The Wedding

It’s taken me quite a while to recover from "the wedding", certainly not because it was traumatic or overly emotional for me, but because I don’t think I realized how much energy it really takes to run on all eight cylinders for so long and then to catch up when I’ve let my daily responsibilities slack off while devoted to other, more valuable, things...like family and major life events.  After the hustle bustle of such a huge undertaking, there seemed to be almost a crash for me as I tried to cope with a normal routine again.  I remember ascending Mount Etna in Sicily several years ago only to find I was enveloped in clouds of vapor unable to see the horizon or, for that matter, anything more than a few feet away.  I felt claustrophobic.  That is the feeling I experienced after all the wedding festivities had ended, shrouded in a cloud of exhaustion unable to focus.  The newlyweds fled to a honeymoon paradise, but I think the family left behind needs a vacation just as much so that it all "soaks in" and so that we can settle back down to earth.

The wedding day was beautiful in every possible respect.  The bride was gorgeous and so radiant the sun paled by comparison.  The groom cleaned up incredibly well and could have doubled for one of the old-time dashing, romantic stars of the big screen.  If you weren’t already Catholic at the wedding’s full Mass, I imagine you wished you were for you wanted to be fully a part of what was as magnificent as any royal wedding could be.  The music, the priest’s words, the love in the bride’s and groom’s eyes was the stuff of fairy tales.  And the reception was fun, and all receptions are not necessarily so, and no one left without remarking on how in love they could tell the happy couple is, how incredible the food was, and the wonderful time they’d had. I wanted it to go on forever.

With so perfect a day, it’s been difficult for me to cope with normalcy again. And what, I wondered the next day, would normalcy be like now that my son is a married man?  When Justin has been asked what married life is like, he responds that it’s "just like it was before, except now she doesn’t go home at night."  That sums it up nicely.  I don’t know if I thought my own life post-wedding would feel like the aftermath of an asteroid collision or something but it’s just like it was before except now they live in the same house and wear rings.  I’m not sure what I may have feared, but I guess it didn’t happen.  To my utter amazement and joy, life is as good as it was before!  Oh, I still have changes to adjust to; they are, after all, moving to another state, but I’ll still see them on weekends and still sit with Justin in church, and hear Tory sing, and still text, and e-mail, and then let’s not forget the occasional Rock Band nights!

Three years ago, when my stepson Jaime was married, I was privileged to choose and read a piece at his and Joyce’s wedding.  I chose what I thought was a pretty and appropriate excerpt from "Captain Corelli’s Mandolin" by Louis de Bernieres:

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision.  You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.  Because this is what love is.  Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion.  That is just being "in love" which any fool can do.  Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.  Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.

If I didn’t know it before, I know now and have the deepest conviction of the solidity of our family tree.  Three years ago I thought that that reading was strictly referring to the love of one man and one woman, but I realize it’s beyond that one simple relationship.  I know now that the roots our family tree has are completely entwined, never to be disunited.  The roots have deepened, the branches thickened, and the foliage made more spectacular.  We have added new branches, but we are indeed one tree.

One More Month

One more month until the big day arrives, the day my "little boy" takes a wife.  When the date was picked such a long time ago and the wedding Website went live last July, I knew the time would go by quickly but I don't think I honestly knew just how quickly it really would go by.  I set some lofty goals for this wedding, you know, wearing a size 6 dress, having a six-figure savings account set aside for the young couple, not crying and blubbering like a fool on the big day.  Well, the first two didn't happen and you can rest assured that the third one won't either.

I cry at everything.  I cry when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when something is beautiful, when I see newborn babies, when someone shares good news, when someone shares bad news, when I watch Hallmark commercials.  Business as usual for me.  With elements of happiness, beauty, and good news, this wedding should have me bawling for days.  I'm going to have to start meditating or something so I can make it through the wedding day without sobbing the entire time, for if I do I'll look back for years to come at my puffy eyes and red nose in all of those wedding photos and that will make me cry some more.

I've read some tips on how to prevent yourself from crying, such as taking deep breaths or pinching yourself on the arm as a distraction, but I have a feeling if I'm not the one in the wedding photos with the puffy eyes and red nose, I'll be the one hyperventilating with the bruises all over her arms.

Oh, well, as my sister always says, I am a tenacious optimist.  I'm sure I can do it.  I'm going to peruse some self-help books starting tonight.  I'll figure it out.  And if I lose two pounds a day, I'll bet I can have my dress altered to a size 6.  And there's absolutely no reason why I can't win the lottery and stuff a nice chunk of that money into their savings account for them.  I can do it, I know I can.  After all, I've got one more month.

Five More Mondays

Do you go to bed on Sunday nights and think to yourself, "oh, no, Monday morning already tomorrow and I have to get up for work again?"  My sister Kathy who taught school for 37 years used to get to some point in May and start to count how many Mondays she had left before the end of the school year.  It made it easier to deal with the kids getting antsy with the good weather and summer vacation just around the corner, and counted down her own time to relaxation and fun in the swimming pool at last.

My husband is not typically home for dinner on Monday evenings and so I enjoy dinner at Kathy's with her and with my son Justin.  Going to Kathy's is always mostly often a relaxing experience (just kidding, Kath; it's "always") and time spent with Justin is always (no strikethrough needed) entertaining.  Justin has been a character from day one and has more funny things roll off his tongue in two minutes than most of us can even think in two months.  Spending those few hours together is a highlight of my week.

Justin is getting married next month, and tonight I was suddenly struck with a sobering thought:  five more Mondays.  I have only five more Mondays before the wedding and before life will drastically change for us.  Justin will no longer be there for our Monday evening meals.  He will no longer be my little boy (not that he's been that for a very long time) but he'll soon be someone's husband.  That's a massive concept to grasp.  The four-year-old strategically maneuvering just enough of his chicken pot pie into the garbage when our backs were turned to make it "look good" starts to become smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror when I try to wrap my head around his being a responsible husband.  Not that he isn't a responsible adult, because he absolutely is, but it is he who will now be the head of the family and he who will one day (hopefully) be a father having the "almost clean plate sleight of hand" done to himself.

I am very much looking forward to the wedding and to having a new daughter-in-law to love, but it's hard to absorb all that will necessarily change.  Life must change, and change is good, but that doesn't mean it doesn't take a lot of adjustment on the part of a lot of people.  We will all be changed by not having him near us on a daily basis, but I dare say he will miss being near us on a daily basis too.  He won't be here to change the water bottle on the water cooler or take out the garbage or shovel the snow.  He won't be here to be the calm in the storm or the comic relief on a difficult day.  It's a little bit scary for me to think of all this change, but exciting too because I'll have a beautiful daughter figure in my life now, and, if the good Lord blesses us, one day grandchildren too.

So I'll savor my five more Mondays, and then once I've settled in after the wedding, I think I'll change my focus to the thought of a little grandson entering my life who can be a chip off the old block and carry on the shenanigans his father sired in him.  It certainly makes having only five more Mondays a lot more palatable when I consider what kind of pot pie prestidigitation the next generation will conjure up.

Copyright Priscilla Garamella 2011

When did she get to be a beauty; when did he grow to be so tall?

This past weekend my family celebrated two big events that I can't believe have come to pass in such short order:  the 30th birthdays of both my son Justin and my niece Emily.  I'm not sure when or how it happened, but those two little angels that I so loved cuddling and playing with are now incredible adults.

Justin, my one and only, makes me proud every single moment of every single day and I'm not sure exactly what I did to deserve such a wonderful son.  He is my father reincarnated, very smart, very level-headed, amazes me with his common sense and wisdom, and is funny beyond belief.  I didn't realize when I named him Justin, and I must admit that I heard the name Justin on a soap opera and snatched it up immediately, that the name would fit him so perfectly since he turned out to be one of the most just persons I've ever known, another trait in common with my late father, who died before Justin was born.

I couldn't love Emily more if I gave birth to her myself.  She's an exceptional young woman, who is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.  When Emily takes you into her heart, she gives you a piece of her heart that belongs to you forevermore.  She doesn't expect or ask for it back; it yours.  And her heart must be endless because she gives pieces freely and generously and by all accounts she should have run out by now, but her supply seems to be inexhaustible.

Justin's fiancee Tory engineered a great surprise party for the two of them this weekend.  Being born two days apart, they've celebrated together for all of these 30 years, so it was fitting to combine once again.  The surprise, however, was on us since the two of them had no trouble figuring it all out beforehand, but graciously went along with the gag, and a great time was had by all.

Although I am struggling to arrive at an answer as to why they have made it to 30 years of age while time has stood still for me and I am an amazingly young woman to have a 30-year-old child, I've been doing a lot of reminiscing this past week, and I'm starting to think maybe I have gotten a bit older because a lot of time has gone by and a lot of things have changed; changed, yet strangely stayed the same.  I do realize however that my nightly anti-aging routine was merely one tenth of what it is today.

I remember watching the last royal wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles while I was up very early in the morning with my unhappy infant and all of the networks carried coverage of the wedding, and now this weekend their own son is being married.  I hope I will not be awakened early by anyone who is unhappy as I would prefer to just see pictures after the fact and if I am awakened before dawn it is I who will be the unhappy one.

I also can remember that the weather pattern happened to be identical 30 years ago this week.  Cold, wet, and miserable going into the hospital, sunny and beautiful with all of the trees and plantings having learned that it's spring when we came home.  What a wonderful treat to come home with a precious new gift and find that not only your life has blossomed but that life all around you has blossomed as well.

I am blessed, I am truly blessed, and I am grateful that God chose me to be the mother of this amazing man and the paternal aunt of this wonderful woman.  Somehow, I did something right.  Somehow, the stars all aligned in just the right pattern at just the right time.  Somehow, my prayers were answered and I became the beneficiary of a beautiful miracle.

Copyright Priscilla Garamella 2011

They call it "Puppy Love"

There are many different forms of love, romantic love, a mother's love for her children, the love of friends and family, love for all things chocolate, and the comfortable, ever-present love of man's (and woman's) best friend.  I think they call it puppy love.

Rosie came into our lives an all-too-brief seven years ago.  She brought with her the biggest heart and sweetest personality one pup could ever possess.  This was a golden retriever with a heart of gold.  She spent her life making people happy, from the UPS man, who loved seeing her resting her head on the windowsill looking out at him, to Justin, who, even if he brought his race car home in pieces on a Saturday night, would soon be smiling when she began "attack licking" him all over the face.  It sure made me happy when I'd walk into the house to be greeted like a rock star by my "Puppy Girl", even if the underlying reason for the greeting was the treat she knew I'd give her.  Yes, making us happy was her lot in life.  But no one was happier than Kathy.  Kathy was happy to give Rosie insulin shots twice a day; happy to clean up after her when her poor little diabetic bladder just could not hold any more; happy to spend thousands of dollars to repair the cataracts in Rosie's eyes so she could once again go outside and chase butterflies and watch the rabbits from the window.

Rosie had more health problems than you could shake a stick at, whatever that really means, but you would never know it.  She was just always happy.  She had a real purpose in life, in addition to bringing joy to every person she encountered.  The day she joined my sister's household, the neighbor got Kathy's mail and mistakenly opened it, so he came to her door to apologize.  When he saw the newest addition to the family, he asked if he might bring his wife and daughter Tory to meet little Rosie.  It was a quick decision on their part to adopt Rosie's brother, Passion.  Justin, working at home at the time, found himself to be the newly-assigned dog whisperer to both Rosie and Passion, and passion was exactly what existed in the relationship shared by Justin, Rosie, and Passion as he loved them with all his heart and they adored him and accepted him as their alpha dog and number one love of their life.

It wasn't long before Justin and Tory, having absolutely nothing but two golden retriever pups in common, began to take walks with Rosie and Passion.  The walks got to be longer and longer.  Next thing we knew,  Tory, a singer and dancer, started going to Justin's races...and even into the pits.  Justin was attending Nutcracker performances and voice recitals.  This June, we have a wedding to celebrate.

So our little Rosie came along and created a whole lot of  happiness.  I hope one day my grandchildren can sit with me with their own little pup while I tell them the story of how their Mommy and Daddy met and became a family, all because of puppy love.

Copyright Priscilla Garamella 2011