Getting Started Again
The longer I wait to write, the harder it is to get going. It’s the same with my real writing, not that this isn’t real writing, but this is the writing I do to somehow record my life. The other writing, I suppose, more interprets my life, which frankly I prefer.
The Wedding
I feel as if I should have some great tome in here about the wedding, but it feels to hard to capture in a weblog. The details don’t make it sound any different from any other wedding, even though to us the day was incredible beyond words. If you haven’t seen them already, the pictures from the wedding are up at www.pictage.com. These will be up until the beginning of August. Search under Adam, because my name is way too common. But what is there to say about the wedding? The day was a total blur. On the honeymoon, I kept demanding to Adam, “Tell me about the wedding; tell me about the wedding!†His normal response was, “But you were there!†and I’d say, “Yes, but I don’t remember any of it!†Which is, of course, an exaggeration. I remember waiting and waiting for it all to start, sitting in my hotel room with Jenn and the Tweedle Twirp. And getting cranky with the photographer because I could not bear to smile yet again for the camera in the cold, shivering in my sleeveless dress. I remember being fascinated by the mirror because I couldn’t stop staring at myself, awed that I could be made to look so, well, bridal and virginal and pretty. I can’t recall ever thinking myself pretty before, but I did on my wedding day. My dress was a rich creamy silk, with small rhinestone buttons up the back that even Tweeds, with her tiny, tiny fingers, had trouble doing up. I remember Adam nicked himself while shaving leaving a small dab of blood on his chin. And the way he was concentrating so carefully on the rabbi’s lips while reciting his Hebrew vows that the rabbi had to tell him it was okay to look at me. My father tripped on my dress walking down the aisle, which made me giggle, breaking up the teary mood my mother had started in the hallway. The groom’s cake–the pile of Krispy Kreme donuts with the Pedro Martinez action figure–on top was a hit, and everyone danced the hora. Dancing, actually, went on for most of the night, and we even did the chair dance, although I was worried Adam would hit his head on the ceiling. One of the ushers started ordering Screaming Nazis for everyone, and then weeks later apologized for not thinking that it might not be the best thing to do at a Jewish wedding, although Adam and I both confessed it never once occurred to us. I remember being surprised when the wait staff deferred to me or asked me if I needed things that we weren’t serving, until I realized that I stood out pretty well, what with the white dress and veil. The best part for me was the ketubah signing, when Adam and I signed the wedding contract while the room full of our closest friends and family sang to us and then Adam pulled the veil over my head, and we read a blessing to each other. Cigars on the terrace, Tweed’s toast about past toasts at weddings, the boys dancing on the chairs by the window, Milo on his walkie talkie, Annie impatient for the ceremony to start–these I do remember but in bits and pieces. Nothing flows, there’s no order to the evening for me.
The Honeymoon
And the honeymoon? We were in Florence and Siena, but I’ll leave the honeymoon as a private thing. We have photos, photos of everything, that one of these days I’ll post. But I’ll leave the details to us.
The Rest of Life
So the last day on the job for me is June 18th. Everyone assumes I must be thrilled, but honestly, it’s pretty surreal. I’m planning all these things that I won’t be around to see to fruition. Five weeks feels both incredibly long and horribly short. I have such a love/hate relationship with work, which I suppose is not that unusual. It’s just that I’ve done such amazing things with this company, and it’s an experience like nothing I’ll ever have again. From what started as a day job as a copy editor while at night I worked on my writing to a full-fledged career. This place is not only my job, but in many ways, my life. It’s where my friends are, where I met my husband, where I developed my skills, and in some ways, how I identify myself. Breaking away will be one of the tougher things I do.
My plan as of now is to drive from Seattle to Boston on June 19th to start house hunting. My mom came up with the idea to ride with me. Adam said, “What, with no buffer?†(meaning of course my sister who is known as the human buffer zone, protecting me from my mother and vice versa). My father said, “You will kill each other†and my sister said, “Oy vey. You know she likes to listen to books on tape?†Anyway, looks like I’ll either have company on the trip to Boston or be indicted on murder charges. Whichever way, it should make for an interesting trip. What it looks like now is that she’ll meet me in Minneapolis, because she’s always wanted to see the Walker Art Center. Despite what everyone says, I think we can not only survive it, but it could be fun. I think half our problems stem from the folks around us, and with them gone, I’m sure we will get along fine. Besides, unlike the cross-country trip we took 20 years ago (and yes, it was 20 years ago), I now know how to read a map. But more importantly, it’ll be my car.
Oh, and then there’s the house. The papers have been signed to put the house on the market. Big step. Scary step. Adam’s one excitement was when the Realtor told him to sign the forms. He said, “Well, my name’s not on anything. I don’t actually own any of it.†She said, “Actually, Washington’s a community property state. Half this house is officially yours.†Another milestone of married life. Folks always ask, “Does married life feel different?” and they always seemed surprised when I say, “Yeah, it really does.” Not in any way I could define for them, but it is different. Better.
