Bear & Honey

My bio-grandfather supposedly had two favorite kinds of pie:  Hot and Cold.   It’s good to know that taste buds have genetic legacies, too.  Thanks to my friend Tracy, I was directed to  the  Craftzine.com blog today, where I discovered the glory that is…The CherPumpPle.

According to its creator, Charles Phoenix, this prodigious pastry is a three layer cake with an entire pie baked into each layer.  That’s a different flavor of pie and cake in each layer. Dowhutnow?!

I am an avid (some might say rabid) fan of pie,  so this is definitely a cake I’d be willing to dig in to.  I would probably only get a couple of bites in before freaking out from the sugar content (and conflicting flavors) but I would totally try it.

What about you?  Would you try it?   Check out the fun test kitchen video below.

Hello you,

I looked at this photo today and was nearly brought to tears.

You have no idea how precious you are, and how little that has to do with your appearance.

I know you think a size 8 is “huge” compared to your girlfriends, but you’re almost a foot taller than most of them and your frame is made of bones, not of fat that needs to be worked off. One day you will be so proud of your height.  Stop slouching.

Your brother wants you to be an athlete, not necessarily to lose weight.  Every time he tells you that you need to “get in shape,” you hear, “You’re fat.”  That’s not what he means, but he doesn’t know how to say it another way.  You will develop anxiety around working out and believe that you can’t be both an artist and an athlete.  Others will reinforce that belief.

In a decade, you will weigh a full hundred pounds more than you do now.  It is only then that you’ll realize your health and your strength are completely in your hands.  You will finally begin to “get in shape”…because you want to, not because you think you have to. I know that sounds far away, but it will sneak up on you as suddenly as a midterm.  Soon you will be looking back at yourself and wishing you could make that girl believe she was beautiful.

You will measure your progress in pounds lifted, not pounds lost.  You will measure your worth by the space you can shift, not by taking up as little space as possible.  I promise.

This week we picked up the addressed envelopes from my biological aunt (an incredible calligrapher) and for the past couple of days we’ve been lining & stuffing envelopes.  Now that we have stamps,  I’ll be sending the invitations over the next couple of days.

As we sat at our dining table preparing envelopes in an assembly-line fashion, I had a moment of panic.  There were just so many.

The pile, the list, everything was larger than I had originally imagined it would be.  Our guest list is more than double what I had guessed when we first started talking about getting married.

Were we going to be able to host and entertain and feed all of these people if every single one said yes?    After a couple of minutes of fantasizing about tripping off to Niagara Falls to elope, the panic slipped away.   I realized that if every single one of the people we invited said yes, it would be amazing and wonderful.

People would not be saying,

“Yes, help me find a hotel.”

“Yes, please feed me.”

“Yes, entertain me.”

They’d be saying.

“Yes, I will travel to see you.”

“Yes, I will share in your celebration.”

“Yes, I will bear witness.”

Turning back to look at the large stack of envelopes ready to be filled, I felt tears starting to well in the inside corners of my eyes.   All of the people that we love…all of the people who love us.  There are just so many.
I am so grateful for all of it.

I had this bag once.  It was pink, with my name monogrammed on the side.  I used it for sleepovers and for carting around stuffed animals.  It was  possibly one of the girliest-looking things I would ever own.

When I wasn’t using the bag for a trip (real or imagined) it would serve as my “emergency kit.”   In it, I stored things that I would absolutely have to have with me if we had to leave the house or the country in a hurry.  I would sometimes pretend that my parents were secretly CIA agents and we’d have to flee at a moment’s notice,  or that I would be required to fulfill a special mission all on my own and would need to leave them behind.  I wanted to be prepared.

The contents changed over time, with different items cycling in and out.  Some of the items that I considered essential at one point included:

• A large gray stuffed bear
• A set of travel soaps & “beauty kit” items an aunt gave me as a gift
• Winnie the Pooh BandAids
• A diary with a tiny lock and key, which mostly chronicled arguments with my brother.
• A small yellow pillow with a daisy on it.
• My purple footie pajamas.
• As many books as I could fit and still zip up the bag.

I suppose I was just planning to wear the same clothes all the time (maybe my new bosses would provide me with adequate clothing)  or parade around the world in my purple footie pajamas.  And clearly, BandAids were a more important supply to have on hand than a toothbrush.   In any case, I felt ready for anything.

Did you have a list of things you didn’t think you could do without as a kid?

What would have been in your little pink suitcase?

As of right now, 10/10/10 is 101 days away.

101 days!

In just a little over three months we’ll be gathering with our family and friends to celebrate the creation of our new family.  Every appointment made, every meeting with a vendor, every call from a family member brings us closer to it being real.   I know it has always been “real”, but now it’s starting to feel real.

Since I am in ready danger of making a post that just reads, “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” like a Twilight fan’s version of a Vuvuzela, I’ll just leave you with a list.

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Here is some of the stuff happening recently that’s making it all come together:

* On Monday my dress is going to be altered/created (we’re turning two dresses into one…)
* Yesterday, we bought our rings.

* The invitation design is finished and in the hands of the printer.

* Next week I am picking out flowers.

* Vendor contracts!

* Folks are calling to let me know they’re making travel arrangements.

* I got to scan a bunch of really cool things at a fancy store with a fancy scanner gun (also known as creating a registry.)

* My bio-mom and another family member are making arrangements for a bridal shower.

*  Ten of our closest friends & family members have agreed to stand with us as witnesses and support.

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People have started asking me if I’m stressed.  To be honest, I’m not. There’s a lot to do, but I have checklists and Google Calendar on my side.   I have moments of overwhelm, but for the most part this has been so much fun.  Each choice is a chance for us to express ourselves and show our love for our families and each other.   At the end of the day, even if stuff goes “wrong”, we’re going to have a blast and we’ll be married.  That’s all that matters.

One of my readers suggested that I tackle the topic of engagement rings, which I absolutely would love to talk about.  I have a feeling this will be the first of a few posts where I write about rings and engagement.  I am not going to go into the whole dealie about proposals YET, but we will definitely get there soon.  (Warning:  My feelings on this are not “traditional,” but neither are a lot of things you probably thought were traditional about weddings…)

It’s All About Options

So, if you’re a tomboy bride*, the good news is that you don’t have to get engaged like “everyone else”.   If you grew up in my generation, you have been inundated with ads and movies and magazines telling you over and over again that a diamond is the clear sign of True Love, and nothing else is up to snuff.  “A Diamond Is Forever” and all that jazz.  Some of us can’t hear certain instrumental music pieces without imagining shadow-people dancing together…such is the power of advertising.

Well, DeBeers would be horrified to hear that I’m telling you people this, but receiving a diamond engagement ring is not, in fact, some centuries-old tradition that you must adhere to in order to be really in love.   The “tradition” of giving diamond engagement rings only really took off a little more than 100 years ago.  That’s a really short time compared to the long history of marriage, and even shorter when you consider the history of human love.   We’re going on just 100 measly years of “tradition”.  Even then, it was all part of a sales tactic by the diamond industry, much like the new right-hand rings and anniversary rings are being touted now.

The tradition of giving a ring as a sign of betrothal is quite older than that, though, so feel free to stick to the rings category if tradition is your thing.   I’ve seen varying reports, but most agree that betrothal rings became popular in either the 13th or 14th century.   Later, women were often given rings with their birthstone in it or given a completely different type of jewelry as a sign of engagement.

So already you’ve got a bunch of options — You can get a diamond ring, a non-diamond ring, a brooch, a necklace, a big ole Mr. T style chain that says “He’s Mine”… whatever you want!

You could also, gasp, not wear anything at all to signify you are engaged.  If jewelry is not your thing, and you are not concerned with everyone knowing your “status” immediately upon glancing at your left hand, you don’t have to do it.

What We Did

I think diamond rings are pretty, but I had icky feelings about getting a new diamond for our engagement because of controversy surrounding the diamond industry,  so our first step was to look for vintage and antique rings and find out what kind of style I liked.

We communicated a lot about this, because just as Greg does not expect me to be a traditional gal, I do not expect him to know a whole lot about buying women’s jewelry.  I thought it would be unfair to toss him into the wilds of jewelry shopping with no hints as to what type of stuff I liked…and it would have sucked for me to have to wear a ring I didn’t particularly like every day for a long while, too.

When we actually did get engaged, Greg gave me his mother’s engagement ring. Here’s a picture of it (and also of a hair or fuzz or something that was apparently stuck to it) :

This was so special to me, because we had just decided to move into her old house at the time.  It’s also wonderful to feel like she is with me in some way as we plan the wedding.

The other thing is that Greg also wears an engagement ring.  It’s just a plain band, very simple, but we both have something on our left ring fingers to signify that we are committed to each other.  I joked that if I had to look “taken,” so should he!

So Where Do You Start?

I guess my main point of advice is to think about what you like, and what you feel would represent your engagement.  And talk to your partner about it — I hope you are talking about getting engaged at least a little bit before actually doing it — so that he or she knows what your preferences are.

There are some awesome stores online and on Etsy that feature some handmade, vintage, non-traditional, and otherwise super-cool rings.  I recommend checking them out for ideas.  Here are a couple of places to look for handmade & “green” rings:

Artisan Look

Bario-Neal Jewelry

Beth Cyr Jewelry

Barbara Michelle Jacobs

Also check out vintage/antique jewelry auctions, Ebay, etc… there are some real finds there.

*To see my definition of Tomboy Bride, check out the first TBB post over here!

We placed the order for our invitation design last week.

As I read over the wording we had chosen with my parents before sending off the final draft to the designer, that prickly feeling started building behind my eyes.  Sitting at my desk at the office, a few tears came.  This is one of the things that gets me.

Weddings are obviously full of emotion, and planning one will often bring out a whole range of human emotions you never thought you’d tie to one event.   There are so many rituals and details involved that everyone probably feels attached to something different.

Food and flowers and clothing are fun, but I have not felt particularly like a “bride” when thinking about those items.  As the wedding day gets closer and we start to select music, readings, and vows, I am overcome with emotion. For me, it is always the words.

As I drive home from work and listen to the lyrics of our processional song and imagine our friends standing up with us, I cry.

As I think about the speech I would like to give all of our gathered friends & family at our reception, I cry.

As I look over my books of poetry and books that have fed me spiritually, finding quotes and passages that speak to our idea of marriage, I cry.

And yes, as I click “send” on an email that contains the final draft for the words we will use to invite people to the formation of our new family, I cry a little bit.

These are tears of love and anticipation and sorrow and utter, unmitigated joy.  I think I am trying to get some of them out now so that when the day comes I will be able to laugh and smile and not mess up my makeup…but I’m sure there will be plenty to spare then, too.

We build our rituals, make our vows, speak our promises and express our gratitude with words.  So while for others it might be wearing their mother’s dress, or sharing a special dish, or dancing to a certain song, for me it will always be the words.

What part of a wedding always “gets” you?

Into the fuuuutuuuuure!

Ok, done singing now.

This week’s Girl Talk Thursday topic is “How Do You Save Time?”

Magazines sell us on it every day, HGTV and Food Network seduce us into believing it is possible, and Martha Stewart has made an entire career out of shaming us into it:    Easy, Quick Homemaking!    Just Five Minutes a Day!  Homemade Wreaths/Biscuits/Furniture at the Drop of a Hat!    Sister, I ain’t buyin’ it.

I manage to cram what some might see as a herculean number of tasks into my average day.  I work full time in an office, have a music career outside of that job, make appointments, write blogs, and try to have a social life.  I’m not home very much in a given day.  So how do I manage to keep a lovely home amid my busy schedule?

I don’t.

The way I make time for all of the things on my schedule is essentially to completely ignore any chores until they threaten my well-being.

When my allergies get so bad that I can’t walk into my house without sneezing?  Time to vacuum.

When I run out of clothes to wear?  Time for laundry.

When I…Jeez, what is that smell?  Time to take the trash out, clean the kitchen, clean the bathroom, etc. etc. etc.

Look, I know that these things are “so much easier” to do if I am maintaining them on a weekly basis, just a few minutes a day.  Believe me, I get that concept and I think it’s dandy.  I’m just not likely to be able to implement that kind of system any time soon.

Despite how I live right now, I don’t actually enjoy being messy.  A messy home is hell on my consciousness.  I get frustrated and agitated, I snap at Greg.    It’s not pretty.    Whenever I am home for more than a couple of hours, I actually do start to clean or work on some home improvement project.  I don’t mind cleaning, it’s just not how I want to spend my only free time during the week.  I’ve got priorities, and they usually include margaritas.

How do YOU save time?

It’s Girl Talk Thursday!  Today we are writing about our favorite teachers.

Many people do not have fond memories of high school.  Many people cannot wait to graduate, and never look back. The idea of a high school reunion makes them cringe.  I am not one of those people.

I was so lucky to go to a school that was perfectly suited to who I am, that allowed me to blossom and learn and do wacky things, and most of all, meet amazing people.    When I walked across the auditorium stage at my graduation, I was crying.

When this topic was announced, I realized I would never be able to choose just one person who taught me to be my “favorite”.   So, in the tradition of my old high school principle, who used to address us at graduations with a series of “images” of the senior class, I present to you, my captains:

• A principle who gave me an elaborate bubble wand as a gift, because she had noticed that I often blew bubbles in the hallways just to make people laugh and encourage silliness.
• A science teacher who, when I had missed an entire semester and could not catch up, taught me a year of Chemistry in two weeks in tutoring sessions at her house.  I got a 99.8% on the final.
• A history/sociology teacher, raised Jewish and converted to Buddhism, who noticed me reading about Beat Poets in the cafeteria and sat down to talk about it.  Later, he would sing along with me in the car to the soundtrack to “The Point” and make me a tape of Ravi Shankar’s “Concert for Peace.”
• An English teacher who, instead of sending me to the counselor for filling a huge journal full of chapters of a vampire novel, wrote in the margins, “I can’t wait to see where this goes!”
• A Theater teacher who treated us like professionals, because we could handle it — even when we didn’t think we could handle it, and who brought in some stellar guest artists to do workshops.  I still think some of our shows were better than some pro productions in town.   She taught me to take a compliment.
• A German teacher who would chase me down the hall before lunch and remind me that a paper was due at 2pm…because she knew I would then need to go to the library to write it over my lunch period.
• Another English teacher, who arranged our desks in a circle, made us debate and talk it out, made us look deeper, made us READ, dammit, and like it.  She pushed, pushed, and loved the spark in our eyes.   She recently sent me a message on Facebook and I was so glad to hear from her.  She asked me to send her a poem, and I cried with joy.

For a brief time, I courted the idea of becoming a teacher.  I know now that the desire was there only because I was taught by such a crew of dedicated teachers, given such gifts by their presence, that I thought I could give it  back somehow.   Now I know I don’t really want to work in a traditional school setting, but I hope I can give back even a fraction of what they gave me one day.

I’ve been thinking a lot about women lately.  I’m working on forming a retreat for creative women specifically (through write. play. repeat.) and so femininity, creativity, womanhood, feminism, all that stuff has been twirling around in my brain non-stop.

If you’ve been reading for more than a week or so, you know that I am…a bit of a tomboy.

Growing up, I did not have a ton of girlfriends.  I always had one or two good friends, who happened to be girls, but most of my friends were boys.  This extended into my teens and early twenties, for reasons complex and varied, and has only recently changed.

As a kid, it was mostly because I didn’t care much for wearing dresses or being a princess.  I mutilated my Barbie dolls ( I’m serious though, that one doll looked really good with a mohawk) and treasured my books.   The one time I remember “playing house” with our next door neighbor boy, we spent most of the afternoon building a house out of sticks and blankets and toy blocks, and then I instructed him to protect the house while I went into the “haunted forest” to “hunt for dinner”.   Clearly, I had my priorities all set.

In my teens, I honestly just did not understand most of the girls around me.  Gossip was fun to a certain extent, but it stopped being fun when it descended into meanness.

Shopping… well, shopping was a particular form of torture inflicted upon me by my mother twice a year, which always ended in headaches and crying fits (sometimes for both of us.)

And sporting events were not simply a way for me to ogle a sweaty, if cute, boy for a couple of hours while pretending to have school spirit.

Also, I still loved to read books and be outside.

I actually wondered, once or twice, if Those Girls were another species, or if I had missed some sort of Girly School in between middle and high school.  Don’t get me wrong here — I have no disdain for Those Girls, and didn’t even really back then.  Part of me wanted to be like them, to fit in, to be a girl easily and effortlessly.   (Looking back, I know now that no girl “had it easy” growing up, and there was probably nothing effortless about their social interactions.)   I just couldn’t figure out how to approach their tight circles from the outside, or what we could possibly have in common aside from going to the same school.  So I didn’t really try.  I worked on music and theater and being a nerd.   I was happy to be one of the Other Girls.

Now I’m an adult (no seriously, stop laughing) and I have friends who are, too.  In the last few years, I have slowly but surely cultivated friendships with some incredible women.  When I think about what changed, how I altered my perception of women, I realize that I haven’t.  Not really. It just took me a really long time to find women I felt comfortable and safe with.  I’m sure I’ll explore this further with other posts, but I just felt like I had to get it out there while I was thinking about it.

Every woman I feel close to has her own thing, her own passions.  They are brave and vulnerable, strong and sensitive, in need of healing and capable of helping others.   They have all helped heal me, whether through their words,  their art, their business savvy, a marathon conversation punctuated by cups of tea, or a well-timed karaoke night.

Looking at all of my intelligent, hilarious, fun, brilliant, and inspiring woman friends, I realize that we were all the Other Girls.   It just took us a little longer to find each other, since we thought we were alone all this time.