Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Well. We’re still alive: we made it, we made it, we made it. And it was a lovely day. Adrienne and Jon were both glowing—they looked so, so happy. Saturday passed in a blur, and truth be told, I still feel a bit blurry around the edges…
But, no, I didn’t cry, sob, bawl, or in any other way create a ton of moisture in the front of the church. Surrealism and sheer joy mixed for a strange cocktail that kept me grinning all day.
I can’t believe it’s all done! I hardly know what to do with myself. So I’ve been reading for hours, gazing at the walls, and sleeping late. (Although, I haven’t been perfectly lazy. Yesterday I had a baking fit and transformed nine cups of leftover reception fruit into two pies. Lattice-top blueberry: fabulous. Crumb-topped strawberry: not so fabulous.)
Needless to say, forming sentences is a little tricky just now: writing isn’t really going to happen until next week, at the earliest.
More wedding stories to come…—jl
isn’t she beautiful, beautiful, beautiful? lucky you, jon.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
round and round the rugged house the langefeld family raggedly ran…
kristen got in last night—her bridesmaid dress hanging in the one place we could find for it
Well, we’re going mad as calmly as we can…
Everything comes down to these last few days—bachelorette party tonight, decorating and rehearsing and rehearsal dinner tomorrow, and then everything wedding on Saturday. Both of my sisters are veteran bridesmaids, but this is my first saunter down the aisle, and I’m half-convinced that I’ll trip. And what do you look at as you come down the aisle? It sounds like a dumb concern, but I have these visions of myself with a cheesy grin on my face, or trying to wink at Jon, or wave to my cousins… But I guess I’ll hear all about proper bridesmaid etiquette tomorrow.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
five pre-wedding reactions
1. the allergic reaction: the three-day aftermath from what should have been a routine salon visit. Pain and blisters are a bad combo. Half a week later, my face is still a little messed up, but it should be good by the wedding. Yikes.
2. the inappropriate reaction(s): the reply I got from the clerk at the department store. I pushed the silver necklace I got for my bridesmaid dress across the counter; she asked about the occasion. I gave my quick “younger sister getting married, super excited, can’t believe it’s next week” speech. And then she told my parents and I stories about how, in her country, younger sisters would never get married before the older sisters.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
So, my little sister gets married in eleven days.
This means that there is tulle in the kitchen, boxes of napkins in the laundry room, my hair is in a practice updo (more hairspray than I’ve had in years), and I have shoes in my purse. It means gifts in the living room, knitting marathons for me (almost done with the fourth pillow!), and it means that I should not, under any circumstances, watch Father of the Bride. It means that we’re all excited and happy and yet have these surreal looks on our faces and impossible to-do lists.
Best of all, it means that in eleven days, I have a brother! And not just any brother… Jon is fantastic.
It also means that I will take any and all suggestions on how not to cry when I’m standing up there in the front.
Seriously. I’m a weeper. I cry when I’m happy and I cry when I’m sad. And since weddings are a weird and wonderful mix of emotions… I figure I’m in pretty deep trouble. (I cry at the weddings of people I don’t even like. Right.) I don’t know if there’s any mascara in the world that will be waterproof enough.
You have no idea how nervous I am about this! So send me your tricks of the trade, ways to disguise Kleenex in a bouquet, anything at all. I’ll listen…
More to come.—jl
Saturday, June 07, 2008
the two-year itch
Amazingly, May 20 was my two-year anniversary of graduation. Two ... years. Clichés about how strange that feels leap to my mind, but I’ll spare you. We’ll just say it feels pretty strange.
So maybe that explains what I’ve been up to lately, on the sly, almost without telling anyone.
I’ve been investigating an MFA program, much to my own surprise. A Master of Fine Arts degree? I’ve said so many times that I’m not interested in one—for so many reasons.
I felt ready to do my own work; I wanted to write the book in my head. I could motivate myself, so what’s the need? Besides: I’ve heard that MFA professors tend to scoff at genre writing. For better or for worse, that’s what I’m writing right now, and too much scoffing might kill me.