stylist assumed that a Friday wedding fell on Saturday, and when the miscommunication was uncovered (apparently late in the game), she was no longer available to twist hair and pin up barrettes. A replacement was quickly found and hired. In a similar story, a cousin's make up artist was a no show and the financial consultant herself (the one relaying the story to me) had to fill in. She was a self-claimed cosmetic novice but in the end, she rose to the challenge and applied the bride's eye shadow, mascara, and blush perfectly. Her point in telling me these stories was to ease nerves (hey, small things happen) and maybe give herself a pat on the back, but I left a little horrified, worrying that my cosmetician would bail and my hair would be a jumbled mess.
This story certainly does not stand alone. Ever since I became a bride-to-be, I have talked shop to complete strangers: traveller next to me on air planes, people in an professional development class I took, other future brides as we tried on wedding gowns, and even a waitress when I was asking for the bill (that was particularly awkward...I asked her opinion on the name of our burgeoning wedding web site, and she looked at me like I had lost my mind. Dan wanted to crawl under the dinner table). Yes, sometimes it's really helpful. My doctor, for one, recommended the band we're using, and the woman on the plane listed some bridal dress stores. In certain instances, it's just plain fun, watching strangers think back to their own nuptials before offering sweet tips. But other times, it's probably best to just give the waitress a tip, and keep her out of the wedding dialogue.

A Snapshot of the Crazy Cousins

At our engagement party, I heard my dad yelling for me to come downstairs. I was fixing my hair and reapplying some lip gloss when he announced it's time for the cousins' picture. And so, I raced down stairs to join the ranks of the cousins, who were already assorted in age order. Luckily, it was easy for me to fit in. I am the oldest.

***

This cousins' photo began probably 15 years ago, when my six cousins, brother, and me--in chronological order from the date of our births--affixed ourselves on a sofa and smiled for a series of cameras, each held by an adoring aunt or grandmother. I was around 13, and my youngest cousin was 4. Over the years, relatives snapped a few other pictures of us eight cousins squeezed onto a couch (finding a seat got progressively harder to do as we got older). Even more photos survive of us at various stages of childhood, running through the Bethany Beach waves or eating creamy Vanilla Fudge at Candy Kitchen. It's been a while since the eight of us were all together. First off, Bethany Beach has gotten way too built up. The ocean waves are ridiculously overcrowded. Although it's probably more because each of us is searching, journeying, dreaming, and studying, and those activities usually involve some geographic dispersion. But it's nice that at times like an engagement party, all of us can find our place in the chronological line, ready to be photographed.

Happily Exhausted

I sit here by my home computer, my eyes heavy with tiredness. I debated blogging tonight. I'm pretty exhausted, and not 100% mindful right now. But I wanted to capture the now, the raw emotion. So I sit and begin to write.
***
This weekend was our family engagement party, where relatives from both sides flew, drove, or trained in to celebrate our pending nuptials at my aunt and uncle's house last night. It was so wonderful. And when I just typed my last sentence, I felt frustrated. Wonderful doesn't capture it. Amazing. Touching. Unforgettable. There's something truly special celebrating with both the people I've known my whole life, and with the people I've grown so close to over Dan and my years together. And having them--Dan's family and my family--begin to form strong bonds with one another. So I'm signing off now, to relax and prepare the mundane after the sublime: Monday morning.

Planning Apart

This post is the first in the series by guest writers, people whose wedding experiences and perspectives are different than my own. Read below to hear of my friend Jennifer's story planning her wedding with her groom-to-be was stationed overseas.

I recently returned from my baby brother’s wedding in Berkeley – he and his bride put on a very personal, personable event, and it was a joy to see him marry someone so unflinchingly right for him. He & I have always been close, and I’ve become good friends with his girlfriend – now wife – over the years as well. This was especially the case as we planned our respective weddings, as each of us did so solo while our future spouses were studying or stationed overseas during most of the planning phase. So seeing them bring their plans to fruition has naturally had me thinking again about my own wedding planning experience.

My husband proposed about four weeks before he left for a 5-month overseas rotation, and we got married a month after he returned. Was it easier making all of the decisions and arrangements more or less on my own? Yes. Was it harder? Yes. Did things go more smoothly having a single person as the sole performer of research, tester of cakes, designer of invitations? Yes. Was it also a rockier ride having no back-up? Yes. Did I feel close to him, attuned to the emotional import of the event, something to reflect our love for each other and our values? Yes. Did I feel like I was planning a wedding for one, something that was to meet a certain feel & vision (mine), regardless of its content? Yes. Did I love my role as planner? Yes. Did I resent it monstrously? Oh yes.

Let me explain. Very likely, these are poles that all prospective brides – and who knows, maybe grooms – shift between, one way or another; but the long distance factor certainly exacerbated them for me. Moving through the checklists & timelines focused my attention away from worrying about him, and the fact of the wedding was a very real reward looming at the end of my husband’s deployment. But at times, planning for it was also one more burden to bear while he was away, on top of his away-ness & the drudgeries of day-to-day life (“You mean I have to take out the garbage every week *and* plan this epic event?”). Phone calls were few & far between. Discussing wedding details & decisions was tremendously helpful sometimes, insofar as it turned our attention away from the difficulty of the instant (“This is hard – I miss you – are you safe?”) & toward something positive and light. Yet of course it also felt spectacularly shallow at times (“Riots, violence, whatever – I’m thinking that the flowers should be peachy-orange and soft green, not yellowy-orange”). It was a difficult balance to strike at times – consulting him & keeping him in the loop, yet not overburdening him with minutiae, and knowing when to move ahead even if I hadn’t had his input. (I’m not talking just aesthetic decisions, of course, but also financial questions, and potentially touchy issues of family politics – yow!) More important, and sometimes more difficult, was knowing when to not even touch on the wedding in a phone call or email, and simply ask what I could about his experiences, his concerns, the distressing or uplifting sight he may have seen that day.

Ultimately, I tried to bear in mind that working on our wedding in a reflective, meaningful way – planning the sort of event that we would both relish – was a concrete way of expressing my investment in our relationship at a time when I couldn’t necessarily invest in the usual ways. I’m positive that my husband appreciated it, because he said so often & enthusiastically, and because he loved what came out of that planning. But of course I’d be stretching the truth if I said I had this elevated mindset all of the time. Sometimes it was just fun – that giddy, intoxicating “O my god I just *love* this dress” feeling that is the sole purview of a bride-to-be, and sometimes just a pure and simple, well, pain in the ass.

Back to my brother & sister-in-law. During the course of many a wine-tinged phone call, she shared just these feelings about her own planning process with me (as I had with her). And they too had a lovely, quirky, memorable weekend of it – as do most brides & grooms, or so my experience has been. So being a long-distance bride is yes, a factor in how the wedding comes to fruition, but not so fundamental a one as knowing & loving your partner well, or bearing in mind the joyousness of the occasion.

Bananagramers

On Sunday morning, Dan and I were back at Big Bear, eating bagels and drinking lattes. Only this time we had our new game with us: bananagrams. A word game similar to boggle or scrabble, all the letter tiles fit inside a yellow banana-shaped case. Sitting at the counter, we spilled all the letters out onto the hard wood, and turned them face down. (Yes, the barista was staring--but only because he was curious. Big Bear is one of those places where you really can whip out board games). After we each picked 21 words, we raced against each other to see who could create a group of intertwining words (like a scrabble board) the fastest. Each time one of us turned our letters into complete, coherent, dictionary-approved words, the person would shout "peal" and both of us would delve into the pool of letters and pick another tile. It's a fast-paced game, and so we were deeply concentrated on our tiles and seeing what words could be made out of them. Only occassionally we'd sip our stevia-sweetened drinks and take bites into our bagel-and-cream cheese sandwiches. It was a clear beautiful day, and even though we were inside, the giant windows gave us a great view of the outdoors. A perfect way to relax from all the wedding planning and just be.

Registration Exhilaration

On a wet, rainy Saturday afternoon, I found myself inside a department store, debating between square and round griddles and other such conundrums. Eyes intently pealed, I was armed and ready--at a moment's notice--to aim the scanner at a certain target. When I would press the yellow button, the bright red scanning light would make contact with the bar code. A beeping sound would chirp when the scanner successfully uploaded the item's information onto our online registration. Whenever I heard that noise, I squealed. Finding each item and adding it to the registry has a sense of satisfaction. A decision made. I have to admit: in my three in-store registering sessions, plus a few more Internet browses, I've gotten quite the hang of it. Five months ago, I couldn't have named all the different pots and pans. Now I can describe the difference between nonstick, stainless steel, copper plated, and full out copper. After looking at a few types of napkin rings on my last venture, I've been noticing them everywhere...I'm sure they existed before, but my untrained eye couldn't pick them up.
***
Registering is creating a giant wishlist. It's practical--I often head to other people's when I am buying gifts. The online component makes it easier for both giver and recipient. It's also fun to roam around the store, choosing between different plates and picture frames. But as I was registering and in looking back on it today, I have a sense of nostalgia. Not for another event in which I registered, because there is no such event, but for when I was a young child and just the idea of presents was exhilarating. I remember, eagerly waiting to rip off multi-colored wrapping paper and see what gifts lay inside. The waiting period would start weeks, sometimes even months before, wondering what my parents would surprise me with. That time was pure anticipation, as I would try to guess what presents I would get. Registering has a more grown-up feel, not only the gifts themselves (I wasn't too into copper plated pots as a child), but the process of picking the presents. Both approaches are fun. But as I write this now, remembering that excitement of gifts as a child, a smile spreads across my face. A childish grin.

A Hairy Endeavor

This weekend, as I was looking over the glossy pages of bridal magazines, a picture of one bride caught my eye. Her bridal costume was complete with her long, wavy-curly hair, pulled up half-way. Her hair was long, falling down to her shoulder blade. I liked the look. It was sharp and romantic at the same time. I glanced at my own curly locks after that viewing the page for a few moments. Hmmm. I could do this. My hair has never crossed past my shoulders--let alone shoulder blades--and for most of my adult life it's been more at my chin. Every few months I think to let it grow long, but as the thick waviness (re: unruliness)begins to creep toward my back, I get frustrated with managing it and call the hair dresser. But maybe now, I could grow it long! I've heard that once you get past the awkward length somewhere between the shoulder and shoulder blade, long hair is easier to style. So, I will try. Even if I don't go for the half-up cascading look, other brides have told me that longer hair equals more options come wedding day. One thing that will hopefully help me stick to this plan is that, post-wedding, I want to chop it back to chin length and donate my cut hair to Locks of Love, an organization that makes wigs for children who have lost their hair because of illness. I have wanted to participate in Locks of Love since my college days, but for reasons mentioned above, my hair has never reached the 10 inch minimum. Think I can do it?.....

Still Hearing the Music

So, last night after I posted my entry, Dan and I did an extensive review of our the band's Web site. Even though it was closing in on 11:30 pm, we played some of their music on the computer, and starting dancing to the hits of the 80s, 90s, and today. Super exciting! It feels a little unreal, moving to the groove of your wedding band in your pajamas. Or sorting through band's repertoire of songs and when you know you have work the next day. After we turned off the computer and went to bed, I started thinking about how my wedding picture was emerging. Sure, right now we're in our PJs, dancing bearfeet, but before you know it, we'll be in our finest, dancing at our wedding, smelling the flowers we picked out and drinking the wine we ordered. And what's amazing is that even as the pieces get filled in, the parts come together, you'll never really know how it is until it's right in front of you! A wedding is not the sum of its parts...it's a whole new creation. It's scary and exciting because you don't know what to expect.

Musical Lessons

So, good news: We heard a band we love. Or, should I say, Dan heard a band. The band search abounds with lessons learned, so read along with pen and paper in hand. It began around 6 weeks ago, when my parents recommended one musical ensemble for us to hire. Dan and I traveled to the 6th and I Synagogue to hear them play at a wedding. We liked them, but decided to look around. To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I wanted to scout out more options. The band would have been good. And with so many other things to think about--wedding-related and other--I thought, lazily, about giving up the search. But I'm glad we didn't. On Sunday night, Dan drove out to the boon docks to hear another band play (why I didn't come along is coming...keep reading), and called me from my girls-weekend away (aha! the reason. but wait. there's more.) to absolutely rave about their songs, their performers, and their performance that night. I was thrilled. And glad we weren't lazy. I was going to accompany him on this sojourn deep into Virginia territory, and Saturday night we were all set to go. I was even in one of my nicer dresses, as not to stand out as the one person not actually invited to the wedding, but just going along to hear the band. But as we went to enter the address into our beloved GPS system, we realized we had read the date wrong. It was actually Sunday. So, I went off with the girls for a relaxing bonding Labor Day, and Dan listened to the band play.