Ghosts

Ghosts of the traditional sort don't tend to be where I am.

The lingering dead?  When I'm about, they just don't linger.

I grew up in a haunted house that was never haunted when I was there.  Stories of other people experiencing the furniture being moved, the sound of stomping feet upstairs, the eerie whispering of their name into their ear when no one else was about, the opening or closing of windows, the occasional ethereal glow?  Not when I was in the house.

Plenty going on as soon as I was  out the door, but when I was in?

Nope, nada.

I was, and honestly still am, a wee bitter about this.  

There's another type of ghost that, until recently, I had heard of but not experienced.

Well, not a ghost...rather, ghosting.

Oh, I've lost friends and had relationships end, but that was usually because of some specific incident or reason.  It was unpleasant, always, but I knew it had happened and why.

Ghosting, on the other hand?  Nope, nada.

I'm not sure what happened, which I suppose is at the very heart of being ghosted.  One never really knows why, does one?

What I do know is that I had a friend whom I love rather suddenly stop communicating with me.  There were often long gaps between calls or chats, so at first I didn't notice.  He was busy with family, work, writing, life.  Nothing unusual to go a few days or even weeks between sending him a message to his response.

Then I noticed - I sent him a birthday greeting, which he never looked at.  Hmm.  Later I sent him a funny picture.  Again, no view, no response.  Almost a year later, I sent another amusing photo, and again...nothing.  Not just an absence of response, not even a look.  The messenger service through which we'd chat tells you when your message has been seen.  It's not something that can be turned off.  I never initiated calls and didn't text (there are reasons, they are valid), but he would call me from time to time and we'd chat for an hour or more, and never did he mention any reason to cut off communications, but the calls stopped, too.  

I let almost another year go by and sent him a birthday greeting.

Nothing.

Now the thing about ghosting is, the ghostee asking the ghoster why is rather pointless.  I'm here.  He knows I'm here.  I'm easy enough to reach, my e-mail and phone number haven't changed.  He is active on social media.  He could TELL ME to fuck off rather than let the silence stretch on this way, but then it wouldn't be a ghosting, would it?

I feel as though asking what went wrong, what I said, or did, or didn't say, or didn't do, to make him simply leave me hanging in liminal space, would be fruitless.

I've known for most of my life that I am forgettable, easy to leave behind, easy to leave in the shadows, easy to just move away from.  At least, that's what the me inside my head tells me.  It's not a surprise that he could find someone more engaging to talk to, but...it would have been nice if he'd told me our friendship was done.  It would help to know why.  This dwelling in mystery shit isn't nice, nor is it kind to just leave a person hanging.  

Could I ask him?  Maybe.  If I thought he'd look at a message. I have to wonder, though, if he wouldn't think to himself that I should get a clue, that his silence should be enough of a reason, wonder why I can't take a hint and leave him alone.

I mean, he hasn't said that he's done, has he?  Maybe life has just been super busy.  For two years.  Maybe he's seen my messages and thought he would respond but then didn't for so long that he felt awkward and then didn't respond and it got more awkward and...  

Except I really don't think that happened.  Silence speaks volumes.  So I stopped messaging.  I don't think he's even noticed.  I'm trying to be ok with it, but it pains me.  I don't think it bothers him in the slightest.  These things happen.  People grow bored or tired or offended or hurt or any number of things happen and friendships fade away.  It's just that usually, everyone involved knows why.  

The thing is, it doesn't take more than a moment to send a smiley face, a thumbs up, a "Please leave me alone".  Seconds.  It could be done in less time than it takes to go to the bathroom.  I'd like to think I'm worth at least that minimal effort.  Clearly I'm not.

Ghosts don't just happen.  There's a reason for them.

I only wish I knew.

Pimpin' My Pal

Well hey there!

Ohmuhgoodness, look at the dust in here! I don't know what just brushed my face - it was either a cobweb or a gauze curtain.

Cough.

Is anyone still here? Looks like my little shanty in Blogopolis has been abandoned.

Is that...wildlife...I see creeping in the corners? Augh!

I need to get this place back in order, huh? M'kay - while I'm out renting a Blue Nowhere rated wet-dry vac, how about I give you a link to follow?

Trust me, this is a good link. I don't share it with just anybody. No - you're special!

Looking for a holiday/birthday/special occasion/no reason at all gift? Go see my friend, sister of my heart, and a talented-as-heck artist K2: Unleash the Goddess. She makes beautiful, unique, wearable art - and sometimes she lets me play with her glass.

Glass, people, glass!! Geeze...

Meanwhile, I am going to find an air filter and a giant incense stick - this blog smells stale...

I'll be back soon, just in case you have missed me...

Snake

I have a friend named Snake. Well...no that's not really his name...it's his nickname. There's a story behind why, but I am told it's not safe for human ears. Heh.

I first met Snake when I was sixteen, back when Mum first started going to the track as a worker. He's been a fixture there since dirt. He once told Mum he'd like to take out his dentures and gum her. Yes. He did.

Snake has a mental lexicon of dirty Irish jokes that are knee-slappers. He's Irish by blood, American by birth.

I've worked turns with his kids and given his grandkids guest passes to the track when I had 'em. Our families have gone out to dinner together, camped together, and raised (just a little) Hell together. his Daughter C and my Mum used to tear up the dance floor (also known as the grass/dirt at Fitzy Park) together, dancing with each other because the fellas lacked the chutz to join in...or couldn't keep up.

For many years, Snake has been the caretaker of our radio equipment, keeping our aging and often ailing landline system going with spit and bailing wire and safe-guarding the handheld radios with the ferocity of a really irritated spitting cobra.

Snake is dying.

He's had cancer for...umm...wow, I can't remember how many years. A lifetime of smoking, drinking, sunshine and hard living caught up to him. Snake is a tough old bird, though, and hard to kill. Still...time and tide catch us all, and it is Snake's turn to dance the last dance.

He's in hospice care as I type this. There's not much hope he'll outlast the week...maybe not even the next day or so.

I'm not going to visit him. Not because I don't care - the idea of a world without Snake in it is disheartening, to say the very least. I'm not going because he's not there. Not the part of him that I know, not my friend. He won't care that I'm there, nor miss me if I'm not.

Instead, I am going to relate one of the racing stories he told me a very long time ago...to this day, it's one of my favorites. I've told it my way because I don't have the skill to capture Snake's style...
~~~~~
When I first started working turns, we had a fairly extensive "breaking in" period, with classes to help train us in safety and response and even a fire certification school. A popular pastime for more experienced workers was to tell us newbies horror stories. Snake liked to tell new folks about one particularly horrid incident, which may or may not really have happened and one incident that did happen. The story itself always elicited wry laughs...stick with it to the end and you'll see why.

During one event, there was a somewhat spectacular wreck, the kind that shuts down the session. Back then, we had a lot more workers on the turns, and we would run onto a hot track (hot meaning the session was still...er...in session, race traffic still on the go) if needs must. The incident was severe enough to warrant a call for medical, but it would take a minute to get there, so workers responded to the cars involved. One worker noticed a helmet on the ground by the track and ran to retrieve it - a helmet can tell the medical crew a lot about what sort of injuries to expect. Much to the worker's horror, there was a head in the helmet!

A few years ago there was a motorcycle event at the track. Motorcycles have always been notorious for spectacular incidents and more than a few bizarre injuries (and yes, deaths). New workers are usually given "quieter" turns where more experienced workers help them learn the ropes. At this event, one of the new workers had been initiated with Snake's head-in-the-helmet story, and was hoping that no such incident would occur on his turn.

All was well for the first day or so - good riding, very few riders going down.

Day two, however, was a zoo. Perhaps the riders had partied too hard the night before (What?? Never!!), or perhaps the gremlins were simply having a field day...whatever the reason, bikes were sliding all over the place, and workers were running response and calling for transport so fast and so often, it seemed more like an ambulance race.

Our new worker was sent to respond to one such incident. His corner captain couldn't understand what seemed to be a sudden fit of hysteria, the worker dancing about, waving his arms, signalling for an ambulance, and retching in the tire wall.

The rider was sitting up and seemed OK, so what was the problem.

Hmm.

Oh, wait...the leg still attached to the bike might be a clue.

Wait. Rider over here. Bike over there. Leg on bike.

And yet...the rider didn't seem all that concerned. Must be in shock.

Not so much.

You see, this rider had a prosthetic lower leg...a fact none of the workers knew at the time. While a prosthesis isn't particularly hampering to a racer, it can be a bit of a boor when the foot constantly slips off the foot-peg and hits the track - makes cornering a bitch.

Being a competitive fellow, and somewhat innovative, our rider decided that a judicious application of Duct Tape was in order. He taped the foot to the peg, problem solved.

Until he went down and the bike went one way while his body went another.

Ouch. And, erm...oops.

Eventually the new worker was made to understand the situation, poor fellow. The rider, with some assistance, reattached his leg, got back on his bike and limped (hah!) back to the pits. The worker returned to his station and was the recipient of some not unkind ribbing from his fellows, and the race went on.
~~~~~
So long, Snake...I'll miss you, you grumpy old cuss. The track just won't be the same without you. See you on the other side...

Ladies and Gentlemen, Elvis Is In the Building

My friend K gave me the green light to post pics of her new wee dude (warning, there may or may not be a partial boob-shot in here), so I give you Elvis*:

Uh thangyou, thangyouverruhmuch...

Wee little monkey toes...

Well, it ain't a peanut butter, bacon and banana sandwich, but it's a start...

The King needs his beauty sleep...

Whadaya mean, I can't have a peanut butter, bacon, and banana sandwich for at least another year?

*Names changed to protect the innocent...but did you SEE those sideburns??

About a Baby

My friend K had her baby yesterday. Oh, wait...did I mention that my friend, bandmate, sister-of-my-heart was pregnant? Yeah, about that...oopsie.

She had a boy, seven pounds, nineteen inches long, full head of hair, and (no kidding) sideburns. I'm calling him Elvis because that's not his name and hello? Sideburns! Awesome!!

I went to visit them in the hospital and took a bunch of pictures, but am not publishing them yet because I figure it's only fair that she get first crack at makin' the little feller famous in the Blue Nowhere, since she went to all the trouble of growing and birthing him.

Instead, I will regale you with photos of the little lad's room.

K likes to decorate her children's rooms, give them style and personality. She went with earthy colors for Elvis; chocolate brown, sage-ish green, and medium pale blue with forest critters were the main design points.

Because I'm broker than our political system (but far less shady), I offered to make her a quilt, as I did for her daughter The Bean. She gave me some fabric (seven different prints!) and the go-ahead. Here's a close-up of the quilt:

I love the owls.

I made a little pillow for Elvis's rocking chair...but it was too small to be a butt cushion, so I'll make another. Good thing he won't need it for a while!

Here's the quilt on the crib. I made a simple semi-random patchwork and backed it with coffee-ice-cream colored anti-pill fleece. No batting - the little guy doesn't need to roast! I didn't do any fancy quilting...just ties the corners of the squares. It's washable, portable, and cuddly, and as long as K was happy (she was) I wasn't going to get too fussy with it. I like making quilts people aren't afraid to use.

The awesome bumper that matches her color scheme? Another friend found it at Goodwill for maybe three bucks! Sweet!!

Check out the insanely cute baby biker boots! I want a set just to put on one of my Teddy bears.

K is an artist...she does wonderful things with glass, with mixed media, and with paint. One of the things I love about her kids' rooms is how she surrounds them with herself, with her love and creativity. Lucky kids. She painted these owls based on the fabric:

Don't you want one for your own?? She's hireable...although you might have to wait a bit...she did just have a baby.

And then these little guys, too, because why not?

And then got a little funky and linear and other artsy phrases:

This only looks like an empty canvas:

Really, it's an amazing piece of potential waiting to be fulfilled. She's going to paint it with a nest (I think) and fill the nest with photos of the people who will surround Elvis in his life - family, friends, people who will love him, tease him, and maybe occasionally give him presents. Cool, huh?

And then there are the Ugly Dolls. I love Ugly Dolls. I keep threatening to steal my son's...they are so full of the awesome.
Because K travels to sci-fi conventions a lot, she has access to vendors who sell the dolls, and she brings them home with her. When I win the lottery, I'm buying a whole set, just for me. Meanwhile, I will play with Elvis's when he's not looking.

Look at this doodad...it's got pockets for holding toys or nappies or bearer bonds in!

Bird has a dragon one that K bought him several years ago...I bet she got the frog at the same place. Ikea, anyone??

Finally (I heard that sigh of relief!), a last look at one of the little lamps in the baby's room:

Good grief, isn't that just fantastic?

I don't know where she finds half this stuff...but I do know there are few babies in the world that will come home to a room so filled with love and welcome - a room put together by his mama, his papa, his mama's and papa's friends and relations, everyone happy to welcome another life into the circle. We're all family, here.

Welcome to the circle Elvis!!

Welcome to Blogopolis, Mizz B!!

Can't talk, baking...and decorating...and wrapping...and cleaning...and...snzzzzzkxkxkxkx...

Wha...?

Who...?

Ahem.

I am baking up a storm, and getting decorations up outside, and hauling the Yule boxes up from the closet under the stairs (if Harry Potter had come here to live, he would have had to content himself with an ordinary bedroom or the crawlspace under the house - the closet under the stairs is full of...umm...I don't know what, but a lot of stuff, including my few seasonal decorations that I often don't bother with) and cleaning house because I have band practice here next Wednesday and also...umm...well, I have another reason to get the place tidy, but I ain't sayin' what...yet.

Anyway.

So, because I am clearly far too busy to write a blog post of any substance (hah!), I'm taking this opportunity to introduce you to a good friend. She's my band manager and booking agent, mother to K (the sister of my heart), a cruise agent, and generally full of the Awesome. Her name's Beth (I'm only telling you because she's got it on her blog, so it'd be silly for me to keep it secret, now, wouldn't it??), and she has a brand spankin' new blog. Go give her a look-see and let her know what you think, m'kay?

Welcome to the Blue Nowhere and Blogopolis, Mizz B - glad to have the company!!

Loki

Bye-bye, Loki.

You were the coolest dog ever. You were my singing partner. You never gave up hope that I'd give you a french fry. You always gave a lady your seat - even if she had to shove your ass off the couch to get it.

I'll miss you, and you weren't even mine.

Goddamnit...

Excuse me a minute.
~~~~~
My best friend and sister of my heart, K, married a man who had a dog. The dog was Loki. Loki was the coolest dog ever. I don't care how cool you think your dog is or was, Loki was cooler. He spoke conversational English. He was freakin' huge. He loved his humans. When I walked into their house, he'd stir himself to woof a little, and I'd almost always tell him "It's too late you daffy beast, I've already walked in and axe murdered everyone!"

He would grudgingly give a gal his seat on the couch, if she shoved his ass out of the way, first.

He liked cats. He liked to play with cats. Especially their heads.

Loki and me did something special...something he wouldn't do with just anybody. We sang duets. When I paid a call and he caught sight of me, he'd start to whine. Big black dog, scare the crap out of anyone who didn't know better, and he'd whine like a bitch. I'd whine back. He'd yelp. I'd yelp. He'd whine again. I'd start to howl. He would howl...and we were off on a sing. Once or twice we got the whole canine neighborhood riled up into a chorus. Loki thought I was a good howler...he said I sung purty.

If I happened to have stopped at McD's on the way to my visit, he'd hang at my feet hoping for a french fry. I would tell him I was cold and heartless and didn't share food with dogs...but a couple of times, when no one was looking, I gave him one. Shh. Don't tell.

When K had her daughter, we had to stop singing all the time...had to be aware of the baby sleeping. Loki would whine and I'd tell him "Sorry, buddy, baby's sleeping. Maybe next time." and he'd put his head on his paws and groan, whuff, sigh, disappointed. Me too. There was always a next time, though...

Loki died last night. No next time. Loki died last night. I found out just now...too late to call K and offer condolences. I didn't have my phone with me, so if she tried to call, I didn't know it...so I found out just now and am squalling like a brat who lost her lolly...because he wasn't my damn dog and I didn't have a damn history with him like K and her husband did (and E? I'm sorry, man)...but he was the coolest dog ever and I like to think he was my friend, too...and I'm going to miss him.




*Photos totally stolen from E's facebook post about Loki

Monday the Thirteenth

It's Monday the thirteenth, a week past the full moon. A little magic is in order.
Remember the box of goodies my friend Rachel sent me? Sure you do - she's the insanely talented poet over at The Waxing Moon, my friend in the Yukon, a woman I've never met but love like a sister.

Anyway.

Last Monday, as I was preparing for my trip to Texas, I had the Black Hat Society over for dinner and gossip. I haven't seen them in a while, and I missed them...and I was baking bread and they love to take it home, so we're a perfect fit.

Since it was already a baking day, I decided to make dinner for everyone, too. I had a few veggies to use up, and some corkscrew pasta left over from the pasta salad I made for the trip. I chopped up a zucchini, a yellow squash, and some asparagus lurking in the vegetable drawer and sauteed them in olive oil with chopped garlic and onion. I added some leftover green beans I'd steamed the night before (now chopped) and a can of organic, chopped tomatoes with garlic, basil and oregano, and let it simmer until the vegetables were just cooked. In went the already cooked pasta. Dinner was served...with a little grated cheddar cheese over the top of each bowl to give it a little extra zip. Yum!

I wanted something special for dessert...a celebration, of sorts. What were we celebrating? Friendship, mostly, and anticipation, and happiness.

What better way to celebrate friends than with chocolate? I had been saving the Lunatic bar for...something...and I decided we should share it.

We sat in a circle in the kitchen - smelling bread as it baked, laughing, listening to our children play - and shared the chocolate, savoring each bite, three women, three mothers, three friends, so different and yet...united by love, happy to be just where we were in that moment. The fourth woman was there in spirit, if not in body. Thanks, Rachel.

Kitchen witchery at its finest...

Beautiful Lady, Beautiful Words

Hey, y'all - while I'm off at the gallery wasting time being artistic, go check out my friend Rachel - we've known each other in the Blue Nowhere for many years, and if we weren't cut from the same cloth, well...we were cut from complementary bolts, at least.

The Sweetest Thing

There was a package waiting for me when I got home, come all the way from the Yukon by special snail.

In truth, it arrived last Thursday, but as I was halfway to St. Simon's when it came, I had to wait until I got home to open it.

I have a friend in Canada to whom I sent a hand-crocheted scarf (one of these days I'll post the photo of it) because it gets bloody cold where she lives and I thought she could use a bright, soft, long hug from Georgia.

In retaliation return, she shipped me a care package!

It had a bunch of terrific swag in it:

As soon as I saw the pillow, I hugged it and then showed it to the boys with the stern admonition that "This is MY pillow, MINE, and you are not to use it as a butt pillow, or for anything else. No touchy!!" Really, you wouldn't think I'd have to say it...

Isn't it sumptuous??I couldn't do it justice with the camera - it's all moss and chocolate and gold and squishy...

Check out the mug - it reminds me of henna, and it's a good size for tea. And how about that? There's a tin of Arctic Wildflower Tea tea from Aroma Borealis that will go nicely in the mug! There's also an Aroma Borealis (isn't that an awesome name??) chocolate chai soap and lip balm (hmm...I wonder if I can get away with a three day bath??), and a chocolate bar aptly named "Lunatic". How did she know??

Thank you, Mizz R (I'll out you if you like, but thought I'd protect your privacy so you don't get inundated with requests for lovely, thoughtful boxes full of wonder), and I love you, too!

Bird Flu

Bird is sick.

Poor little guy...he couldn't keep anything down last night, running to the potty to glurp within minutes of eating or drinking. He didn't have a fever, so it probably isn't really the Flu. He was cheerful, too, scampering about like nothing was wrong.

Thank the Gods he took after me when it comes to being sick - throwing up is just no big deal, and life goes one. Still...I hope it was something he ate yesterday and not some sort of creeping crud.

Meanwhile, I am disinfecting myself because I'm off to my friend M's baby shower, and I don't want to bring plague with me. I took pictures of the blankie I made for the baby, but haven't loaded them into the 'puter yet...so I have no idea if the turned out.

It's a dark yarn and an odd, textured pattern, but if the photos turn out OK, I'll post them later. If you play with yarn, it's a crochet pattern called Old Shale, and it makes a kind of raised ripple or wave effect. I like it, but it took a lot of focus to get done, because the pattern is not forgiving.

Right, I'm off to wrap M's other baby gift in the blanket - why waste paper?? - if I can get my poor, gym-achy body to do something besides complain.

Psst, Hey, Wanna Buy a Watch??

OK, so not really a watch...but some really cool stuff, anyway.

Please permit me to introduce you to a new link list over on the sidebar. It's just below "Givin' You the Bird", and it's called "Feel the Etsy! Feel It!!". Yep - I'm pimpin' the Etsy sites of some of the people I know and love.

Unleash the Goddess is where K, the sister of my heart, flogs her wares. She's a terrific artist and she just put up her winter holiday greeting cards on her page. She drew them. Did I mention awesome? She is. She also has prints, coloring books, and eventually I will corral her arse and force her to start listing her incredible fused glass/dichroic jewelry. I guarantee you won't find anything like it anywhere else...if only she'd list it!!

2Moms5Kids is the home of some dear Internet friends. I won't say where we met or hang out in Blogopolis or the Blue Nowhere, because it's private, but I would not have the level of sanity I claim today if not for this group of fine, understanding, compassionate, and sometimes hilariously snarky women! I hope to have more of their Etsy sites linked soon (Ladies? Ladies?? Ahem? Are you reading??). 2Moms5Kids is a bundle of woolly, weird, and wonderful fun.

I will add more as they come in. I'm not makin' any dosh on this...it's more about giving people a little more exposure and maybe offering y'all a chance to find gifts without having to brave the mall or Silly Season traffic and behavior.

One day in the (hopefully not too distant) future, I may even have a bash at an Etsy site, myself. Woo-hoo!

So, aren't you glad you burned a calorie clicking over here?

Oh, How Lovely Is The Evening

This is where we spent last evening:

Nice, huh?Bird played with Sweetcheeks, Littleman and Noodle in the fountain, then ran and played in the park.

I only took a few pictures before the batteries crapped out. Sigh. If I get permission, I'll post pictures of the other boys, too.


I wish we had a park like this near home - this one is a twenty minute drive away on a good traffic day. Worth the drive now and then, but not every day.


When we got home, I was informed by the Evil Genius that the light in his room had a power surgery and needs a new lightbulb. Heh...

On an unrelated note - does anyone else think the male Olympic gymnasts look like human exclamation points?

I'm Late, I'm Late, I'm...

...Oh, wait, no I'm not. Whew.

I thought I was pressed for time today - guests coming over this evening and I am trying to prep as much in advance as I can. Our menu, you ask?

Polynesian chicken and (fresh)pineapple kebabs, rice, sugar snap peas (fresh ones, too), mixed berries (cream on the side if it's wanted), and cheese and crackers for the picky eaters. Also half-sweet tea (iced tea with half the sugar)(or less) and home made lemonade. Oh, and if anone wants it, we have watermelon. We'll dine outside while the kids run free in the yard.

So far I have the chicken marinating (my hands smell like lime, ginger, and garlic. I may never wash them!) and the tea steeping, and the rest can happen after I have a bit of lunch. Why does food prep always make me hungry??

C'mon over - we'll even have the kiddie pool full, although you'll have to duke it out with the nekkid five-and-unders over who gets the squirt guns.

About A Wedding

Burlap Condoms has invited her readers to share their awful wedding tales, leading off with one of her own.

I haven't been to many weddings (should I feel unloved or something??) and they were all loverly, so instead of sharing something awful, I'm braggin'.

I was married on a Friday the Thirteenth in October, on the day of the full moon, in my Mum's front yard by a judge, wearing a Renaissance style dress. T was wearing a sort of Pirate/Three Musketeers getup, complete with sword. Geeks, we. Our guests were invited to wear Rennie-garb or "resort casual" dress, which was a phrase I thought I made up on the invitations (turns out I didn't, oh well) and did nothing to clarify to guests how they could dress if they didn't want a costume. I do NOT eschew obfuscation!! What I really meant was "Hey, as long as your are clothed and not wearing your rattiest blue jeans, it's cool", but that was way too long for our little created-at-Kinko's invite. Hey, the art on the front was an original piece drawn for us by an artistic friend, so it wasn't all bad.

The original piece of art is hanging in our living room. We had it on a table at the wedding, and friends and family wrote their well-wishes on the mat. Some of them are gone from this world, but their words still linger.

The ceremony was less than five minutes - seriously, it took longer for us to walk down the "aisle" (a pebbled path from the house to the arbor) than it did to say vows.

Words blathered, we stood for photos (taken by a couple of friends because I'm too cheap to pop for a pro. Photos turned out amazing) with our REAL flowers, then headed to the tent on the other side of the driveway, where our potluck reception was held. Yes, I AM that cheap.

The tables had linens, there was a dance floor, and the flowers on the bridal table were real. So were the floating candles on the other tables (best friend provided them, and they were lovely.) We didn't do place cards, preferring the informality and conformability of mingling, of folks sitting where they liked with whomever they liked, getting to know each other. We had scattered throw-away cameras on the tables so our guests could be our photographers. They did us proud.

The food was amazing - everyone brought out their best creations for us. We had plastic plates and cups - so many, in fact, that we are still using them when we go camping! The wedding cake matched my dress, white on white brocade pattern, entirely by accident. The Groom's cake (this has to be a Southern thing, as I never heard of it until Steel Magnolias and my move to the South) was a red-velvet, armadillo cake. Really. I still have the head and the arse in my freezer. Is that wrong?

We drank the obligatory toasts, but T had a secret - ginger-ale in his glass rather than champagne. He doesn't drink, never has, won't. I was fine with that.

We used the same DJ that played our SCCA events (Sports Car Club of America, for whom we worked turns as safety marshals). We danced for what would be the only time (so far) in our marriage, to an Eagle's song. Classy, no? During the dance, I was quietly trying to reassemble his wedding ring - he had a puzzle ring, and had managed to let it fall apart...and he didn't know how to put it together again! Lucky I did, and could do it without looking. His ring was back on his finger before anyone noticed anything amiss - we have some superstitious family members, and what on Earth would they have made of that?? Hmm...come to think of it...

I wasn't one of those little girls who dream about a princess wedding, pearls and crystals on the dress, twelve carat diamond on my finger, all that. I was happy with my Mum's engagement and wedding rings, a dress sewn by a seamstress friend for just about cost, potluck reception serving foods made with love by the people who fill my life with the best of themselves even when they're at their worst. I love that our invitation was drawn by a friend. I love that our reception wasn't catered, didn't break the bank, but gave our friends and local family a chance to shine. I love that our friends and family, rather than burden us with a bunch of household goods we didn't need (I already had one of every kitchen gadget known to man), tried to surprise us (well, me)(it's very hard to surprise me, but I bless them for the effort) by chipping in for a cruise for our honeymoon - we weren't going to have one, otherwise.

Our wedding cost less than many women spend on their gowns. I am proud of that - why spend your (or your parents') savings on a gown you'll wear once? On a hall you won't notice, on food you won't taste? I know it's the dream for some, and that's fine...I've been a pragmatist since I was a child, and it didn't make sense for me...and T didn't care, so long as we were married. Bless him.

At some point, T and I slipped into the house and changed into blue jeans - and so did a number of our guests. We eventually drove off to the B&B we were staying at. I offered to come help clean up the next day, but was firmly told "no". They wouldn't let me help set things up, either. Heck, I didn't even help cook the rehearsal dinner (steaks on the grill, corn on the cob, rocking on the front porch of Mum's house in the dusk). I was secretly glad to leave it to someone else.

Long as it is, that's a nutshell of the day.

So - how about you? Have a bad experience at yours or someone else's wedding? Have a good one? Tell me about it!