A few blocks away from mine and Chris’ apartment lives a man called Cliff. Cliff inhabits a caravan, and rents the adjoining garages of two houses on a little back lane. He runs his bike business out of these, using one as a workshop and the other for storage. Cliff is a salt of the earth kind of guy, an old school bloke who talks straight (‘See what you’ve done to your chain? You’ve fucked it mate’). He has a grown up daughter and I think there may have been a marriage somewhere in his past, but now it’s just him and his terrier Spinner.
I was heading down to pay an overdue bill for our latest bike service, and as I turned the corner into his lane I could see that he was enjoying a Saturday afternoon BBQ with his mates. All of them were about Cliff’s age and seemed cut from the same cloth.
I squared my shoulders and got into character.
With Cliff there’s a certain way deals are done, subtle social nuances that must be played out. I knew I had to apologise for the late payment, but I also had to do it in a way that played up to his ego (especially now that there was an audience)
‘Cliff! I just saw bloody Chris, told me he hadn’t paid the friggin bill, so I gave him a big slap on the wrist! What a dickhead!'
Cliff’s long grey haired friend lent in to contribute his 2 cents worth (he had helped with the bike servicing and was getting a cut of the profits) ‘Shoulda given him a slap on the forehead!!’
Much laughter ensued.
Cliff brushed off my apology and as we continued to chat I slipped him the money, which he put away without counting to show that he still trusted me. As wound up our transaction he suddenly remembered ‘Oh and I hear that Chris’ caught you, wearing a ring now are you?!’
‘Of course Cliff – he couldn’t let a beauty like me slip away! Who else would pay the bills?’
More laughter followed by raised beers to the happy couple.
I expected some zingers to follow, referring to ball and chains, or any other joyful wedded stereotypes.
Cliff started out –
‘Now Mary, my father once told me about marriage’
The blokes and I waited on baited breath for the joke
‘He said start out the way you want to finish’
I lent in waiting for the next line, but that was it. I looked around - everyone was very serious. A short fellow held his beer up and called out ‘unconditional love and respect’.
What?
I thanked them, said goodbye and walked away a little confused, where had this come from? What was with all the respect and love? Where was the sexism?
On further pondering I’ve realised that back in Cliff’s day that is what you did when a young couple got engaged. Those who were older and wiser (and had already been though the wars) would offer advice on maintaining a happy relationship. Courtships were also shorter, so relationship advice was more relevant - especially as most people wouldn’t have lived together first.
The majority of my parental figures (I have lots that fit into that category. Refer to my first blog entry for scandalous revelations) aren’t married, and although many are in long term relationships, and many more give me relationship advice (and listen to me whine) no one would think that because I’m now engaged they needed to sit down and give me a ‘talk’ about how to maintain a happy relationship. But do you know what? It was nice.
I often feel like I’m justifying getting married, it isn’t seen as a necessity or the institution it once was. I find myself trying to explain why we are doing it and defending our choice against scepticism (ps nice one Kim Kardashian for fucking it up for the rest of us). It was actually really sweet to have a group of relative strangers simply accept our decision and give beautiful advice.
What better goal than beginning and continuing with unconditional love? And slapping your partners’ forehead when actually it was both of your faults that a bill was paid late?
Thanks Cliff, thanks surrounding gentlemen, every one of you is a friggin legend and you dickheads made my bloody day.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
The wedding plannner
I should have paid attention to the title.
‘The knot ULTIMATE WEDDING PLANNER’, sitting innocently on the charity bookshelf at work. Firstly, the joke in the title really sells the ‘crazy obsessive bridezilla having a laugh ha ha HA HA HA MY LIFE IS A MESS’ angle. Secondly, ultimate? That is quite the claim to make my friend, is there really no other book in the whole world including all languages that can better plan my wedding? Truly you are willing to put that statement out there? OK, that’s fine, but excessive use of capitals IS NEVER A GOOD THING.
The problem is that I didn’t asses the title. I put 50c in the jar, gave myself a pat on the back, and put the damned thing in my bag. Now it sits open next to me on the couch and the white bouquet on the cover actually seems to be eyeballing me with a look that says ‘What are you doing? Why aren’t you studying me? How do you expect to have THE ULTIMATE WEDDING if you haven’t memorized every word on my sacred paper?’ This is an intense book.
The preface has a section titled ‘Operating instructions: How to use this book’. Well, in my humble opinion as a bookseller of many years that now works at a publishing house, I would read it. That pretty much sums it up. Read the book.
Then the chapters start coming. And coming. And there are 19 chapters. 19 chapters!!! What can you possibly discuss about a wedding for 19 chapters?
Chapter one – A month-by-month checklist.
Chapter two starts at page 9. This means that there are 8 pages of checklists in the first chapter. Terrifying!! The first checklist (13 points long) is to be completed 12+ months before. Ummmmmmmmm I didn’t realise that before I knew I was going to get married I should have already bought this book and completed such tasks as ‘Hire a wedding consultant’. Rats.
Chapter 2 – Getting started.
Yaaaaaaaaay a chapter to put me back on my feet! With joy I open to lovely page 9, with it’s exciting promises of….. another checklist. A quick flick through the book reveals that there is a checklist on every second page. Roughly every 5 pages there are photos of happy couples smiling like they want to burst their teeth straight out of their head.
I need to refresh my Gin before continuing on.
In my wedding ‘schedule’ I’ve already ‘gotten started’ (the wedding is 6 months away and I’m too terrified to read this bit and find out what I should have done) so therefore we can quickly progress to
Chapter 3 – Attendants, Family and guests.
What follows boggles the mind in its complexity. There is a half a page ‘cheat sheet’ (hint – it’s really a checklist) for every major wedding participant. These sheets cover ‘Pre wedding, at ceremony, at reception and post wedding’. According to my mothers cheat sheet post wedding she ‘may host a post wedding brunch’. I have a feeling that when the fiasco (hint – wedding) is over my mother may spurn hosting a brunch in favor of a stiff drink.
Chapter 4 – Ceremony
Ours is going to go for about 10 minutes, I doubt I need to ponder upon it for 10 pages
Chapter 5 – Reception site
It’s a community hall and the reception manager is a sweet old biddy that calls me love. I don’t know how relevant it will be to unleash questions upon her like ‘Are there bathrooms? Will there be attendants? Do I need to tip them?
Chapter 6 – The Dress.
This chapter starts out with ‘The Bride’s Look Worksheet’. I am way too scared to read anymore.
Chapter 7 – Food and Drink.
Interesting…. my dad will be cooking curry for everyone. This makes him the caterer. I was meant to complete a ‘Wedding food worksheet’ to ‘best describe my image of my wedding meal’. What I actually did was say to dad that if he was offering to cook he could do what he wanted. There is no box to tick for this. I am also meant to ask him if he is working any other weddings on the same weekend, day or time? I certainly hope not, that would be awkward.
Chapter 8 – Gift registry
Suddenly something about this section catches my eye. There is a sub section titled ‘Ask Carley: Gift ettiquette’. This bloody Carley is in every chapter spouting out her advice to neurotic brides. Carley wants to reassure me that it’s traditional in some cultures to receive cash gifts, and if you aren’t from one of these cultures remind your parents and close friends to tell everyone you want money. That sounds swell, thanks Carley!
Then the book really starts to drag with whole chapters dedicated to bridesmaid’s dresses (no one is supposed to be looking at them! Right Carley?!), music, photographer, videographer, yawn yawn yawn. A whole chapter on the cake – my dad will be making that so now there’s two chapters of checklists for me to interrogate him with. Chapter 15 is invitations. Does that strike you as odd? Am I meant to be 15 chapters into planning before I even get the invites out? The cake chapter is next and I’m sure that stuff goes on between the invitations and cutting the cake…….
The grand finale is
Chapter 19- Big-Day details.
I really hate calling it ‘the big day’. I am exhausted pretty easily, and to me work and then dinner out is a ‘big day’. Let’s just call it a day and we’ll deal with the big when and if it comes to it. In the ‘Last minute tips’ section the book reveals ‘Don’t be a perfectionist, things are bound to go wrong – what you can control is how much you let it bother you’. Let me tell you wedding book of nightmares, if I followed this book religiously, and completed every single god damned checklist and laminated every freaking cheat sheet before handing them out, if I went to all of the measures you outline and something still went wrong? I WOULD BE ONE BOTHERED FUCKING BRIDE!!!
And so, dear reader, I am going to give this book to Vinnies. Let some other poor bride be suckered into purchasing it for charity. I had a friend elope and get married by Elvis in America. Do you think she had a book full of checklists like this? No freaking way. Was it a fantastic and beautiful event for her? You bet your boots. Checklists be gone, Elvis come hither. I’m all shook up and I need another gin.
Note – OK so I do have to put in this disclaimer, I do have some excel wedding spread sheets. But they are not checklists! Not all of them are anyway……
‘The knot ULTIMATE WEDDING PLANNER’, sitting innocently on the charity bookshelf at work. Firstly, the joke in the title really sells the ‘crazy obsessive bridezilla having a laugh ha ha HA HA HA MY LIFE IS A MESS’ angle. Secondly, ultimate? That is quite the claim to make my friend, is there really no other book in the whole world including all languages that can better plan my wedding? Truly you are willing to put that statement out there? OK, that’s fine, but excessive use of capitals IS NEVER A GOOD THING.
The problem is that I didn’t asses the title. I put 50c in the jar, gave myself a pat on the back, and put the damned thing in my bag. Now it sits open next to me on the couch and the white bouquet on the cover actually seems to be eyeballing me with a look that says ‘What are you doing? Why aren’t you studying me? How do you expect to have THE ULTIMATE WEDDING if you haven’t memorized every word on my sacred paper?’ This is an intense book.
The preface has a section titled ‘Operating instructions: How to use this book’. Well, in my humble opinion as a bookseller of many years that now works at a publishing house, I would read it. That pretty much sums it up. Read the book.
Then the chapters start coming. And coming. And there are 19 chapters. 19 chapters!!! What can you possibly discuss about a wedding for 19 chapters?
Chapter one – A month-by-month checklist.
Chapter two starts at page 9. This means that there are 8 pages of checklists in the first chapter. Terrifying!! The first checklist (13 points long) is to be completed 12+ months before. Ummmmmmmmm I didn’t realise that before I knew I was going to get married I should have already bought this book and completed such tasks as ‘Hire a wedding consultant’. Rats.
Chapter 2 – Getting started.
Yaaaaaaaaay a chapter to put me back on my feet! With joy I open to lovely page 9, with it’s exciting promises of….. another checklist. A quick flick through the book reveals that there is a checklist on every second page. Roughly every 5 pages there are photos of happy couples smiling like they want to burst their teeth straight out of their head.
I need to refresh my Gin before continuing on.
In my wedding ‘schedule’ I’ve already ‘gotten started’ (the wedding is 6 months away and I’m too terrified to read this bit and find out what I should have done) so therefore we can quickly progress to
Chapter 3 – Attendants, Family and guests.
What follows boggles the mind in its complexity. There is a half a page ‘cheat sheet’ (hint – it’s really a checklist) for every major wedding participant. These sheets cover ‘Pre wedding, at ceremony, at reception and post wedding’. According to my mothers cheat sheet post wedding she ‘may host a post wedding brunch’. I have a feeling that when the fiasco (hint – wedding) is over my mother may spurn hosting a brunch in favor of a stiff drink.
Chapter 4 – Ceremony
Ours is going to go for about 10 minutes, I doubt I need to ponder upon it for 10 pages
Chapter 5 – Reception site
It’s a community hall and the reception manager is a sweet old biddy that calls me love. I don’t know how relevant it will be to unleash questions upon her like ‘Are there bathrooms? Will there be attendants? Do I need to tip them?
Chapter 6 – The Dress.
This chapter starts out with ‘The Bride’s Look Worksheet’. I am way too scared to read anymore.
Chapter 7 – Food and Drink.
Interesting…. my dad will be cooking curry for everyone. This makes him the caterer. I was meant to complete a ‘Wedding food worksheet’ to ‘best describe my image of my wedding meal’. What I actually did was say to dad that if he was offering to cook he could do what he wanted. There is no box to tick for this. I am also meant to ask him if he is working any other weddings on the same weekend, day or time? I certainly hope not, that would be awkward.
Chapter 8 – Gift registry
Suddenly something about this section catches my eye. There is a sub section titled ‘Ask Carley: Gift ettiquette’. This bloody Carley is in every chapter spouting out her advice to neurotic brides. Carley wants to reassure me that it’s traditional in some cultures to receive cash gifts, and if you aren’t from one of these cultures remind your parents and close friends to tell everyone you want money. That sounds swell, thanks Carley!
Then the book really starts to drag with whole chapters dedicated to bridesmaid’s dresses (no one is supposed to be looking at them! Right Carley?!), music, photographer, videographer, yawn yawn yawn. A whole chapter on the cake – my dad will be making that so now there’s two chapters of checklists for me to interrogate him with. Chapter 15 is invitations. Does that strike you as odd? Am I meant to be 15 chapters into planning before I even get the invites out? The cake chapter is next and I’m sure that stuff goes on between the invitations and cutting the cake…….
The grand finale is
Chapter 19- Big-Day details.
I really hate calling it ‘the big day’. I am exhausted pretty easily, and to me work and then dinner out is a ‘big day’. Let’s just call it a day and we’ll deal with the big when and if it comes to it. In the ‘Last minute tips’ section the book reveals ‘Don’t be a perfectionist, things are bound to go wrong – what you can control is how much you let it bother you’. Let me tell you wedding book of nightmares, if I followed this book religiously, and completed every single god damned checklist and laminated every freaking cheat sheet before handing them out, if I went to all of the measures you outline and something still went wrong? I WOULD BE ONE BOTHERED FUCKING BRIDE!!!
And so, dear reader, I am going to give this book to Vinnies. Let some other poor bride be suckered into purchasing it for charity. I had a friend elope and get married by Elvis in America. Do you think she had a book full of checklists like this? No freaking way. Was it a fantastic and beautiful event for her? You bet your boots. Checklists be gone, Elvis come hither. I’m all shook up and I need another gin.
Note – OK so I do have to put in this disclaimer, I do have some excel wedding spread sheets. But they are not checklists! Not all of them are anyway……
Monday, July 4, 2011
The time of you life
An idea that keeps cropping up when Chris or I talk to married people about being engaged is that this will be the best year of our relationship, or even the best year of our lives. I guess those we talk to have memories laced with images of romance, parties, presents and (oh joy of joys) shopping. I would be lying if I said that I didn't hope to gain these fond recollections on my path to wedded bliss, but I also feel pressure in this statement. What exactly does a 'best' year mean? If this year doesn't pass in a blur of happiness and confetti is our coupledom doomed to fail?
For a few months whenever Chris and I had a petty fight, or even when we just didn't have anything to say to each other there would be a little voice (I imagine it came from a Jimminy Cricket type figure in white merangue dress and a hint of psycho in it's eyes) reminding me that this is meant to be THE BEST time for us and that BEST couples don't fight about stupid things like who drank the Sprite I was saving for dinner. Or if Chris or I were in a bad mood and sulking,again a little mean voice would be asking me 'why are you ruining THE TIME OF YOUR LIVES????'.
Well, psycho bride cricket life does not follow a rosy petal strewn path and some days or even some months are going to be shit. Terrible things happen and you just have to gird your loins (I absolutely love that saying and all the visuals it conjures) and face what comes. Being in a couple means that we try to do this together and to help each other, but learning how to help each other also means being told (or being the teller) to piss off every now and then. This is something that will never ever ever change no matter how many doves or sparkly love hearts or pink tiered cakes you throw at it.
The past couple of months have been very difficult for Chris and I know we will remember this period of time with sadness. That doesn't mean that there hasn't been elements of 'best' for us as well. Sometimes sitting on our couch watching tv we can create an island of total happiness and escape almost everything terrible. When we can't run away and must submit to the badness I get to see Chris grow and strengthen, and this shows me what a best he is. I think people often forget that through every year (married or not) we discover bests in both of us that are only revealed in the midst of the worst. So while we are engaged, when things go wrong (things such a selfish people drinking precious dinner sprite), it doesn't mean failure. It means that this is life, and life is beautiful.
For a few months whenever Chris and I had a petty fight, or even when we just didn't have anything to say to each other there would be a little voice (I imagine it came from a Jimminy Cricket type figure in white merangue dress and a hint of psycho in it's eyes) reminding me that this is meant to be THE BEST time for us and that BEST couples don't fight about stupid things like who drank the Sprite I was saving for dinner. Or if Chris or I were in a bad mood and sulking,again a little mean voice would be asking me 'why are you ruining THE TIME OF YOUR LIVES????'.
Well, psycho bride cricket life does not follow a rosy petal strewn path and some days or even some months are going to be shit. Terrible things happen and you just have to gird your loins (I absolutely love that saying and all the visuals it conjures) and face what comes. Being in a couple means that we try to do this together and to help each other, but learning how to help each other also means being told (or being the teller) to piss off every now and then. This is something that will never ever ever change no matter how many doves or sparkly love hearts or pink tiered cakes you throw at it.
The past couple of months have been very difficult for Chris and I know we will remember this period of time with sadness. That doesn't mean that there hasn't been elements of 'best' for us as well. Sometimes sitting on our couch watching tv we can create an island of total happiness and escape almost everything terrible. When we can't run away and must submit to the badness I get to see Chris grow and strengthen, and this shows me what a best he is. I think people often forget that through every year (married or not) we discover bests in both of us that are only revealed in the midst of the worst. So while we are engaged, when things go wrong (things such a selfish people drinking precious dinner sprite), it doesn't mean failure. It means that this is life, and life is beautiful.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Bridezilla emerges
Have you ever watched the tv show ‘Bridezillas'? I absolutely love it. Seemingly ‘normal’ American women (OK so maybe you can see the potential crazy to begin with but I’m not about to call the kettle black) are documented in the weeks leading up to their wedding. They start getting snappy with their husbands, grumpy with the bridesmaids and the show begins to add snippets of obsessive behaviour (one woman had a whole room that she had been storing ‘wedding tidbits’ in for years, like hoarders goes bridal). As the wedding day marches closer the brides get wilder, breaking off the engagement, pulling their sister’s hair and crying over flower displays. I go nuts when I watch it, shouting at whoever’s in the room (or my toy dog Eddie) ‘Don’t go to the bathroom now! She’s about to punch the priest!!’ It’s not a pretty sight.
Then, the other day, I created a spreadsheet.
It seemed like such a logical thing to do. I had to work out some rough timeframes and this way everything would be clearly set out. It took me a couple of hours but it was pretty fun and I thought it came across as relaxed. Most of the events don’t have exact dates, just a designated month. In May and December there’s actually nothing that needs doing. I sent it to all the people involved and asked if there was anything missing. By email, phone calls and face to face viewings, suddenly I got to see it though other people’s eyes. I showed a colleague at work and her paused look was one of awe and fear. ‘So organized’ was a term a lot of people used in the ‘not quite OCD but getting neatly closer’ way. I felt calmed by the fact my dad thought it was totally normal, but then I started thinking about how ‘organized’ he is. The alphabetized CD collection, the total control over family gatherings, his kitchen with it’s carefully designed place for everything. I started getting scared.
Suddenly I’m second guessing everything I do trying to work out if this is ‘Bridezilla’ behaviour. Should I mention this new thing about the wedding to my friend? Does my friend actually want to hear about the wedding at all? Did this friend specifically tell another friend that she hoped I wouldn’t talk to her about the wedding tonight? Damn it she’s not even my friend at all with comments like that!
Meanwhile, a few other people I know have gotten engaged and I’m desperately curious about what they are going through. I want them to be more obsessive than me, moving faster towards that crazy screaming American brides. But none of them are even close. One doesn’t even have a date set for ‘the big day’ other than November and another has decided to just have a small dinner party. Everywhere I turn there are rational, calm Brides who are not boring people with to much information or getting obsessive about what kinds of jars to use for the wedding snow domes.
Brides who are not sitting home on a Saturday night blogging about their wedding.
However, I do also think about how much I love my spreadsheet. It’s so neat and clear and easily updated, I even printed one out and put it on the wall because I’m so proud. I love my in depth crockery candle discussions with my aunt and I love tea cup sourcing brainstorms with my friends. If I wasn’t planning things now, and tried to be someone I’m not, I would probably end up having nightmares about white doves pecking out my eyes or secretly carve ‘I do’ into my leg. I’m a naturally organised person and to pretend I am anything else would be a shame. It would also probably send me hurtling into the same stratosphere as those crazy brides I love to watch. Really everyone has an inner bridezilla and as long as you stay true to yours it will remain tame. Like a fluffy little cute dinosaur baby (Or that’s how I’m imagining mine anyway). Treat it bad and deny its existence and it will shoot up big and tall for everyone to see, burning all of the things you love to cinders. And most importantly of all, it will make some great reality tv viewing. Not that that’s a good thing. I’m just saying.
I love that show.
Then, the other day, I created a spreadsheet.
It seemed like such a logical thing to do. I had to work out some rough timeframes and this way everything would be clearly set out. It took me a couple of hours but it was pretty fun and I thought it came across as relaxed. Most of the events don’t have exact dates, just a designated month. In May and December there’s actually nothing that needs doing. I sent it to all the people involved and asked if there was anything missing. By email, phone calls and face to face viewings, suddenly I got to see it though other people’s eyes. I showed a colleague at work and her paused look was one of awe and fear. ‘So organized’ was a term a lot of people used in the ‘not quite OCD but getting neatly closer’ way. I felt calmed by the fact my dad thought it was totally normal, but then I started thinking about how ‘organized’ he is. The alphabetized CD collection, the total control over family gatherings, his kitchen with it’s carefully designed place for everything. I started getting scared.
Suddenly I’m second guessing everything I do trying to work out if this is ‘Bridezilla’ behaviour. Should I mention this new thing about the wedding to my friend? Does my friend actually want to hear about the wedding at all? Did this friend specifically tell another friend that she hoped I wouldn’t talk to her about the wedding tonight? Damn it she’s not even my friend at all with comments like that!
Meanwhile, a few other people I know have gotten engaged and I’m desperately curious about what they are going through. I want them to be more obsessive than me, moving faster towards that crazy screaming American brides. But none of them are even close. One doesn’t even have a date set for ‘the big day’ other than November and another has decided to just have a small dinner party. Everywhere I turn there are rational, calm Brides who are not boring people with to much information or getting obsessive about what kinds of jars to use for the wedding snow domes.
Brides who are not sitting home on a Saturday night blogging about their wedding.
However, I do also think about how much I love my spreadsheet. It’s so neat and clear and easily updated, I even printed one out and put it on the wall because I’m so proud. I love my in depth crockery candle discussions with my aunt and I love tea cup sourcing brainstorms with my friends. If I wasn’t planning things now, and tried to be someone I’m not, I would probably end up having nightmares about white doves pecking out my eyes or secretly carve ‘I do’ into my leg. I’m a naturally organised person and to pretend I am anything else would be a shame. It would also probably send me hurtling into the same stratosphere as those crazy brides I love to watch. Really everyone has an inner bridezilla and as long as you stay true to yours it will remain tame. Like a fluffy little cute dinosaur baby (Or that’s how I’m imagining mine anyway). Treat it bad and deny its existence and it will shoot up big and tall for everyone to see, burning all of the things you love to cinders. And most importantly of all, it will make some great reality tv viewing. Not that that’s a good thing. I’m just saying.
I love that show.
Friday, April 29, 2011
The engagement party, round two.
So to say I have been avoiding writing this post is an understatement. In the last few weeks I have managed to distract myself with several seemingly important tasks such as re organising my tea cup collection, making batch after batch of popcorn, and sitting down at the computer to look at websites devoted to dudes with beards eating cupcakes. OK so maybe that one wasn't such a waste of time, that website has brought a lot of joy into my life, but fairs fair and I'm just using these bearded men to avoid getting down to business.
I'm trying to write about the meeting of the families at our engagement high tea and it's as if everyone involved is hovering ghost like in the room as I type. I don't think it's possible to truly share or express the emotions of this event and that's not a bad thing. As public as I like to make my life some things are just private.
Luckily in my family there is a skill of using food to express what we can't say or write. Once I was really sick and my dad was teasing me while I was curled up in a miserable ball of lurgy on the couch. Half an hour later he brought me a beautiful hearty soup, and it said everything I needed to hear.
So let's talk about the food at Mary and Chris' (I get to be put first since it's my bloody blog!) engagement high tea.
Mum was churning out sandwiches when I arrived, all white bread with the crusts cut off and looking oh so country women's association. Daddy Paul was slicing up his Sri Lankan love cake and moaning about the fact that it was too dry (honestly I love that spicy cake so much I would have eaten it if you had to snap pieces off).
I had decided that it would be 'oh so easy' to just throw together some mini quiches for my contribution. As I began preparations it became painfully clear that this was not going to be the case. Chris had just arrived with his mum and her beautiful scones, sensing my rage he tried to hide on a couch. All present parental figures were discussing important matters such as scone/tiered cake presentation and their lack of attention only heightened my anxiety. Let's just say I'm not a very good wall flower. I vented by yelling at Chris to commence making his contribution (fairy bread) certain that if he didn't start right now the entire event was going to be a disaster and the house would probably implode and kill us all. Patiently he pointed out that there was no room on the kitchen bench, and I wondered about stabbing him in the eye with a fork. I was sure that if he truly loved me he would have gotten on his hands and knees and started making fairy bread on the floor.
This is when it becomes clear that a relationship can not consist of just two people.
My brother Theo has weathered many of my stormy moods and has an almost uncanny sense of what needs to be done to prevent a torrent of tears being unleashed on everyone. Quickly he jumped into the production line along with my dad's housemate Marilyn and suddenly many hands were making light work. A space was made for Chris and his mum to make the fairy bread and someone provided me with a glass of champagne. Finally I could breathe again.
Chris' sister Michelle arrived with an actual army of cupcakes and my aunts added Sicilian sweets and lemon tarts. As I looked around the room at everyone mingling and getting to know each other I realised that the table full of this delicious feast was a food representation of our families support of our relationship. Without all of these beautiful people in our lives the table would have been bare and I would have been hungry and probably butchered Chris and eaten his heart.
In short - Family rocks and without their love your relationship will starve.
I'm trying to write about the meeting of the families at our engagement high tea and it's as if everyone involved is hovering ghost like in the room as I type. I don't think it's possible to truly share or express the emotions of this event and that's not a bad thing. As public as I like to make my life some things are just private.
Luckily in my family there is a skill of using food to express what we can't say or write. Once I was really sick and my dad was teasing me while I was curled up in a miserable ball of lurgy on the couch. Half an hour later he brought me a beautiful hearty soup, and it said everything I needed to hear.
So let's talk about the food at Mary and Chris' (I get to be put first since it's my bloody blog!) engagement high tea.
Mum was churning out sandwiches when I arrived, all white bread with the crusts cut off and looking oh so country women's association. Daddy Paul was slicing up his Sri Lankan love cake and moaning about the fact that it was too dry (honestly I love that spicy cake so much I would have eaten it if you had to snap pieces off).
I had decided that it would be 'oh so easy' to just throw together some mini quiches for my contribution. As I began preparations it became painfully clear that this was not going to be the case. Chris had just arrived with his mum and her beautiful scones, sensing my rage he tried to hide on a couch. All present parental figures were discussing important matters such as scone/tiered cake presentation and their lack of attention only heightened my anxiety. Let's just say I'm not a very good wall flower. I vented by yelling at Chris to commence making his contribution (fairy bread) certain that if he didn't start right now the entire event was going to be a disaster and the house would probably implode and kill us all. Patiently he pointed out that there was no room on the kitchen bench, and I wondered about stabbing him in the eye with a fork. I was sure that if he truly loved me he would have gotten on his hands and knees and started making fairy bread on the floor.
This is when it becomes clear that a relationship can not consist of just two people.
My brother Theo has weathered many of my stormy moods and has an almost uncanny sense of what needs to be done to prevent a torrent of tears being unleashed on everyone. Quickly he jumped into the production line along with my dad's housemate Marilyn and suddenly many hands were making light work. A space was made for Chris and his mum to make the fairy bread and someone provided me with a glass of champagne. Finally I could breathe again.
Chris' sister Michelle arrived with an actual army of cupcakes and my aunts added Sicilian sweets and lemon tarts. As I looked around the room at everyone mingling and getting to know each other I realised that the table full of this delicious feast was a food representation of our families support of our relationship. Without all of these beautiful people in our lives the table would have been bare and I would have been hungry and probably butchered Chris and eaten his heart.
In short - Family rocks and without their love your relationship will starve.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The engagement party, round one
For our engagement Chris and I decided to have one party with friends and another with family. Having them together would have required almost as much organizational focus as the actual wedding, so we decided to split it and keep our sanity.
Round one was for our friends, and as I cycled around centennial park again, and again, and again (there are A LOT of one way streets in that park. And some very irate park rangers who don't like you to go the wrong way) I congratulated myself with how great the weather was, sure that the sunshine could only be attributed to my no backup plan plan (In the last year or two I have come up with the ultimate event planning system - never have a backup plan. Having a backup plan is admitting the possibility that things may go wrong, so if you don't acknowledge the possibility, how can it happen?). I was also sure that if I didn't gain a little more courage (due to a bike accident I am a bit of a slow cyclist) and finally overtake the rollerblading mum and her tricycling daughter I would probably die of shame before reaching the picnic. Luckily they pulled over and I was able to emerge victorious (I'm not sure they were aware we were racing).
Our chosen spot was Lachlan's Reserve and it was .......nice......... the problem was that Claire (my picnic set up crew) and I had just walked past another amazing spot near some pretty purple flowering trees and we couldn't picture ourselves picnicking elsewhere. 'It will be fine,' I reassured Claire, 'it's just around the corner and everybody will be lost anyway'. We settled down to picnic under a lovely shady tree. The phone rang. 'I'm at Lachlan reserve, where are you!?!’ It seems that everybody didn't get lost; instead they all found their way to where I had said the picnic would be. New rule - it's OK to not have a backup plan, but it might be a good idea not to move the location of the event without telling anybody.
People began arriving and with them came one of my favourite things, picnic food. Cheeses and tarts and cakes and fruit and dips and bread and brownies and meat and pastries and a million other different goodies were placed on the picnic rug. I had a brightly coloured metal tumbler full of wine in my hand and there was nowhere else in the whole world I would have rather been. Even if someone had rushed up and yelled 'Quick Mary we need you to come and be the new star in Neighbours as Dr Carl's long lost daughter!' I would have even regretfully declined. I say regretfully, because Neighbours is the best show ever and you should never disrespect it in my presence. Ever.
Much like neighbours we were all being good friends (I think it was easier for us because we don't try to kill or rob each other all the time. Is it bad that I'm turning this piece into a discussion on neighbours? Because I think it's lovely). Chris had brought a game called Jokari which involves two people hitting a little rubber ball as hard as they can (into the atmosphere, not at each other) to have it jerked back to them on a rubber string held down by a weight. It then bounces on the ground and the opponent hits it out again Men folk bonded over the challenge of getting a rubber ball made to bounce on concrete to bounce on soft grass (nothing says male bonding like a challenge), and the bonding got so intense that there was even what appeared to be a Harry High-shorts match.
After the games had finished we had an engagement photo shoot under the purple blossoming trees. The engagement photos mainly consisted of a bunch of us running and jumping up in the air together, or hiding our bodies in hedges and sticking our heads out. It was very post modern conceptual Dada and did I mention brilliant? Exhausted from so much modelling (and others exhausted just from watching us) we all lay by the pond or lake or whatever you would call it and drank our last beers as the bats poured out from the tree and into the dusk colored sky above.
We packed under darkness, re-gaffa taping the esky to the back of my bike (how else was I going to get an esky there?). Chris and I had been completely spoilt with gifts and as we tried to fit them all on Chris had a pot plants hanging from his handlebars and I had a bonsai in my handbag. We made it as far as the park gates before giving up and hailing a taxi.
When discussing the picnic later with a friend she remarked that it was perfect because it really represented what Chris and I are as a couple, two people whose favourite thing to do is gather those that they love, and share food and wine with them. Well maybe she didn't say it quite like that and maybe I romanticized the quote a little, but the message was there. We love each other, we love our friends and we love an excess of food and wine. And all of this combined means happily ever after.
Round one was for our friends, and as I cycled around centennial park again, and again, and again (there are A LOT of one way streets in that park. And some very irate park rangers who don't like you to go the wrong way) I congratulated myself with how great the weather was, sure that the sunshine could only be attributed to my no backup plan plan (In the last year or two I have come up with the ultimate event planning system - never have a backup plan. Having a backup plan is admitting the possibility that things may go wrong, so if you don't acknowledge the possibility, how can it happen?). I was also sure that if I didn't gain a little more courage (due to a bike accident I am a bit of a slow cyclist) and finally overtake the rollerblading mum and her tricycling daughter I would probably die of shame before reaching the picnic. Luckily they pulled over and I was able to emerge victorious (I'm not sure they were aware we were racing).
Our chosen spot was Lachlan's Reserve and it was .......nice......... the problem was that Claire (my picnic set up crew) and I had just walked past another amazing spot near some pretty purple flowering trees and we couldn't picture ourselves picnicking elsewhere. 'It will be fine,' I reassured Claire, 'it's just around the corner and everybody will be lost anyway'. We settled down to picnic under a lovely shady tree. The phone rang. 'I'm at Lachlan reserve, where are you!?!’ It seems that everybody didn't get lost; instead they all found their way to where I had said the picnic would be. New rule - it's OK to not have a backup plan, but it might be a good idea not to move the location of the event without telling anybody.
People began arriving and with them came one of my favourite things, picnic food. Cheeses and tarts and cakes and fruit and dips and bread and brownies and meat and pastries and a million other different goodies were placed on the picnic rug. I had a brightly coloured metal tumbler full of wine in my hand and there was nowhere else in the whole world I would have rather been. Even if someone had rushed up and yelled 'Quick Mary we need you to come and be the new star in Neighbours as Dr Carl's long lost daughter!' I would have even regretfully declined. I say regretfully, because Neighbours is the best show ever and you should never disrespect it in my presence. Ever.
Much like neighbours we were all being good friends (I think it was easier for us because we don't try to kill or rob each other all the time. Is it bad that I'm turning this piece into a discussion on neighbours? Because I think it's lovely). Chris had brought a game called Jokari which involves two people hitting a little rubber ball as hard as they can (into the atmosphere, not at each other) to have it jerked back to them on a rubber string held down by a weight. It then bounces on the ground and the opponent hits it out again Men folk bonded over the challenge of getting a rubber ball made to bounce on concrete to bounce on soft grass (nothing says male bonding like a challenge), and the bonding got so intense that there was even what appeared to be a Harry High-shorts match.
After the games had finished we had an engagement photo shoot under the purple blossoming trees. The engagement photos mainly consisted of a bunch of us running and jumping up in the air together, or hiding our bodies in hedges and sticking our heads out. It was very post modern conceptual Dada and did I mention brilliant? Exhausted from so much modelling (and others exhausted just from watching us) we all lay by the pond or lake or whatever you would call it and drank our last beers as the bats poured out from the tree and into the dusk colored sky above.
We packed under darkness, re-gaffa taping the esky to the back of my bike (how else was I going to get an esky there?). Chris and I had been completely spoilt with gifts and as we tried to fit them all on Chris had a pot plants hanging from his handlebars and I had a bonsai in my handbag. We made it as far as the park gates before giving up and hailing a taxi.
When discussing the picnic later with a friend she remarked that it was perfect because it really represented what Chris and I are as a couple, two people whose favourite thing to do is gather those that they love, and share food and wine with them. Well maybe she didn't say it quite like that and maybe I romanticized the quote a little, but the message was there. We love each other, we love our friends and we love an excess of food and wine. And all of this combined means happily ever after.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Marriage and what it means
So as previously mentioned in my first blog post my parents are married, but it's not your conventional state of wedlock. Dad claims that mum 'ambushed him' (his words exactly) into engagement by proposing to him on Valentines day - When there is a little known ye olde tradition that ladies may ask a gentlemen to marry them and if they are refused compensation must be paid in some form of glove (my guess is that washing up ones would be responded to with a swift kick to the offender's privates). Dad claims he was too cheap to buy gloves but instead committed to a life long relationship (let's not do the figures on that one or he may feel he made a mistake).
My dad is and was at the time openly gay, my mum, a blushing bride, wore a knitted Lunar Park jumper with white leggings and a mullet. Mum was nearly upstaged by a bride who hurtled up the 'aisle' (a church was definitely not involved) demanding to be married to my father instead. Apparently she was impersonating Mrs Havisham from Great Expectations, and when recently discussing this with mum she mistakenly said it was a 'Fabisham' impersonation. As it was a drag queen in a spectacular frock, I feel that her first description was accurate. They were married by the Reverend Mother Inferior from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (an order of gay male nuns) and the wedding guests were dressed in all manner of wild and wonderful outfits.
Obviously the ceremony was a tongue in cheek subversion of a traditional church ceremony, dad has said as one who enjoys 'epater les bourgeoisie' (ye olde French 19th Century poet's term for shocking the middle classes - my parents are so old fashioned) he felt the ceremony was a way to challenge people's views on gay men and how families are structured. Prior to the big event they did get officially joined at the registry office (a recent family tradition on my mum's side with her sister doing the same). This colourful beginning has meant that throughout my life once people have heard this story they sometimes assume that marriage is not something I would believe in. As demonstrated by my newly announced engagement, this is not the case.
When compared to many of my friends parents mum and dad are one of the few who are sans divorce. A few years ago they even celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, dad came up to my mum's house and her partner (father of my brother and in our family since I was 3 ) cooked a beautiful lunch for us all. They exchanged gifts (coincidentally buying each other the same gift without knowing - silver bracelets ) and then went on a belated honeymoon to Hong Kong together. I'm also not ruling out the idea that my dad would never get a divorce because he enjoys the shock value too much, I remember going to cafe with him when I was younger and a man coming up to up to say hello to dad.
'And who's this?' the man asked smiling at me
'Oh this is my daughter, me and the wife's kid' dad casually dropped, the dropping only equalled by the man's jaw.
The fact is that I feel that they got married for all the right reasons. They had already been part of each others lives for many years, and supported each other through highs and lows. They knew they had the same goal for the future (me!!) and that they wanted to commit to continued support for each other through the new relationship created by having a child. These values are ones that I hope Chris and I will instill in our marriage. Commitment, support, allowing your partner the freedom to be who they are, and eventually creating a beautiful family together. Mine and Chris' family probably won't contain quite so many partners ,mothers, and kids (I have a number of other beautiful brothers and sisters through dad) as my 'nuclear unit' currently contains , but if it does turn out that way then I will consider myself blessed that my marriage is everything I want it to be - truly happy.
My dad is and was at the time openly gay, my mum, a blushing bride, wore a knitted Lunar Park jumper with white leggings and a mullet. Mum was nearly upstaged by a bride who hurtled up the 'aisle' (a church was definitely not involved) demanding to be married to my father instead. Apparently she was impersonating Mrs Havisham from Great Expectations, and when recently discussing this with mum she mistakenly said it was a 'Fabisham' impersonation. As it was a drag queen in a spectacular frock, I feel that her first description was accurate. They were married by the Reverend Mother Inferior from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (an order of gay male nuns) and the wedding guests were dressed in all manner of wild and wonderful outfits.
Obviously the ceremony was a tongue in cheek subversion of a traditional church ceremony, dad has said as one who enjoys 'epater les bourgeoisie' (ye olde French 19th Century poet's term for shocking the middle classes - my parents are so old fashioned) he felt the ceremony was a way to challenge people's views on gay men and how families are structured. Prior to the big event they did get officially joined at the registry office (a recent family tradition on my mum's side with her sister doing the same). This colourful beginning has meant that throughout my life once people have heard this story they sometimes assume that marriage is not something I would believe in. As demonstrated by my newly announced engagement, this is not the case.
When compared to many of my friends parents mum and dad are one of the few who are sans divorce. A few years ago they even celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, dad came up to my mum's house and her partner (father of my brother and in our family since I was 3 ) cooked a beautiful lunch for us all. They exchanged gifts (coincidentally buying each other the same gift without knowing - silver bracelets ) and then went on a belated honeymoon to Hong Kong together. I'm also not ruling out the idea that my dad would never get a divorce because he enjoys the shock value too much, I remember going to cafe with him when I was younger and a man coming up to up to say hello to dad.
'And who's this?' the man asked smiling at me
'Oh this is my daughter, me and the wife's kid' dad casually dropped, the dropping only equalled by the man's jaw.
The fact is that I feel that they got married for all the right reasons. They had already been part of each others lives for many years, and supported each other through highs and lows. They knew they had the same goal for the future (me!!) and that they wanted to commit to continued support for each other through the new relationship created by having a child. These values are ones that I hope Chris and I will instill in our marriage. Commitment, support, allowing your partner the freedom to be who they are, and eventually creating a beautiful family together. Mine and Chris' family probably won't contain quite so many partners ,mothers, and kids (I have a number of other beautiful brothers and sisters through dad) as my 'nuclear unit' currently contains , but if it does turn out that way then I will consider myself blessed that my marriage is everything I want it to be - truly happy.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The engagement
Only a few years ago my parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary. Dad is gay, and my mum and her partner have been together for at least 22 years (they also have a son). As a living breathing result of this particular marriage I have often pondered the concept of wedded bliss and how it fits in with my particular ideals. As it turns out, it does.
On the morning of mine and Chris' trip away I vomited (please note dad I AM NOT PREGNANT). It was a mixture of excitement and nerves ( and two pieces of toast with Vegimite) all telling me that I wasn't going to be the calm and rational cucumber (what a visual! hilarious!) about getting engaged that I'd always thought I would be. The last time I vomited from nerves was the morning Chris and I left to travel the world for a year, so you can see this showed I was feeling a little overwhelmed.
We were traveling down to Bawley Point, to check it out for a possible location for the wedding and to make our engagement official on our return. I had vague ideas that this would involve some kind of a nice dinner together, possibly a ring and probably a proposal at some stage. It was also Valentines day, a fact I wasn't overly pleased about since this Hallmark holiday generally makes me spew in my mouth a little.
We stopped at Berry on our way down the coast and bought pies (Country pies - oh how I love you, February the 14th should be national pie day - then I'd celebrate!) and wandered around looking for something to take with us for dinner. The Berry butcher had won awards for their sausages, and had about 6 different types to choose from (all containing a pleasing mix of various animal parts). Looking at the delicious delicious sausages first, we then looked at each other. An engagement dinner of sausages? They say honesty is important in a marriage (I guess you could say it's important in any relationship but that won't suit my point) and honestly we both wanted those sausages. These, with some French cider and some peanut butter cookies made up our delicious feast.
We took about 10 minutes to choose a ring at the local antique store, much to the confusion of the sales lady. What can I say? We know what we like. Sausages, country pies, and an amethyst and gold ring. After organising the ring to be re-sized it was time to hit the road for another hour or so and check in at our cabin at Bawley Point, dumping our bags before heading off to explore the area. First stop was the local community hall to confirm it as a location for the wedding (lock it in), followed by a drive by local accommodation possibilities (nothing but the most thoroughly researched option will do for our guests), peruse the nearest supermarket (I love that even in tiny tiny all white towns the supermarket - which is about the size of my lounge room - still has fresh tabbouleh in the 'deli') and then to the beach for a quick swim.
Back at the cabin I was ecstatic to find a spa bath and immediately dedicated myself to a minimum hour long soak - with bubbles. At some stage I got thirsty and requested a drink which was delivered by the lovely Chris (I say lovely because he had correctly determined the request for 'drink' as 'cocktail') who then plonked himself down on the floor of the bathroom with a long neck of Coopers to discuss various wedding things like guests and music (and possibly what marriage meant to us)
About 20 minutes into the discussion I interjected 'But you know you still haven't asked me to marry you!'
Chris looked at me, and took a sip of Coopers. 'Will you marry me?'
I paused for effect. 'Well of course I will but we can't tell everyone you asked me in the bath, my auntie Sandra will have hysterics. You will have to ask me again tomorrow at the beach. Oh and plus it's still valentines day so you will definitely have to ask me tomorrow!'
The next day (after Chris proposed to me at the beach while we watched a giant sting ray and discussed Steve Irwin's tragic demise) it was time to drive back to Sydney and make the official calls. We drew a varied lot of responses -
'Oh dear. Really? Am I meant to congratulate you?' (My aunt is a staunch 1970's feminist with a history of unhappy relationships who sees marriage as an oppressive institution)
'Are you pregnant? What are his prospects? What frock will I wear?' ( My father is relishing his role already - I have mentioned to my other siblings that I deserve credit for 'taking a bullet' and being the first one to test drive dad in full blown wedding mode)
'Well I guess I'll have to wear a nice black frock so we match when we give you away' (my stepfather is very tolerant of my fathers whims)
'Did he ask you on a surfboard?' (my rural aunt has a definite view of Chris as a surfer bum.)
'No auntie Sandra he didn't '
'Well then where did he ask you?'
'At the beach'
'So he WAS on a surfboard!!!"
'Sure. Whatever. You know it's such a shame you live so far away...'
There was also an avalanche of lovely phone calls and Facebook bombardment of well wishers, all of whom I would like to thank for their lovely words of congratulations.
So I guess this brings us to the current moment. The wedding is a year away so I can only guess what will happen.... In the mean time, the plan is to blog my way through as a way to remember it all, to help digest what this all means, and to enjoy it all to the full!
On the morning of mine and Chris' trip away I vomited (please note dad I AM NOT PREGNANT). It was a mixture of excitement and nerves ( and two pieces of toast with Vegimite) all telling me that I wasn't going to be the calm and rational cucumber (what a visual! hilarious!) about getting engaged that I'd always thought I would be. The last time I vomited from nerves was the morning Chris and I left to travel the world for a year, so you can see this showed I was feeling a little overwhelmed.
We were traveling down to Bawley Point, to check it out for a possible location for the wedding and to make our engagement official on our return. I had vague ideas that this would involve some kind of a nice dinner together, possibly a ring and probably a proposal at some stage. It was also Valentines day, a fact I wasn't overly pleased about since this Hallmark holiday generally makes me spew in my mouth a little.
We stopped at Berry on our way down the coast and bought pies (Country pies - oh how I love you, February the 14th should be national pie day - then I'd celebrate!) and wandered around looking for something to take with us for dinner. The Berry butcher had won awards for their sausages, and had about 6 different types to choose from (all containing a pleasing mix of various animal parts). Looking at the delicious delicious sausages first, we then looked at each other. An engagement dinner of sausages? They say honesty is important in a marriage (I guess you could say it's important in any relationship but that won't suit my point) and honestly we both wanted those sausages. These, with some French cider and some peanut butter cookies made up our delicious feast.
We took about 10 minutes to choose a ring at the local antique store, much to the confusion of the sales lady. What can I say? We know what we like. Sausages, country pies, and an amethyst and gold ring. After organising the ring to be re-sized it was time to hit the road for another hour or so and check in at our cabin at Bawley Point, dumping our bags before heading off to explore the area. First stop was the local community hall to confirm it as a location for the wedding (lock it in), followed by a drive by local accommodation possibilities (nothing but the most thoroughly researched option will do for our guests), peruse the nearest supermarket (I love that even in tiny tiny all white towns the supermarket - which is about the size of my lounge room - still has fresh tabbouleh in the 'deli') and then to the beach for a quick swim.
Back at the cabin I was ecstatic to find a spa bath and immediately dedicated myself to a minimum hour long soak - with bubbles. At some stage I got thirsty and requested a drink which was delivered by the lovely Chris (I say lovely because he had correctly determined the request for 'drink' as 'cocktail') who then plonked himself down on the floor of the bathroom with a long neck of Coopers to discuss various wedding things like guests and music (and possibly what marriage meant to us)
About 20 minutes into the discussion I interjected 'But you know you still haven't asked me to marry you!'
Chris looked at me, and took a sip of Coopers. 'Will you marry me?'
I paused for effect. 'Well of course I will but we can't tell everyone you asked me in the bath, my auntie Sandra will have hysterics. You will have to ask me again tomorrow at the beach. Oh and plus it's still valentines day so you will definitely have to ask me tomorrow!'
The next day (after Chris proposed to me at the beach while we watched a giant sting ray and discussed Steve Irwin's tragic demise) it was time to drive back to Sydney and make the official calls. We drew a varied lot of responses -
'Oh dear. Really? Am I meant to congratulate you?' (My aunt is a staunch 1970's feminist with a history of unhappy relationships who sees marriage as an oppressive institution)
'Are you pregnant? What are his prospects? What frock will I wear?' ( My father is relishing his role already - I have mentioned to my other siblings that I deserve credit for 'taking a bullet' and being the first one to test drive dad in full blown wedding mode)
'Well I guess I'll have to wear a nice black frock so we match when we give you away' (my stepfather is very tolerant of my fathers whims)
'Did he ask you on a surfboard?' (my rural aunt has a definite view of Chris as a surfer bum.)
'No auntie Sandra he didn't '
'Well then where did he ask you?'
'At the beach'
'So he WAS on a surfboard!!!"
'Sure. Whatever. You know it's such a shame you live so far away...'
There was also an avalanche of lovely phone calls and Facebook bombardment of well wishers, all of whom I would like to thank for their lovely words of congratulations.
So I guess this brings us to the current moment. The wedding is a year away so I can only guess what will happen.... In the mean time, the plan is to blog my way through as a way to remember it all, to help digest what this all means, and to enjoy it all to the full!
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