What's for Dinner?

It's a question I get asked at least once a day by my loveable finance, who never has been one to "wing" a meal. In our years together--and especially in the year living together--the division of labor has happened organically, based on each of our interests and skills. Dan, who never misses a wrinkle when ironing shirts, has taken over laundry duty. He also has an extra "neat" gene, so it's more likely you'll find him vacuuming the floors. I, on the other hand, love to watch a meal come together and so have become the unofficial chef in the relationship. When I see my clothes nice and neatly folded, I know my cooking is worth the effort. But sometimes in the middle of the day, when I'm plugging away at work, I suddenly realize I have no idea what's for dinner. A slight panic rushes in. In my few post-college years, I've assembled a small repertoire of dishes, but still, finding something fun, interesting, healthy, and nutritious to cook--that appeals to both of us--can seem like a daunting task. I've thought more than once that this is karma for when, as kids, my brother and I used to complain about whatever dish my mother served up--there was nothing wrong with the meal, it was just fun to whine about it. Somehow, though, an answer always appears. Whether it's something I find at the Trader Joe's right next to work, Dan pitches in on a day when I'm just exhausted, I brainstorm with a friend on cooking ideas, or we just decide to splurge and eat out, I can usually figure something out. And when we sit down to a nice meal at the dinner table (OK, sometimes we eat on the sofa while watching DVDs of The Wire or LOST), I'm glad I toiled over a hot stove.

Ode to Ephie and Leens

Eighty-five years ago today, my grandfather Ephie was born. Unfortunately, he and his better half, my grandmother Lenor (aka "Grandma Leens") passed away some years ago, so I haven't been able to share with them my excitement in finding a life partner. Every rose has its thorn, as the old song goes, and even times of great celebration are tinged with a sadness when you remember those people who are no longer here. But as I've mentioned before, missing people can be a sweet sadness. And there are plenty of wonderful things to miss about my grandparents--how my grandmother used to wait in the hallway outside their apartment after we'd called from the lobby to tell her we were coming up for a visit, or the sweet-and-sour meatballs she'd always make for us because she knew how much everyone, especially my dad, loved them. And always being able to tell someone how she really felt. (Something I appreciate more and more as I realize how my fear of confrontation can sometimes cause problems) And for my grandfather, it was sharing with us his (mostly) original quotations of love and life, all printed up on 3 by 5 inch index cards. Or, if I go back earlier in my childhood, giving us 20 words and paying us a dime for every definition we copied from the dictionary. Or letting us pick a ceramic owl from his massive collection. But more than anything, I miss how they were always there for each other throughout my grandfather's long battle with MS. It's something I miss, and also admire as I embark on a life-long commitment.

WHAT? You're Doing That?

Judging is easy. And when something seems unfamiliar or strange, there is a guilty pleasure associated with criticizing it. A wedding could be the ultimate Judgment Day, people looking at your flowers, your dress, and the menu you choose and thinking "Oh, I would never choose this." These thoughts can be almost subconscious and hard to avoid. And while the judgment scares me a bit, I have come to some peace with it over the last two months. As long as the wedding reflects what Dan and I and a few other VIPs want, then it really doesn't matter what other people think. Of course, I HOPE people like it, but appeasing to everyone's taste is a tall order. But as a guest at many weddings in the next year or two, I'm really trying to incorporate this non-judgmental attitude. Knowing now how much time, work, and money goes into a wedding is making me think twice before criticizing someone else's effort.

Life Right Now

Part of this blog's purpose is to capture what this whole engagement process is like, so that in 30 years I can revisit this time in my life. But I haven't really articulated what my everyday life is like. So here it goes: Dan and I life in a cosy, two-bedroom D.C. apartment. I like to call it shabby chic, a loveable place where the heat only broke down once this winter. We both walk to work, and there are days where we barely cross out of the zip code. The aroma of freshly ground coffee from the small cafe across the street tempts us to stay there and read the newspaper on Saturday afternoons. We shop at a Safeway commonly known as the Soviet Safeway because forget about getting produce on Tuesday nights--better to wait for the new shipment on Wednesdays. But we can always splurge on Whole Foods. OK, there's more than food, I promise. Tranquil Space is my favorite local yoga studio, where I often go for my down-ward dogs, shoulder stands, and plank poses, as well as a bit of peace of mind. The metro takes me pretty much where I want to go; otherwise, I have to catch a ride with Dan, because I sold my car and haven't learned to drive a stick shift yet. There's more than that, of course, but hopefully that paints a picture for all of you readers, and for me when I flip back.

A Restless Mind Is OK

On Monday, I went to my third night meditation class. The whole day long, I was looking forward to spending some time by myself on my cushion. Once I got there, the teacher said that when you find yourself drifting, just label it "thinking" and move on. I had a lot of "thinking" moments, where my mind seemed to move away from my breath and I started pondering about all sorts of things, mostly work and wedding. But being able to label it as such, without any feelings of punishment or wrongdoing, was really helpful. It reminded me of how I can label themes in this blog. Just a very matter-of-fact, conscious action of saying "OK, I am thinking now." And then I could move on. Of course, thoughts would arise again, but there were a few moments of stillness, where all I thought about was the breath. Those moments were great. But perhaps a more important lesson I took away was not to beat myself up if my thoughts drifted. Just acknowledge and go back to the breath, leaving that middle part about blaming yourself out of the equation.

A Matter of Trust

It's more than just a Billy Joel song. Having trust that the wedding will go smoothly is important for me right now. Sure, there's a lot to do, from the big parts like securing a venue to the more minor, detail-oriented tasks such as choosing color schemes, table charts, and songs for the band to play. But it can be a lot more overwhelming if you don't trust yourself and other people helping you plan the big day. And to some degree, even if you double check everything, some things are out of your control. You just have to close your eyes, cross your fingers, and make a leap of faith. Hopefully the lead band singer won't have a cold, the flower shop won't close down, and there's no snow storm in the middle of June. In some ways, a wedding seems like marriage itself. When deciding whom to marry, you can consider all of his or her good qualities, the pros and cons, predict how that person might be like in 20 years, but eventually you need to make a leap of faith. You won't know what the future holds, what surprises might come, but you trust yourself and your partner that being together is the right decision. And that not being together feels wrong somehow.

There is Also a "We"

Ok, maybe the word "we" cannot literally be found in "marriage." But to elaborate a bit more on my last post, marriage is clearly a union, not only of two people but of two families. I am thinking about this union of families now, because Dan and I and my parents just returned from a trip to Chicago to visit his family, a mix of his parents, sister and brother-in-law and their young daughter, aunt, uncle, and cousins. I knew the weekend was a success when my parents were discussing their next trip out there as we boarded the plane to come back. I'm having trouble describing the weekend in words, which is why I broke my rule and am going back into the post and reworking it a bit. While Dan and I chose to marry each other, our families didn't choose to be in-laws. Now they're two groups of relatives interconnected for life simply because sparks flew between their son and daughter at a D.C. bar one night. This randomness could have led to awkwardness and tensions, as can be the case when marriages bring families together, but the weekend didn't have those feelings. It had a kind of magic instead. My parents looking at old picture albums, my dad talking wine with Dan's family, and all of us relaxing by Dan's parents pool while the sun beat down on a hot but beautiful July afternoon. There's something exciting about meeting a new family, discovering their background, their old stories, and then making them your own.