I just read an amazing blog post by Sharon at Practical Wedding. She talks about how she answers the question, "When did you know he was 'The One'?" with such eloquence and honesty, I feel like I just want to steal everything she said.
Rather than a fluffy romantic moment where fireworks went off and the heavens opened and a golden light shon down upon her fiance, she uses the metaphor of buying a house. It's awesome and, I feel, accurate expresses how I knew I wanted to marry Brett.
When you're looking for a house, Sharon says, you look at lots of houses. Some of them might be dumps, but most of them will be beautiful in some way. You might be able to see yourself living in lots of the houses you look at, but eventually you decide on one and you make it a home by the time you invest in it, by trusting it with things you care about, by having amazing experiences there. And you grow into never being able to imagine living anywhere else.
Of course Brett's a wonderful person, full of energy and enthusiasm and a driving desire to be better tomorrow than he is today. He is sensitive and sweet. He's so unbelievably smart and interested in so many things. He works hard and likes to be outside. Our interests overlap and even when they don't he supports me in what I love to do. He treats me like a partner and respects my work. I know he's going to be a wonderful father. He's a great kisser. I get a funny jumpy feeling in my tummy when I see him.
But aside from his practical features and my feelings for him, he's the one I choose. We've grown together over the years, over big dinners at a hundred year old tabl and over nights of cable news and political discussions. We've experienced setting up camp in the rain and the dark on a trip to Niagra falls. He's taken me to baseball games and I've taken him to Rhinebeck. We've shared darkness and frustration and hopes and goals. He knows me better than anyone else and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without him beside me.
As a commenter to that post said, "Love is an action," not just a feeling or something that happens to you. At least, it's not in my experience. I do feel love for Brett, of course, because of who he is as a person. I couldn't help but feel love for him, and I wouldn't say I have much of a choice in that.
But on Saturday I will choose to (verb) love him for the rest of my life. Not the romantic-comedy idea where if you don't feel lovey about someone, you don't really love them, but a deep pledge to continue to grow together and to care for him above all other men. I want to make a genuine honest choice to make love a action in our household, not just a feeling, starting from day one.
I'm so glad he asked me and I'm so glad I said yes.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
First, my reasons for marrying..
Ok. So, I'm going to be a little bit busy this weekend.
Turns out I have this wedding to go to.
Mine!
Brett and I will be getting married at 5:00 on Saturday at the Church of the Land at Living History Farms in Urbandale, Iowa.
I've had a lot on my mind with the new job, the move and planning the details of the wedding, but I've also been trying to keep in mind the reasons behind all this big stuff.
I've thought about what a wedding is and what it means. I've looked at the historic customs of marraige and tried to make them coincide with the modern expectations of marraige. I've considered my identity and how marraige can and will change it. I've thought about my specific relationship and what makes me confident that I can honestly vow to commit to it for a lifetime. I've looked at my husband-to-be and thought about what it will be like to see him next to me for the rest of my life.
Because that's what's important.
I'm thrilled about the pretty calico bunting my mom made to decorate the church. But what makes it important to me is the care that my Mom took in creating it, that it's fabric and hand made and unique and will make me think of her when I look back at pictures.
I can't wait to taste the carved baron of beef and the garlic mashed potatoes. But what we're really doing is marking the first time my husband and I feed our friends and family together.
When we cut into the baseball-and-yarn-shaped cake and share it with each other, what we're really doing is representing the sweetness of life, the things we love, and how sharing those things with each other is our responsibility to our marraige and our great pleasure.
All those little details that I've worked so hard to coordinate and plan will tell our guests who we are as a couple and who we would like to be: unfussy, traditional, fun, creative, steadfast, generous, loving, happy.
It's about finding blissful happiness with another person and seeing it side by side with complete frustration and still knowing that you want to share your life with them. It's about bringing the strength of family and friends to help you keep that commitment. It's about celebrating love and life and happiness. What could be a better way to spend a weekend than that?
Turns out I have this wedding to go to.
Mine!
Brett and I will be getting married at 5:00 on Saturday at the Church of the Land at Living History Farms in Urbandale, Iowa.
I've had a lot on my mind with the new job, the move and planning the details of the wedding, but I've also been trying to keep in mind the reasons behind all this big stuff.
I've thought about what a wedding is and what it means. I've looked at the historic customs of marraige and tried to make them coincide with the modern expectations of marraige. I've considered my identity and how marraige can and will change it. I've thought about my specific relationship and what makes me confident that I can honestly vow to commit to it for a lifetime. I've looked at my husband-to-be and thought about what it will be like to see him next to me for the rest of my life.
Because that's what's important.
We will wear our finery, a beautiful cream dress and a custom-made grey suit, and it will be an outward expression of our inner joy, a symbol of starting fresh, and a sign of our respect for each other and the sacrament we're partaking in.
We'll exchange wedding bands, mine of simple gold so I can wear it every single day, his of titanium and meteorite, durable and rare, and our families and friends will bless them. Rather than being passive societal witnesses, our friends and family will have the chance to participate in our ceremony, to make their own vow to support our marraige and help it thrive.
I'm thrilled about the pretty calico bunting my mom made to decorate the church. But what makes it important to me is the care that my Mom took in creating it, that it's fabric and hand made and unique and will make me think of her when I look back at pictures.
I can't wait to taste the carved baron of beef and the garlic mashed potatoes. But what we're really doing is marking the first time my husband and I feed our friends and family together.
When we cut into the baseball-and-yarn-shaped cake and share it with each other, what we're really doing is representing the sweetness of life, the things we love, and how sharing those things with each other is our responsibility to our marraige and our great pleasure.
All those little details that I've worked so hard to coordinate and plan will tell our guests who we are as a couple and who we would like to be: unfussy, traditional, fun, creative, steadfast, generous, loving, happy.
It's about finding blissful happiness with another person and seeing it side by side with complete frustration and still knowing that you want to share your life with them. It's about bringing the strength of family and friends to help you keep that commitment. It's about celebrating love and life and happiness. What could be a better way to spend a weekend than that?
Friday, July 30, 2010
rush
In one week, at this time, I will frantically be throwing together last minute details, trying to keep at least one brain cell on everything that needs to be done and everyone who is involved at all times, corralling wedding party, and immediate family together and generally losing my cotton pickin mind as I get ready to go to the rehersal for the wedding.
I've had to completely cut caffeine from my diet because I was screaming sentences comprised of words that made no sense in the general direction of my bewildered and frankly annoyed fiance. Over seating charts. I would shake and rock back and forth and generally flip my lid.
No more diet coke. At all. Until after the wedding.
I've had to completely cut caffeine from my diet because I was screaming sentences comprised of words that made no sense in the general direction of my bewildered and frankly annoyed fiance. Over seating charts. I would shake and rock back and forth and generally flip my lid.
No more diet coke. At all. Until after the wedding.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
check in
You try stuffing two functioning households worth of crap, including a rather impressive collection of yarn, work out equipment, and collectibles into a one bedroom suburban apartment and then come and tell me how you feel.
I bet you'll feel a little overwhelmed.
Cause that's how I'm feelin'
I bet you'll feel a little overwhelmed.
Cause that's how I'm feelin'
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Curb appeal
Brett and I are now down by two giant heavy cumbersome couches. Hooray!
We each had a pretty comfy couches when we moved to NY, and we kept them both through the last move. Now that we're downsizing to a small apartment, though, we don't have room for two couches and neither are particularly amazing. When we have a little bit saved up, we'll probably buy a nice new one.
So to get rid of the old ones, we asked around work to see if anyone wanted one, but were planning that we would need to pay the dump to take them. The nearest salvation army that takes furniture is all the way down in O town but just tossing them (and paying to do it) made me feel sad.
Brett's was a sleeper sofa, which meant it was HEAVY and old as something really old. Still, it was in really good shape and we found some one at the Hall who was in the market for a sleeper sofa so that took care of that.
Mine was super comfy and, once upon a time, it reclined, but one of the springs had since broken and it doesn't lay back like it used to. As a 50 dollar thrift store buy, it has served its purpose and I wasn't especially attached to it emotionally, so we pulled it out to the curb and put a big "FREE!" sign on it.
Not 15 minutes later, a guy with a truck pulls up, knocks on the door and asks if he can take it.
So that was easy.
Two couches down, two tvs, an entertainment center, a queen mattress left to pawn off on someone. Anyone interested?
We each had a pretty comfy couches when we moved to NY, and we kept them both through the last move. Now that we're downsizing to a small apartment, though, we don't have room for two couches and neither are particularly amazing. When we have a little bit saved up, we'll probably buy a nice new one.
So to get rid of the old ones, we asked around work to see if anyone wanted one, but were planning that we would need to pay the dump to take them. The nearest salvation army that takes furniture is all the way down in O town but just tossing them (and paying to do it) made me feel sad.
Brett's was a sleeper sofa, which meant it was HEAVY and old as something really old. Still, it was in really good shape and we found some one at the Hall who was in the market for a sleeper sofa so that took care of that.
Mine was super comfy and, once upon a time, it reclined, but one of the springs had since broken and it doesn't lay back like it used to. As a 50 dollar thrift store buy, it has served its purpose and I wasn't especially attached to it emotionally, so we pulled it out to the curb and put a big "FREE!" sign on it.
Not 15 minutes later, a guy with a truck pulls up, knocks on the door and asks if he can take it.
So that was easy.
Two couches down, two tvs, an entertainment center, a queen mattress left to pawn off on someone. Anyone interested?
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Revolution!
Brett and I arranged to have a day off together today so we could try to do a little day trip traveling while we're still in the area.
There's a ton of great stuff within a day's drive that we never felt we could afford to do, but knowing that it's either spend the $40 on gas now or $600 on a pair of plane tickets in another week, it's hard not to take advantage of our proximity. I'd really love to go to Boston or Philadelphia, but those may be too much for us to do right now with moving costs and the necessity of getting everything packed up.
Today we drove up to Rome to visit the battlefield at Oriskany where General Herkimer's Tryon County militia and Oneida Indian allies were ambushed on their way to aid the rebel soldiers besieged in Fort Stanwix. Most of the militia soldiers were fighting very close to their farms and families; Herkimer himself lived less than thirty miles from the site of the ambush. The story of the battle reads like a movie script: General Herkimer and his soldiers march through the early August heat to try to raise the siege on Fort Stanwix. They are about six miles from their destination where they expect to fight Barry St Leger and his forces: a mixed bag of British soldiers, Hessian mercenaries, Iroqouis allies lead by Joseph Brant, and Loyalist rangers including Herkimer's own brother, Johan Jost. They come to a marshy ravine with a small stream running through the bottom. Tired and thirsty, some of the poorly seasoned troops break ranks to run to the stream to drink. As they put down their muskets and kneel on the bank, a group of Iroquois attack from the forests around them. Stories say that the stream ran red with blood by the end of the battle.
Joseph Brant, the Iroquois commander, lead a group of Loyalists and Iroquois to set the trap, intending to catch all the rebels in the ravine where the military road crossed the stream. Though the trap was sprung prematurely, what followed was the bloodiest battle of the Revolution. General Herkimer was wounded in the leg by a shot that killed his horse. His men tried to insist he leave the field of battle but he refused saying, "I will face the enemy." He sat down under a tree, smoked a pipe, and directed the battle. A rainstorm forced a delay during which both sides regrouped. Herkimer changed tactics to limit the effectiveness of the Iroquois skirmishers and wound up in possession of the field, but with heavier losses. The British claimed victory, but were thoroughly demoralized when, upon returning to their camp outside Fort Stanwix, they found the soldiers of the fort had raided their camp and taken or destroyed supplies, maps, letters and strategic plans.
The wounded Herkimer was taken back to his farm, but a delay in treating his wound and a botched amputation took his life ten days later. But his march had given the defenders hope and demoralized the British forces. A short while later, Benedict Arnold marched to lift the siege and the greatly exaggerated rumors of the size of his force eroded the Iroquois support. Without the Indians, the British didn't stand a chance and retreated without a battle.
It was the first real confrontation where American forces engaged each other, Rebel against Loyalist and the extremely high percentage of casualties on both sides made Oriskany the bloodiest battle of the Revolution.
So why all the fighting right here?
Fort Stanwix was built during the French and Indian war to protect the strategically important portage route from the Hudson River and the Atlantic to Lake Ontario and the Great Lakes. The Fort was a sleek, super modern fort for its time, a collection of hills and angles that all come together to be a pretty bad ass position to defend.
Brett and I actually went to the fort first, but it was an afterthought to the battlefield. We were pleasantly surprised at how much well funded information there was at the site, which is technically a National Park.
We got their in time for a guided tour that filled us in on some of the information we didn't know.
We had a great time poking around the reconstructed fort.
Defending the Sovereignty of the Colonies from those nancy British redcoats!
The spiky things are a French invention apparently. I think Paul and Steve could have a couple of these whipped up in no time to defend the 1850 farm from Ioway Indian attack.
Can you guess who took all the good pictures?
There's a ton of great stuff within a day's drive that we never felt we could afford to do, but knowing that it's either spend the $40 on gas now or $600 on a pair of plane tickets in another week, it's hard not to take advantage of our proximity. I'd really love to go to Boston or Philadelphia, but those may be too much for us to do right now with moving costs and the necessity of getting everything packed up.
Today we drove up to Rome to visit the battlefield at Oriskany where General Herkimer's Tryon County militia and Oneida Indian allies were ambushed on their way to aid the rebel soldiers besieged in Fort Stanwix. Most of the militia soldiers were fighting very close to their farms and families; Herkimer himself lived less than thirty miles from the site of the ambush. The story of the battle reads like a movie script: General Herkimer and his soldiers march through the early August heat to try to raise the siege on Fort Stanwix. They are about six miles from their destination where they expect to fight Barry St Leger and his forces: a mixed bag of British soldiers, Hessian mercenaries, Iroqouis allies lead by Joseph Brant, and Loyalist rangers including Herkimer's own brother, Johan Jost. They come to a marshy ravine with a small stream running through the bottom. Tired and thirsty, some of the poorly seasoned troops break ranks to run to the stream to drink. As they put down their muskets and kneel on the bank, a group of Iroquois attack from the forests around them. Stories say that the stream ran red with blood by the end of the battle.
Joseph Brant, the Iroquois commander, lead a group of Loyalists and Iroquois to set the trap, intending to catch all the rebels in the ravine where the military road crossed the stream. Though the trap was sprung prematurely, what followed was the bloodiest battle of the Revolution. General Herkimer was wounded in the leg by a shot that killed his horse. His men tried to insist he leave the field of battle but he refused saying, "I will face the enemy." He sat down under a tree, smoked a pipe, and directed the battle. A rainstorm forced a delay during which both sides regrouped. Herkimer changed tactics to limit the effectiveness of the Iroquois skirmishers and wound up in possession of the field, but with heavier losses. The British claimed victory, but were thoroughly demoralized when, upon returning to their camp outside Fort Stanwix, they found the soldiers of the fort had raided their camp and taken or destroyed supplies, maps, letters and strategic plans.
The wounded Herkimer was taken back to his farm, but a delay in treating his wound and a botched amputation took his life ten days later. But his march had given the defenders hope and demoralized the British forces. A short while later, Benedict Arnold marched to lift the siege and the greatly exaggerated rumors of the size of his force eroded the Iroquois support. Without the Indians, the British didn't stand a chance and retreated without a battle.
It was the first real confrontation where American forces engaged each other, Rebel against Loyalist and the extremely high percentage of casualties on both sides made Oriskany the bloodiest battle of the Revolution.
So why all the fighting right here?
Fort Stanwix was built during the French and Indian war to protect the strategically important portage route from the Hudson River and the Atlantic to Lake Ontario and the Great Lakes. The Fort was a sleek, super modern fort for its time, a collection of hills and angles that all come together to be a pretty bad ass position to defend.
Brett and I actually went to the fort first, but it was an afterthought to the battlefield. We were pleasantly surprised at how much well funded information there was at the site, which is technically a National Park.
We got their in time for a guided tour that filled us in on some of the information we didn't know.
We had a great time poking around the reconstructed fort.
Defending the Sovereignty of the Colonies from those nancy British redcoats!
The spiky things are a French invention apparently. I think Paul and Steve could have a couple of these whipped up in no time to defend the 1850 farm from Ioway Indian attack.
Can you guess who took all the good pictures?
Monday, June 28, 2010
Ch ch ch Changes!
Look out Windy City, Brett and I are blowing in!
The big news is I have been offered and accepted a job at Kline Creek Farm in Winfield, Illinois, which means that Brett and I are going to be moving west in another few weeks. The timing is wonderful in some ways (we'll be about 13 hours closer to the wedding ceremony come August and I'll be much closer to my relatives which will be good for planning purposes) and in someways is pretty darn lousy. We'll miss the HoF inductions by a couple weeks, we'll have less than three weeks to settle before the wedding weekend. All the wedding stuff is going to have to get boxed up separately and well labeled so that I can get to it without unpacking everything.
That being said, I think i need to go get cracking on some packing planning. No way are we going to be as disorganized as the last move. There's no time or energy for crappy packing!
The big news is I have been offered and accepted a job at Kline Creek Farm in Winfield, Illinois, which means that Brett and I are going to be moving west in another few weeks. The timing is wonderful in some ways (we'll be about 13 hours closer to the wedding ceremony come August and I'll be much closer to my relatives which will be good for planning purposes) and in someways is pretty darn lousy. We'll miss the HoF inductions by a couple weeks, we'll have less than three weeks to settle before the wedding weekend. All the wedding stuff is going to have to get boxed up separately and well labeled so that I can get to it without unpacking everything.
That being said, I think i need to go get cracking on some packing planning. No way are we going to be as disorganized as the last move. There's no time or energy for crappy packing!
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Farmers Market
Went to the Farmer's Market today and picked up a beautiful spring bouquet. I've decided that we want to go with local and farmer's market flowers for the wedding. Some will hopefully come from my Aunt's yard, but my excellent friend Katie has managed to find a farmer's market vendor who will assemble our held flowers for us. I can't wait to see what happens, and I love that it will be a surprise on the day.
If it looks anything like the flowers I got today, I will be a very very happy bride.
Did I mention how adorable the shower in CH was? My Mom and Aunt went to town with their creative girly selves. They made little heart shaped sugar cookies in lots of sizes and strawberry rhubarb jelly with rhubarb from my Great Grandma Steben's rhubarb plant.
Brett's folks came all the way from Iowa just for the party and then turned around and went home. Seriously, how cool is that! Thanks everyone for making the day so special.
If it looks anything like the flowers I got today, I will be a very very happy bride.
Did I mention how adorable the shower in CH was? My Mom and Aunt went to town with their creative girly selves. They made little heart shaped sugar cookies in lots of sizes and strawberry rhubarb jelly with rhubarb from my Great Grandma Steben's rhubarb plant.
Brett's folks came all the way from Iowa just for the party and then turned around and went home. Seriously, how cool is that! Thanks everyone for making the day so special.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Slammed
Hi everyone.
So, it's been quiet on the blog, which either corresponds to a period of super boredom in Real Life, or a period of insane business. In this case, it is the latter.
In the last month I have:
Applied for a new job
Been running videoconferences all over the place at my current (big girl) job.
Tread a fine line between being emotionally disconnected from life in Cooperstown while still trying to be involved in life in Cooperstown. (e.g. packing boxes for a longed for move while cultivating a new relationship with a local spinning guild.)
Travelled 2,684 miles across the country by car.
Made stops on the journey at Niagra Falls, Clarendon Hills, Des Moines, Atlantic, and Aurora to get soaking wet, be showered with presents, fumble a catering meeting, eat some tasty tacos, be showered some more, introduce families, attend a beautiful wedding, check out our wedding venue, touchdown the catering meeting, and interview for previously mentioned job.
Celebrated the one year mark in my engagement to Brett.
Found a new wedding website (mywedding.com/brettandkategarrett) that is easier to write and remember.
Wrote and mailed thank you cards for showers.
Assembled and sent out wedding invitations. And if you think that Brett didn't assemble every single invitation by hand or that I didn't break out the calligraphy on every single envelope, well, you would be mistaken.
Got sick.
As if I couldn't see that one coming. So today I'm staying home from work and trying to relax. I've been sleeping for most of the day and am trying hard to feel better. I'll try to catch you up with some pictures soon.
So, it's been quiet on the blog, which either corresponds to a period of super boredom in Real Life, or a period of insane business. In this case, it is the latter.
In the last month I have:
Applied for a new job
Been running videoconferences all over the place at my current (big girl) job.
Tread a fine line between being emotionally disconnected from life in Cooperstown while still trying to be involved in life in Cooperstown. (e.g. packing boxes for a longed for move while cultivating a new relationship with a local spinning guild.)
Travelled 2,684 miles across the country by car.
Made stops on the journey at Niagra Falls, Clarendon Hills, Des Moines, Atlantic, and Aurora to get soaking wet, be showered with presents, fumble a catering meeting, eat some tasty tacos, be showered some more, introduce families, attend a beautiful wedding, check out our wedding venue, touchdown the catering meeting, and interview for previously mentioned job.
Celebrated the one year mark in my engagement to Brett.
Found a new wedding website (mywedding.com/brettandkategarrett) that is easier to write and remember.
Wrote and mailed thank you cards for showers.
Assembled and sent out wedding invitations. And if you think that Brett didn't assemble every single invitation by hand or that I didn't break out the calligraphy on every single envelope, well, you would be mistaken.
Got sick.
As if I couldn't see that one coming. So today I'm staying home from work and trying to relax. I've been sleeping for most of the day and am trying hard to feel better. I'll try to catch you up with some pictures soon.
Friday, April 30, 2010
This is, in fact, the best way to do wedding planning. Oh yes.
Some more quotes I'm thinking about for the festivities:
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Some more quotes I'm thinking about for the festivities:
The Confirmation
Edwin Muir
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea.
Not beautiful or rare in every part.
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.
Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Two are better than one: they get a good wage for their labor.
If the one falls, the other will lift up his companion. Woe to the solitary man! For if he should fall, he has no one to lift him up. So also, if two sleep together, they keep each other warm. How can one alone keep warm? Where a lone man may be overcome, two together can resist. A three-ply cord is not easily broken.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Appellation
Since I was a little girl, when many females of the species are concerned with understanding and internalizing their predicted roles in life, I've been pretty darn certain that when I got married, I would take my husband's last name. I assume this understanding was the result of a conversation with my Mom about why Grandma and Grandpa J, who were her mommy and daddy, had a different name from her. I assume that she told me that when she married Dad, his last name became her last name. And I never questioned this.
In the intervening years I've seen why this whole name changing business should be fraught with peril, despite not really having the example of hyphenated or staunchly keeping-her-own-name-thank-you-very-much role models as a wee thing. I do know that this "women take their husband's name" understanding must have happened very young, since it was already breaking down by the time my Aunt married (I was, what, 7 or 8?) and she kept her own last name for business and that didn't seem to shock me. I was more stunned that I might not get baby cousins out of the deal, which is an insight into how I figured the life cycle goes.
I always thought my Mom's name was pretty cool, cause it is. I mean, her initials are HRH, which I would have monogrammed on all my big fluffy towels and bathrobes if I were her. I remember her explaining that it was our family name and that made it important to her. It was something that she shared with her husband and her children. We spent so much time with my maternal grandparents I never questioned the strength of her relationship with her own parents and sister, and rightly so.
But now on the other side of it, as an affianced woman, I'm examining the custom and what it actually means. I've never questioned the rightness of taking my husband's name in my particular case but I can definitely understand why it is so complicated for lots of other women.
First, there's the career thing. As for my Aunt, if you're established in the field as Ms. K H and then you suddenly disappear and Mrs. K G pops up instead, that can hurt you in terms of clients referring you, or people trying to follow your academic work. It's not like in the olden days when people would advertise their marriages to their local community so everyone could keep track. In some sense, you have to start over as a new person and what you did before you were married doesn't count. (I guess even when people were routinely putting out those marriage notices, what a woman did before marriage was largely irrelevant, as the entire goal of being a woman was to get married and manage a household.) Harsh. This reasoning may seem very practical, and I think more men are accepting of this as a genuine "excuse" not to change because they sympathize with the "it's for my career" idea. However, I think it hits on the idea that a woman can have an identity in addition to her role as wife.
Secondly, there's the family thing. I have a strong relationship with my family and that won't change because of the name I carry. But the name I have now is the name my parents, specifically my father, gave me. I prize it because it's unusual and ethnic and it ties me to my ancestors like nothing else I have. I don't want to seem ungrateful to that heritage, and I would hate to see society change to the point where it would be a slight to my parents if I chose Brett's name over theirs for our new family.
Thirdly, there's the cultural and historical implications of taking your husband's name. I like thinking of it as joining his tribe, becoming one of his people, but there's been some times in history and places in the world where it only signifies becoming the property of his family group. You lose the protection of your family, and the right to being part of the future of that family. Maybe for a 16 year old girl in medieval France who is a little bit sick of her folks anyway this is just another stage of life, like going to college and finding a new identity there, but for plenty of modern American women it's very valid to be unsettled by that sort of thing. I know I'm not going to be paraded from my village and abandoned by my family to another clan who I barely know. It won't even be like it was in my Grandmother's day where a woman stopped being Miss Kate H, and became instead Mrs. Brett G, losing everything that signified her as an individual to an outside observer. Thank goodness. But in taking Brett's name, I will be assuming a new, unfamiliar identity. It's going to take time to get comfortable with that.
For me, thinking about all this cultural baggage makes taking Brett's name an act of love, rather than rote adherence to social custom. I know and understand why it sends some women into fits to even be called Mrs. G on junk mail, when they've worked so hard to be Ms. H. or when they feel it's got more to do with being his family's newest acquisition than making a new family of their own. I don't happen to share these feelings, and I do not think they are equally valid across space and time, but I do understand them. To know that there is debate about the usefulness and relevance of patrilineal naming makes my decision to become Kate G more meaningful, I think, because it's my choice rather than something that just happens to me because I'm a woman getting married.
Yes, it makes me want to cry and cry to give up my H. Yes, I love it and what it means to me. There's a road in the backwoods of Michigan with my name on it. I've never met anyone with my name I wasn't directly related to. I love that. Even more though, I love Brett, I love his family, I want to be one of his people and I want our children to have my name too. That doesn't mean that the kids won't know how important that H is to me and to their family history (and their grandmother's maiden J for that matter).
I won't stop being who I am because my last name changes, but I can't deny that names are serious business and I would never dream of telling another person how to handle losing/ giving up the way they've thought of themselves for the last 25 years of their life.
In the intervening years I've seen why this whole name changing business should be fraught with peril, despite not really having the example of hyphenated or staunchly keeping-her-own-name-thank-you-very-much role models as a wee thing. I do know that this "women take their husband's name" understanding must have happened very young, since it was already breaking down by the time my Aunt married (I was, what, 7 or 8?) and she kept her own last name for business and that didn't seem to shock me. I was more stunned that I might not get baby cousins out of the deal, which is an insight into how I figured the life cycle goes.
I always thought my Mom's name was pretty cool, cause it is. I mean, her initials are HRH, which I would have monogrammed on all my big fluffy towels and bathrobes if I were her. I remember her explaining that it was our family name and that made it important to her. It was something that she shared with her husband and her children. We spent so much time with my maternal grandparents I never questioned the strength of her relationship with her own parents and sister, and rightly so.
But now on the other side of it, as an affianced woman, I'm examining the custom and what it actually means. I've never questioned the rightness of taking my husband's name in my particular case but I can definitely understand why it is so complicated for lots of other women.
First, there's the career thing. As for my Aunt, if you're established in the field as Ms. K H and then you suddenly disappear and Mrs. K G pops up instead, that can hurt you in terms of clients referring you, or people trying to follow your academic work. It's not like in the olden days when people would advertise their marriages to their local community so everyone could keep track. In some sense, you have to start over as a new person and what you did before you were married doesn't count. (I guess even when people were routinely putting out those marriage notices, what a woman did before marriage was largely irrelevant, as the entire goal of being a woman was to get married and manage a household.) Harsh. This reasoning may seem very practical, and I think more men are accepting of this as a genuine "excuse" not to change because they sympathize with the "it's for my career" idea. However, I think it hits on the idea that a woman can have an identity in addition to her role as wife.
Secondly, there's the family thing. I have a strong relationship with my family and that won't change because of the name I carry. But the name I have now is the name my parents, specifically my father, gave me. I prize it because it's unusual and ethnic and it ties me to my ancestors like nothing else I have. I don't want to seem ungrateful to that heritage, and I would hate to see society change to the point where it would be a slight to my parents if I chose Brett's name over theirs for our new family.
Thirdly, there's the cultural and historical implications of taking your husband's name. I like thinking of it as joining his tribe, becoming one of his people, but there's been some times in history and places in the world where it only signifies becoming the property of his family group. You lose the protection of your family, and the right to being part of the future of that family. Maybe for a 16 year old girl in medieval France who is a little bit sick of her folks anyway this is just another stage of life, like going to college and finding a new identity there, but for plenty of modern American women it's very valid to be unsettled by that sort of thing. I know I'm not going to be paraded from my village and abandoned by my family to another clan who I barely know. It won't even be like it was in my Grandmother's day where a woman stopped being Miss Kate H, and became instead Mrs. Brett G, losing everything that signified her as an individual to an outside observer. Thank goodness. But in taking Brett's name, I will be assuming a new, unfamiliar identity. It's going to take time to get comfortable with that.
For me, thinking about all this cultural baggage makes taking Brett's name an act of love, rather than rote adherence to social custom. I know and understand why it sends some women into fits to even be called Mrs. G on junk mail, when they've worked so hard to be Ms. H. or when they feel it's got more to do with being his family's newest acquisition than making a new family of their own. I don't happen to share these feelings, and I do not think they are equally valid across space and time, but I do understand them. To know that there is debate about the usefulness and relevance of patrilineal naming makes my decision to become Kate G more meaningful, I think, because it's my choice rather than something that just happens to me because I'm a woman getting married.
Yes, it makes me want to cry and cry to give up my H. Yes, I love it and what it means to me. There's a road in the backwoods of Michigan with my name on it. I've never met anyone with my name I wasn't directly related to. I love that. Even more though, I love Brett, I love his family, I want to be one of his people and I want our children to have my name too. That doesn't mean that the kids won't know how important that H is to me and to their family history (and their grandmother's maiden J for that matter).
I won't stop being who I am because my last name changes, but I can't deny that names are serious business and I would never dream of telling another person how to handle losing/ giving up the way they've thought of themselves for the last 25 years of their life.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
breakfast
One of my fondest childhood memories is of nights when I stayed over at my grandparents house and in the morning Grandpa would make us Creamy Wheat.
I don't remember Grandma ever making it, oddly enough, because she's definitely the Master Cook in the family, always laying out a huge feast at holidays and special occasions. Grandpa carves the roast beast, but Grandma does pretty much everything else. I don't know if she didn't like cooking wheat porridge or if she felt it was a "Grandpa and the kids" thing, but in my memories, Grandpa is always the one at the stove.
Paul and I would get the step stool and stand to the left of the stove watching and "helping" as Grandpa heated the milk and stirred in the Cream of Wheat. He'd add sugar and cinnamon and we would sit at the kitchen table and eat our bowls together. The texture of Creamy Wheat is something like a very fine tapioca pudding- each grain plumps up and gets kinda sticky so it's just a little bit chewy, like good al dente pasta, but so soft that it melts in your mouth. Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing; I'm not sure how Paul and I were convinced to try it initially, but we asked for it often.
Lately, I've been thinking about warm, soft, creamy wheat in the mornings. On our grocery store run last night, I picked up a box and made some this morning.
It's always shocking to me how keyed into memory our sense of smell is. The smell of warm milk took me right back to childhood in my grandparents' kitchen and when I added the cinnamon....I remembered exactly how the bowl would taste when I sat down to eat.
And it was just as excellent as I remembered.
I don't remember Grandma ever making it, oddly enough, because she's definitely the Master Cook in the family, always laying out a huge feast at holidays and special occasions. Grandpa carves the roast beast, but Grandma does pretty much everything else. I don't know if she didn't like cooking wheat porridge or if she felt it was a "Grandpa and the kids" thing, but in my memories, Grandpa is always the one at the stove.
Paul and I would get the step stool and stand to the left of the stove watching and "helping" as Grandpa heated the milk and stirred in the Cream of Wheat. He'd add sugar and cinnamon and we would sit at the kitchen table and eat our bowls together. The texture of Creamy Wheat is something like a very fine tapioca pudding- each grain plumps up and gets kinda sticky so it's just a little bit chewy, like good al dente pasta, but so soft that it melts in your mouth. Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing; I'm not sure how Paul and I were convinced to try it initially, but we asked for it often.
Lately, I've been thinking about warm, soft, creamy wheat in the mornings. On our grocery store run last night, I picked up a box and made some this morning.
It's always shocking to me how keyed into memory our sense of smell is. The smell of warm milk took me right back to childhood in my grandparents' kitchen and when I added the cinnamon....I remembered exactly how the bowl would taste when I sat down to eat.
And it was just as excellent as I remembered.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Photos!
Picture Update:
From Easter
And now that spring is here:
I picked these little purple bell flowers from the yard just today and filled them out with the few alestomeria left from Easter. I love having fresh flowers in the house!
I've been looking for readings for the wedding ceremony this August, trying to find pieces that are sweet without being saccharine, heartfelt without being lame, short, meaningful and carefully balanced between solemn and lighthearted.
I'll be posting some of my favorites here. Not sure if everything I post will make it into the ceremony, or featured somewhere else, or if they will just be things that bounce around in my thoughts as I get married, but they have struck a chord with me and I like em.
To start us off, Robert Louis Stevenson's "Wedding Prayer"
P.S. I think my grammar is just fine. Thank you very much.
From Easter
And now that spring is here:
I picked these little purple bell flowers from the yard just today and filled them out with the few alestomeria left from Easter. I love having fresh flowers in the house!
I've been looking for readings for the wedding ceremony this August, trying to find pieces that are sweet without being saccharine, heartfelt without being lame, short, meaningful and carefully balanced between solemn and lighthearted.
I'll be posting some of my favorites here. Not sure if everything I post will make it into the ceremony, or featured somewhere else, or if they will just be things that bounce around in my thoughts as I get married, but they have struck a chord with me and I like em.
To start us off, Robert Louis Stevenson's "Wedding Prayer"
Lord, behold our family here assembled.
We thank you for this place in which we dwell,
for the love that unites us,
for the peace accorded us this day,
for the hope with which we expect the morrow,
for the health, the work, the food,
and the bright skies that make our lives delightful;
for our friends in all parts of the earth.
Amen
And from Frau Ava, the first female German author
I am yours. You are mine.
Of this we are certain.
You are lodged in my heart.
The small key is lost,
You must stay there forever.
Du bist min, ich bin din,
des solt du gewiz sin.
Du bist beslozzen in minem herzen.
Verloren ist daz schlüezzelin,
du muozst och immer darinne sin.
P.S. I think my grammar is just fine. Thank you very much.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Springy
Slowly, slowly, spring is coming to Central New York. And it is good.
Last Sunday was Easter and we celebrated with a big meal out on the porch. It was a little too chilly, really, but it felt good to be welcoming spring when it felt well and truly springy. I'm looking forward to more meals on the porch as the weather warms.
The little red shoots in the front flower beds turned into big leafy tulips and now have buds just tinged with pink at the seams, ready to bloom in another week or so. We also have a few daffodils, the first one of which just opened up today. Daffodils have been blooming in other people's yards and all along the roadways for couple weeks, so I was wondering when the ones in our yard would bloom. I blame it on the amount of daylight the yard gets- slows everything down and keeps them straggly and small. Bummer for a veggie garden.
I'm still working on the socks I talked about in the last post, the ones from the book my Mom bought me (bad Kate...) for my birthday with the yarn my Aunt got me for Christmas on the needles I bought myself as a souvenir from Chelsea's wedding.
The pattern is fantastic! Really really fun to knit, yielding a fabric that is feminine and full of movement without being overly complex. I've worked on it during the slow minutes at work, trying to keep my fingers out of the donuts, and it's been very helpful. Given that, the socks should be further along than they are, but I've been spending a lot of what used to be knitting time playing Dragon Age on our Xbox 360. I get sucked in, what can I say.
I'm also spending more time running. Ostensibly, I'm training to run a marathon this fall. I'm on the last week of a 9 week long "couch to 5K" training podcast. This last week I run 32 minutes without walking, which should be about 3.1 miles. After this week is over, I will start a new program with Brett. the goal is to get fit enough to marathon, but I'm hoping it also will keep me motivated to eat wholesome food for energy, and help me trim down for the wedding.
Which is coming up fast. 113 days, according to The Knot. Invitations need to go out soon- still have to finish putting together all the enclosures and get them ready to address. I know we will be sending them slightly earlier than is customary, because we want to be sure everyone has time to make comfortable travel plans.
Last Sunday was Easter and we celebrated with a big meal out on the porch. It was a little too chilly, really, but it felt good to be welcoming spring when it felt well and truly springy. I'm looking forward to more meals on the porch as the weather warms.
The little red shoots in the front flower beds turned into big leafy tulips and now have buds just tinged with pink at the seams, ready to bloom in another week or so. We also have a few daffodils, the first one of which just opened up today. Daffodils have been blooming in other people's yards and all along the roadways for couple weeks, so I was wondering when the ones in our yard would bloom. I blame it on the amount of daylight the yard gets- slows everything down and keeps them straggly and small. Bummer for a veggie garden.
I'm still working on the socks I talked about in the last post, the ones from the book my Mom bought me (bad Kate...) for my birthday with the yarn my Aunt got me for Christmas on the needles I bought myself as a souvenir from Chelsea's wedding.
The pattern is fantastic! Really really fun to knit, yielding a fabric that is feminine and full of movement without being overly complex. I've worked on it during the slow minutes at work, trying to keep my fingers out of the donuts, and it's been very helpful. Given that, the socks should be further along than they are, but I've been spending a lot of what used to be knitting time playing Dragon Age on our Xbox 360. I get sucked in, what can I say.
I'm also spending more time running. Ostensibly, I'm training to run a marathon this fall. I'm on the last week of a 9 week long "couch to 5K" training podcast. This last week I run 32 minutes without walking, which should be about 3.1 miles. After this week is over, I will start a new program with Brett. the goal is to get fit enough to marathon, but I'm hoping it also will keep me motivated to eat wholesome food for energy, and help me trim down for the wedding.
Which is coming up fast. 113 days, according to The Knot. Invitations need to go out soon- still have to finish putting together all the enclosures and get them ready to address. I know we will be sending them slightly earlier than is customary, because we want to be sure everyone has time to make comfortable travel plans.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Knitting Update
Long overdue update.
Remember the giant snow storm we had two weeks ago?
Most of that snow is gone now. There's still in inch or two in shady places, and where it was piled up after we dug out, but we're starting to see more grass than snow which is great.
I don't know what plant it is called, but along the streams and in the marshy places around here there is a willowy bush/tree/vine thing that turns a vivid magenta when spring is coming. Last year, it was the first sign of color coming back in March when the snow receded and everything looked drab and dead.
There are a few little bulbs poking back up through the dirt right by the front door. They have a dark dark red color. I wonder what they will grow up to be!
The Cider Mill geese have been venturing out more and more too. Spotted them strolling down the street outside the front door a few days ago. They hissed at me for taking pictures of them on such a bad feather day.
I finished the Olympic Sweater a few days late.
Alas. But I do really like it, so I'm pleased. It has a beautiful drape and soft luxurious warmth, despite its relatively open fabric. It's much bigger than the pattern suggests. I blocked it realtively tightly to open up the fabric and to help nudge the arms and hemline a little longer, so that might be part of it, but I'm guessing my gauge was off by a few stitches once I got into the stress of the Olympics. That would account for the arm holes being about an inch or two too big.
Don't misunderstand. I loves me the sweater. Brett thinks it looks good, and it has that funky loose look that so many cardigans have in the stores these days, which is exactly what I was going for. Perfect to wear over a fitted long sleeve shirt or a summer tank top. I'm looking forward to reaching for this on warm summer mornings when I need something I can stuff in my bag and toss on once the sun goes down and it gets a little chilly. Hooray!
I finally finished Brett's Kansas City socks too.
I knew he needed a pair of his own when he kept boggarting my handknit woolies. He needs good wool socks because he does crazy things like run around in the snow to celebrate U of Minnesota victories. He's a crazy person.
After searching the stash, I found I had a great skein of royal blue Mountain Colors Bearfoot that I'd been hoarding since the days of the employee discount at Iris Fine Yarns. (I really miss working at a yarn shop!) Since the color was appropriate, I charted out a little KC design to feature on the cuff and planned a purl bump diamond pattern for the leg and top of the foot. Started out with a few blue and white stripes, jumped right into the colorwork, struggled through a few repeats of the diamonds before abandoning them and then suffered through a men's sized sock worth of dark blue stockinette. I don't know what I was thinking trying to read a purl bump pattern on dark knitting that I usually do in the evenings. As far as eye strain goes, only an eggplant purple or solid black yarn would have been worse.
So I finally finished the first sock and then, of course, second sock syndrome kicked in and the thought of doing another one made me want to take a nap. It took me almost a year to even start the second sock, but it went so much more quickly than the first that I cast on the cuff and kitchenered the toe in 4 days.
Such is the paradox of the sock knitter. You spend weeks, maybe a month on the first sock, the prototype, experimenting with design elements, writing and rewriting the pattern, knitting the damn thing, until you have spent all your creative juices and, now that all the hard work is done, you nothing left to carry you across the flat stockinette finish line. You have hit the Knitters Wall. I have found the same thing to be true of weaving in ends and blocking sweaters and shawls, or the last stretch of most knitting projects, really.
But I find that time is the best remedy. Now that the KC sock monkey is off my back, I feel free to start another pair of socks, this time following a pattern without making many, if any, alterations. Good thing Aunt Karen sent me a copy of Knitted Socks, East and West for my birthday. Beautiful patterns and inspiring photography. I've cast on for Chouwa, a highly textured feather and fan sort of pattern that is producing a lovely surf crashing on rocks sort of feel. It's great. I'm knitting with Christmas yarn too: Happy Feet from Plymouth Yarns in colorway 26 (such a romantic name, right?) which is a really mysterious variegation of charcoal grey, periwinkle purple, and a tiny hint of robins egg blue. From afar the overall effect is purple. I do really like the way the strange color combo is working with the texture, sort of softening and homogenizing the colors.
From now on, I'll remember that sometimes after over analyzing a project, I should try something I don't think will work at all and just see what happens.
Remember the giant snow storm we had two weeks ago?
Most of that snow is gone now. There's still in inch or two in shady places, and where it was piled up after we dug out, but we're starting to see more grass than snow which is great.
I don't know what plant it is called, but along the streams and in the marshy places around here there is a willowy bush/tree/vine thing that turns a vivid magenta when spring is coming. Last year, it was the first sign of color coming back in March when the snow receded and everything looked drab and dead.
There are a few little bulbs poking back up through the dirt right by the front door. They have a dark dark red color. I wonder what they will grow up to be!
The Cider Mill geese have been venturing out more and more too. Spotted them strolling down the street outside the front door a few days ago. They hissed at me for taking pictures of them on such a bad feather day.
I finished the Olympic Sweater a few days late.
Alas. But I do really like it, so I'm pleased. It has a beautiful drape and soft luxurious warmth, despite its relatively open fabric. It's much bigger than the pattern suggests. I blocked it realtively tightly to open up the fabric and to help nudge the arms and hemline a little longer, so that might be part of it, but I'm guessing my gauge was off by a few stitches once I got into the stress of the Olympics. That would account for the arm holes being about an inch or two too big.
Don't misunderstand. I loves me the sweater. Brett thinks it looks good, and it has that funky loose look that so many cardigans have in the stores these days, which is exactly what I was going for. Perfect to wear over a fitted long sleeve shirt or a summer tank top. I'm looking forward to reaching for this on warm summer mornings when I need something I can stuff in my bag and toss on once the sun goes down and it gets a little chilly. Hooray!
I finally finished Brett's Kansas City socks too.
I knew he needed a pair of his own when he kept boggarting my handknit woolies. He needs good wool socks because he does crazy things like run around in the snow to celebrate U of Minnesota victories. He's a crazy person.
After searching the stash, I found I had a great skein of royal blue Mountain Colors Bearfoot that I'd been hoarding since the days of the employee discount at Iris Fine Yarns. (I really miss working at a yarn shop!) Since the color was appropriate, I charted out a little KC design to feature on the cuff and planned a purl bump diamond pattern for the leg and top of the foot. Started out with a few blue and white stripes, jumped right into the colorwork, struggled through a few repeats of the diamonds before abandoning them and then suffered through a men's sized sock worth of dark blue stockinette. I don't know what I was thinking trying to read a purl bump pattern on dark knitting that I usually do in the evenings. As far as eye strain goes, only an eggplant purple or solid black yarn would have been worse.
So I finally finished the first sock and then, of course, second sock syndrome kicked in and the thought of doing another one made me want to take a nap. It took me almost a year to even start the second sock, but it went so much more quickly than the first that I cast on the cuff and kitchenered the toe in 4 days.
Such is the paradox of the sock knitter. You spend weeks, maybe a month on the first sock, the prototype, experimenting with design elements, writing and rewriting the pattern, knitting the damn thing, until you have spent all your creative juices and, now that all the hard work is done, you nothing left to carry you across the flat stockinette finish line. You have hit the Knitters Wall. I have found the same thing to be true of weaving in ends and blocking sweaters and shawls, or the last stretch of most knitting projects, really.
But I find that time is the best remedy. Now that the KC sock monkey is off my back, I feel free to start another pair of socks, this time following a pattern without making many, if any, alterations. Good thing Aunt Karen sent me a copy of Knitted Socks, East and West for my birthday. Beautiful patterns and inspiring photography. I've cast on for Chouwa, a highly textured feather and fan sort of pattern that is producing a lovely surf crashing on rocks sort of feel. It's great. I'm knitting with Christmas yarn too: Happy Feet from Plymouth Yarns in colorway 26 (such a romantic name, right?) which is a really mysterious variegation of charcoal grey, periwinkle purple, and a tiny hint of robins egg blue. From afar the overall effect is purple. I do really like the way the strange color combo is working with the texture, sort of softening and homogenizing the colors.
From now on, I'll remember that sometimes after over analyzing a project, I should try something I don't think will work at all and just see what happens.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Bridezilla!
I just read a very excellent "wedding undergraduate" post over on A Practical Wedding. It articulated something I've seen on the internet and run up against only occasionally in my own wedding planning where you suggest wanting something (maybe a backyard pig roast BBQ, instead of a buffet reception) and the response sounds like, "Oh no! That's doesn't feel like a wedding! It's kind of...hick, isn't it?"
It's well intentioned, assuming, I suppose, that it's not coming from a wedding industry professional insisting that going with the white standard table cloth is cheap so she can try to upsell you the colored overlays for an additional $50 a table. When it comes from a relative or (dare I suggest we don't always agree?) Fiance, I believe the intention is really to create a beautiful day that everyone will remember forever.
While the post made me feel a sense of support for making unconventional wedding choices, it made me think a little more about the other people involved in the wedding planning process.
Take the parents, for example. My parents have been great about the whole thing. Mom dealt with me wanting non-matching bridesmaids, compromised with me on the dinner service, has left pretty much every decor decision up to me and has generally supported every choice I've made thus far.
Other brides get this:
"it finally struck me this weekend that the only parts of the wedding she's [Mom] happy with are the parts she's been 100% involved in. Any decision my fiance and i have made together, ourselves - she has already decided will be a disaster. anyone involved with the wedding that she doesn't know, will be a failure."
And I thought, "seriously? Your daughter and her fiance are grown people! Trust them already!"
Brett and I watch Bridezillas sometimes and love feeling superior to the poor people on the show. Being tuned into the bridal blog world makes me look at the show and see women who are one week out from what society has told them should be the most important day of their adult lives. So often they scream in tears at their fiances, "this wedding isn't about you! It's all about me! And those table cloths have to match the bridesmaids shoes exactly or the WHOLE DAY WILL BE RUINED!" It's easy to laugh at that and call her a crazy Bridezilla, but honestly, that's exactly how she's been told to feel, and can you really blame her if she's not dealing with that particularly well? The wedding day is supposed to be a reflection of the bride: her taste and class and her value as a female member of society. She's supposed to throw the best, most luxurious party possible. The event of the season that everyone will still be talking about in a year.
A) That's stupid.
B) I know how that feels as a bride, but I honestly (I'm ashamed to say) hadn't thought how that pressure translates to Mom and Dad until I read this comment, "I think, in respect to our parents, many of them still think we are/want us to be 12 years old, not actual, full-fledged adults. Or, if we're going to go and be full-fledged adults instead of 12-year-olds, by golly we better look like extensions of them!"
It was like the clouds parted and I realized that while it's probably not always true, it is a really good thing to keep in mind that Mom and Dad are as invested in my wedding as I am.
Their parents will be there, their friends and co workers and of course they want to be comfortable with the big decisions (in a church, not a pasture) and want to have input in the little ones (bridesmaids attire). I get that. It makes sense.
So I will try to understand where the desire to input is coming from and I will try to be more receptive to compromise. I've gotten everything important to me so far and there's no reason to be difficult about the things that are important to my parents.
Love you Mom and Dad.
It's well intentioned, assuming, I suppose, that it's not coming from a wedding industry professional insisting that going with the white standard table cloth is cheap so she can try to upsell you the colored overlays for an additional $50 a table. When it comes from a relative or (dare I suggest we don't always agree?) Fiance, I believe the intention is really to create a beautiful day that everyone will remember forever.
While the post made me feel a sense of support for making unconventional wedding choices, it made me think a little more about the other people involved in the wedding planning process.
Take the parents, for example. My parents have been great about the whole thing. Mom dealt with me wanting non-matching bridesmaids, compromised with me on the dinner service, has left pretty much every decor decision up to me and has generally supported every choice I've made thus far.
Other brides get this:
"it finally struck me this weekend that the only parts of the wedding she's [Mom] happy with are the parts she's been 100% involved in. Any decision my fiance and i have made together, ourselves - she has already decided will be a disaster. anyone involved with the wedding that she doesn't know, will be a failure."
And I thought, "seriously? Your daughter and her fiance are grown people! Trust them already!"
Brett and I watch Bridezillas sometimes and love feeling superior to the poor people on the show. Being tuned into the bridal blog world makes me look at the show and see women who are one week out from what society has told them should be the most important day of their adult lives. So often they scream in tears at their fiances, "this wedding isn't about you! It's all about me! And those table cloths have to match the bridesmaids shoes exactly or the WHOLE DAY WILL BE RUINED!" It's easy to laugh at that and call her a crazy Bridezilla, but honestly, that's exactly how she's been told to feel, and can you really blame her if she's not dealing with that particularly well? The wedding day is supposed to be a reflection of the bride: her taste and class and her value as a female member of society. She's supposed to throw the best, most luxurious party possible. The event of the season that everyone will still be talking about in a year.
A) That's stupid.
B) I know how that feels as a bride, but I honestly (I'm ashamed to say) hadn't thought how that pressure translates to Mom and Dad until I read this comment, "I think, in respect to our parents, many of them still think we are/want us to be 12 years old, not actual, full-fledged adults. Or, if we're going to go and be full-fledged adults instead of 12-year-olds, by golly we better look like extensions of them!"
It was like the clouds parted and I realized that while it's probably not always true, it is a really good thing to keep in mind that Mom and Dad are as invested in my wedding as I am.
Their parents will be there, their friends and co workers and of course they want to be comfortable with the big decisions (in a church, not a pasture) and want to have input in the little ones (bridesmaids attire). I get that. It makes sense.
So I will try to understand where the desire to input is coming from and I will try to be more receptive to compromise. I've gotten everything important to me so far and there's no reason to be difficult about the things that are important to my parents.
Love you Mom and Dad.
Monday, March 01, 2010
News Release
Bob Costas: There is the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. One such story of heartbreak comes to us from Fly Creek, New York where Olympian Kate Hackelberg, after 17 days of struggle, fell just shy of gold. Here to tell us her story in her own words...Kate Hackelberg...
Welcome to the studio, Kate.
Me: Thanks Bob, it's an honor to be here.
Bob: Now, your event was the...knit sweater?
Me: That's right Bob.
Bob: Now, for those viewers at home who may not be familiar with the sport of Olympic Knitting, can you tell us a little bit of how it differs from the Knitting many of us are accustomed to seeing practiced in our living rooms?
Me: Sure, Bob. Many people are used to seeing knitting practiced as a hobby, at various skill levels, with a wide range of goals. Olympic Knitting takes that hobby and cranks it up a few notches by imposing two rules: you must knit a challenging project and you must knit between the flames.
Bob: So there's a certain amount of subjectivity in the judging?
Me: Oh no no! It's very cut and dry. Either you finish your challenge before the flame goes out or you don't. There's no silver or bronze in the Knitting Olympics; only gold.
Bob: How did you decide on your challenge?
Me: Well, I've been knitting quite a while and in that time, I've completed a number of projects of various sizes and skill levels so I figured I would try a sweater. I chose the featherweight cardigan by Hannah Fetig. I knew that it would be a challenge to do so much knitting in the time frame, but it was a very simple pattern so I thought it would be doable.
Bob: And yet, you're here today with no gold medal. What went wrong?
Kate: Bob, I think it was hubris.
Bob: Hmmm.
Me: The more I thought about it, the less challenging the pattern seemed. I mean, when you're in the company of Olympians, it's hard not to compare yourself to them and the fearless leader of the Knitting Olympians, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, was knitting Whistler, a brilliant 4 color Norwegian style sweater. Next to that the Featherweight Cardigan seemed like a piece of cake. So in the beginning, there were nights I didn't even work on the sweater. Of course, I regret that now.
Bob: Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but if you knew then what you know now...what would you have done differently?
Me: Unfortunately, Bob, all of my issues came down to poor planning, rather than equipment failure or lack of training. Can't fault the yarn or the pattern here! I would have tried harder to write a reliable schedule. I didn't realistically think about how long the sections would take, but if I had, I would have known on day 5 whether I was behind schedule and would have been able to put in a few late nights early on, instead of being completely out of time in the last few days.
Bob: Well, it seems you've taken a lot of good lessons from these Olympic games. Will we see you back on the course in 2014?
Me: Absolutely, Bob. And next time I'll be coming for gold!
Bob: Alright, we'll be keeping an eye out for you. It's be a pleasure to have you with us today, Kate, and best of luck in your future knitting endeavors.
Kate: Thanks so much for having me on, Bob.
Bob: So many stories have come out of Vancouver, some of glory, some of disappointment, but regardless of the outcome, these Olympians have given their all. They strive to knit swifter, higher, stronger, and we all learn from their efforts. From all of us at the studio...goodnight.
Welcome to the studio, Kate.
Me: Thanks Bob, it's an honor to be here.
Bob: Now, your event was the...knit sweater?
Me: That's right Bob.
Bob: Now, for those viewers at home who may not be familiar with the sport of Olympic Knitting, can you tell us a little bit of how it differs from the Knitting many of us are accustomed to seeing practiced in our living rooms?
Me: Sure, Bob. Many people are used to seeing knitting practiced as a hobby, at various skill levels, with a wide range of goals. Olympic Knitting takes that hobby and cranks it up a few notches by imposing two rules: you must knit a challenging project and you must knit between the flames.
Bob: So there's a certain amount of subjectivity in the judging?
Me: Oh no no! It's very cut and dry. Either you finish your challenge before the flame goes out or you don't. There's no silver or bronze in the Knitting Olympics; only gold.
Bob: How did you decide on your challenge?
Me: Well, I've been knitting quite a while and in that time, I've completed a number of projects of various sizes and skill levels so I figured I would try a sweater. I chose the featherweight cardigan by Hannah Fetig. I knew that it would be a challenge to do so much knitting in the time frame, but it was a very simple pattern so I thought it would be doable.
Bob: And yet, you're here today with no gold medal. What went wrong?
Kate: Bob, I think it was hubris.
Bob: Hmmm.
Me: The more I thought about it, the less challenging the pattern seemed. I mean, when you're in the company of Olympians, it's hard not to compare yourself to them and the fearless leader of the Knitting Olympians, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, was knitting Whistler, a brilliant 4 color Norwegian style sweater. Next to that the Featherweight Cardigan seemed like a piece of cake. So in the beginning, there were nights I didn't even work on the sweater. Of course, I regret that now.
Bob: Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but if you knew then what you know now...what would you have done differently?
Me: Unfortunately, Bob, all of my issues came down to poor planning, rather than equipment failure or lack of training. Can't fault the yarn or the pattern here! I would have tried harder to write a reliable schedule. I didn't realistically think about how long the sections would take, but if I had, I would have known on day 5 whether I was behind schedule and would have been able to put in a few late nights early on, instead of being completely out of time in the last few days.
Bob: Well, it seems you've taken a lot of good lessons from these Olympic games. Will we see you back on the course in 2014?
Me: Absolutely, Bob. And next time I'll be coming for gold!
Bob: Alright, we'll be keeping an eye out for you. It's be a pleasure to have you with us today, Kate, and best of luck in your future knitting endeavors.
Kate: Thanks so much for having me on, Bob.
Bob: So many stories have come out of Vancouver, some of glory, some of disappointment, but regardless of the outcome, these Olympians have given their all. They strive to knit swifter, higher, stronger, and we all learn from their efforts. From all of us at the studio...goodnight.
Friday, February 26, 2010
We stocked up on bottled water and canned goods
Snow Day!
Last night we got slammed with our only real snow storm of the year. I don't know what took so long, but it sure made up for a relatively nice winter with about two feet of heavy fluffy white stuff. Brett and I had both gone into work but got to leave early.
The ride home was scary and we wound up abandoning my car in a city lot overnight and Brett drove us both up the snowy hill to Fly Creek. Today we went back for it and not only had to shovel out those two feet in the driveway to get Brett's car out, but the 4 feet or so the plow had dumped into the drive, AND the snow that had buried my car in the lot. But it hadn't been towed or ticketed and I'm just thrilled we got both cars home safe.
Yesterday we enjoyed the early dismissal and played in the snow a little after we shoveled the first foot of snow out of the driveway.
Today we just bummed around and cooked yummy food and did laundry, but it was nice to have a day off. Our mailbox is completely destroyed, though, and our poor snowman has been buried to his waist.
Those plows toss that snow around but good.
The Olympic Sweater is not looking good folks. The body is done and I'm making good progress on the sleeves but I'm pretty certain the collar is at least a three day bit of knitting and I only have two left! I'll keep knitting away though, like the USA Women's Hockey team playing to the last second, rather than concede defeat.
Last night we got slammed with our only real snow storm of the year. I don't know what took so long, but it sure made up for a relatively nice winter with about two feet of heavy fluffy white stuff. Brett and I had both gone into work but got to leave early.
The ride home was scary and we wound up abandoning my car in a city lot overnight and Brett drove us both up the snowy hill to Fly Creek. Today we went back for it and not only had to shovel out those two feet in the driveway to get Brett's car out, but the 4 feet or so the plow had dumped into the drive, AND the snow that had buried my car in the lot. But it hadn't been towed or ticketed and I'm just thrilled we got both cars home safe.
Yesterday we enjoyed the early dismissal and played in the snow a little after we shoveled the first foot of snow out of the driveway.
Today we just bummed around and cooked yummy food and did laundry, but it was nice to have a day off. Our mailbox is completely destroyed, though, and our poor snowman has been buried to his waist.
Those plows toss that snow around but good.
The Olympic Sweater is not looking good folks. The body is done and I'm making good progress on the sleeves but I'm pretty certain the collar is at least a three day bit of knitting and I only have two left! I'll keep knitting away though, like the USA Women's Hockey team playing to the last second, rather than concede defeat.
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