"I Do" Have Lots To Do

I started writing MOMMY OF THE BRIDE seven months ago, just as the one-year countdown to Emily’s wedding began. The big day is now five months down the aisle – I mean road. Yep, I’ve started to think in wedding lingo the way my grandparents would think automatically in Italian before they could speak “the English” when they first came to America in the 1920s. It seems everything I do and think lately has taken on a wedding slant.  In my mind, last month’s “April showers” had nothing to do with rain. I had wedding shower planning on the brain.

At that unencumbered one-year-before-the Big-Day mark  - last October - we (referring to the WEdding  “WE”: Em, Ry, and Ry’s parents – Nancy and Matt)  had already chosen  the Barn at Wesleyan, the second Saturday in October, and the minister . WE then reserved blocks of rooms at nearby hotels - which, by the way are starting to fill. And WE watched the fall foliage a little more closely than usual, especially the display on the one-year-ahead -of-the-wedding   weekend, to get an idea of the colors and temperatures  we could expect in October of 2011.

That was the one-decision-at-a-time stage of wedding planning. One week, sign with the photographer. In another week or two, draft the  flower agreement. Later in the month –a  guest list pow-wow.  Leisurely planning for sure.

WE’ve now reached simultaneous decisions-making  time. Full menu choices (WE opted for fall fare), lighting arrangements(ceiling, yes; support beams, no), and figuring out the time to start and finish the party were the particulars of last week(last item being more complicated than one would think). Shower date,shower place, and shower menu are coming together this week, along with hotel-to-site and then back-to-hotel guest transportation for the day of the wedding. And I’m being asked pretty regularly, “Get your dress yet?”

 The singular questions that demanded the singular answers seven months ago are turning into the many questions that need answers today – and I expect will eventually have needed them yesterday, if you get my drift. So I'm rewording a popular T-shirt slogan to: I can only answer one  question a day. Today isn't that question's day. Or is it?  
Time to up this wedding workout.

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Royal Models

I’m no Royalty groupie, but the Brits seemed to have gotten - getting hitched - right this time:

Marry for love.

Keep, but tweak, tradition.

Have a sense of humor.

Add those precepts to the sensibilities the  Middleton clan - commoners - exhibited through the wedding of Prince Will and their daughter Kate, and I’ve got  a standard of sorts for the wedding Emily and Ryan have put into motion.

Ten years, they’ve been together, Will and Kate. Met as university students in their late teens. I don’t think  Prince William will flub a declaration of  love for his Catherine by adding ,“Whatever love means,” the way his father did with Diana, a bride just past her teens, three decades ago. Charles was twelve years her senior and had a matron-in-waiting.

 Em and Ry have clocked well over two years as a couple and were best buddies in college, four years previous.   Their devotion is palpable. Touches, glances, terms of endearment. All the makings of pre-wedding bliss.    

Chances are the Prince and his lady, officially dubbed the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge just after  the” I do-s”,  didn’t have a lot of wiggle room when it came to ritual.  They couldn’t opt to exchange vows in a sunny grove or plan to dance the night away in a dressed-up barn, the way Em and Ry are able to, as they place their “casually elegant” stamp  on their day.

But the royal pair did pop a couple of accent pillows on the classic couch of their nuptials. A few hours after the traditional procession and recession, carriage ride, balcony smooch, and military plane salute, the pair emerged, zipping around the royal courtyard in the elder Charles'  convertible Aston Martin. Multicolored ribbons stretched across the hood., or as they say in ol' England - the bonnet. Tin cans dragged in the rears, behind a license that read JUST WED. I’m thinking that could give Ryan – a fireman – some ideas about a ladder truck!

 Grins flashed amid the formal bows and curtsies of the royals’ day.  Young Prince Harry called his bro Dude in place of Duke. I can only imagine how Ryan’s brother Matt will lighten up the ceremony and celebration with a remark or two directed at the groom.  A corny reference to the honeymoon as the holiday Ryan will take -  before he begins to work for a new boss, perhaps.  And Matt’s twins – the two-year-old flower girls – are bound to amuse by means of their seriousness the way the Duke’s godchild evoked laughs in London. A comic touch that emerged out of the drama of a toddler covering her ears at the sound of millions of hands clapping.

Love, ceremony, and smiles shaped the Duke and Duchess’ day –a royal model for us Yanks for sure.

Saying Yes to the Dress(es)

As of today two bridesmaids have ordered their dresses, the mothers of the bride and groom have chosen the COLORS of their dresses (guess what each of us is trying to do before we actually shop?). And with six months to go, the bride will have her last fitting this week.

Yep, much of the fuss of this blessed event is about THE DRESS and a bit of the rest of the to-do focuses on the other dresses.  Sorry guys. All eyes will be on the ladies. Tuxes enhance masculine lines just fine. But a dress is all about curves, tucks and puffs that turn a bride into a princess and her best buds into her stately court.  And though I’m sworn to secrecy about the details, trust me - THE DRESS is perfect for THE BRIDE, as it should be, as was mine in the eighties and my mother’s in the forties.

My mother looked so extraordinary in her gown a New York artist, who was a family friend, painted her portrait from her wedding photo. In the actual painting white pigment (stroked and dotted over pink and gray oils) replicates the dainty patterns of lace on the soft, deeply scooped neckline of her gown. Just above the lace, see-through toile rises to her neck. Like so  ------------------->   
In photographs from her wedding day she appears sensuous from afar, more demure up close.  

In the initial emotional rush of Emily’s engagement, almost two years ago, we dug deep into my closet and pulled out the long puffy garment bag that stored my wedding gown. Inside, the dress had remained brilliantly white and kept its sparkle around its Queen Anne neckline and jeweled lace cuffs. We did find a  single age spot on the train, a flaw that a dressmaker could easily remedy.

When Em put on my wedding dress, it fit her just as perfectly as it once had fit me. With her long hair pulled back and Ryan by her side, she could look exactly as off-the-chart happy as I looked beside my handsome groom - on her wedding day.

But wait, that was MY wedding day. And though we giggled and sighed and hugged and cried at the sight of Em in my gown, I think we both knew we’d eventually pass by a bridal shop and say,” Let’s go in.”  She'd try on one or two or three or more and, on another day, in another shop, she'd try on another and know, “This is the one.” The one which, with the right snip here and tuck there, would complement her curves perfectly - and even more noticeably, light up her face. The ONE that you won’t see until her walk down a grassy aisle, in a bit more than six months.

What will become of the mother-of-the-bride?

 I will go to bed  October 7, 2011 the Mother-of-the-Bride- to-be, and I will wake up the next  morning  about to become a cultural anomaly. Between  the time I  slip out from layers of crisp sheets on Emily and Ryan’s wedding day,   to the time I slip  back under them ( I expect no less than twenty hours later) I will add yet  another chapeau to my hat rack of kinships.  I will don the millinery of a MOTHER-IN-LAW.  A Pill Box, I suppose, by  society’s expectation.

If  you’re my age, the word incites an ear-jerk reaction, right to the sound of  “mother-in-law” being crooned  in  a deep  baritone  and then echoed  in a slightly higher range,. That's the way Ernie K-Doe performed it with  back-up singer  Benny Spellman in 1961.  In May of that year “Mother-in-law” spent one week topping the Billboard magazine Hot 100 List – slipping  in between  a week  or so of Ricky Nelson’s “Travelin’ Man ”  and Del Shannon’s  month-long  reign with  "Runaway".  Yet,  just a  few  days  on the charts was all  the“Mother-in-law-ing” it took for my generation to transmute the  image of  mommies- of- the-wedded  from mother hens  to clay pigeons.

How could they not become the immediate target of cultural derision after these cynical superlatives  - sung with gospel fervor  -  aired throughout America?

The worst person I know  (Mother-In-Law Mother-In-Law)
She worries me so  (Mother-In-Law Mother-In-Law)
If she leaves us alone we would have a happy home
Sent from down below (Mother-In-Law Mother-In-Law)

Out and out name calling ("Satan should be her name") starts the second stanza, which may have been the groove that raised Dick Clark's eyebrow . The squeaky clean Sixties King of Pop refused to play the tune on American Bandstand when the song came out in ’61.

But I can't put all the blame on Ernie. He only sang the words. New Orleans music legend Allen Toussaint penned the hateful  lyrics. Musician, composer, and producer, this icon has collaborated with everyone from Bonnie Raitt to The Rolling Stones, Lee Dorsey, The Pointer Sisters and Glen Campbell. But, apparently Toussiant has never been in cahoots with the mother of a wife – or a wife - for that matter. (for there are no references in career biographies to him ever being married).

Not so with Ernie – who was the marrying kind twice, according to record. Not much is said about his first marriage. But, after a decade or two of down and out years, he met Antoinette Fox, a K-Doe fan who managed a bar in New Orleans,where he spent time. She got K-Doe back onstage and, in 1996, down the aisle. By then the couple had reopened a rundown club as the Ernie K-Doe Mother-in-Law Lounge, and it quickly caught on with K-Doe’s fans, especially when he began performing.  As an added flourish, K-Doe’s new mother-in -law would appear onstage while he sang his signature song.

Pretty nice of the song’s incendiary namesake, wouldn’t you say?

 

Layered clothes, cakes, and lives

 Brrrrrrrrr. I’ve had to put on so many layers I feel like a tiered wedding cake. That makes me want to drop everything this frigid February afternoon (shovel, ice chopper, dry gas additive) and think about Em’s wedding. Lovely thoughts, like the ones that gave the Darling children the lift to fly to Neverland with Peter Pan. I don't want to get caught up in the stormy weather we've had lately - or the view that, according to plan, the Save the Date announcements should have gone out two weeks ago.

 The reminders are stuck somewhere between their online manufacturer and the U.S. Mail. Mid-February will have to do for their release. Around Valentine’s Day, I hope, so we can put pretty little LOVE postage stamps in the upper right hand corners of the envelopes. Even a  mid-March mailing would officially announce the date soon enough for the October wedding. And we could still go with the heart-embellished postage, for I'd like to think love is always in season,. Or, we could switch to one of the 159,142 wedding stamps for sale on http://www.weddingstamps.us/.  These include hundreds of fall wedding stamps, monogram stamps, save-the-date stamps, R.S.V.P stamps and even a create-your-own stamp. So what if our order of save-the-date cards hasn’t arrived yet? It’ll take at least a few days to decide on the postage that will embellish the mailing – now that we’ve found the stamp site on the Internet. 

 Aren't embellishments what planning a wedding is all about? The embellishments will make the day the couple’s own. Everything from the linens and flowers, to the ceremony and vows, to the food and  favors, and yes, even the invitations and stamps. These touches will allow Em and Ryan to say, “This is ours and just ours.” The twists of lights on the barn posts, the autumn bouquets and hodge-podge of fall flowers arranged in each table’s Mason Jar  –  Mason jars manufactured by Ball actually, with the brand's raised imprint  on each  container's thick glass. Ball just happens to match the mother-of-the-groom’s maiden name. Now there’s a nice touch. A happenstance touch. The best kind.

 Caught  up as I am in layers of cotton, wool,, and nylon to keep warm today , I am reminded of the stratums that make up a wedding as well as the cake, not to mention the multi-tiers of the two wonderful  lives the occasion will join as man and wife - and propel to fly off to  Everland together.  

Taste vs Judgment

Food glorious food surrounded Em and Ryan, his parents, and MOTB-blogger (me) at last Sunday’s wedding-tasting feast. We were invited to the event last year too, since we had booked the venue two years before the wedding date. How carefree we were in 2010 as we faced, just ahead of us, three cuts of beef,  and then a quarter turn to our left – four fish dishes, and with another turn – chicken this , chicken that,  and  chicken this and that. More choices than a Food Network home page lay before us and, like kids in a candy shop, we ricocheted from one counter to the next, pleasure our only principle.

The goods were just as abundant this year in an elegant room that felt as if it was being hosted by the Ghost of Plenty Past. This time, however, we weren’t so carefree.  Along with a plate I had my notebook in hand. I’d take a bite and jot. Bite and jot.

 Breast of Chicken Jacqueline- tastes like piccata. Very Olive-Garden-ish

Breast of Chicken Tuscany – good but sausage mix ??? Rules out the non-red-meat-eater.

Apple-stuffed Breast of Chicken – hmmmmm just right – especially for a fall-flavored feast.

For the non-meat eaters I considered:

Salmons with a fruity salsa – nice and light

 Filet of Sole with Scallop and Crabmeat Stuffing, topped with Lobster Sauce – a little heavy for my taste

Then I dipped, sipped, bit, and jotted

Butternut squash soup OR butternut squash ravioli –  not both. Too much of a good thing.

This went on through salads (7!), pastas (4), so many butlered- hors d'oeuvres, I lost track, and four flavors of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream.

Bite and jot. Bite and jot. Bite and jot. Bite and jot.

Hard work, I know, but someone’s got to do it!

With the holidays over . . . here comes the bride!

I just shoveled four inches of snow off the driveway. New England snow as it should be. Fluffy. Light.  Bright enough to wrap midnight, last night,  in the monochromatic grays of a late afternoon.

Looking out the window this morning, it’s difficult to believe that nine months from this very snowy day, ivory, the color of Emily’s wedding gown, will be the whiteness that accents the day and night.  We’re all hoping a classic New England fall landscape of flaming maples and golden oaks will surround her. An ever so light breeze in the late afternoon sun would be nice too.

But what if it rains? Or an unexpected autumn wind drives us indoors for the ceremony? Ryan, Em’s fiancé, has a brother who got married in a tent one June, a few years back. The plan was cocktails on an open patio and dinner under a tent with no walls, to encourage a wisp of air here and there. Instead, the skies just opened to buckets and buckets of rain. Not one cocktail was sipped in the open air. The tent’s unfurled plastic walls were all that kept the guests dry from the outright deluge taking place outside the ceremonial bubble. Yet, as I recall from looking  at photos of their festivities, there was not one frown or grimace on face of bride, groom, party or guests.  They all seemed to go with the flow, the flow being, in this case, lots and lots of rain water.

The photographs captured them hopping, skipping, and jumping through puddles in their bare feet. The girls held buoyant skirts  above their knees, and looked as if they were laughing the way children laugh through spontaneous summer showers.

The same  grayness that appeared out my kitchen window in last night’s snowstorm surrounded that wedding entourage.  But spots of perky umbrellas stand out here and there against the grayness in the wedding photos. The contrast reminds me of the way brightly painted dinghies on a lakeside in Ireland seem to  almost thumb their bows at the continual rolling in and out of dank Irish mist.   

Good weather for the wedding would be nice, but it’s not essential. That’s what the pictures of Ryan’s brother’s wedding tell me. They also whisper that the good time that took place in a gray, rainy landscape stands out as  more unique  and special than the so-called ideal panoramas of outdoor celebrations featured page after page in bridal magazines. So now, nine months before the BIG day, I’m going to stop worrying about the aspects of the day Emily and I will not be able to control and get down to the labor of love that will make it lovely in any weather.