Years before I had ever even fantasized about sharing a bowl of ice cream, a home or a last name with him, Gary Stokes was News Director at WAVY TV 10. And I was a producer, and a much different version of myself.
I was angry, bitter, and mean. I yelled at people. I said horrible things. I hurt people's feelings. I smashed things and broke things and threw things. And I was in a lot of pain, a lot of the time.
I was 30 the summer Gary and I met. I had been dealing with "girlie problems" for nearly half my life. By then I had had multiple - like 4 or 5 - abdominal surgeries. I had lost count. I spent more than a year on codeine. When that stopped working, my doctors prescribed oxycontin. I took a lot, and I took it often. I did the best I could to make it through the work day, and spent nights curled up in a ball with a heating pad, hot water bottle, aromatherapy treatments, and various other things to help dull the pain deep inside my belly and my back. About once a month, I would make a trip to the emergency room and spend the evening on a morphine drip - a "pitcher of margaritas" the nurses always called it. It would help me sleep through the night and would get me through until the pain had lessened enough for the oxycontin to work again.
In September of that year, at my wit's end, I found a doctor who agreed to give me a hysterectomy, even though I was only 30. The afternoon I sat in his office and scheduled what I thought would be my final surgery was the same afternoon I believe a much deeper relationship between Gary and I began.
As long as I had been sick, my mother was the first person I'd call when I left a doctor's office. That day I added a second call - to Gary. I spoke to him before I even pulled out of my parking space. I don't remember what I told him, but I drove straight to the station and sat down in his office. Alone and afraid, I poured myself and my sickness out to him. He told me to take care of me and everything else would be alright. When I left that day, I knew I wouldn't be back to work for as long as 9 weeks, and I knew that I would miss him.
I spent the next several days getting prepared for surgery and subsequent time at home - where I would be stuck in my 4th floor apartment for much of it. I got library books and snacks and movies. I picked up groceries. I made sure someone was getting my mail and would check on me. My mother flew in to help. I made a phone tree for people to call when I got out of surgery. I wanted her first call to be Gary. I wanted to make sure he knew how I had made it through.
Several days before I was scheduled to check in to Chesapeake General, I had a "routine" ultrasound. My surgeon found something - two things actually - that he wasn't expecting. A tumor attached to my left ovary, and one inside my uterus. As I left his office that day, truly frightened, I made two phone calls from the parking lot. The first to my mother, the second to Gary. That night - this was before there was blogging - I started sending out mass emails to my friends and family. I think I thought I was helping them, telling them how I was doing, but in reality, I was helping me - dumping my fears and worries and nightmares into cyberspace to purge them from my head and my heart.
In addition to the tumors, my abdomen was full of adhesions - attached to everything - essentially glueing my organs to one another. I was horrified when I woke from surgery and the doctor told me he had "saved" my right ovary. Saved it from what? I had wanted so badly to be done with this 15 year nightmare, and he had "saved" one of my ovaries. I wondered how long it would take for that one to need to come out. As disappointed as I was, I was extremely relieved to hear the tumors he removed were not cancerous.
I didn't get better after I was out the hospital that time. A week or so after I was discharged, I developed an infection and had to be rushed back. I was admitted for another week. Back on the morphine drip, I woke up the middle of some afternoon and saw Gary standing over my bed. I was confused and delighted. I have no idea what we talked about or how long he was there. But there he was.
As often as I could after my surgery I emailed - sometimes in a drug-induced haze. I would say things I would never say to someone's face for fear of embarrassing myself, or them. One morning - I'm sure she meant well - my mother replied to an email and said "don't you think this is too personal to share with Gary? I think you should remove him from this list." I did not, and I do not, think it was too personal to share with Gary. I believe as humans there are things we are supposed to share with each other to help us grow and to help us heal. And Gary got to know me more in that time than he would have if we had simply been working in the same newsroom.
After I went home again, I spent several weeks with nothing to do. I wasn't allowed back at work, but was encouraged to walk. So I walked. I would go down by the mighty Elizabeth River, around the harbor, close to WAVY and back home. One afternoon as I walked laps, I looked across a field, and alone, heading in my direction, was Gary. He was walking to get his lunch. Of all the people I could have seen in downtown Portsmouth that day, I saw him. Alone. And I was ecstatic. He hugged me in that old friend-y kind of hug way. That was the first time I remember noticing the way he smells - like dry cleaning and lotion and a hint of something sweetly indescribable. It's the same clean, calming scent he has now.
I went back to work for a couple of months. In that time the pain came back, and my hormones and my moods were eratic and insane. I was a mess. I felt hopeless and helpless. In March, my "saved" ovary finally had a tumor large enough for my doctor to want to take it out. Only this time it was an emergency. With grave concerns about cancer, he gave me just 36 hours to prepare for this surgery. I got in my car and called my mother. And then I called Gary and headed back to the station to tell him the news again.
This time was different. The afternoon I got home from the hospital I even got on the treadmill. I healed faster, felt better, and had more hope than ever before. The tumor was not cancerous and my ovary was gone - but it doesn't end there.
Then, and now, I have to see the doctor about every 3 or 4 months to tweak my hormone replacements. It's not always a pretty process. I have moodswings and I worry I'll never feel normal. I have symptoms that make me think I'm turning into my grandmothers. I'm not even 40, how can I have that??? When we moved to Birmingham, I started going to one of the best clinics in the country, and my doctor there is one of the top reproductive endocrinologists around. I call him "my chemist". I often feel like a big experiment, but I guess in a sense, I am.
About once a year something will happen and I will panic and convince myself that I am sick again. After sufficiently scaring myself about it, I'll tell Gary and he'll remind me that I worried about this before and everything turned out fine. He'll also tell me that if it does turn out to be something, we'll get through it. Then he'll encourage me to go to the clinic, and when I do, it's always something that's a quick fix. Add this, subtract that, wait another 3 months and see what happens. It's a constant process, but at least I'm no longer in pain or a screaming angry madwoman.
So why am I telling you all of this in our wedding blog? For one, this weekend was the 6th anniversary of my last ovary being removed. We always observe the day by eating eggs - real ones, not beaters. The other thing is this - I think most engaged people probably hope they'll never have to test their vows. They might pray things won't go from better to worse, or from richer to poorer. I am blessed. We are blessed. We've already been through sickness and now have health. And if anything should happen again, to either one of us, we know we'll get through it - together.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
187 Days (23 hours, 31 minutes and 53 seconds...)
Time is flying. I am currently panicking about how it's all going to get done. I just realized it's been almost a month since I blogged at all - completely because I've been too busy. You all know me well enough to know I've always got something to say and am generally not shy about saying it. Just. Too. (Favorite four-letter word + "ing"). Busy. Am in fact writing this at lunch right now because I wanted to get this out to you all because I know you're trying to plan.
Believe me, we know the economy is affecting everyone and everything. We're trying to plan a wedding at possibly the worst financial time in the last, well, since there was a little dinosaur lady who was trying as hard as she could to plan a creative and beautiful and fun and personal wedding without cutting the guest list or using credit cards...
Since we created the guest list, at least 3 people on it have been laid off. This is not a big wedding, folks. That's a lot. Especially considering several guests are still in school, and others either work from home or are self-employed.
We know this is a hard time, but we really, really want those of you who are out of town to be able to come in and be part of our celebration. Here are a couple of things for you to think about if you're sweating being able to make it:
1 - You can always carpool. According to Googlemaps, it's 11 hours and change from Portsmouth. (For lack of another central location, I did actually google it from WAVY to our house. Don't know why I couldn't come up with anything else.) There are a lot of people in Virginia on the guest list, and many of you already know each other. If you're interested in roadtrippin', email me and I'll send you email addresses of other people near you. Honestly, I think it would be fun. It may seem like a long time in the car, but it's a beautiful drive, and no one drives as slowly as Googlemaps would like us to - it's probably more like 10 hours. If you're splitting the cost with a few people, it might make it tolerable. Maybe you'll make new friends! Also remember it's a holiday weekend - you'll have all day Monday to get back.
2 -- Share a room. I am still working on hotel rooms and rates. I seriously have just been too busy to drive to a bunch and check them out. (I did check out a Bed & Breakfast this weekend in Birmingham - the ONLY B&B in Birmingham - and there is nfw I'm letting any of you stay there. Quick side story: Ira, the "innkeeper", was like a more effeminate Norman Bates wearing a way-too-tight black leather vest. There were full-sized carousel horses in this place, a peacock with it's thing all spread out in the fireplace, and tables were littered with little teacups and saucers and other dainty Victorian crap. In one of the "very affordable" suites, the sitting room was stufffed full with I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP little dolls and doll carriages and bassinets all posed with their plastic eyeballs staring right at you. Another room had this massive wedding dress all fluffed out and shaped and draped. It was horrific. Ira was so proud of it all. I was so creeped out it was all I could do to not run down the original oak steps and straight out the front door shrieking. But had I done that, I would have had to pass by - again - the wicker rocking chairs on the porch with bunnies placed just-so on them. I physically shuddered for about 30 minutes after leaving this place. I hate B&Bs anyway, and prefer not to stay in them, but this was ridiculous. I will not allow any of you to stay there. Period.) So anyway, I'm working on checking out real hotels for you, but while I do, please remember you can bunk with someone. Again, many of you know each other already, and if you don't, I'm sure we can match you up with someone we think you would like. After all, we think you're all pretty cool, so I'm sure you'll like each other, even if it's just well enough to enjoy a weekend together. I'm paying particular attention to hotels that offer suites so there will be more room in them, should you decide to split the cost and share with someone.
3 -- Share a car. If you do go ahead and fly in, think about sharing a rental car with someone. For the third time, many of you already know each other. And if you don't, we trust you each enough to recommend you to a person you could share a car with and know you won't hack them up into little pieces or purposefully run anyone into a telephone pole. Most likely you'll be going to many of the same places anyway, might as well split the cost. Want some names? Email me.
That's what I've got for now, mostly because it's time for me to get back to work. I promise I'm working on the hotels. The one I did already look at (that's attached to a mall and has a steakhouse and bar, etc. in it) ran about $119/night I think. That one's also a little out of the way, but it has a lot to do during down time. My uncle told me the other day he found one that's about 15 minutes from our house and the reception site, and about 20 or so from the ceremony site for about $49/night - and that's for a suite with an extra pull out sofa. I'm going to drive down and look at that one with my own eyes before I recommend it, but I think it's pretty new, so I can't imagine it's all that bad. I may be able to do that Saturday, but will be busy working the second job because, as I said, we're trying to plan a wedding in the worst financial time in history without cutting the guest list or using credit cards...
Believe me, we know the economy is affecting everyone and everything. We're trying to plan a wedding at possibly the worst financial time in the last, well, since there was a little dinosaur lady who was trying as hard as she could to plan a creative and beautiful and fun and personal wedding without cutting the guest list or using credit cards...
Since we created the guest list, at least 3 people on it have been laid off. This is not a big wedding, folks. That's a lot. Especially considering several guests are still in school, and others either work from home or are self-employed.
We know this is a hard time, but we really, really want those of you who are out of town to be able to come in and be part of our celebration. Here are a couple of things for you to think about if you're sweating being able to make it:
1 - You can always carpool. According to Googlemaps, it's 11 hours and change from Portsmouth. (For lack of another central location, I did actually google it from WAVY to our house. Don't know why I couldn't come up with anything else.) There are a lot of people in Virginia on the guest list, and many of you already know each other. If you're interested in roadtrippin', email me and I'll send you email addresses of other people near you. Honestly, I think it would be fun. It may seem like a long time in the car, but it's a beautiful drive, and no one drives as slowly as Googlemaps would like us to - it's probably more like 10 hours. If you're splitting the cost with a few people, it might make it tolerable. Maybe you'll make new friends! Also remember it's a holiday weekend - you'll have all day Monday to get back.
2 -- Share a room. I am still working on hotel rooms and rates. I seriously have just been too busy to drive to a bunch and check them out. (I did check out a Bed & Breakfast this weekend in Birmingham - the ONLY B&B in Birmingham - and there is nfw I'm letting any of you stay there. Quick side story: Ira, the "innkeeper", was like a more effeminate Norman Bates wearing a way-too-tight black leather vest. There were full-sized carousel horses in this place, a peacock with it's thing all spread out in the fireplace, and tables were littered with little teacups and saucers and other dainty Victorian crap. In one of the "very affordable" suites, the sitting room was stufffed full with I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP little dolls and doll carriages and bassinets all posed with their plastic eyeballs staring right at you. Another room had this massive wedding dress all fluffed out and shaped and draped. It was horrific. Ira was so proud of it all. I was so creeped out it was all I could do to not run down the original oak steps and straight out the front door shrieking. But had I done that, I would have had to pass by - again - the wicker rocking chairs on the porch with bunnies placed just-so on them. I physically shuddered for about 30 minutes after leaving this place. I hate B&Bs anyway, and prefer not to stay in them, but this was ridiculous. I will not allow any of you to stay there. Period.) So anyway, I'm working on checking out real hotels for you, but while I do, please remember you can bunk with someone. Again, many of you know each other already, and if you don't, I'm sure we can match you up with someone we think you would like. After all, we think you're all pretty cool, so I'm sure you'll like each other, even if it's just well enough to enjoy a weekend together. I'm paying particular attention to hotels that offer suites so there will be more room in them, should you decide to split the cost and share with someone.
3 -- Share a car. If you do go ahead and fly in, think about sharing a rental car with someone. For the third time, many of you already know each other. And if you don't, we trust you each enough to recommend you to a person you could share a car with and know you won't hack them up into little pieces or purposefully run anyone into a telephone pole. Most likely you'll be going to many of the same places anyway, might as well split the cost. Want some names? Email me.
That's what I've got for now, mostly because it's time for me to get back to work. I promise I'm working on the hotels. The one I did already look at (that's attached to a mall and has a steakhouse and bar, etc. in it) ran about $119/night I think. That one's also a little out of the way, but it has a lot to do during down time. My uncle told me the other day he found one that's about 15 minutes from our house and the reception site, and about 20 or so from the ceremony site for about $49/night - and that's for a suite with an extra pull out sofa. I'm going to drive down and look at that one with my own eyes before I recommend it, but I think it's pretty new, so I can't imagine it's all that bad. I may be able to do that Saturday, but will be busy working the second job because, as I said, we're trying to plan a wedding in the worst financial time in history without cutting the guest list or using credit cards...
Saturday, February 7, 2009
A Letter From the Past
We have had a very, very busy week when it comes to the wedding. Well, overall, but wedding stuff has been full speed ahead for the last week or 10 days.
Last weekend I was in Atlanta at a flower show, where I got a lot done, and found a lot of inspiration. I took projects with me for downtime, and actually worked on making favors, and started work on the invitations. Just wait - once you see them you'll understand why this was no easy task. As I was hanging out at this flower show for 4+ days, I saw a lot of flowers (duh), got a lot of advice from garden experts, and flipped through about a bazillion books. One particular book had pictures of arrangements, bouquets, and boutteniers that I liked so much, I actually took photos of the pages. Yes, at this point, I am that cheap that I snuck around shooting the pages rather than purchase the book... I also got a sense of what flowers I *don't* want for the wedding - either because they didn't hold up well out of water, would have to be flown in from somewhere far, far away (not very environmentally responsible - I wouldn't be able to sleep at night), or once they were made into an arrangement they looked just plain gawdy. It really was quite helpful and somewhat eased a bit of my anxiety.
Gary and I met at the jeweler one afternoon this week and saw our rings. We tried them on, but for insurance reasons (please read "Terror and Insurance" if you have not already), they are still in the jeweler's safe, not in our safety deposit box. But we did try them on and see how they look on us. I am trying not to think too much about it. It made me a little excited.
We also made an appointment for our wine tasting and scheduled our cake tasting. That we will be doing while Gary's Mom is here - something fun she can be involved in, and she can help make some crucial decisions. And besides, as the pastry shop is called where we're going, who doesn't love cake? (At least I think that's the name. It's close.)
The other week I found a song that I felt was perfect, just perfect, for the processional. It's sung by one of our favorite singers, someone who we've seen in concert several times. It's in Italian and has a lot of violin, two things I absolutely adore, and based on the English translation, it's about two people who couldn't be together but now they can finally celebrate their love -- and at the time I had Obama on the brain, as well as a little Abraham Lincoln, and the song really touched me. Just 40 years ago we couldn't have married each other. I am so grateful that people were and are willing to stand up for what's right in this great nation, regardless of what's law, regardless of what's "acceptable", and make change happen. God bless those who aren't afraid to fight to make life better for all other people.
So anyway, I was all excited about this song. Had just about every step down the "aisle" planned out. And then Gary burst my bubble. And crushed my dream. The song is actually "A Time for Us" - the 1968 theme to Romeo & Juliet. I got a "D" in Shakespeare, but I know that's not a good thing. Dammit.
Tomorrow we're going to look at ties and cufflinks. Monday morning we're having breakfast with an officiant-candidate. Yesterday I pulled a box out of the garage of old cards and letters and other treasures I've kept for the last many years. I am hoping there is something in that box that will help me write my vows.
But before I found that inspiration, under deflated balloons from birthdays gone by, placemats from theme-night dinners, and lyrics to my favorite love songs, I discovered a letter from the past. It's actually an email conversation between me and Jacey Eckhart, a sometimes-marriage and family-columnist for the Virginian-Pilot. It was written the week of Valentine's Day, years ago, but I'm not sure how many, there's no date on it. Here is an excerpt of what I said to her in response to a column about what women want for said mall-holiday:
"...why do [these articles] seem to be just about what men get women? I am racking my brain so much about what to get him, that what he's getting me isn't even crossing my mind. This is a mall-iday in celebration of love, and our relationship is *ours*, not just mine... Not once in columns about Valentine's Day this year have I seen anything to speak of regarding what *he*wants."
"...I am lucky, blessed, and thankful that I have a boyfriend that knows me well and takes the time to *think* about what I like and would want."
"When is someone going to point out that it's not about chocolate (= guilt) or 'romantic' silky outfits (= one night of lust)? Real romance is taking the time to think about what's important to your sweetie, what makes them feel good, what they enjoy, what makes them feel pampered... All we really want is for men to think about what would make us feel special. Take the time, use the energy, get creative, and we'll do the same for them."
Her response to me:
"I predict good things for this relationship. Not only do you know each other well enough to navigate the tricky waters of V-day, but you are already talking about it. I can't tell you how many years of conversations we had to have about V-day before we got it exactly right. You are way ahead of the curve."
Wow. That made me feel really good - then and now. Made me feel good that she said those things, but moreso that Gary's even so much more thoughtful and romantic and creative as the years go by. I am indeed the luckiest girl in the world.
...And now, off to the symphony with the man who undoubtedly will be the hottest one there. And then we'll come home, I'll settle into bed, and then stay awake all night worrying about what I'm going to get him for Valentine's Day...
Last weekend I was in Atlanta at a flower show, where I got a lot done, and found a lot of inspiration. I took projects with me for downtime, and actually worked on making favors, and started work on the invitations. Just wait - once you see them you'll understand why this was no easy task. As I was hanging out at this flower show for 4+ days, I saw a lot of flowers (duh), got a lot of advice from garden experts, and flipped through about a bazillion books. One particular book had pictures of arrangements, bouquets, and boutteniers that I liked so much, I actually took photos of the pages. Yes, at this point, I am that cheap that I snuck around shooting the pages rather than purchase the book... I also got a sense of what flowers I *don't* want for the wedding - either because they didn't hold up well out of water, would have to be flown in from somewhere far, far away (not very environmentally responsible - I wouldn't be able to sleep at night), or once they were made into an arrangement they looked just plain gawdy. It really was quite helpful and somewhat eased a bit of my anxiety.
Gary and I met at the jeweler one afternoon this week and saw our rings. We tried them on, but for insurance reasons (please read "Terror and Insurance" if you have not already), they are still in the jeweler's safe, not in our safety deposit box. But we did try them on and see how they look on us. I am trying not to think too much about it. It made me a little excited.
We also made an appointment for our wine tasting and scheduled our cake tasting. That we will be doing while Gary's Mom is here - something fun she can be involved in, and she can help make some crucial decisions. And besides, as the pastry shop is called where we're going, who doesn't love cake? (At least I think that's the name. It's close.)
The other week I found a song that I felt was perfect, just perfect, for the processional. It's sung by one of our favorite singers, someone who we've seen in concert several times. It's in Italian and has a lot of violin, two things I absolutely adore, and based on the English translation, it's about two people who couldn't be together but now they can finally celebrate their love -- and at the time I had Obama on the brain, as well as a little Abraham Lincoln, and the song really touched me. Just 40 years ago we couldn't have married each other. I am so grateful that people were and are willing to stand up for what's right in this great nation, regardless of what's law, regardless of what's "acceptable", and make change happen. God bless those who aren't afraid to fight to make life better for all other people.
So anyway, I was all excited about this song. Had just about every step down the "aisle" planned out. And then Gary burst my bubble. And crushed my dream. The song is actually "A Time for Us" - the 1968 theme to Romeo & Juliet. I got a "D" in Shakespeare, but I know that's not a good thing. Dammit.
Tomorrow we're going to look at ties and cufflinks. Monday morning we're having breakfast with an officiant-candidate. Yesterday I pulled a box out of the garage of old cards and letters and other treasures I've kept for the last many years. I am hoping there is something in that box that will help me write my vows.
But before I found that inspiration, under deflated balloons from birthdays gone by, placemats from theme-night dinners, and lyrics to my favorite love songs, I discovered a letter from the past. It's actually an email conversation between me and Jacey Eckhart, a sometimes-marriage and family-columnist for the Virginian-Pilot. It was written the week of Valentine's Day, years ago, but I'm not sure how many, there's no date on it. Here is an excerpt of what I said to her in response to a column about what women want for said mall-holiday:
"...why do [these articles] seem to be just about what men get women? I am racking my brain so much about what to get him, that what he's getting me isn't even crossing my mind. This is a mall-iday in celebration of love, and our relationship is *ours*, not just mine... Not once in columns about Valentine's Day this year have I seen anything to speak of regarding what *he*wants."
"...I am lucky, blessed, and thankful that I have a boyfriend that knows me well and takes the time to *think* about what I like and would want."
"When is someone going to point out that it's not about chocolate (= guilt) or 'romantic' silky outfits (= one night of lust)? Real romance is taking the time to think about what's important to your sweetie, what makes them feel good, what they enjoy, what makes them feel pampered... All we really want is for men to think about what would make us feel special. Take the time, use the energy, get creative, and we'll do the same for them."
Her response to me:
"I predict good things for this relationship. Not only do you know each other well enough to navigate the tricky waters of V-day, but you are already talking about it. I can't tell you how many years of conversations we had to have about V-day before we got it exactly right. You are way ahead of the curve."
Wow. That made me feel really good - then and now. Made me feel good that she said those things, but moreso that Gary's even so much more thoughtful and romantic and creative as the years go by. I am indeed the luckiest girl in the world.
...And now, off to the symphony with the man who undoubtedly will be the hottest one there. And then we'll come home, I'll settle into bed, and then stay awake all night worrying about what I'm going to get him for Valentine's Day...
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude
It's been a pretty cold winter (relatively speaking, of course) in Alabama. Our fireplace has gotten a lot more use than in previous years. Buying firewood here is different than anywhere else I've ever been. I've never been able to just find it at a store of some sort. Instead guys sit with their pick-ups on the side of the main roads, beds loaded down with chopped wood, and wait for people to stop and buy. It feels a little dirty to me, especially because I don't buy a lot at a time. 'How much can I get for 20 bucks?' makes me feel like I'm buying something I'm possibly going to burn, but probably not in the fireplace.
One afternoon I was out cruising for the firewood trucks and found one on a corner near the house. There wasn't a guy in this truck, but a number scrawled on a piece of limp cardboard taped to the side. I called the number and an old man answered. He told me how to get to his "wood yard" that was only about a mile away. I drove down this backroad I've never been on before, past overgrown lots and mobile home communities and a white and pink cinderblock dance studio that stood out like -- well, like a white and pink dance studio in the middle of a sooty, brushy, seemingly dying stretch of winding road. I came up on the wood yard and parked basically in the middle of the curvy street. There were only muddy ditches on either side of the road, places only pick-ups and ATVs could drive. I just hoped this would be quick, or that no one actually ever drove down this road, and if they did, they'd be going slowly.
So out of nowhere walks this old man. Or at least I thought he was an old man. He didn't seem to have put in his teeth that morning. He was wearing only one dirty glove, and the other hand was missing a thumb. He spit -- I hope it was chewing tobacco. His clothes were layers upon layers of things that had been cut or patched or were fraying. His outfit reminded me of the gas station attendants you don't see much anymore - when they'd come out and fill your tank and check under your hood, even if it was 12 below and sleeting. I'm still not sure if this man is in his 80's, or one of those souls who looks old when he's still young - a lifetime of back-breaking work taking its toll long before its time.
We chatted a bit as he was trudging through the mud, searching for the driest wood, and loading it into my car. One of the things he said was that he had to actually pay to have the wood brought in so he could chop it and sell it. $30 for the load to chop and re-sell. He used to get the wood at his jobsite, they let him take it and chop it. But now, "there ain't no work no mo'. There just ain't no work no mo'." I wrote him a check for $12 for my wood and started for home, his words still stinging in my ears.
I got home and started to build a fire. Meanwhile, I was telling Gary this story. The global financial crisis has been on our minds as much as anyone's, and trying to plan a wedding right now is taking a lot of creative corner cutting. I suspect it will also mean we may be compromising even more of what we want the closer we get, should this not turn around soon.
I just felt horrible. Horrible that here was this old man, with 9 fingers, chopping wood to feed his family, and here we were planning a week-long honeymoon somewhere that's going to cost us the equivalent of about 3 months of my salary. There is something seriously wrong with that. Especially when it's a very real possibility that one or both of us could lose our jobs in the next 6 months. So we fired up the laptop and got to work...
What we found, and later changed, is that we can go to Ocho Rios instead of St. Lucia for half the cost. HALF THE COST. Same resort chain, so we didn't lose the deposit. The Ocho Rios resort has a country club nearby, so we're getting 27 more holes of golf than in St. Lucia. It's the same body of water. I'm sure the sand and sun are similar. We'll still be together. And on our honeymoon. And in Ocho Rios, again for half the cost, we have the Honeymoon Oceanview Villa 1 Bedroom Suite with a private pool. No kidding. Oh, and the flights were cheaper, and shorter. Gary ended up getting a credit from the airlines.
I definitely feel better having made this change. Yes, it's nice to have a fabulous honeymoon to always remember, but we'll always remember it anyway. It's about us, not about spending money we may need for other things down the road. And this way, we'll get the golf and the sun and the amazing trip together, but not feel so frivolous and irresponsible about it.
By the way, the luxury is included, but we still have to pay for it. Want to buy us a romantic dinner for two on the beach or a couple's massage? Here's where you can help.
One afternoon I was out cruising for the firewood trucks and found one on a corner near the house. There wasn't a guy in this truck, but a number scrawled on a piece of limp cardboard taped to the side. I called the number and an old man answered. He told me how to get to his "wood yard" that was only about a mile away. I drove down this backroad I've never been on before, past overgrown lots and mobile home communities and a white and pink cinderblock dance studio that stood out like -- well, like a white and pink dance studio in the middle of a sooty, brushy, seemingly dying stretch of winding road. I came up on the wood yard and parked basically in the middle of the curvy street. There were only muddy ditches on either side of the road, places only pick-ups and ATVs could drive. I just hoped this would be quick, or that no one actually ever drove down this road, and if they did, they'd be going slowly.
So out of nowhere walks this old man. Or at least I thought he was an old man. He didn't seem to have put in his teeth that morning. He was wearing only one dirty glove, and the other hand was missing a thumb. He spit -- I hope it was chewing tobacco. His clothes were layers upon layers of things that had been cut or patched or were fraying. His outfit reminded me of the gas station attendants you don't see much anymore - when they'd come out and fill your tank and check under your hood, even if it was 12 below and sleeting. I'm still not sure if this man is in his 80's, or one of those souls who looks old when he's still young - a lifetime of back-breaking work taking its toll long before its time.
We chatted a bit as he was trudging through the mud, searching for the driest wood, and loading it into my car. One of the things he said was that he had to actually pay to have the wood brought in so he could chop it and sell it. $30 for the load to chop and re-sell. He used to get the wood at his jobsite, they let him take it and chop it. But now, "there ain't no work no mo'. There just ain't no work no mo'." I wrote him a check for $12 for my wood and started for home, his words still stinging in my ears.
I got home and started to build a fire. Meanwhile, I was telling Gary this story. The global financial crisis has been on our minds as much as anyone's, and trying to plan a wedding right now is taking a lot of creative corner cutting. I suspect it will also mean we may be compromising even more of what we want the closer we get, should this not turn around soon.
I just felt horrible. Horrible that here was this old man, with 9 fingers, chopping wood to feed his family, and here we were planning a week-long honeymoon somewhere that's going to cost us the equivalent of about 3 months of my salary. There is something seriously wrong with that. Especially when it's a very real possibility that one or both of us could lose our jobs in the next 6 months. So we fired up the laptop and got to work...
What we found, and later changed, is that we can go to Ocho Rios instead of St. Lucia for half the cost. HALF THE COST. Same resort chain, so we didn't lose the deposit. The Ocho Rios resort has a country club nearby, so we're getting 27 more holes of golf than in St. Lucia. It's the same body of water. I'm sure the sand and sun are similar. We'll still be together. And on our honeymoon. And in Ocho Rios, again for half the cost, we have the Honeymoon Oceanview Villa 1 Bedroom Suite with a private pool. No kidding. Oh, and the flights were cheaper, and shorter. Gary ended up getting a credit from the airlines.
I definitely feel better having made this change. Yes, it's nice to have a fabulous honeymoon to always remember, but we'll always remember it anyway. It's about us, not about spending money we may need for other things down the road. And this way, we'll get the golf and the sun and the amazing trip together, but not feel so frivolous and irresponsible about it.
By the way, the luxury is included, but we still have to pay for it. Want to buy us a romantic dinner for two on the beach or a couple's massage? Here's where you can help.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Up-do, Make Up, and Porn
Bartlet and I are alone for the weekend. Gary has gone to DC to visit his sons. Oh yeah, and to be there and witness the swearing in of the 44th President of the United States with millions of his closest friends. While I am truly disappointed to not be there also, it just didn't work out for me to join him. (And I trust he'll get me a sophisticated yet understated commemorative T-shirt when he purchases one for our friend Justice.) So while Gary and Craig and Mark have an historic ("an", not "a") weekend full of male-bonding, Bartlet and I are doing bride-to-be stuff. And Bartlet's thrilled about it. He'd tell you himself, but he's sleeping. And he can't type because he doesn't have opposable thumbs.
So it's 6:00 and I'm in my pajamas already and there's a (really pathetic) fire in the fireplace. The B2B day started with the afternoon off from work. At 12:30 I went to Salon Xanadoo and met with Lindsey. I'm told she's the best "special occasion hair designer" around. At least that's what Wayne-John at the front desk told me. I really went there because I wanted Russell Kern to do my hair - Gary and I met Russell and his partner Cliff at an AIDS Alabama benefit auction and casino night gala thing. We had a blast with them and it turns out Russell is great with curly hair. But of course by the time I got around to calling him, he had stopped doing hair and no longer works there. So I met with Lindsey.
Before I even sat down I fanned out the 75 pictures I'd brought with me - all ripped out from bridal magazines. (See "Bridal Overdose" for more on my obsession with bridal magazines.) When I showed her the one I really liked the most, I told her that - and added, "but I want it to look like MY hair." She said, "sit down. I can do that." Really? No one in my entire life has ever been able to make my hair look anything like anyone else's style. In fact, rarely do I leave the chair not in tears. Which is why I never get my hair cut. The last time was 2 years ago. Seriously.
I sat down and she started playing with my hair, and - whoo hoo! - she wasn't like all the other hair people at all - she didn't do everything she could to mess up the curl pattern and make it fuzzy. I was amazed. After 5 minutes of trying to get bobby pins to stay in, she decided to try a rubber band instead. Never in almost 37 years have I EVER been able to put a rubber band in my hair. They snap before I can get them around this wild mane. It's been 5 hours and it's still in, by the way. So she banded and bobby pinned and told me where she'd flatten and where she'd make a little place for my veil. That would be the veil I wasn't positive I'd be wearing until Lindsey told me she'd make a little place for it to sit. And she told me where she'd need to tease. Tease. My hair.
Later I was thinking about that, and I'm quite certain the last time I teased my hair I was getting ready for a Roosevelt High School dance with Nikki Hardy and Becky Finley in a cigarette smoke and Aqua Net-filled bathroom and we were wearing jelly bracelets up to our elbows and some sort of boots with buckles with a skirt and something probably fishnet or at least with the knees ripped out. And either Prince or Madonna was on the radio. Or did we still have vinyl then? Most likely a cassette tape. So anyway...
Before I left I made an appointment for August to do a real dress rehearsal of the half I-do-Up-do. And she's only charging me half the real cost because apparently thick, curly, dirty hair is the absolute best for the I-do-Up-do. BUT -- you know how I keep preaching about how much cheaper it is to get married on a Sunday? Not this time. Because she'll have to come to me to do my hair that day, it's gonna cost me FOUR TIMES as much. That's the first thing I've come across in all this planning where it's more expensive.
With my rubber band and bobby pins still firmly planted in my hair, I went to Ulta and played with make up. I'm a hardcore Bare Escentuals fan, but I actually went Urban Decay today, mostly because there was a representative there to play with make up with me, but also because I was feeling a little freakish.
(THANK YOU, Jackie for my gift card!!! It was spent wisely - or at least on something I really needed/wanted!)
So now I'm home and we're on to the porn part of this blog. Just to clear things up off the bat (for my future mother-in-law) we're talking *wedding porn*. It's a big part of my new favorite wedsite offbeatbride.com. It's a gallery of dozens of offbeat brides' wedding photos, complete with commentary for ideas to steal. I believe it's more satisfying and addictive than naked dirty pictures anyday.
Well, most days. ;)
Tonight's plan is to get this fire going again, put on some sexy music, and settle back on the couch and surf for porn...
So it's 6:00 and I'm in my pajamas already and there's a (really pathetic) fire in the fireplace. The B2B day started with the afternoon off from work. At 12:30 I went to Salon Xanadoo and met with Lindsey. I'm told she's the best "special occasion hair designer" around. At least that's what Wayne-John at the front desk told me. I really went there because I wanted Russell Kern to do my hair - Gary and I met Russell and his partner Cliff at an AIDS Alabama benefit auction and casino night gala thing. We had a blast with them and it turns out Russell is great with curly hair. But of course by the time I got around to calling him, he had stopped doing hair and no longer works there. So I met with Lindsey.
Before I even sat down I fanned out the 75 pictures I'd brought with me - all ripped out from bridal magazines. (See "Bridal Overdose" for more on my obsession with bridal magazines.) When I showed her the one I really liked the most, I told her that - and added, "but I want it to look like MY hair." She said, "sit down. I can do that." Really? No one in my entire life has ever been able to make my hair look anything like anyone else's style. In fact, rarely do I leave the chair not in tears. Which is why I never get my hair cut. The last time was 2 years ago. Seriously.
I sat down and she started playing with my hair, and - whoo hoo! - she wasn't like all the other hair people at all - she didn't do everything she could to mess up the curl pattern and make it fuzzy. I was amazed. After 5 minutes of trying to get bobby pins to stay in, she decided to try a rubber band instead. Never in almost 37 years have I EVER been able to put a rubber band in my hair. They snap before I can get them around this wild mane. It's been 5 hours and it's still in, by the way. So she banded and bobby pinned and told me where she'd flatten and where she'd make a little place for my veil. That would be the veil I wasn't positive I'd be wearing until Lindsey told me she'd make a little place for it to sit. And she told me where she'd need to tease. Tease. My hair.
Later I was thinking about that, and I'm quite certain the last time I teased my hair I was getting ready for a Roosevelt High School dance with Nikki Hardy and Becky Finley in a cigarette smoke and Aqua Net-filled bathroom and we were wearing jelly bracelets up to our elbows and some sort of boots with buckles with a skirt and something probably fishnet or at least with the knees ripped out. And either Prince or Madonna was on the radio. Or did we still have vinyl then? Most likely a cassette tape. So anyway...
Before I left I made an appointment for August to do a real dress rehearsal of the half I-do-Up-do. And she's only charging me half the real cost because apparently thick, curly, dirty hair is the absolute best for the I-do-Up-do. BUT -- you know how I keep preaching about how much cheaper it is to get married on a Sunday? Not this time. Because she'll have to come to me to do my hair that day, it's gonna cost me FOUR TIMES as much. That's the first thing I've come across in all this planning where it's more expensive.
With my rubber band and bobby pins still firmly planted in my hair, I went to Ulta and played with make up. I'm a hardcore Bare Escentuals fan, but I actually went Urban Decay today, mostly because there was a representative there to play with make up with me, but also because I was feeling a little freakish.
(THANK YOU, Jackie for my gift card!!! It was spent wisely - or at least on something I really needed/wanted!)
So now I'm home and we're on to the porn part of this blog. Just to clear things up off the bat (for my future mother-in-law) we're talking *wedding porn*. It's a big part of my new favorite wedsite offbeatbride.com. It's a gallery of dozens of offbeat brides' wedding photos, complete with commentary for ideas to steal. I believe it's more satisfying and addictive than naked dirty pictures anyday.
Well, most days. ;)
Tonight's plan is to get this fire going again, put on some sexy music, and settle back on the couch and surf for porn...
Monday, January 5, 2009
Terror and Insurance
As many of you know, I sometimes hang out at Bath & Body Works. They pay me to be there, but it's really just hanging out. I get to smell pretty things and use lotions I can't afford and waste away the afternoon thinking and talking about nothing important with other women-girls who need the same kind of weekend activities. I guess we get paid to be friends, but not in the illegal kind of way.
So anyway...
The Saturday after Christmas I'm working my post (not "pole" lol) -- Register #3. I am there all shift-long. It's the first day of the semi-annual sale, so there are a LOT of people buying stuff. Returning presents they don't like, spending gift cards, stocking up. At some point, as I'm STILL ringing up people's goods, as I'm scanning something I hear the slightest, almost imperceptible 'tink'. I've never heard the sound, but immediately I know what it is. I look down, horrified, and I see it. Or rather, don't see it. My diamond is gone.
My diamond is gone.
Left is a gaping hole of palladium claws. The prongs taunt me like octopus tentacles. There is nothing there but misshapen metal. I am frozen with terror. It stings as if someone has ripped a tooth from my gums, leaving just an ugly unexpected empty space.
I start lifting things like a pencil cup and rubber bands. As if this diamond is hiding under a paper clip. I have no sense of my surroundings.
This diamond has made it through a lot. My Grandfather bought it in the 1950's and wore it in his Masonic ring. When he died my Gram had it made into a solitaire she wore until she remarried. My mother wore it at her own wedding more than 20 years ago. Gary and I had it reset after we got engaged. It was supposed to last another lifetime. And now I've lost it.
I looked up at the vast line of women in front of my register. I turn back to the 5 other sales associates behind me at the cash wrap. The woman I had been ringing at the time broke the deafening silence in my head. Sounding just like Charlie Brown's teacher, she said suddenly, "Stop! Stop what you're doing for me and we'll look for it!" So we did. Well, they did. Every woman in that line knew my diamond was missing and every one of them looked for it. I, however, could not. I had a moment like only 2 others that I remember in my lifetime - where I willingly gave up control - completely succumbed to whatever was happening around me. I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't put one foot in front of the other. I couldn't fathom what I would tell Gary. We'd only been engaged a few months! Ugh, and what would I tell my mother? Almost 60 years of family history and I'd lost it. And just then, as I put one hand on my stomach to stop the spasms, and the other over my mouth to block the screams and the vomit, from deep, deep inside, a voice screamed in my head... IT'S ... NOT... INSURED!!!
Why? Because I'm an idiot, basically. I had called my insurance guy, but he needed an appraisal, and that seemed like just too much work. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet... and now, this.
It might have literally been a total of 30 seconds. It may have been 3 or 4 minutes. I really don't know. But another sales associate - one I've never met before and haven't seen since - popped up from behind me and shouted gleefully, "here it is!" She handed me the diamond. I stared at it. I started to put it in my pocket, and then considered swallowing it so at least I'd know where it was and that I could get it back. Someone handed me a gift card envelope. I put it in there, taped it shut, folded it up into a tiny piece and put it in my pocket. Then I checked approximately 52 times per minute to make sure it was still there.
After I got off work I drove immediately to the jeweler. They appraised it while the stone was out. Then they fixed it, for free, "good as new". The owner told me in the 20 years he owned the store, that had never happened. Uh huh. On Monday, first thing, I emailed the appraisal to my insurance guy and got it on our homeowner's policy for something like $7 per month.
But even now, after a huge sigh of relief, about 52 times per minute I still check to make sure the stone is there.
So anyway...
The Saturday after Christmas I'm working my post (not "pole" lol) -- Register #3. I am there all shift-long. It's the first day of the semi-annual sale, so there are a LOT of people buying stuff. Returning presents they don't like, spending gift cards, stocking up. At some point, as I'm STILL ringing up people's goods, as I'm scanning something I hear the slightest, almost imperceptible 'tink'. I've never heard the sound, but immediately I know what it is. I look down, horrified, and I see it. Or rather, don't see it. My diamond is gone.
My diamond is gone.
Left is a gaping hole of palladium claws. The prongs taunt me like octopus tentacles. There is nothing there but misshapen metal. I am frozen with terror. It stings as if someone has ripped a tooth from my gums, leaving just an ugly unexpected empty space.
I start lifting things like a pencil cup and rubber bands. As if this diamond is hiding under a paper clip. I have no sense of my surroundings.
This diamond has made it through a lot. My Grandfather bought it in the 1950's and wore it in his Masonic ring. When he died my Gram had it made into a solitaire she wore until she remarried. My mother wore it at her own wedding more than 20 years ago. Gary and I had it reset after we got engaged. It was supposed to last another lifetime. And now I've lost it.
I looked up at the vast line of women in front of my register. I turn back to the 5 other sales associates behind me at the cash wrap. The woman I had been ringing at the time broke the deafening silence in my head. Sounding just like Charlie Brown's teacher, she said suddenly, "Stop! Stop what you're doing for me and we'll look for it!" So we did. Well, they did. Every woman in that line knew my diamond was missing and every one of them looked for it. I, however, could not. I had a moment like only 2 others that I remember in my lifetime - where I willingly gave up control - completely succumbed to whatever was happening around me. I had nowhere else to go. I couldn't put one foot in front of the other. I couldn't fathom what I would tell Gary. We'd only been engaged a few months! Ugh, and what would I tell my mother? Almost 60 years of family history and I'd lost it. And just then, as I put one hand on my stomach to stop the spasms, and the other over my mouth to block the screams and the vomit, from deep, deep inside, a voice screamed in my head... IT'S ... NOT... INSURED!!!
Why? Because I'm an idiot, basically. I had called my insurance guy, but he needed an appraisal, and that seemed like just too much work. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet... and now, this.
It might have literally been a total of 30 seconds. It may have been 3 or 4 minutes. I really don't know. But another sales associate - one I've never met before and haven't seen since - popped up from behind me and shouted gleefully, "here it is!" She handed me the diamond. I stared at it. I started to put it in my pocket, and then considered swallowing it so at least I'd know where it was and that I could get it back. Someone handed me a gift card envelope. I put it in there, taped it shut, folded it up into a tiny piece and put it in my pocket. Then I checked approximately 52 times per minute to make sure it was still there.
After I got off work I drove immediately to the jeweler. They appraised it while the stone was out. Then they fixed it, for free, "good as new". The owner told me in the 20 years he owned the store, that had never happened. Uh huh. On Monday, first thing, I emailed the appraisal to my insurance guy and got it on our homeowner's policy for something like $7 per month.
But even now, after a huge sigh of relief, about 52 times per minute I still check to make sure the stone is there.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Questions...
My mom and stepfather and uncle are here for pre-Christmas. This was the first time I've seen any of them since Gary and I got engaged. It was the first time they saw my engagement ring. I showed them my dress (but did not try it on. Not enough time playing wii boxing, hitting the heavy bag or doing Hip Hop Abs to let anyone see me in it yet...) We went to Dreamland for lunch (because there ain't nothin' like them nowhere) - where we hope to do some kind of dinner while everyone's here. Then I took them to Vulcan, even though they've all been there before. I wanted to show them where we plan to have the ceremony, see if anyone had thoughts on set up and that kind of thing. My mother thought it would be cool to have us face the guests rather than our backs to you. She also suggested we find a, um, smaller officiant. Like someone you could see over and wouldn't block your view of us. I'm not sure she still feels that way about having a smaller person do our wedding - I made her watch Bad Santa tonight. LOL. One of the funniest Christmas movies ever, but not for the faint at heart. Anyway - so later my uncle and I were talking about the reception and I mentioned those conversation starter card things and he then told me that when he used to have parties, he would have guests do sort of a Q&A with each other - kind of like a scavenger hunt only with people. You know, like you have to find a person who owns a boat, and one who has 3 kids and one who has a dog or something... only then, as we drank more wine, we started coming up with the most ridiculous questions - in fact, I'll not even repeat them because they were that raunchy. It reminded me though of when my mom and my sister and I took my niece to the American Girl place in NYC. They had those little cards at our table at lunch to ask each other questions. My sister and I both got one something like, tell the others something you can do that they may not know about. My sister said she was good with vacuum cleaner attachments. I said I could tie a cherry stem with my tongue. My mother insists my sister really is good with vacuum cleaner attachments. I think it was code for other things. So anyway, you see how this could be a fun thing for you all to do while you have cocktails when you're waiting for Gary and I to arrive at the reception. What better way to get to know each other quickly? We're only inviting people we know and love - and we think you'll all have a great time together - we just want to help you break the ice and get that party started! Have ideas for questions for this little game? Bring 'em on. Reply here, email me at mariesawoodring@hotmail.com, or write me on my Facebook page. C'mon - this is going to be so much fun!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
