I make it a point to, if invited, partake in the special moments in the lives of those I love.
Sure, buying yet another heinous bridesmaid gown or cooing over another not-yet-cute baby face can be a daunting task, but also a true honor. As I grow older and my life becomes more complicated, the important things in it become clearer.
Last year, I flew to Hawaii alone to attend the wedding of a man I once loved and now just have massive amounts of love for and several years back now I made my way to Sacramento in chilly October to attend a baby shower in a suburban home and these expenses and scheduling conflicts were all incurred for one reason - love.
As trite as it may sound, love really is the answer and if you love someone, platonic, familial or otherwise and they love you enough to invite you into their special day, or if they are Jewish, lengthy week, why the hell would you not say yes and make sure to be there?
This past Summer I had an event in my life, not joyous, but monumental and I can say with clear certainty that the people I love who chose to be there for me made me feel loved and I will never fully be able to express how much that meant.
Moving on.
Having worked at the ancient Hearst publication
Good Housekeeping for a couple of glorious years before I had grey hair and a ticking biological clock I met a group of women who became family to me and this past weekend, one of them got married.
I had not seen her in some time, but our friendship had remained in sporadic visits, postcards and donations to one another's charitable endeavors. The fact that she was getting married in Pennsylvania seemed like a breeze compared to my standard cross country trips to witness nuptials - little did I know that Donegal was not a hop skip and a jump, but over the river and through the woods.
Joining forces with the other single woman invited with the now obligatory +0 with whom I also worked but never knew well, when departing Manhattan late on a Friday night I didn't realize that the nearly 7 hour drive to this tiny town in Amish Country with a population smaller than my graduating high school class would be a blur of unlit roads and Waffle Houses, all the while seeming less like the adventurous road trips of yore, and more like a never ending road to nowhere.
After countless snacks and caffeinated beverages consumed my travel companion, Annie, and I arrived at the designated wedding hotel. If we had blinked we most certainly would have missed it as there were perhaps 3 business that dotted this small country road, the most prominent of which was our destination, The Holiday Inn Express. Amused by the chain hotel expressly recommended to us but grateful to be out of the compact car we quickly made our way into the lobby of the Holiday Inn to be greeted by a cornucopia of dead mammals, stuffed and ready for the taking. Usually disgusted by such displays of savagery and taxidermy I was, conversely, besotted. The charm of the deer and bear theme etched, burned, embossed, woven and printed on every conceivable item in this mass produced rustic lodge enchanted me in a way that might make you think I have never before left the island of Manhattan.
High on the formaldehyde of our new lobby friends, Annie and I raced to our double queen room excited for a) sleep and b) what the following day had to offer.
Allowing ourselves to sleep in, which for grown ups means 9am, we were met with a sun so bright I thought perhaps we had traveled further into the atmosphere and a few houses that appeared once the light was there to illuminate them.
Baffled both by the lush green pastures as well as the lack of city planning I was ready, willing and able to see what this part of the country had to offer.
Being from California and having lived in New York City for the better part of a decade I often forget that there are, what I call, 'those other 48' states with their own charm and appeal. With visions of Golden Gates and Empire States of Mind who has time to think of butter churning country, but let me tell you - this place was amazing.
There is no way the proprietors of the Western Shop and Tchotchke Emporium I made my way into before our morning hike had any idea that I was a well traveled woman. I gave off no scent of having visited 6 of the 7 continents thus far, because I was completely giddy with the excitement of a child upon their first visit to Disneyland, only I was looking at deer light fixtures and carvings of bears in awkward positions, which I felt were must haves for my 1 bedroom apartment in Washington Heights. The Kool Aid I was consuming in mass amounts only got sweeter as we entered the adjacent Western shop in which I not only was an unwilling participant in a flirt-off with a grandpa in a 10-gallon hat who commented on my 'slacks' but in which I spent a pretty penny on some lovely jewelry and a Tejano crop-top, originally meant to be a square dancing vest, which I found to be essential at the moment and now think the studs and leather details might serve better for my ever impending Halloween costume as slain singer Selena Quintanilla-Perez.
Barely able to contain my excitement for these totally reasonably priced gems, I forced myself to first get my sweat on and headed into the kaleidoscope of color known as fall in the North East, not to be confused with North West - the person. The colors were vibrant and noise minimal, offering an escape from the life in which I usually live and opportunity to speak to a local grandma who got an Ooh La La accent when we told her we lived in Manhattan, but who I was envious of as she is the one that gets to live in this beautiful, natural environment. I could not find the right words to articulate this so we simply kept it moving as we knew there were places to patronize on te ride back to the hotel and though my inner lesbian was loving this bucolic bounty, we did have a wedding to attend.
Swag in tow we made took our sweet ass time navigating the 4 miles back to the hotel (beep beep) stopping for postcards at a mom and pop, gourds and peach cider at a family farm, and kettle corn being made right on the side of the road by a Duck Dynasty impersonator. It was all too much sensational stimuli for me to handle.
Showered, makeuped, blowdried and poured into a dress that solidified the fact that I did not belong in this provincial town (queue Belle) I made my way to the compound that more closely resemble fourth grade pioneer day than any wedding venue to which I have ever bore witness - and I have been a bridesmaid 12 times. The chapel was stone and log and let the light seep in like butter on toast. The wedding was small, intimate and consisting mostly of family, leaving me even more touched to have been included on the guest list.
Though the settings was the perfect Pinterest wedding, my fave visual may have been of Aunt Ruth and Grandma Jean (totally made up names for older women to whom I did not speak a word) seated during cocktail hour directly below what I believe to be stuffed Meerkats in a frozen battle,teeth bared as they sipped their whiskey sours and enjoyed their crudites.
Romantic lighting, covered hay stacks and a first dance to Metallica made for a magical evening, yet the mother of the bride took the cake, or more appropriately cookie, having adroened the dessert table with homemade goodies as far as the eye could see. My date for the evening commented on how you know you're at a wedding single when you devour the dessert table with the fervor and frequency with which I did, but I had to stop her right there. I would like to think no matter who I may be with, I will never pass up a free homemade cookie or cake. I mean, I do have standards. And an ever expanding ass, but I digress...
Knowing this wedding would be a hard one for me, not because I have become a main character in Sex And the City in my 30s ($20 bucks if you guess which one I am) but because the father daughter walk down the aisle, speech and first dance would most certainly hit me in a way it never before had, with the harsh reality that it was certain I would never be able to experience those rights of passage in my life and would only be able to hold onto memories past.
I excused myself for 45 minutes and called my bestie. Thank goodness for AT&T!
Being in the presence of true love is always a special occasion, but being in the presence of my own bed usually takes prescedence so Annie and I retired to what I now thought of as our own personal country retreat and anxiously awaited the two breakfasts for which we were in store.
The Ho-Inn Express offered a free continental breakfast with the catchiest marketing team behind their signage I have ever seen and when they posed the statement 'Bread - You Know You Want It' I had no choice but to acquiesce. Making the consumption of even more food back at the lodge on the wedding compound to bid the happy couple adieu before their honeymoon in Greece challenging. Luckily I have never been a girl to shy away from a challenge.
A beautiful vista on the deck with the bride carrying her gold goblet emblazoned 'Mrs' with her devoted husband obediently wearing a v-neck t-shirt with Hubby scrawled across the front was a perfect time to actually see the happy couple before getting back in the tiny rental and heading all the way back home, only this time with the light of the day to help be our guide.
A relatively speedy trip got us to the GW bridge just in time for what I consider to be the worst road block in history and always at least an hour wait where we waited, and waited, patience dwindling and bladders filled. But the results of that debacle is a story for another time.
Congratulations to Darice and Mike.
And much love to PA!
