Wedding Pictures!

It took a while, but here they are!

To say it’s all about the dress is to diminish a monumental milestone. But honestly, I’ve been an observer of wedding attire for my entire life, and this is absolutely the most glorious dress I’ve ever seen. So it’s understandable that quite a few of the pictures I selected from the many that were taken showcase every aspect of Julia clothed in this heavenly dress.

I mean, check out the back. Delicate, alluring, mysterious. Of course, not every woman’s backside could make it look this good.

Again, Julia in the dress, plus Julia’s father, David; sister, Alex; and Mother, Khim. We were thrilled that they could come and stay with us in Marble Falls for a few days after the wedding. Before retiring, David was the IT manager for Plymouth (UK). He is soft-spoken and thoughtful and was kind to my little dog, which is definitely the way to my heart. During her working years Khim was a mid-wife, which says it all—sensible, reassuring, open-minded, and compassionate. Julia’s sister Alex is the definition of exuberance. She’s an English teacher in South Korea. We thought she was crazy when she flew home amidst the unrest caused by the virus. But I spoke to Khim the other day and she says that Alex is doing well and that Korea is handling the crisis with equanimity and compliance.

David and I walking Sam to the altar. We were so happy for him on his big day!

Sam and Curtis watching Julia and her parents’ approach. Look at our two boys. Gorgeous, right? Curtis is currently the senior counsel for Norton Rose Fulbright’s Energy Disputes Division in Houston, and Sam is on his way to Stanford to earn his Master’s.

I couldn’t resist this front view. You can see the tips of Julia’s cowgirl boots—a touch of whimsy.

And this shot in profile is perfection. The bridesmaids were quite attentive toward the train and veil.

The first married kiss. Julia’s sister, Alex on one side; Sam’s brother, Curtis, on the other.

The new couple. See that smile on our Sam.

These are Sam’s “people”. On the right of Sam, Curtis. On the left, Jimmy, a friend of Sam’s since third grade. The idea of having a woman in the line of groomsmen was new to me, but I like it. The guy beside Curtis held his two-year-old son in his arms throughout the ceremony, which was adorable. The one in the gray suit is the officiate, Andrew, Sam’s business partner from Beijing. On the opposite end is a middle-eastern humorist author, with whom I had much in common. Sam and Julia have some interesting friends.

And these are Julia’s friends. The way she handled the dresses was clever—she simply gave each girl a sample to match, then they went their own way in choosing, which meant that no one had to wear something that was hideously unflattering. The guy on the end acted as the flower boy—he danced gracefully up the aisle and was quite fun and charming. In this group are businesswomen, diplomats, and foreign aid workers.

On a personal note, meet Mary Ann and Phil, Jimmy’s parents and years-long friends of ours from Sugar Land. During her busy years Mary Ann was a powerhouse, a social activist working against the tobacco industry. She was a leader among the many who fought for laws banning smoking from bars and restaurants in Texas; and if you feel ostracized every time you light up, it’s due to her. Where would we be as a society without our Mary Anns?

And then there was dinner with toasts and speeches and an afterparty. Much dancing and joy and laughter. Of course all the guests aren’t shown in this simple and limited selection. Tons too many pictures for me to post, so I restricted myself to the ceremony.

Best wishes to Sam and Julia!

The Death of Hugging

At church last week, before all the rash of calling off and postponing, we were instructed to drink from the chalice rather than dip the wafer into the wine because the drinking method would be less germy. The reasoning eludes me. This week church has been cancelled. Upon hearing this, my first thought is that Episcopalians must be wimpier than Methodists. But then our old church, St. Luke’s Methodist in Houston, posted on Facebook that they were cancelling services, too. Common sense versus faith, a complex doctrinal tangle. 

“Cancelling everything is silly,” I say to David. “Shouldn’t we simply go about our regular lives and take the chance?”

“The fear is that if everybody gets it at once it’ll overload the system. So it’s best to slow the spread.”

He’s been following the news about the virus closer than I have been. All I know is that I was going to give a talk to a writers’ group on Wednesday and now that’s not going to happen. At least Mahjong still stands. Tile love wins out over disease fear. Several of David’s activities have been cancelled. Saddest of all is that he’s been the driving force in developing the new community garden, and now there will be no open house, no grand opening. And he does like celebrations. He’s not an attention-seeking guy, but it would have been nice for him to have received recognition for all his work. Now, nothing. 

“Let’s drive into Austin, do the lake walk, and go to brunch,” is his suggestion for our now-empty Sunday morning. 

So that’s what we do. The weather is dreary and drippy and there are few cars on Seventy-one. If you don’t live in this area you have no idea what all the fuss is about this time of year. Since the last time we drove in this direction, the Indian paintbrush and bluebonnets have popped up and bloomed, splashing the verges with periwinkle and coral. It’s beautiful. As to the traffic, even in Austin the highways are wide open. 

Every year or so we do this outing—the walk, the brunch at True Food. The path is usually solidly populated by bikers weaving through and runners bouncing by. Today I’d estimate that there’s a tenth of the usual number. 

“I guess everybody’s hunkering down at home,” I say. 

“How do you spell hunker?” David wants to know. I spell it for him. 

“There probably aren’t five people in Austin who have the virus,” I say, “and those five people are staying away from the population. Yet folks aren’t leaving their houses because some geriatrics died in Seattle and there are cases in New York.”

“Look at how fast that runner’s going. I miss running.” Aches and injuries put a stop to his running about ten years ago. 

True Food is usually packed on Sunday mornings. A reservation is necessary. But today there are few diners. David orders hot apple cider and banana pancakes. I order a bloody Mary and smashed avocado toast, which is composed of a piece of toast topped with gouda, guacamole, and two runny eggs. Uncharacteristically, I take a picture. It’s yummy; but I scrape the overabundance of thyme to the side. I respect thyme as an herb, not as a complete salad. No amount of dressing makes it palatable.  

A pair of grandparents enter and approach a table occupied by their daughter and granddaughters. The grandmother shares an awkward elbow bump with her granddaughters. The grandfather bumps fists with his daughter. Oh for goodness sake! Now families aren’t even hugging. 

Two men enter and pause, looking for the couple they’re here to meet. They spy their friends and go to join them. The two newcomers self-consciously perform a knuckle tap with the seated man. But then they lean in and give the woman hugs and cheek kisses. This difference in how the men greet one another and how they greet the woman is so bizarre that it’ll keep popping into my mind for the next week. Surely it indicates something—but what?

Later, as we’re driving home, we discuss the morning, which was pleasant, but also disturbing. I don’t appreciate this latest PC mandate. There’s speculation that as our planet warms hazardous microbes will be unearthed. It’s vital that we’re prepared. But fist bumping and social distancing aren’t realistic solutions; however, due to this first push, I fear that these ineffectual measures will become the norm, and that people who don’t fall in line will be judged. I foresee a whole divisive debate between shakers and non-shakers, huggers and elbow bumpers. 

“What if someone went ahead with their scheduled large-group activity?” I ask David. “Does that mean they hate America?”

David sighs. I can be annoying.

Artistic work on a column of a bridge crossing Lake Austin.

This was once a vacant weedy field. David oversaw all this work and now he’s been told not to recruit people to help in the garden.

As promised—my meal.

I look pretty good considering that I’ve been humidity hiking.

Enjoying his morning off from ushering.

The Smirk

I am in four seconds of the six-and-a-half minute wedding video. If it’s obvious to me it’ll be obvious to others. 

“I am basically the crew member who gets flung off the Enterprise during the first two seconds of the movie,” I tell David. 

He tilts his head in an attempt to conceal his smirk. 

The smirk is more significant than he knows. For one thing, it lets me know that he, too, noticed that I was barely there; and that he anticipated that I’d notice, get my feelings hurt over it, and put forth a bitter comment. 

The other thing it tells me is that, in his opinion, I’m small-minded for noticing. 

So, in addition to being a non-presence in my son’s wedding video, now my sensibilities have taken a hit because my husband thinks I’m being petty. 

Am I being petty? Yes. He’s absolutely right. The woman who took the video doesn’t know me and it’s her job to be where the action is and to catch the highlights, not follow the mother of the groom around. During the time that most of this video takes place, I was elsewhere catching up with old friends and enjoying myself immensely. 

Also, I detest being the focus of attention, so it’s foolishness to care that I’m not the focus. 

Still, when Sam was a child I discussed literature and nuance with him. And I taxied him from one extracurricular activity to another, years of my life spent in the car seeing that he arrived at a ridiculous number of events on time. Also, considering their future plans, I’m basically losing the son I raised to another family, far away. Ouch. There was a time when I was a force in his life. It seems like that should be worth more than just a few seconds.

 Another takeaway from David’s smirk is that he doesn’t care that my feelings have been hurt. I guess we’ve been living together for so long, witnessing each other’s pains and joys for so many years that anymore it seems predictable and rote. There was a time when my pain was his pain, my indignation, his indignation. Obviously, no more.  

The smirk also communicates a level of superiority, his sure knowledge that he is a better person than I. And this is true. He’s a way better person than I am, legitimately entitled to his self-righteousness. He would never get bent out of shape over something so trivial. He would never take time to count the seconds he’s in a video or take offence over a short film put together by a stranger. 

On the flipside, he’s involved in many community activities, which means that he, too, has his share of successes and obstacles. With whom does he share his triumphs and frustrations? Me. And I never, ever smirk. 

The critical intimation of the smirk also makes me question who I am. Am I wrong to feel the way I feel? Is my perspective skewed? Shouldn’t I be better at letting things go? Am I, contrary to what I thought I knew about myself, actually a narcissist? Is my mean-spirited reaction an indication that I’m spoiled and demanding? And lastly what do I do with my negative feelings if I’m made to feel horrible about voicing them? 

Perhaps what’s needed is a bitch club. Does anyone know of one that I can join? 

How'd the Wedding Go?

Sam and Julia and their entourage descend into Houston on Sunday. Others trickle in from their various world corners throughout the week, until their two Airbnb’s hold thirty people. 

On Thursday, curious about how things are going over at what we refer to as “The Vu Pad,” the Waldos—Betty and her son, Chris; David’s sister, Leanne; and David and I stop by on the way to the planned group adventure at NASA. We enter a bustling house full of happy and peppy millennials, all of whom seem to know each other well and are interested in meeting David and me—because, of course, having raised such an interesting and clever son, we, also, must be interesting and clever. Which we are. As parents of the groom, we have very little to do with the details. Our job is to stand to the side and don proud expressions as the young couple scurries about and arranges things. 

When you’re dealing with moving thirty people from one venue to another, all with their separate needs, agendas, and questions—also, a few couples with young kids—just getting out the door can be frustrating, but Sam moves the whole shebang along, handling it with calm aplomb.

The trip to NASA involves a rainy open-sided tram tour. While it’s a productive bonding experience, I’m too cold to do anything but shiver. But many of the party are avid about the program, so it’s a suitable multi-national activity. 

The next day, another group adventure, a picnic and walk at Brazos Bend State Park, where baby alligators are active, which is pretty cool. More socializing. Bright sun, warmer day, so definitely pleasant.

Then on to the wedding venue, The Orchard at Caney Creek, a property with on-site lodging that sleeps about forty people. Inexpensive hotels are nearby to take the overflow. 

The rehearsal is entertaining, with flying quips and the goofy uncertainty that stems from the fear of looking like a fool. After that, a delicious dinner, barbecue, which is attended by people who are staying on-site as well as those who are in the wedding party. The joyful mingling takes on a scary aspect as we watch the wine and beer we provided dwindle to near depletion. Considering that the next evening is the main event, this dearth of drink is not good. But the matter is taken care of by someone putting a notice on WhatsApp. On the night of the wedding four hundred bottles appear.

Interlude: On the afternoon before the wedding David and I drive fifteen miles down the highway to El Campo, a town that, as far as we’re aware, is known for absolutely nothing. I pull into a parking lot to do some quick research. 

“Why not go see what that’s like?” David asks, pointing toward the adjacent looming structure. 

It seems I have inadvertently parked in front of The El Campo Natural History Museum. So in we go. The building is actually the El Campo Civic Center and is used for concerts and gatherings. The museum, a few tucked away rooms on the right side of the cavernous lobby, is filled with taxidermized animals. At a guess, two hundred of them, from the smallest jungle cat to the largest bear. Every square foot of wall has a head poking from it.  

A flustered middle-aged woman greets us at the door, invites us in, and immediately starts explaining that the place is disorderly because the princesses have just left. She goes on to tell us how one of the princess’s grandmothers filed a complaint because she couldn’t get a ticket for a granddaughter at the last minute. Our hostess’s indignation over this issue is disconcertingly intense. 

“Look at this place, though,” she says with an encompassing gesture. “I only have room for so many. And I put out a notice days ago that registration was closed.”

“Who are these princesses?” I ask, weighing the possibility that random royals showed up in the El Campo, Texas dead animal museum.

“Every year I host a party for young girls where they dress up in fancy dresses and wear little crowns. And I get some high schoolers to come in and have tea with them.”

“How old are these girls?”

“Three to five.”

Envisioning little girls frolicking amongst the mothy carcasses puts me in a merry mood. We return to Wharton and prepare for the wedding. 

Everything goes smoothly. Smiles everywhere. The bride is beautiful and glowing, her dress is stunning, and the groom is handsome. The vows are touching and sincere and the officiate, a dear friend of Sam and Julia’s, does an excellent job of guiding them through the ceremony. And, to ease curious minds, my dress draws many compliments and I look exactly the right amount of marvelous, setting a standard that all mothers-of-the-groom should aspire to. 

The Cajun dinner is a hit. Perhaps the speeches are a bit gushy and lengthy; but the before-and-after mingling is fun. It’s always nice to see people you haven’t spoken to in a while and to hear opinions and beliefs from other cultures. 

And, speaking of other cultures, twelve nations are represented. Accents, clothing, skin color—diversity is the theme of the evening. The party lasts most of the night. David and I crawl into bed at twelve-thirty. 

We fully appreciate every second of the entire event and look forward to returning to fret-free Marble Falls.  Oh, and the morning after the wedding I get up with a nasty cold, which is not at all surprising.

Love and Luck to Julia and Sam! 

Just married. Notice Julia’s cowgirl boots. In the background officiating is Andrew; and acting as best man is Sam’s brother, Curtis, who did an excellent job handing over the ring.

Afterward, a lovely picture of Julia, Sam behind her. The coordinator is at the mic. The professional pictures haven’t been released yet. I’ll post more when I get them.