Wedding Craze

How many points for homemade cookies? My brother Greg is getting married, so I made cookies for his fiancee’s wedding shower. I’m not talking Nestle tollhouse chocolate chips – those are easy. I’m talking homemade cut-out cookies in the shape of hearts with whipped-from-scratch almond flavored frosting (in pink and white), and then individually decorated.

How many points for meatballs? I rolled those from scratch too. I dug out Grandma’s original recipe, crushed up cornflakes instead of cheating with breadcrumbs, and bought special organic herbs. I stored them in a crock pot to keep them warm on my two hour drive to the shower.

How many points for writing a candy letter? I hit six stores to find all the words I wanted (Mounds, Payday, Extra, Kisses) and scribbled out several drafts before settling on some wording I was happy with.

The day of the shower, I created games on my computer, printed them out, and rushed out the door – that is, after hauling a heavy decanter, an easel (for bridal pictionary), an overflowing gift basket, two huge bags of ice, and a million grocery items to the car.

The point is I hit a traffic jam on my way and arrived 30 minutes late. Suddenly my effort amounted to nothing. By being late, the message was clear: I was inconsiderate, I was rude, I wasn’t making the wedding a priority.

The next day, my brother chewed me out. “Don’t be late for the ceremony, Jenny,” he warned as he took a seat on my couch. “We’ll start without you.”

I stomped upstairs and slammed the door to my office. For crying out loud, I thought, the wedding is on a Saturday and I’ll be arriving in town Thursday night! Besides, I may have screwed up the shower, but barring death or dismemberment, I would never be late for my own brother’s wedding.

My tardiness to the shower is not the first event that has caused tension during this time. What is it about weddings that make people crazy? Why all the stress, all the worry, all the jitters over party planning? In the end, isn’t love the only thing that matters?

As I stewed, I heard a knock on my office door.

“Jenny?” Greg said. “Can I come in?”

He opened the door. I was sitting at my desk and didn’t move. Greg gave me a big hug from behind, and then he flopped on the floor. I studied my fingernails.

“Remember how Dad was so crazy at your wedding, he couldn’t even dress himself?” Greg asked.

I looked up. “He couldn’t?”

Greg told me the whole story. How the day of my wedding Greg showed up at my Dad’s hotel room and my Dad shooed him away saying, “Oh, no, Sir, I don’t need anything.”

“Dad, it’s me – not a bellman,” Greg said.

My Dad looked up. Greg cringed. “Dad had one tuxedo pant leg on and the other off,” Greg told me. “His shirt was buttoned, but the buttons were crooked from top to bottom, and he couldn’t find his bowtie. I had to fix each button one by one,” Greg said, “and put him into his jacket and help him tie his shoes.”

Apparently, my Dad was a little nutty that day (his only daughter getting hitched). Anyway, I had no clue. In the end Dad was cool as a cucumber as he walked me down the aisle, barring the part where he almost tripped over a potted hydrangea.

Greg apologized for yelling at me. I apologized for being so sensitive. But still, I felt as if I was on the hook for causing a wedding related fiasco.

That night at dinner, things changed. Greg, my Mom, Ron, and I were walking into the restaurant. My other brother, Adam, was not around (he lives in another state) and the last time I saw Adam, he’d gotten new haircut.

I asked everyone: “Has Adam’s Mohawk grown out yet?”

“Adam’s Mohawk?” Greg said, his mouth dropping open.

My question was completely innocent (I swear). Unbeknownst to me, Adam’s most recent hairdo had been a well-kept secret from Greg the past six weeks. The crowd fell silent. I pulled my lips back with my face muscles as if to say, “Oops.”

“Adam’s Mohawk?” Greg repeated.

My Mom launched into a series of assurances, promising Greg that Adam’s hair was almost grown out and would look perfectly normal for the pictures.

It dawned on me what wonderful new this was – at least for me.

“Hooray!” I twisted my body into a funny little dance move and threw my arms in the air. “Hot potato Adam! The most recent wedding crisis is now in his hands!” I shouted, and then I did my jig some more.

Greg, my Mom, and Ron stood around watching me as if I were nuts. But so what if I was? I was allowed this moment of temporary insanity. After all, weddings automatically call for craziness. Well, they call for a little craziness, and a lot of love.

Nixing the "S" Word

As a new writer, I’ve stayed away from the topic of sex. But if I’m going to publish first person articles, keep a blog, and write a memoir, I can’t avoid it forever. It’s weird to write about sex – like how I’d imagine an actress might feel when she makes a film, shows a little boob, and then her parents, brothers, and closest friends buy tickets and watch the flick.

Ew.

Not that I haven’t flashed boob before. Once I lost my top waterskiing (I’m pretty sure my bottoms were crooked too) and another time I lost my top sunbathing, but both incidents were accidental. Writing about sex is intentional.

Anyway, I wrote a funny new blog entry the other day. I planned to post it this weekend, but as I re-read it, I thought twice. It was about Ron. Well, it was about Ron and me. Okay, it was about Ron and me and our private parts. I ended up e-mailing Ron at work and asking him if he’d be willing to read it first.

“What’s the topic?” Ron asked.

“The S word,” I told him.

“Singing? Sleeping? Sulfur? S’mores?” Ron typed back.

He read the draft blog. He laughed, but later that night he shook his head when I asked if I should post it.

“It’s funny,” I said.

“It’s intimate,” he said.

He was afraid his 68-year-old Mom who doesn’t own a computer would read it. I was afraid the Christian university I write for would pull the article (my first cover story!) I'd just turned in. So I didn’t post it. No worries – my creative juices were flowing. I whipped up another blog in no time.

My second blog was great, except for the fact that I faced a similar dilemma. The topic wasn’t the S word, it was the W word: weddings. Although normally harmless, weddings can provoke intense feelings, especially two weeks before the Big Day. My brother – the groom – nixed the draft blog. He told me I could publish it in 2010.

I realize I will face this issue time and time again as a writer. I mean, my goodness, these are 800-word blog postings. What will my family think of my 33-chapter book? In the end, I did the only thing I could do: I submitted the sex piece to the LA Times and the wedding piece to Modern Bride. I’m stalling. I’m hoping that between now and the time I hear back from the editors, my family will give me their blessing to publish the stories. In the meantime, I have a new rule: no more running draft blogs by family.

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Substitute Entertainment: My regrets for not entertaining you with one of the above-mentioned stories. How about a movie instead? You can read my review of the film An Inconvenient Truth at this link (scroll down to the bottom of the page): http://www.wholelifetimes.com/2006/06/reviews0606.html. There’s no nudity, but oh well. I tried.