(Intro to a) Charmed Toast: Four

• After the late afternoon breeze carried the sound of the memorial prayer for Larry and others through the gathering of family and friends. . .
• After Em and Ry promised to love each other through thick and thin, she tempering their seriousness with a reference to his penchant for corny jokes, he, to her practice of wearing swimming goggles when chopping onions. . .
• After we processed into a barn decorated with tiny white lights ...and the wedding party danced to music overlaid with a voice track spoken by the bride and the groom, telling stories that connected them to each member of the bridal entourage. . .
• After we bowed our heads and prayed. . .

. . . it was time to raise our glasses.  Which brought Conor, the bride’s brother, to the microphone, champagne flute in hand.

Photo by Amy Brogna Baione

I recall he wiped his forehead in  Lewis Black fashion. Then he said something about wanting to put more time into his tribute, but. . .

(BUT? I thought)

. . .but he had been distracted.

I expected to hear about  grad school work, late bartending hours. Instead he pulled his iPhone out of his pants pocket as if to check speech notes, the Lewis Black fidget down pat.

Before I knew it he had his back to the audience. He was taking something out of a backpack he had  hidden under a nearby chair. Then he spun back to the mike, and said,

                    “But I couldn’t pull myself away from this book, just released.”

And that was when he held my memoir up high for all to see. My memoir of loss – the loss of Larry -- which,for myself, I had ruled out of the realm of mention at the wedding.

The guests roared.

And then Conor got serious. . .

Charming coincidence: Three

Yes, the day had seemed so very charmed, even before the late afternoon ceremony. Brilliant streaks of morning sun had shined through the window of the bridal suite I shared with my daughter, the hours before the wedding. Alone, I might have unraveled a bit, but her joyful anticipation was contagious.

Before the room pulsed with bridesmaids and photographers trying to snap the intimacies of bridal party preps: scenes of primping, light feasting, and secret notes passing from groom headquarters to bride headquarters, and back again, Em and I stole a quiet moment. One in which she opened my tiny gift to her, a charm to slip onto her bracelet of beaded memories. This one meant to commemorate her wedding day.

In this quiet time between hustle and bustle, Em immediately realized what I had realized the night before, when she and her groom presented their parents with tokens of their affection at the Rehearsal Dinner. My gift was an autumn-scented Yankee Candle, set on a glass plate, covered by a  crackled glass shade. The simple acrylic sketch of a fall tree etched on  the plate and shade displayed oversized leaves in chestnut brown, burnt orange, and sage green.  Emily’s wedding hues.

It was as if the leafy candle design had shrunk to the size of a sunflower seed, to fit the surface of the bead in Em’s gift box. 

We had surprised each other by exchanging almost exact symbols in honor of her autumn wedding day. 




And now on to the biggest charmer of them all. . .

Charmed Day: Two

Em’s brother and I walked the bride down her grassy aisle. The memorial charm with the photo of Em’s dad was attached to her bouquet. We felt as complete as this world would allow.

As with most nuptials, the outdoor ceremony also included a prayer of remembrance. The bride and groom had asked me to write a short piece for Larry and other close relatives who had passed.

Now, in what may seem like a digression, I assure you – even if the skies opened to a deluge, we knew the wedding would be a brilliant day. Em and Ry would make it so – just as Ryan’s brother had turned his very very wet wedding to a sparkling occasion with colorful umbrellas, bare feet, and good humor five years previous.

But we really really knew we would not have to play mind over matter to brighten the skies on October 8 – thanks to Doppler radar. Weather forecasters were having a field day (actually – a field week) promising perfect skies for days before and through the entire Columbus Day Weekend of the wedding.

I took the liberty of trusting the forecast and referred to the day's foregone conclusion of  brillance in the remembrance prayer -- printed below. Matt, Em's godfather, delivered it at the nuptials with elan.

Emily and Ryan would not be the caring individuals -- or couple -- they have become without the cherished connections they share with family and friends here today. From the youngest to the oldest, all of you seated before them have played an important role in shaping their love for others and for one another. We gather this brilliant autumn afternoon, the present faces in the mirror of their lives.

When Emily and Ryan look more closely at this reflection, they are able to see, by the strength of their love and belief, through another side of this looking glass. A side that reveals the faces of loved ones not seated beside us today, but present nevertheless, in particular Ryan’s Grandmother Mullen and Emily’s Gramps Hayden, Grammy and Grandpa Baione, Godmother Olivine, and  Emily's dear father Larry. The couple asks you to look deeply with them and share the company of these loved ones on this their blessed wedding day

Enough said in the spirit of remembrance,  or so I thought . . .

Staying Alive: A Love Story Nominated for Award

My memoir, Staying Alive: A Love Story, has been nominated for the 2012 Christian Small Publishers Association Book of the Year Award in the Non-Fiction - Christian Living category. Please support it by clicking here to vote.  You'll have to scroll past 3/4s of the way down  the page to find it on the bottom right !

Voting takes place during February and March.

The memoir, a series of essays that chronicles my and my children's struggle after my husband's death over ten years ago, has been described by one reviewer as a beautiful reminder of what really matters. Others have referred to it as a personal, humorous, and inspiring view into the grief process.

These reviews and other information about the memoir can be found on my website.

Thank you for your support.

Charmed Memories: One

Through my daughter’s wedding plans, I didn’t worry so much about something going wrong. I expected misfires. Something I could not control: the weather, the timeliness of the limo pick-up, the Italians’ (my side) reaction to butternut squash ravioli in place of a traditional penne marinara entree. (The bride and groom wanted a fall-inspired menu).

I did, however, fret over the possibility of me messing up the wedding works. Me and the dark cloud I’d placed myself under since my husband died, thirteen years earlier. Recalling my holiday backfires and red-letter-day rants, I worried I’d unintentionally zap the joy out of Em’s big day too.

Unlike my past meltdowns, I, at least, owned up to the possibility of this one. Em and I talked about my fear, which led us to our mutual hope that Larry's memory be  present at the wedding - in a joyful way. How could we do this?

 The first idea was her’s –a memorial charm attached to her bouquet. Hidden between the bound stems of her array of fall blossoms and her grasp, this token of remembrance would accompany her every move, from ceremony to celebration. She chose a photo of Larry on our wedding day.

 I was beginning to feel better already . . .

MOTB > Mommy-in-Law

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe.

What’s a MOTB to do – after the wedding?  I’ve been thinking about that – over three months post nups now. The bride and groom have been pronounced  husband and wife, and the MOTB – has become an “in-law.”  According to Wikipedia, this now gives me a “legal affinity” to the groom,  whatever that means.  I haven’t gained a son; I’ve attained a son-in-law.  I wonder if there is an IRS form for that.

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe. He relates a rather malicious modry in lawe story in The Canterbury Tales, told by a guy (it figures!) on route to the shrine of Thomas Becket.  I don’t remember the sordid details, though I do remember – verbatim -- the first fourteen lines of the Tales. Had to memorize them to pass a required college English course over forty years ago. Memorize and recite. A forgotten objective in today's school curriculums.

Practicing for days in my dorm, I found I could best remember the archaic yet mellifluous Middle English when I sang the words to the tune of Leaving on a Jet Plane, a John Denver song (most popularly covered by Peter Paul and Mary). After stumbling through a few Whan that aprill –s at my official recitation (you had to make a one-on-one appointment with the prof ) I asked her if I could get my guitar – which I had left outside the meeting room – just in case (no pun intended!).

Strumming away, I breezed through the fourteen lines.  Still can.

What tune can I rehearse being an M-in law to, I wonder. Certainly not its namesake song, which I wrote about pre-wedding. I want the lyrics to rate at least a 9, American-Bandstand-wise, and be easy to dance to.  

Interview Follows Review of Staying Alive: A Love Story

A lot going on this week! After review of my memoir Staying Alive: A Love Story,  I was interviewed.


Click here for interview.

Click here for  review .