“Do we have any snacks?”

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‘If a husband says this, it means “Get me some snacks”‘

We were recently graced with a visit from The Young Couple, formerly known as The Child and The Beau.

The Young Couple share a few-days-into-marriage moment

Yes, in case you have been holed up in a blogless burrow, here’s the news: Child and Beau made the plunge on the rim of the Grand Canyon on May 1. (You can revel in the details — and drool over the gorgeous photos — in “Runaway Bride” and “Tough Act to Follow.”)

One of many cinematically-gorgeous bridal shots

It was fun having them here, and for more than just a couple of days. It gave us all a chance to get into some normal hanging-out rhythms. Like, they both were working like crazy and commandeered sections of the house for no-go zones. Unfortunately, New Son-In-Law (whom I will henceforth refer to as “The SIL”) chose the kitchen, which is already my no-go zone. Or was.

Roses from a bush my Dad gave us, foreground. The SIL’s work setup, background

We worked alongside each other companionably enough, though more than once The SIL’s concentration was broken by whatever I was working on. SIL: “What is that?! It smells amazing.” (He ultimately decamped to the library, which has no windows for looking out, but also has no cooking aromas wafting in.)

In the kitchen again. But this time, decidedly not working

Speaking of food, one afternoon I heard The SIL ask The Child, “Do we have any snacks?” Well. I couldn’t help but overhear her response: “You mean ‘get me some snacks!‘” Clever girl. She is a quick Bridal Study. It only took her a couple of weeks to realize that when a husband asks if we “have” anything — beer, ketchup, a needle and thread — it really means he wants you to go get it. (In the case of the needle and thread, it means he wants you to sew on a loose button.)

Two husbands and a bride on a birding walk. Nope, that’s not a rare bird they’re looking at — it was a bunch of locals trying to get their truck unstuck

I must admit that it warmed the cockles of my heart to realize that “Husbandese,” as I’ll call it, knows no age (The SIL is not quite 30) and no boundaries (he is Canadian). I also caught him saying to Her Childness after a minor disagreement — I think it was about the title of a movie, which they googled to check — “You might be right.” This, of course, is Husbandese for “You are right.” I know because His Dudeness says this to me all the time when confronted with irrefutable proof that I am absolutely correct about whatever-the-heck it is.

Newlywed Us, probably arguing about something. But in a cute newlywed way

We once had an epic argument about whether Frank Langella was alive or dead. We happened to be walking in the theater district at the time and I had only to point to a sign advertising the play Frost/Nixon to prove my point (um, “alive”). His response? “You might be right.”

Dude Man demonstrates his sunglass method. This has nothing to do with this story, but I like it — and the fact that The Child appreciates it (!)

I didn’t get a chance to discover whether The SIL shares the pants-avoidance Husband Thing. Thank goodness he remained suitably be-trousered whenever I was around. And so, mostly, did The Dude, who was on his best we’ve-got-company behavior. (If you want to know what the heck I’m talking about, you can find out in “I’m the Sheik of Araby.” Warning: It’s a little racy.)

Dude Man wearing a motorcycle helmet — but no pants

Sigh. It’s been a couple of days since both The SIL and The Child (er, The Bride) decamped for home. And of course I miss them. There is one thing, though, I don’t miss:

Waiting in epic lines for snacks — and other comestibles — at the IGA

Amagansett, New York. June 2021

 

 

Tough act to follow

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‘What could possibly beat this?’

One of my best Bridge Buddies (hi, Laurie!) says she always reads my blog (thanks, Laurie!) but that she can tell when I’m, well, at a loss for words. I won’t mention specific posts, but if you, like Laurie, follow me regularly, you probably have your “favorites.”

Who wouldn’t be at a loss for words? (Well, except the Bridegroom, I trust)

Last week this happened because The Child had just wed The Beau in a quickie ceremony to satisfy the immigration authorities. (See “Runaway Bride” for cinematic photos and storybook details.) I sat there at my laptop wracking my brain, then gave in and wrote about the wedding. I could literally think of nothing else.

How could I possibly think of anything else? This is my brain on “wedding”

This week it’s because that story got kajillions of views and likes and comments. I’m thinking, “What can I write about now that could possibly capture your interest, O Faithful Readers?”

I’m not only stumped for a wowzer topic, I’m a day late with this story. We got home last night from five days count ’em five of birding in the Cape May area. Which may not be as exhausting as a Rim 2 Rim 2 Rim run (see “Deeds of Derring-Don’t” for a def of what that is) but, trust me, after five days of 6AM wakeup calls, nonstop traipsing through birdy fields, and (most exhausting of all) wind-down wining and dining, I was too pooped to post.

Beautiful Birder enjoying one of several wind-down wine evenings

So. “Uncle,” already. I’ll write some stuff about our birding trip. But I’ll spice things up with more photos of that astounding wedding — because now I have some shots taken by the Official Wedding Photographers (who also served as Wedding Witnesses) to add to those pretty darned great cellphone shots.

Vows on the rocks, an Official Shot — as is the one at the top of this post

Some of those cellphone shots were actually pretty darned fantastic. But then, the whole event was pretty darned fantastic. In fact I’d say it was spur-of-the-momentous.

An Unofficial Photo that got rave reviews last week

But back, for the moment anyway, to our pales-by-comparison-but-what-else-do-I-have-to-write-about-this-week-so-the-heck-with-it Birding Trip.

Unofficial cellphone shot of Birder Me

This is the junket we take every year (well, except for last year, drat that virus) to Cape May and environs to check out the Spring Migration. I’ll spare you birdie trivia, but trust me when I say that, for Birders, this is like Coachella and Burning Man combined. On steroids.

A Man Outstanding in His Field: Birder Jim hits the trail with our pack

Birders descend on Cape May in flocks, roaming the fields in their asexual mufti, stalking their prey with binoculars, cameras and spotting scopes. (For my views on asexual mufti, see “Gender Identity is for The Birds.”)

But the truly lucky Birders not only collect species, they collect wines, and bring them along to consume each evening while comparing lists. After which we repair en masse to a carefully chosen restaurant (one that lets us bring more of those wines) to sample local delicacies and then fall into bed sated with food, drink and sightings.

A male Scarlet Tanager. His bride deigned to be photographed

Next day it’s rise and repeat. This year, this went on for five full days, and now I’m not only fairly pickled — and stuffed like a pelican’s pouch — but every time time I close my eyes I see flight paths and feathers.

Incidentally, The Child and The Beau were all set to join us on this year’s jaunt, but another commitment got in the way. Of course, they spent their honeymoon having Adventures. Here’s a sampling:

Running on skinny steep treacherous trails was the treat on the first day

As the week went on, there was rapelling

And jet skiing on Lake Powell (among, ahem, other things)

So. Enjoy these photos of birds and brides. And next week I promise to come up with something amusing that doesn’t involve either. Or not much, anyway.

And off into the sunset they go. Actual sunset, nothing fake — just like this couple

New York City. May 2021

 

 

 

 

Party of Two

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‘Another anniversary celebrated in singular style’

Dude Man and I didn’t have a reception when we were married. We didn’t even have a wedding. Not really. We pledged our troth in front of a Unitarian minister in the United Nations nondenominational chapel with our parents as witnesses.

With one of our wedding guests — my mom

But, barely-boned wedding be darned, we are indeed married, and have been for 36 years. Thirty-seven years tomorrow. You can read all about this long-ago non-event — and our Carvel wedding cake — in “Winning the Dude-A-Thon.

Carvel wedding cake — and hot dog stand wedding photo

Back then we decided it would be smart — and financially prudent — to blow our teensy wedding budget on the honeymoon and have a party for our friends when we returned.

Another reason for no wedding: I’d had one before. Satisfy your curiosity with “My Polio-Shot Marriage”

Well, that didn’t happen. (The party, not the honeymoon. The honeymoon was fab. We spent part of it in a palace in Morocco owned by Malcolm Forbes. Yes, you can read about that in “Malcolm and the Duchess.”) And then we thought we’d have a first-year anniversary party. Don’t worry; you didn’t get invited because that didn’t happen either. Neither did the fifth-anniversary party. Or the tenth. Twenty-fifth? Uh-uh.

Anniversary party to which you did not get invited? Nah. Here we’re partying like it was 1999. Because it was — a Millennium-Turning “Do”

Nope. No parties. If two’s company and three’s a crowd, I guess you’d say we’ve had company for our anniversary every single year.

Sometimes we muster the energy to go out for our anniversary. Here’s dinner (for two, natch) at Felidia. (Thank you, Theresa, for the gift cert!)

We don’t really mind. We like each other’s company. And, yes, we really do like weddings. Other people’s weddings. (Dig into “I Do, I Do, I Really Do Like Weddings” for some nice nuptial examples.)

Me, digging the heck out of Another Person’s Wedding

Speaking of Other People’s Weddings, we have a very special one coming up fairly soon. Her Childness, as you may have read here in “How On Earth Did THIS Happen?” is (gasp) getting married. And she’s not even a Child Bride. (See “Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty” for that stupefying story.)

Many friends have showered me with congratulations, and with well-meaning questions like: “Where/when will the wedding be?” “What is the color scheme?” “What are you wearing?” culminating sometimes with “Oh, what fun! You get to plan a wedding! 

To which I reply, “Wherever/whenever they decide” or “I have no idea, though I’m guessing not black,” “Anything that goes with my tiara,” culminating sometimes with “Hey, it’s not my wedding!”

Hmmm. I guess black is fine, wedding-wise. The Child is one of the beauties in red

So, are Dude Man and I celebrating all by our lonesomes again this year? Looks that way. Aside from the fact that 37 years is no Big Anniversary Deal celebration-marker-wise, we have the pandemic as a skip-the-party excuse. Stay tuned for 40. But don’t buy a gift yet. And don’t hold your breath.

What 40th Anniversary Celebrations look like. (Grandparents P at theirs.) Better start saving for my corsage

New York City. March 2021

Lucky Thirteen

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‘A match made in high school heaven’

I once read that some people are so freaked out by the number thirteen that many buildings just skip that floor. Kinda makes you think about that dentist on “14”, eh?

Well, apparently my parents weren’t freaked out — or maybe they just liked to tempt fate — because they were married on the thirteen. I don’t know how many times their anniversary fell on a Friday, but I do know that their umpteenth-gazillionth would have been this past Sunday. I say “would have been” because my Dad, unfortunately, is no longer with us to celebrate. Interestingly enough, The Dude’s parents also got married on the thirteenth. Of, maybe, November. (Why not ask The Dude, you’re probably thinking. Well, I did, and he said “Heck if I know.” Men.)

I called my Mom anyway, because hey, any excuse to call my Mom. She is remarkably fun to talk to. And it gave me a chance to quiz her on some family marital lore.

For example. I had always known that my Mom and Dad didn’t have a fancy wedding, but I wasn’t totally sure of the circumstances. Were they poor? Were their parents mad at them? Turns out that it was a Religious Thing. My Mom’s family was Lutheran (but you knew that), and my Dad’s was Catholic. Not Seriously Catholic, but enough to nix a Church Ceremony. Continue reading

Wedding Belles

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‘What’s not to like about a wedding?’

In my humble opinion, weddings are simply the best parties ever. You get to dress up, eat free food, drink free wine, and dance like a crazy person. All for the price of a wedding gift.

I can honestly say that I have never met a wedding I didn’t like. I’ve been to weddings in old New England Churches that smelled like mold (the churches, not the weddings), “hip” weddings with folksy preachers and awful guitar playing, weddings where the proceedings were so thoroughly photographed and filmed that you almost couldn’t see what was happening, weddings in back yards and on lawns and even involving hot dog stands (that would be mine to The Dude). And I’ve enjoyed each and every one.

“I Sabrett you to be my lawful wedded husband”

I even went to a wedding in the Vatican, which was pretty darned spectacular. That one got its own story, “La Dolce Vita and Me”, which you might enjoy reading. (Britney Spears makes an appearance — though, sadly, not the Pope.) Continue reading

A look back: The Guy before The Dude

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‘My short first marriage, in short. Sort of.’

I’ve written about my first marriage before. Specifically, about how I (finally) revealed to The Child the fact that I’d had a Husband Before Daddy. It’s a pretty funny story. Now. Though it was pretty traumatic for the poor Child at the time.

It’s weird to think that your mom had a life before you existed–that she locked her brother in the pantry and tricked her father into letting her go to the drive-in and smoked in the car (just one time, but still) to provoke her mother–much less that she was actually legally wed to Another Person Not Your Parent.

Me, after having been wed to a Person Other Than The Child’s Parent. In my extremely hot, extremely (in retrospect) inappropriate-for-August-in-Southern-Illinois gown

And even though my first marriage lasted only a very short time–I’ve had cars longer than I had that husband–it was still a Real Marriage. There was a Real Wedding, complete with rehearsal (see the top of this post for a photo of us practicing our vows with Pastor Kahre), in my hometown church. With six friends and relations as bridesmaids in homemade-but-pretty dresses, and a reception with a tiered cake and boozeless-but-punchy punch. So I think this marriage deserves, at the very least, its own blog piece. Continue reading

A match made in heaven

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‘A Road Trip and a Wedding. Who could ask for anything more?’

We’ve gotten to the point where we are no longer going to the weddings of friends; we are going to the weddings of friends’ children. Oh, I suppose it could be worse — we could be going to the weddings of friends’ grandchildren.

Say “blind date!” The Dude captures Dad and Mom of Bride, at left

We went to a particularly satisfying wedding last weekend. This one was of note not only because the Parents of the Bride are friends of ours, but because The Dude had actually introduced them to each other. Dad of Bride had been The Dude’s college roomie; Mom of Bride had been a cute hospital nurse. The Dude fixed them up on a blind date — and bingo! The rest — and two gorgeous daughters — is history. Of course we got invited to their weddings. In a way, Dude Man is responsible for their existence.

Future Mom of Bride, center, with Fixer-Upper Dude at right. Not sure who the heck the Blonde is, but I didn’t see her at this wedding. Or at least I don’t think I did

Continue reading

“I do, I do. I really do like weddings.”

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‘After all, what’s not to like about a big ole party with champagne and dancing?’

There was a long dry spell there for a while. But I’m happy to report that not only is June bustin’ out all over, but so are the weddings. Not only are we going to a dandy weekend-long affair in a couple of weeks, but we just found out Nephew Chris and Squeeze Sarah are engaged. (I was going to use some corny euphemism like ‘getting hitched’, ‘tying the knot’, or maybe even ‘making things legal’, but restrained myself. Though I could not resist saying ‘Squeeze’. Oh well.)

Nephew on the left: engaged to be married. Nephew on the right: just got married. Yes, this is how I picture them in my Auntly Mind’s Eye

The long dry spell was because The Dude and I are long past the stage of going-to-friends’-and-relatives’ weddings and have finally broken into going-to-friends’-and-relatives’-kids’ weddings.  (There was a blip in there with a few do-overs, including my own, but not many, I’m sad/happy to say. My First Wedding is now a fond memory and funny story called ‘My Polio-Shot Marriage.’) Continue reading

My polio-shot marriage

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‘Mommy has something she sort of forgot to tell you’

Last week I told you about how once I dated Steve Martin. Now I’m going to tell you about how once I married a guy — a guy who was not The Dude.

The Guy in question is the one pictured in the rather awkward wedding photo at the top of this post. I doubt very much that he reads my blog, but, for all intents and purposes and in this story, he’ll just be ‘The Guy’. (That rather downcast-looking young girl — the one who’s not me — is my sister Laura, she of ‘Larry and the Nose Holes’ fame.)

Why am I telling this story now? Well, tomorrow would have been my, like, zillionth wedding anniversary if indeed I had stayed married to The Guy. The other is that it’s August. Which is like Blog Siberia, except that it’s so hot. So if I embarrass anyone, including myself, the collateral damage will be relatively minor.

I was married so briefly to The Guy, and had been married for such a long time to The Dude, that I sort of forgot all about my ‘previous marriage’. Until one August about 15 years ago when The Child was getting ready for her annual visit to her grandparents in Carlyle, my home town. Continue reading