Mondays get a bad rap; Fridays hint of frivolity; Saturday and Sunday stand unrivaled. But Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday? Well, I’ve all new appreciation for those days after the shenanigans of this year.
You see, it was a regular old Tuesday when a certain fellow called and asked me to dinner; it was just another Wednesday when we stopped in at the Train Depot and he asked me to marry him; and it was yet another autumnal Thursday afternoon, when we said I do in the little chapel where we first met.
Not bad for days we tend to gloss right over, no?
Since we both love autumn; and we’re certainly not getting any younger, we opted for Fall of 2017. Which means I had three months to plan. It also explains a lot about those recurring dreams I had in my thirties wherein I was frantically throwing a wedding together at the last possible moment because I was caught completely unaware.
But I digress.
Anyway, I knew we wanted to get married at the church, with a reception at the Boise Depot. As it happened, the Depot had Thursday, November 2 open. So Thursday, November 2 it was.
And I asked my friend, Chad Estes, to do what he does best on that date: to tell our story, in photos; to capture the little moments that make up a most miraculous day . . .
It began, of course, with a frenzy of activity–as weddings are wont to do . . .
Complete with finger cramps (so many buttons). . .
And pretending to be stuck with a pin . . .
The mothers were seated to I denna lijuva sommartid–a nod to the Swedes who were unable to make it back for the wedding. The wedding party walked down the aisle to the Forrest Gump theme . . .
Let me just pause for a moment to say there are those who love to be the center of attention. I am not of their number . . .
Nonetheless, I’m happy to report we made it; without medication or passing out . . .
Then there was that special moment between my aunt and I. You see, when we went in for a hug, the adornments on the front of my dress, got stuck in the lace of my aunt’s, in a most unfortunate position. Let’s just say I feared we were destined to be bosom buddies for the remainder of the evening . . .
Thankfully, we broke free. And continued on to the reception . . .
See that bench? That’s where Dustin proposed. Chad asked us to sit down and carry on a conversation, as if it were just the two of us. Here’s the thing: we both hate our pictures taken; we’re completely awkward. With a camera pointed our direction, we couldn’t act normal to save our lives. So Dustin started being goofy; I started laughing. Which, now that I mention, is pretty much normal for us . . .
We had a cake of pink champagne; a vintage bride and groom amid a sea of flowers stood atop. Those wee cake toppers first made their appearance at my grandparent’s wedding, October 15, 1943 . . .
There were cupcakes, too: Saigon cinnamon roll (Saigon cinnamon cake, cinnamon cream cheese filling, whipped brown sugar buttercream); Southern gent (milk chocolate cake, bourbon caramel buttercream, bourbon caramel drizzle, crushed pretzels); and Summer pint (Blue Moon infused vanilla cake, cardamom custard, orange buttercream frosting).
I thought they’d be easier to send home with people when all was said and done. Alas, nary a one made it to the end . . .
The food, oh the food . . . I’ve never tasted anything quite so divine. That, my friends, is a direct quote. And from the two brussel sprouts and quick bite of slow braised beef I managed to stuff in my mouth, I quite agree . . .
We were lucky enough to have “our” DJ join us; he’s provided the soundtrack to my mom’s fiftieth birthday, my grandma’s eightieth birthday, and now, our wedding.
Dustin chose the song for our first dance. Thankfully, he played the song for me ahead of time; as a matter of fact, he had to play it three times before I could stop crying (Randy Newman’s Feels Like Home, in case you’re curious) . . .
As for the father-daughter dance, my dad was super nervous to dance in front of people. He grew up Assemblies of God, don’t you know–wherein you’ll go straight to hell in a hand basket if you dare trip the light fantastic.
Our solution: invite other fathers and daughters to join us, which was at once less stressful, and completely adorable . . .
And let’s not forget the bell tower, which was open for viewings. We managed to sneak up all by our lonesome for a few minutes (we may have sneaked in a few kisses, too) . . .
All that, and it really came down to our friends and family. The people who have been by our side for the good, the bad, and the ugly. Those who have laughed with us, and cried with us. Those who have built us up, and (when needed) knocked us down a peg. You know, our favorites . . .
Even still, I find it hard to express just how much it meant to have others share in our excitement. All the sweet greetings and congratulations. Those who traveled and took time off work (at the last minute, really) for a Thursday wedding; those who helped setup and tear down; those who raised a glass, cut a rug, and otherwise celebrated along with us . . .
Because a celebration, no matter how grand, is nothing without those you love by your side. For it’s friends and family who lessen our burdens, and quadruple our joy . . .
As you might imagine, it was important to me that we support small businesses in our big to-do. Here are the ones that made our celebration great . . .
Photography: Starry Night Media
Flowers: Wildflower Florals & Events
Food: Wild Plum Events
Cake: Boise Cakery
Party favors: Apropos Roasters
I must say, the irony is not lost on me . . .
My last blog post waxed poetic on the virtues of unplugging, of stepping away from the computer screen to spend time with those you love. From the look of things you’d think I took my own advice. Alas . . . the next day I proceeded to rip the phone jack from the wall whilst pulling up carpet.
Hence, the radio silence.
At least that’s where the snowball began: we didn’t bother to replace the phone jack until the new floors were in; then my brother, niece, and nephew arrived from Sweden–they don’t visit the U.S. very often, don’t you know, so we were compelled to frolic; then I was planning a wedding . . . getting married . . . honeymooning . . . moving . . .
Wait a minute, you’re married?!
That’s right, I am quite finished kissing frogs. And yes, when I actually had news, I wrote nary a word. Sigh.
Needless to say, I plan to snuggle in with the love of my life as we celebrate our first Christmas together–there’s a slight chance I’ll steal a kiss or two beneath the mistletoe.
Before I do, however, I want you to know (despite the silence) I did think of you and missed you terribly. So I shall be back, to catch you up.
In the meantime, I wish you love, joy, and peace this holiday season.
And a very Merry Christmas, from me to you!
PS – that vintage postcard slays me. What in the world?
Longmire and mi madre: the remnants of a species bereft of cell phones.
And now, Longmire stands alone.
Last weekend my mom purchased her first cell phone; this week she’s learning to send texts and the fun of conversing with the Swedes, in real time.
Of course, she’s also having to remember to bring it home from work and charge the battery, as well as the drudgery of being expected to be reached at all times.
You know, that reminds me — on August 4, 1922 Alexander Graham Bell was laid to rest. In memorandum, all telephone service in the United Sates and Canada was silenced for one minute. Thirteen million phones; not a single call.
Can you imagine such tomfoolery nowadays?
Yet even the man credited with patenting the first telephone understood the importance of taking a step back. On his seventy-fifth birthday — just a few months shy of his death — he admitted to refusing a telephone in his private study.
It seems the man knew a thing or two. Perhaps we should take note.
With that, I hope you’ve the chance to disconnect this weekend, if even for a moment; to recharge in solitude; to reconnect with those you love, not through a screen, but in person. . .