Big Band Stand

What is it about Big band Stand music that makes me so happy I want to spit someone in the face? Oh yes, apparently that's what I do when I'm super excited...(More on this later)

Ok, I've decided, on this, Saturday the 26th of February 2011, with "Bandstand at the Bioscope" playing in the background, and now that I am officially A Mrs, note, not THE Mrs (I hate when anyone other than British people say, "Let me just ask the mrs") so A Mrs, that I will document this roller coaster ride of being married. not that enough people haven't, but no one that is me have, and I quite enjoy my writing...

But it is quite a strange thing that we find ourselves doing, isn't it? Promising to belong to another person wholeheartedly, yet managing to stay your own person. Is this possible? Or will we wake up 30 years down the road, both looking like slightly different versions of Smokey our Spaniel?

I don't know. I have been married 3 months and 27 days today, and what is to follow will just be my version of Married Life.

God's Unique Designs

I was just thinking, there are absolutely no new thoughts or ideas, even me saying this is so old it's boring. I mean where could this go? I can't get all moody and depressed, been done. I can't get all deep and artistic, so been done. There is absolutely no new way for me to express the way I'm feeling right now.

Except to say that there's an ant on my laptop. And I can't help but wonder what he's doing here?

Every single word or thought, that I'm thinking, which might seem so unique, is not. In any way. This is making me quite depressed. Quite repeatedly so.

So what's left? How are we supposed to continue feeling smart and funny and yes, enjoyed and sometimes a little superior? In a completely down to earth and humble way of course. I guess that's how I figured out it's very close to the end of the world.

Makes sense, doesn't it?

Think about it. You know how sometimes you see someone in the shop or on the street and you think my word that person looks familiar, it kind of looks like my friend Sarah, and then later that afternoon when you see Sarah, you're telling her all about the girl you saw who looked exactly like her, just a little uglier. You never tell someone you saw the better looking version of them...

And this is just here, in our town, our city, our country. There is nothing to tell us that the exact same thing is not happening in some absurd country a million miles away, or in Witbank...

So what happened, did God actually get a little stumped. I mean how many unique looks was He supposed to come up with. So I guess it kind of makes sense that the closer He's getting to closing shop, He's just saying: "Oh what the heck, how bout we put a little B Eyes with K Hair... What do you mean we've just done that one? Are you sure? Well just put this one in Australia, I'm sure they won't run into each other. What do you mean am I sure, of course I'm sure. I'm God!

The same goes with our thoughts and words and means of expressing ourselves. There couldn't possibly be one more new and unique creative idea out there? I think even all the boring combinations, which could actually be interesting, have been used up. Somehow I just don't think Peanut Butter and meat is going to take off anytime soon. So what is left, except being called crazy for trying different things, just for the sake of being different if you'll never get any acclaim for it. I mean who will really talk, for years to come, about the guy who invented the Spife, yip, the spoon which is also a knife... Some things just don't work.

So where does that leave us?

I guess we continue writing our repeated words, structured in a repeated order, and hope that at least you're the only person in that particular moment at that particular point in time, who is thinking those particular... oops, to late, someone caught up.

A Saturday and a dog.

I read something for the second time, which only made sense now, for the 1st time.

"But plans are one thing and fate another. When they coincide, success results. Yet success mustn't be considered the absolute. It is questionable, for that matter, whether success is an adequate response to life. Success can eliminate as many options as failure." - Tom Robbins

Actually this is not what I read, but found instead while searching for the first. Must be fate...

Why does this scare me so? To think I have to write something for someone? There is no one else! Until I say so. It is just me, the page, and the ringing phone which never stops.

Can you imagine how awesome it must have been to be there first? Although did they even know then? Did the first guy, or girl, maybe having a cool drink on a lonely, sporting Saturday afternoon, yes, saturdays are always, and have always been sporting, looking at the burnt remains of a pancake, think to herself ( I think it's clear at this point that it was a girl), if I could only flip the pancake over with something flatter than a spoon... Maybe if I fold this paper, no, flammable. Maybe if I bend the spoon a bit, so that the round part becomes a little flatter.

(Enter guy. Hey! This is my story, and I don't care if it's not feminist enough!) "Say, honey, come and bend this here spoon for me, I'll appreciate it an awful lot..." (Ok, perhaps this wasn't set on a ranch somewhere in the apparently smutty fifties, but still, my words...) So then in comes the big strong man, and out comes... the egg flip! Although that's probably not what happened, but still.

Imagine being that girl! Of course in her case, the guy probably took the credit and named the egg flip "Lil Billy's geenuous Invention" and sold it at every Ol Pop store in the county... But imagine her thinking back and going, I did that, first!

And the worst of all is, she had no idea that she was the first. For all she knew, somewhere on the other side of the world, some french guy was cooking with his "le flip" jip, that's the sum total of my french, leaning on all the stacked, packaged boxes, ready for their next shipment...

But there wasn't, and she was the first.

So imagine how she felt when she then found out, it was her. All her.

Taking the next step in mountain climbing boots.

You know how you have that thing that you’ve wanted to do all your life, but you’ve never quite managed to find the time to find out where they offer classes where you learn how to cook, while speaking in a French accent… Yes, it would be awesome, and you’d be the talk of the, very tiny, group of equally ambitious “ambuerger” eating cooks, because that’s how they’d teach you to say hamburger. And you’d walk back to your list of “Stuff I’d love to do before I die” and you cross it off, while patting yourself on the back for finally getting to it!

Ok, so it might not be something as far out, maybe it’s watching “Gone With The Wind”, yes, all 3 ½ hours of it, all the way through, or reading that award winning, best selling, Oprah-was-raving-about-it-for-months book that’s been lying on your bedside table for about two years now, and every time someone brings up the word “kite”, you plug up your ears and say, no, don’t spoil it, I’m going to read it this weekend, but you never do…

You know, we’ve all got stuff, kind of like our Bucket List, that we’ve always secretively wanted to do, but it was always, yes, I’ll do it right after I’m done watching Season One of One Tree Hill… Oh, wait there’s a Season 2 too? What, up to 6 already?? Man, I have some catching up to do! And there the Hungarian Language tapes, yes tapes, because you’ve had them that long, gets shifted ever so guiltily to the side as your other hand was already pressing play on the remote, and singing along with the soundtrack “I don’t want to be anything other than what I’ve been trying to be lately”, except you do.

Because we both know, after Season 6, will come Season 7, will come marriage, my 30’s, kids… and before long, you’re that scary grand parent who walks around telling kids, some of who aren’t even related to you how you should never have any regrets, and that you should just go for it!

I mean, why is it ok for there to be a naked man on a surfboard in the waters of a very non-nudist beach, and then when I ask the woman sitting next to us, who is desperately trying to cover all four her young children’s eyes at the same time, she whispers back sympathetically because “he just found out he only has 3 weeks to live…” Do you have to die to start living? Because newsflash people, we are ALL dying! And I’m not saying this in a suicide bomber kind of way, while revealing stacks of dynamite strapped to my Chanel clad body – hey, we don’t know what we get to take with us…

But I’m saying this because it’s true.

The past two years I spent working a job that was so soul unsatisfying, buying groceries, walking dogs, making food, preparing for the food that had to be made, making lunch packs for the next day, stopping at the chemist to make sure everyone had their multivitamins, dogs, fish and chickens included… and I’m happy. No, I’m not saying that how you’re reading it, I mean, I really am. Happy.

I also know I’m describing any other working mother’s life. But I’m not a mother. I’m not even married. In fact, I still live at home.

So is it a lie when I tell you I am happy? No, because that is something I had to do. Serving became a love language for me. Verses in my morning quiet time started speaking more and more to me, about how to be selfless. How to show your family that you loved them. How to help out your mother, who’s been living this life for the past 30 years, to just give her a break, a chance to breathe, to see that she was still human, a woman with her own dreams and desires. It showed me how to help, how to be the best wife and mother one day – seriously, I could write books on how even the lunches will be color coordinated… I learned how to be Martha. Not Stewart… The one in the bible. But then I realized, there’s two sides to Martha. The side where everyone loved having her around, because they would know for certain that everything would be packed perfectly, that no one had to rush around in a panic the morning before we have to leave for holiday, because if you weren’t certain if (video camera, sunblock, shoes) was packed, you just thought: “Oh no wait, it’s fine. Martha probably packed it! Who’s up for some guitar hero before we have to leave?”

And then the side of her that couldn’t take a break because she only had two more loads to wash for the day, meanwhile Jesus, yes Jesus, and I don’t mean some Mexican boy with the same name, was sitting in the next room, sharing Truth… And there she was, separating the whites from the coloureds, which was also probably racist in those days…

But do you get what I’m saying? It’s like when you run into someone you haven’t seen for years, and they say to you: “hey, did you ever get to climb that mountain you kept going on and on about?” and you reply: “No, but we’re thinking maybe next year, when the kids are all off to college, maybe then…” And it’s not even as if that person is going to give it a second thought, they just saw you, remembered how you used to walk around campus in your mountain climbing boots, because you were wearing them in obviously, and thought she’d ask.

But you can just imagine her going back to everyone and telling them what a failure you are, and that you didn’t even have the guts, because let’s face it, that’s all you need to take the first step, to climb that mountain you’ve been dreaming about… And it hits you. Are you a failure? And then you think about your life, your job, your family, all the things you have, and you think but I wouldn’t want it any other way, but still somewhere inside of you, there’s this tiny person, still stomping around in mountain climbing boots, making you linger just a little bit longer outside the Cape Union Mart… And you think, I wonder if it’s too late?

No. It’s not. We should stop analyzing everything into oblivion. We should stop finding the right moment, the perfect moment. It’s like couples saying, we’ll have kids once we have enough money, and one day when they’re 45, and lingering around the park, constantly having to explain to cautious parents that no, none of the kids in the sandpit were actually theirs, after which a hasty retreat would always follow, they look at each other and say: “Maybe we shouldn’t have waited so long.” Maybe we shouldn’t be waiting so long.

I’m not going to anymore, and by writing down these thoughts, I’m doing just that. I took the first step.

What about you?

By Word Of Mouth’s Beautiful Bridal Day!

As we all know news being spread by word of mouth, normally travels the fastest. Whether you’re discussing the brilliant movie you’ve just seen, your embarrassing message you sent on Facebook, which you thought was private, turns out you wrote it on someone’s wall… or that girl who used to go to school with you and got pregnant by the woodwork teacher, and is now selling jams outside the Spar on Saturdays… Point is, news travels fast when it’s being told, discussed, whispered or shouted, by mouth.

So, the aptly named events company who definitely needs no introduction in South Africa, By Word of Mouth made my task very easy!

My two bridesmaids and I made our way, with thanks to the Garmin, to their beautiful Hazeldene Hall in Parktown, and were greeted by beautiful rose gardens between which spectacular bridal tables were set decorated from the classical white on white, to summery yellows and even earthy glass jars filled with pebbles, with the quaint aloes as the… aloe on top! Using simple touches such as raffia serviette holders complemented the earthy tones and I can only imagine how perfect that would fit a bushveld or desert wedding. With the smells of Jo Malone products perfecting the moment!

At the other hand they had a candy stand that would take your breath, and all resolve to diet, away. In girly shades of pink and white, the table was heavily laden with striped candy apples, bowls of pink popcorn, Turkish delights, candy canes, piquant cupcakes, marshmallows, glass tubes filled to overflow with pink and white jelly beans, with little white chinese boxes being filled to the brim… and to take you straight to girly heaven, beautiful teacups, gently carrying rosebuds and flowers. Sigh! I can only imagine how this display would have held up as the main piece at a Bridal Shower…

At this stage you’re already walking around all dreamy eyed, head bursting with images of your own special day to come, while sipping on as much complementary champagne as you could, which was constantly being filled up. There was not a dry glass in the house!

We then slowly made our way into the beautifully restored house, where we were met with the most beautiful Marianne Fassler gowns, fit for queens, brides, brides maids and even the most whimsical little fairy like dresses for the little flower girls. Of course it helped that most of them were being parade around the entire day by beautiful, tall, perfectly made up by Bobbi Brown, models! You could even sit to get tips for your own day by the Bobbi Brown girls.

In the next room you were met with glistening beads and stones, earrings and hairpieces that took your breath away. The Kirsten Goss Bridal collection was enough to make you throw all previous hair ideas to the wind, and focus solely on making one of her unique pieces the focus point!

Of course here I have to add that throughout all this time, there are constantly friendly, well presented waiters walking around, carrying trays of edible art. That’s the only way to describe what we were offered. From Omega 3&6 bursting salmon filled with cream cheese, to cauliflower and blue cheese soup cups… Naming everything we had to taste will be impossible! But every bite was so beautifully prepared and served, it took all the will power to say no to the third round of risotto! And that was only after we learned that on the first floor there was dessert table that would let all final resolve disappear… There we were met with delights ranging from mini chocolate puddings to lemon meringues… Yet I stayed strong and directed my focus to some more beautifully decorated tables! Ranging from festive blues and reds to dramatic blacks and purples, all complimented greatly by the most beautiful creative floral arrangements!

After another 2 hours of us chatting up a storm with lovely By Word Of Mouth personnel, models, friends and surprise family visits, constantly sipping on never ending champagne, we went home tired, but very happy!

Sensational

Big VS Small…

Now as soon as you brides-to-be get your minds out of the honeymoon suite, we can get to the real issue here…

I am of course talking size of wedding! Now sometimes this can be quite simple, your Prince Charming rescued you from a castle tower, where your evil stepmother was holding you ransom for the keys to the Kingdom, which is rightfully yours. He then throws you over his shoulder, or back, depending on upper body strength as he maneuvers his way carefully down the slippery castle wall, which is overlooking treacherous and stormy waters down below, which means sudden death with the first wrong step. But down below, a sail boat awaits, which is pulled by Felix, his magical sea horse, hey, this is my hypothetical situation, so yes, a magical seahorse then pulls them to the safety and seclusion of a tropical island where they are united as one, with only the seagulls and Felix as witness to their love… Sigh… But then again, when are things ever this easy?

Nope, in real life, our damsel in distress, Imogen, was doing the seating chart as Prince Eduardo was carting her to safety… Because even though she and her step mom were no longer on speaking terms, after the whole locking her in a tower for years, obviously, she really did enjoy the company of her step aunt Moira and her Uncle Joe, yes, everyone has an uncle Joe, really always is the life of any party… Because for us girls, it’s not just about who you choose to share the most beautiful day of your life with, it’s also just as important that the right people see you on your most beautiful…

You know what I’m talking about, even though you’re not 14 anymore and you’d like to believe your above such petty things, it still feels good to know that your “best friend” in high school, Amy, who used to call you fat and kiss your boyfriends behind your back, is now dating your second cousin, twice removed… and what is a wedding without good old Harvey, I mean Henry… I mean family is family. So of course she’s invited! And the fact that you’ve since lost the baby fat, chucked the Jelly shoes and realized oversized T-shirts saying “Move Or Die”, really only is for black rappers, you’re actually quite excited that she gets to see you on this, your most beautiful day!

But you know what I mean? How do you decide who gets to be invited?

Ok, let’s take my sister, she’s getting married in April, at this venue in Namibia…

Jip, it’s safe to say she won’t be doing the congo line with 200 guests… So she had to choose, venue of her dreams and 14, yes only 14 guests, or somewhere closer, more affordable with more guests. Her choice was simple she says, why invite 80-100 people, of which probably only 30 of those you actually really want there? So, she’s compromising. She’s decided to organize, with her best friends, an awesome weekend away for 18 of her closest girlfriends, to just bond and have the most fun ever! That way, they get to feel included, and she gets to have her dream wedding, plus all the gifts! Win/win!

Another aspect to consider when getting married at a venue that allows only a certain amount of people, like our venue that can accommodate only 60 max, and that’s going to be tight, is where DO you draw the line? When is it ok for friends to trump family? Who gets to decide how important it is that aunts and uncles get invited? I mean it’s not like you meet up once a week to go for coffee, but they are your dad’s brother or sister, and he is in fact paying for the wedding… So where does that leave you?

My fiancé, Quentin aka John Dough, and I decided that if we have 60 spots, we’ll keep it simple, he gets to invite 29, and I get to invite 29, and we’re not allowed to judge or comment on the other person’s choices, although I think we both secretively took a peek and thought, really, her? But so it goes. Like life and a marriage, the wedding has to be a partnership, and each person has to feel that they have room to maneuver and make their own choices, even if you don’t get how he can actually give up one of the sacred 58 spots to Jake, his friend who constantly looks stoned, and who thinks “your mama” jokes are hilarious and insists on telling them whenever he has an audience…

I guess I think the most important thing to remember is, you’re getting married! To the love of your life. So as long as he shows up, and you have your closest people there, yes, the ones who actually call you to check up on the wedding progress and who goes dress shopping with you and who gets that cream and off white are definitely not the same color, your day WILL be special. And if the remaining spots are people you never would’ve missed, just think – More gifts!

Let’s start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.

So, the guy has been met. Love has happened, and the engagement ring is shimmering oh so proudly on my finger. Bliss.
But now what? Where do you start with something so big? I mean, movies have been made, books have been written, fairy tales have been told and retold a million times over. Someone feeling a little bit of pressure? I mean, it is, after all, my wedding day! The day little girls across the world dream of, the day I get to be a queen the entire day, and in my books, the 3 weeks leading up to it as well, I mean you have to milk it a bit… The day I have to plan?

I mean if this day is filled with so much magic, and centers around me, why do I have to do all the work? All the stressing? All the planning and crying? But alas, such is life. So I put on some comfort pants and march determinedly to my mountains of bridal magazines, some sadly dating back to 2003… pages of saved bookmarks on my laptop, and the voices of advice of every friend of mine that’s walked this slippery slope. But I am filled with hope, because no matter what, on 30 October 2010, I get to walk down the aisle, be it beach, church, desert or town hall, and marry the love of my life.
So where is the beginning for me? The venue.

My requirements? I want outside, but not to be totally left to the mercy of the elements. There’s nothing like forced cheeriness from guests shivering in sundresses while the storms of the oceans splash them with fury, and I won’t allow anyone to leave because if I said I’m having a beach wedding, we will stay on the beach the entire time and have a beach wedding!

I want a beach wedding, but I want to wear heels. No barefoot, being one with nature for me, thank you very much. I don’t want the wind to blow too much, because I cannot stand sand being blown against me or my hair being blown into my lip gloss, because we all know when they say all day gloss, they mean all day gloss, the sun can’t shine too fiercely, as my squint is not the most attractive thing to see, and there’s just something about staring deep into your beloveds eyes, and saying: Hold on, let me just grab my sunnies…

So, where do I find such a perfect space and harmony of the elements? Probably only in my dreams, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go searching…

So hang on to your handbags ladies, I’m going venue hunting!