Giant Wedding Chicken

(wait–whaaa?? A chicken. You know, like a check-in, but uh…more anthropomorphized.)

Because traditions are important. (Not that it’s my tradition, oh no, it’s shamelessly appropriated from others.) And also because I just don’t know how to jump back into blogging about soully-stuff after having been gone for so long.

First, a quick glimpse…

Something I never thought I’d find myself doing: buying seven pounds of iridescent glass beads.

Something I really, no seriously never thought I’d find myself doing: being unable to sleep at 3 am for several nights in a row, worried that maybe I didn’t buy enough iridescent glass beads.

So. Here’s how it really went.

The hard stuff…

Being in the weeds

If you’ve ever waited tables you know this expression. It’s like normally you can keep a relatively manageable task list in your head, and there’s a flow to things (“once I take the drink order from that table, it’ll be time to bring out that other table’s food…” etc). But occasionally one too many tables pile up and all you can do is focus on the next task at hand. You lose sight of the landscape as a whole, you’re just down in the weeds trying to make it through and hoping you don’t forget something too important.

Planning the wedding was like that for me. I don’t do details well. They tend to go in one ear and out the other. (This is something I learned about myself a long time ago, and can generally work around in my daily life. Also, why I was really awful at waiting tables.)

If I had it to do all over again I might have clued more people into the details for the day of the event. We might have avoided a few choice “scenes” such as: my man running up and down the hotel hallway looking for a place to change right before the ceremony, or me running downstairs half-dressed and gibbering about placecard arrangements.

The obsession (and futile resistance thereof)

In order to plan the biggest event I have ever planned,  I needed to think about it for a certain percentage of my waking hours. And I really enjoyed the envisioning and the dreaming, it was part of the joy of the whole experience. At the same time, I sort of overly-rebelled against being so invested in just one day, afraid of the cultural notion of “bridezilla”.

As it turned out, not wanting to appear obsessed about something I cared deeply about was in itself stressful. There was a lot of watching-Buffy-paralysis.

Being happy and excited to marry the one you love in front of everyone else you love isn’t anything to be ashamed of. If I had it to do over again, I’d roll my eyes a little less. I’d embrace the obsession sooner, knowing there wasn’t much danger of me going bridezilla-ey since I tend to be relatively no-nonsense and low-drama even at my most intense.

The emotional petri dish

You know, take various elements that never would have combined and put them in a false environment to watch them go boom? Kind of like that. I found myself having to navigate emotional entanglements around issues that never, ever in a million years would have come up in the normal course of life. It was hard, yes, but also strangely fascinating. I got to practice being the watcher a lot.

My sister’s dress and boobs

This was a hard thing that turned into a really good thing, but it deserves its own post.

My dress and boobs

Actually, my strapless bra. There was some weirdness and panic (and hey, I’m not ashamed to admit some almost-tears). If I had it to do over again I’d “practice” getting ready with everything sometime between the final fitting and the wedding. This might have avoided some stressful moments with the paparazzi (okay the super-sweet wedding photographer) all in my face (okay just nearby in the same room) before I beat a retreat to the bathroom, all while my mom and sister were trying to talk me down.

Waiting for photos

A small whine, and I know they will be worth the wait, and professional services take time, blah blah blah. But argh it takes for-ever! I am dyyyying to see them!

The good stuff…

Being sure.

I mean, oh my god, was this the good stuff. It pretty much blows all the hard out of the water. Would putting that in 74 point type be overkill? I can’t imagine how awful it would be to try to plan something so huge while also wondering if it was the right choice.

The wedding was like this big project that we were taking on together. We had a shared mission. It wasn’t a test or an event designed to change anything between us. If anything, the stressful bits were this wonderfully recursive way to highlight how much ease and love and humor there is in our partnership. Big good.

Pretty, pretty place!

We got married in this beautifully funky authentic historic hotel in downtown Tucson, Arizona. The hall had wrought iron chandeliers and copper-leaf walls. It was just the right atmosphere. Plus it was super warm and sunny in Tucson, so all our guests (mostly from Seattle and the east coast) were totally psyched to be there for the weekend. There was this great destination-wedding-vibe, like all 75 of us were on vacation together.

Wacky officiant!

Our “minister” (and yes I’m putting that in air quotes) was an internet-ordained, hippie-ish Edward Abbey fan who wore hiking boots and a bolo tie to the ceremony. Once again, totally over-the-top perfect for us.

Enjoying the nervousness

While we were alone and waiting to walk down the aisle, my dad asked me how I was feeling.

I answered, “nervous.” Because there were butterflies in my stomach and my skin was tingling and I constantly felt like I had to pee, and that’s the best way I had to describe it.

My dad said, “don’t be nervous!”

I said, “Dad, it’s okay, I’m enjoying the nervousness.”

And that pretty much sums up the experience of the entire wedding. I absorbed and accepted and delighted in every feeling that came along. I was present. Which is all I could have really asked for.

Unexpected singing!

One of the groomsmen did a reading, that somehow turned into a song. A song with some unintentionally-creative high notes. So right in the middle of the ceremony we were laughing so hard and crying so hard that I had to wipe my nose more than once.

Speaking of which…

Perfectly imperfect

That was the best way to describe it. The things that went “right” were wonderful. And the things that went wrong either weren’t important, or went “wrong” in ways that were so perfectly us that they were even more perfect than if they had actually been perfect in the first place.

Being married.

Now we’re mostly blending seamlessly right back into our happy everyday lives, but with something a little extra. Shared intentions. Catching a glimpse of his wedding band. Oh, and health insurance.

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