Down to the Wire: Learning to Dance

Adam and are great amateur dancers--at least in the literal sense of "amateur." We dance because we love it, not because we are any good at it. I've taken a few courses in ballroom and Latin dances, plus a year of ballet. Adam has dabbled in the waltz and swing. Put our combined inexperience together, add a sixteen-inch height difference, and you don't get a particularly winning combination.

But for us, it is a win. It has been really, really fun learning the Viennese waltz for our first dance together. We certainly don't have the time, talent, or skill for an elaborately choreographed wedding surprise, but we can dance competently and enjoy ourselves. Adam has put up with my one-sided criticisms and accidental toe-smashings with a smile on his face; I've learned how to keep my balance and sense of humor when my lead tumbles over in a dizzy heap. We've learned--albeit not mastered--a new skill... and we've done it together.

I guess the experience of learning to dance embodies most of the things I love best about our relationship. Part of learning to dance has been learning to cope with each others peculiarities--particularly the height difference, but also Adam's nervousness and my fools-rush-in attitude about trying new things. When we dance the Viennese waltz at the wedding to country waltz music, we will be acting on our tendency to be slightly out of sync with what's normal--but only slightly. Our friends have taught and encouraged us, so we've been able to incorporate a community of people who love us into an activity we were trying together. Best of all, though, dancing is just one of the "amateur" things we get to do together. We paint. We sing. We dance. We cook. We don't do anything expertly, but we're willing to try just about any new skill. Even when we fail, we have a great time.

Trying new things isn't part of what marriage is "about." But it is a part of what we're about. That's part of what I'm so grateful for Adam.

Wedding Nightmare #3

It has been a long time since I had a wedding nightmare. Overall, the planning has quieted. I'm more in love with Adam than words can describe. I feel calm and ready. Or at least I did until last night.

The dream started with my parents dropping me off at Target... after the wedding. For some reason, I didn't want to face the reception. I looked around Target for what I thought were a few hours. It was pretty dull.

There were some very cute children there with their parents. I tried to help them if they wanted a toy down from a shelf or play with them if they seemed to want a companion. But they all cried and their parents all made faces at me--none of them wanted my help.

Finally, I called my own parents to come and pick me back up. It was dark outside, which confused me. "What have you been doing?" Pop said, "It's nine o'clock."

"Did I miss the reception?" I asked, horrified.

"Of course you did," said Pop.

It soon became clear that I had abandoned Adam and all my guests. Adam had been left alone to cope with all of our family in friends--to eat cake alone, throw my bouquet, dance alone, and leave alone in a spray of unenthusiastic flower petals. He wasn't there when I got back to my empty house, strewn with party remains.

It was clear to me in the dream that I hadn't meant to skip the reception. I was so bitterly disappointed. All I'd wanted to do was spend a day with the man I love, celebrating with people who mean so much to me. But I failed. I forced myself to wake up before my heart broke in anger at myself.

The dream, I think, came from my anxiety about the RSVPs. I've let myself build up so much excitement about them that watching the responses roll has been a really emotion process. Maybe I've been so concerned about everyone else having a good time that I'm afraid I'll miss it or that I'll ruin it. And, what's worse, the dream seems to suggest that I'm afraid messing up at our reception bodes poorly for my marriage with Adam.

Wedding Party: Lindsay the Maid of Honor

Part three in my on-going series about the wedding party. My maid of honor stands out from the bride's side of the wedding party--by almost a full six inches. But she's extraordinary for more than her height. She's different from anyone I've ever met.

I've posted before about what I went through in early life trying to make friends with women. It happened to me a few, lucky times, but friendships with women never felt right. I felt like I was treading on egg shells, waiting to say something stupid so the relationship could implode.

Then I met Lindsay. In the three years I've known Lindsay, she's never once made me feel stupid, unwanted, or unloved. I don't feel like our friendship is perpetually at risk. As a matter of fact, Lindsay may be the first woman outside of my family whose unconditional friendship I've been able to accept. I know it doesn't sound like much, but for me, it's a miracle. It's just the way Lindsay is--she loves in a way it's impossible not to accept and cherish.

I picked Lindsay out of my four bridesmaids as the maid of honor not only for the awesomeness of her friendship, but also because she's the most qualified for maid-of-honorly duties. She's the only one, for example, to keep my train in order and to bustle my dress correctly when the wedding is over. Adam calls her my "craft mamma" (because that is one area in which my mother is definitely deficient), so Lindsay has helped me with whatever little DIY crafts have popped up as part of the wedding-planning process. Plus, Lindsay is always a rational eye of calm in any storm.

All in all, Lindsay is a fun, capable, and loving woman I'm honored to have as my maid of honor. If Adam's on my right, there's no one I'd rather have on my left-hand side the day of my wedding.

(Yes--in the picture we are bathing in corn.)

Invitations: Double Check!

I was hoping to post yesterday about the joys of signing our first shared lease, which we have done, but we've mislaid the camera and all the photographs of this momentous event. Instead, I give you the completed invitations:


We're mailing invitations on Tuesday or Wednesday, as soon as they arrive!

The Veil

You may remember the veil saga. I am proud to announce that it is over. Adam beautifully and sympathetically told me he trusts me to choose something than makes me look and feel beautiful. I have. And I love it.

You can find a series of photos here. I would ask Adam not to look.

There should be more posts of substance soon. I'm in the process of moving to Washington, DC.

Friends Abroad

Adam and I have friends in many, many different places. That's one of the consequences of our unusual, long-distance relationship. I've lived in four states and two countries in the past three years; Adam, about the same. But very few of our friends are left in the city where we're getting married.

It's a bit bizarre planning a wedding to which you expect very few of your friends to be able to come. The reception promised to be fun, but with an unusually venerable group of attendees. What kind of music do you choose when the average audience-member is likely to be closer to fifty than thirty? And to whom do you throw the bouquet when the only "maids" at your wedding are your bridesmaids? I love my family. I'm excited to celebrate with them. Still, I couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that so many people I care about would be excluded from our big day on the basis of sheer distance. Adam and I have always been a bit too self-conscious about friendships to presume on anyone's time or dime by inviting them to our wedding from so far away.

That's why I've been truly amazed by the outpouring of support Adam and I have had from our geographically-diverse friends:

• A few of my friends in England made it clear they expected to be invited. What a wonderful way to make me feel loved! They knew how much it meant to be and took for granted they would do whatever they could to come.
• An impressive number of people from DC have volunteered to travel by planes, trains, and automobiles the five hundred miles between Washington and Atlanta. We haven't lived in DC for two years, but our friends share our strong feelings of affection and community. We are so excited to be joining them again.
  
• Encouraged by my success--and a few prods from interested friends--Adam finally broke down and asked his Seattle friends who would like to be invited to our wedding. Again, we've felt so loved by the number of people who want to, or sincerely wish they could, travel across the country to spend the day with us.
• Not to mention, of course, Adam's relatives--all of whom have many miles to travel to come to Atlanta--and my South Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi relatives who will be trekking with kids in tow.
  

Overall, the whole experience of getting married has really highlighted how loved I am--not just by Adam, but by all of our friends and family. Whether you're coming to the wedding, or wish you could come, or have been faithfully following my ramblings on this blog, we appreciate your friendship.

An Awesome Cake

No profound thoughts today... just an awesome wedding cake that sent my delightfully nerdy fiance drooling.

Notice the intricate detail, including the icing roller in the back. Also the Lego men in bakers' hats.

Too bad Adam insisted we couldn't have a sugarpaste cake. We had to settle for something a bit more sane... and significantly more appropriate for soon-to-be-married adults.

The photo comes from Cake Wrecks, which may be the best useless blog of all time.

Offbeat?

I recently discovered a new bridal blog, offbeatbride.com. I don't really like as much as Weddingbee, about which I've posted a great deal, but it's still a fun diversion from writing my dissertation. Most of these weddings are so bizarre and so far-out it's difficult to take them seriously.

Then imagine my surprise when I discovered that, from their perspective I'M AN OFFBEAT BRIDE. Why? Because I'm planning to wear my glasses on my wedding day.

I HATE contact lenses. I hate the wear they adhere to my eye. I hate the panic that sets in when I can't get them out. And love the way I look in my glasses. They offset the roundness of my face and make me look generally a bit more clever.

Does that really make me offbeat? Is it a horrible idea for me to wear my glasses on my wedding day? Here's a picture of my AWESOME glasses. What do you think?

Wedding Nightmare #1

Adam and I both have been having enough nightmares about our big day that I thought it was high time I started blogging about them! I'll try to catch up and keep up with some of the other nightmares we've had. Here's one from last night:

I dreamed that I went for a walk down by the beach(?!?) with my friend, Ellie, right before the wedding. Before we knew it, I was late for the ceremony! We ran up to the church and I lept into my dress, only to discover that it wasn't mine. It was a 1980's monstrosity, completely with long, sticky lace sleeves (our wedding is in August) and huge puffs on the shoulders. To top it off, the dress was several sizes too big and in great danger of falling off.

Because we were so late, I bit the bullet and decided the show must go on. My father walked me down the aisle... but where was Adam? The priest started the ceremony, but still no Adam. Finally, I turned around to look for him. He was running around the back of the church like a madman. In khaki pants and a t-shirt. Adam has completely failed to find a suitable tux!

I ran back down the aisle while the priest continued the service(?!?). Adam and I spent the rest of the ceremony desperately hunting for a tux and calling the bridal store in the vain hope they could bring the right dress in time for our photographs.

Strange, huh? I suppose the worst part is that, in the dream, Adam and I clearly got so distracted about the externals for the ceremony that we completely forgot about the part of the ceremony that counted: our pledge to each other.

What Does Engaged Mean?

Last night, Adam and I discussed applying for an apartment. My job for next year is more nailed down than his is, so I may need to apply alone for the time being. Of course, many apartment complexes require a certain amount of money in the bank as a kind of collateral for their residents. After two years at Oxford, I don't have a dime. Adam's response? "That's okay. I'll just give it to you."

Whoa. It suddenly hit me just how much more seriously Adam takes engagement than I do.

I would be dishonest if I said I didn't find my commitment to Adam serious and binding. But in my family, debate isn't over until both parties have said "I do." We celebrate how a father reminds his daughter, just before her big procession, that the marriage doesn't have to go through. Engagement is just a period for wedding planning.

It's not that Adam would try to take me through divorce proceedings if our relationship fell apart in the next three and a half months. It's that, for him, asking me and receiving my consent seems to have made marriage a pretty "done deal." We're not just wedding planning. We've started our lives together. Marriage is the next step on a journey that will last a lifetime.

For someone like me, always a little afraid my friends will figure out how annoying I am and leave at any moment, Adam's attitude is extremely liberating. He loves me and he's already serious about spending the rest of his life to me. Which is good, because I'm serious about spending the rest of my life with him, too.

The Veil

I don't normally seek out advice on this blog, but it's worth a shot.

My mom laughed at me when we went dress shopping because every dressed had to be matched with a veil before I felt "like a bride." A long, flowing veil adds that mysterious charm, the once-in-a-lifetime allure or a bride. Not mention a veil is traditionally the symbol of a woman's purity. To me, the veil makes the dress.

When I went for my fitting, I found the most gorgeous, cathedral-length lace veil. Stunning. Mom said my face lit up with they put it on my. Even though I knew the lace didn't quite go with my dress, I've not got an itch for all that lovely lace that I can't scratch.

Two problems: A, budget. That gorgeous, cathedral-length lace veil costs $300. B, Adam. My fiancé doesn't get it. And why bother with an investment that significant if my groom is going to roll his eyes while I walk down the aisle.

He's right about the width of the veil. I'm only 5'3" (ish) and 115 lbs. I need a narrow veil for my frame. But what about the length?

Do we compromise on a lovely, finger-tip length veil like these?

Or do I totally give into his hesitations, and my parents' pocket-book, and settle for a simpler number?

I need to call the bridal store in the next few days to tell them what we've decided. What do you think?

Waiting...

Most literally, an engagement is "an arrangement to meet or be present at a specified time and place." But right now, in England, that time--August--far away and that place--the US--isn't even visible on the horizon. Most of the time, I'm grateful to have many months to prepare myself spiritually, emotionally, and physically to marry Adam. Still, there are days when it feels like the day will never come.

I have to confess that this week, with papers worth half of my degree looming, my marriage to Adam seems impossibly distant. It's difficult to see past the deadline, now only three weeks away, to the happy day I marry Adam. Perhaps this is just another moment when I must remember life doesn't stop just because I'm engaged...

Our Readings: The Gospel

Our final reading is from the Gospel of Saint Matthew. Matthew 22: 35-40, the story of the Greatest Commandment, is the most beautiful conclusion imaginable to a service we've tried to focus around the vocation for married life.

It has only recently occurred to me that this passage, too, commands us to be part of a Christian community. As Christians, we so often answer the question "who is my neighbor?" by assuming it's a metaphor--everyone is my neighbor. Christ does love all men, and command us to do likewise, but is it really possible for feeble, post-fall man?

I offer an unconventional analogy. Most people hated The Matrix II, but it did profer a potent understanding of human nature. One of the Matrix's programmers explains to Neo that he is only one of very many "The Ones" in the history of the human race. They're blips, extensions of man's need to be free from the program. These other "The Ones" have all had one thing in common, a love for all of humanity. Because they love humanity, they choose to destroy almost all men in order to save a few for the preservation of the race. But Neo is different. Neo doesn't love all men. He loves only Trinity, his lover. So, rather than choose to sacrfice her for the good of humanity, he fights to save her.

It isn't a perfect analogy, but it is at least an interesting reflection. All the others have loved humanity, but have chosen to sacrifice most human beings for the preservation of the human race. Neo loves only one, but through that perfect love, eventually saves all humanity.

Man can't choose to love everyone. It isn't in our fallen nature. It is often in trying to create a Utopia for all humanity that we do some of the most horrible things imaginable to individual men. But we can choose to love one--our spouses, or a few--our families, or even many--our community. It's by loving our neighbors that we learn how to love others. And that is the powerful reminder Adam and I want for our marriage.

You can read the other posts in this series by clicking on readings below.

"Bride Alison"

One of the consequences of my five-year student life has been the creation of several different "versions" of Alison. There was the "DC Alison" who worked on the Hill, helped write speeches, and ran around feeling generally self-important. There was "Teacher Alison" who swung on the swing set and planned medieval fairs. They're both on hiatus, but there's still "FDW Alison" (who works as a mediocre, low-level office gopher for a high-class, high-pressure law firm) and "Graduate Student Alison" (who stares at centuries-old books and writes about them all day). Each existence has become almost discrete in my mind, like a being from another life--or another world.

In this context, being a bride-to-be has been especially bizarre. In Oxford, so far from the Adam and the family who will celebrate with me, it's hard to believe that "Bride Alison." "Oxford Alison" doesn't choose china patterns or shop for apartments--she spends five hours tracking the rhyme scheme of an obscure medieval saint's life. I love my life, but it feels like the life I love is so different than the one "Bride Alison" loves when she's talking to her mom or excitedly picking her flowers.

I guess I expected my engagement to be life changing in a way, I now see, it can't possibly be. "Bride Alison" was supposed to be the Alison that united everything, the one that superceded all the others. My expectation may be just another sign that I've bought into "wedding culture" all my life--I'm not sure that, if I were home, it wouldn't lead me to shop endlessly for the perfect dress or build my registry to several hundred gifts just to feel more like a bride.

My life probably won't change as much as I expect, even after my wedding. But at least I'll be something, someone, metaphysically different. Adam and I will be a sacramentally-bound couple, of one flesh. "Married Alison" is the one Alison I'll be forever, until death do us part.

Registries: A Moral Qualm

When I went registered at Macy's, I was shocked by how much I was taken in by the system. Just standing in the store, I started to create a mental picture of my life with Adam, one of opulent wealth. Not that the kind sales attendant who helped us at Macy's was anything but extraordinarily professional--she didn't bully me into anything. It was the structure of the entire "wedding gift" department of the store. It made me want things I didn't even know existed. Or, perhaps want is an understatement: I was almost convinced that these things for sale in the store were requite for future married happiness.

Adam and I have found registering a difficult moral question. Two good friends of ours, adult professionals in the late twenties, decided not to register for themselves at all: they've chosen to register for a family benefiting from Habitat for Humanity. At first, Adam and I assumed that was a clear moral choice. We've decided to strive together to live below our means; expensive presents will only tempt us to purchase more nice things to match. There are so many people in this world with less than we have and, more importantly, fewer opportunities than we have. We wanted to give something to them.

These, thought, weren't the only questions we had to consider. What about those people who really want to give something to us that would support our lives together? We aren't altogether sure it was right to refuse the gifts they wanted to give in love. Are there things Adam and I really do need? As much as we don't want to clutter our lives with superfluous things, we want to be able to keep a pleasant home, showing hospitality to others as often as possible. And what about the overarching temptation of my life? If I give away my wedding presents, can I really avoid feeling self-righteous about it?

These aren't trivial questions. Adam and I are serious about trying to make moral choices together in every aspect of our lives, including finance. How do we use a system so strongly based on generosity, but so liable to materialism, correctly?

In the end, Adam and I decided to register for ourselves. Our compromise is to ask only for things that will last, or at least promise to last, a lifetime and only things that we need or will help us show greater hospitality to others. We also decided to register through the I Do Foundation. Partner vendors (including Target and Macy's) give a certain amount of the purchase price of gifts back to the charity of our choice--Habitat for Humanity International.

Still, I'm not sure what the right answer is. Generosity is a good. Materialism is a bad. I suppose the balance between the two will probably crop up for the rest of our lives together.