Snapshots in My Mind

My daughter was married this weekend. The wedding was beautiful and unique, as it should have been since it was a year in the making. Every detail was meaningful.

I’ve not seen any photos or video yet so I have the luxury, right now, of putting my own slant on the images in my memory. I see makeup being tossed across a bed in a suite full of bridesmaids all laughing or asking, “Has anybody seen my …” I see Laura, extremely stressed, holding a tissue to her mouth to stop the bleeding from where she bit the inside of her lip. I see Ali putting Laura’s hair up and Lou putting makeup on 10-year-old Franny. I see Jawanda sitting in a chair, taking it all in. I see Laura step into her dress. I see friends at the site and am overwhelmed by how surprised I am even though I knew they were coming. I see Laura crying as pictures are taken before the ceremony. I see wonderful friends so carefully decorating mantels in the parlors of the Terry House Mansion. I see Erni being escorted down the aisle. I see Ben’s face the first time he catches sight of Laura at the end of the aisle. I see 8 beautiful girls strut down the aisle while my brother sings “Dimples.” I see Dan give Laura away. I watch as Laura and Ben recite the Pledge of Fidelity I wrote for my own wedding. I see them kiss and walk under the sabers of an honor guard. I see Laura get smacked in the butt by a saber as she is welcomed to the army and then I see Ben saber a bottle of champagne on the first try. I see Laura dance with her husband and then her father.

The most vivid image in my memory is also the most bittersweet. It took place when we were leaving the hotel for the ceremony. It is of Laura floating across the lobby of the Capital Hotel, employees rushing from the office behind reception and gasping as she passed. I held back and watched as she drifted away from me, toward … home.

I'm Hopeless

I bought sunflowers from the Russian Farmer at the Arkansas Certified Farmers Market this morning. I carefully selected each one for color and texture and took them to the aforementioned farmer to pay. Feeling like the Arky version of Mrs. Dalloway, I handed him the money. He looked at my, I thought, well put-together bouquet, held out his bear paw hand and said, “Geev them to me.” I obediently handed them over whereupon he added another sunflower, cut the stems, arranged them to his liking and put a rubber band around them. He thrust them back at me and said, “There, now they look ceevilized.”
I try to be an adult, I really do, but foreigners see right through me, because they really are adults and they‘re not putting up with any unruly sunflowers.

The 'Butt is Most Displeased

My son asked my husband and me to foster an abandoned dog that a friend of his rescued. We put up a brave show of resistance but of course we took the dog. They say he’s a Lab but I think he’s a Lab mix. Black Lab’s don’t normally have a white stripe on the chest. He also has some white toes on his back paws and is smaller than most the Labs I know. But, overall, he looks very Lab-like. His name is Ben – coincidentally the same name as my future son-in-law.

Chase and Emily brought the dog over last night to help us decide whether we would take him in. Of course, Ben didn’t leave with them. He’s a lovely dog and can do something we’ve never been able to get one of our dogs to do – he can catch objects in mid-air. He loves it … he really loves it. All our dogs would just sit there while balls, Frisbees, treats, whatever, bounced off their snouts but this guy is an ace. I can’t wait to play Frisbee with him.

Oh, and he wuvs the cat. He just wants to play with him and thinks it’s so cute when Tiggerbutt growls and hisses at him. Ben looks from us to the cat and it looks like he’s trying to say, “Look! Look how fluffy! I want him. Please, please, Puhleeve give him to me! We’ll have fun. Promise!” The cat makes a break for the door, imitating a pinball, never touching the floor. I swear to God it was like watching “Thunderdome.” That cat’s amazing. He ran on the wall. As long as Tiggerbutt doesn’t try to jump over Ben, he should be just fine. Right now the ‘Butt has taken refuge on top of one of the den bookshelves:



Who wouldn't want to play with that?

Sneezing Requires All My Concentration

My daughter is getting married. In six months. It’s serious get-to-work time. Of all the daunting things that can be thrown at a MOB (mother of the bride - nice, huh), the most disconcerting for me has to be the, almost as an afterthought, statement, “Oh, I need you to send me your measurements.” It’s not the measurements really, it’s the acknowledgement that I actually have a body. I’ve made a concerted effort over the last several months to totally ignore my body -- and that’s been working out okay. I really don’t even know how much I weigh, but now I must get out a tape measure and do the deed. I’m sure I will be appalled. I wish my daughter did not work in a bridal shop so far away. If I was getting my MOB dress close by, I could go in, request a blind fold, hold my arms out, have a lit cigarette placed in my mouth and stand there while a person I’ve never seen before and will never see again (specified in writing) wields the tape measure and whispers numbers (preferably metric - I’ve never figured out metric) to a tape recorder.

Confronting the inevitable, I was inspired this morning to go for a walk. Where I live, this time of year is pollen season. No, not pollen season -- that’s too innocuous for what occurs in my neck of the woods. It’s more like pollen Armageddon. Leave anything outside for five minutes and it will change color to yellow-green. I’ve always felt that it is particularly unfair that the first open window weather of Spring is accompanied by a dust storm of screen-mocking pollen. I’m one of the lucky people that doesn’t suffer from allergies but even I have my limits. I was near the end of my walk when the stuff got to me and I had to sneeze, which made me realize that sneezing requires all my concentration. I must come to a complete stop and focus my attention or, let’s just say, the rest of the walk will not be pleasant.

On the plus side, I just had an eye exam and my nearsightedness is actually being counteracted by age-induced farsightedness. Cold comfort is better than no comfort at all.