San Diego Day 2: The Wedding Party

The day of the wedding dawned with less cloud cover than the day before, and it grew to be a lovely late September Saturday in San Diego, perfect for a matrimonial celebration. Dear Husband spent the morning with my family exploring Balboa Park. I spent the morning in the bridal suite yakking, blogging, cross-stitching, and eventually getting my make-up done. Then I went back to my room to get dressed. The groom's side wore navy or marine blue, and the bride's side wore wine or maroon. 

The afternoon was for photographs. Here are some unofficial ones--I can't wait to see what the photographers captured, especially with the stunning background of the city behind us!

Then it was time for the sunset ceremony on the balcony overlooking the bay, officiated by one of the bride's friends. They had asked me to choose a reading, and they wanted it to be a surprise. I knew that the usual scriptures and standard wedding passages about young love weren't right, so I looked half-heartedly--until one night, scrolling through Facebook when I should have been lying down to fall asleep, I stumbled upon a poem by Sierra DeMulder that said everything I wanted to convey about growing old together in beautiful verse. I purchased a copy of the collection, Ephemera, to read before gifting it to the happy couple.

NEW VOWS

When my best friend got married,
he walked down the aisle to a song
about death. Isn’t that what marriage is
all about? he laughed. A promise
to be together until one of you dies?
I regret my wedding vows, too focused
on the benign—our boundless laughter,
how I cherish just waking up together.
I should have said, I take thee and all
the treachery that aliveness guarantees.
I should have said, I will help bury
your elders. I take your hand and your heart
murmur; the cancerous growth above
your father’s ear. I take your family
history of alcoholism and give you back
a possible covenant of dementia, miscarriage,
high blood pressure. In sickness and in
car accidents. In sickness and in the mundane.
Shared calendars and anniversaries spent
arguing about our budget. You told me once
Great Danes have a short life expectancy,
only 6-10 years if you’re lucky, and I cried:
who would sign up to love something
so impermanent? O, beloved, we have
been so happy lately, it’s making us nervous.
And isn’t that what marriage is all about:
a love so darling, so hallowed and exposed,
we both volunteer to be its keeper—when
the joy runs dry, when the body fails—
not because but in glorious spite of
the unpalatable, impossible fact that
someday one of us will wake up first
only to find ourselves alone.

Then I told them that I hoped that inevitable day would be a long time in the future and that the reason it hurts is because the intervening decades are so full of joy, of weirdness, and of love. I got a lot of positive feedback after the ceremony, and I wish I could start a movement to make DeMulder the next Rumi. Happily, several guests have told me they have or will buy the book, which tells what I assume is a quasi-autobiographical story about starting an ending relationships, queerness, and (in)fertility.

The happy couple kissed, jumped the broom, and then we partied!

Good food and drinks, fun tunes, and lots of dancing.

The tables were beautifully decorated with (fake) candles, mirrors, and fresh flower centerpieces. The flowers were mostly roses with some hydrangea and baby's breath. The cake topper says "mutual weirdness forever." The funny thing about that is that I had teased DH when we arrived to San Diego, thanking him for coming "to see my family get bigger," and then we debated whether it could get weirder after he joined. Apparently it can! ;-) I'm so pleased to have gained such an amazing sister, and that my brother has found the love of his life.

San Diego Day 1: Do you want to be the pretty or strong today?

Instead of an August lake trip, this year Dear Husband and I flew to San Diego, CA, to celebrate my youngest brother's wedding and have a week of vacation. I wanted to do a whale-watching boat ride, but it was the wrong time of year, so on our first full day, I booked us a morning of sea kayaking at La Jolla to look at the birds and sea lions. My Awesome Parents (MAP) came with us. Photos courtesy of my new SIL lending me a waterproof sleeve for my phone.

When we were ready to get into our kayaks, the guides advised that "the prettier" person should sit up front and "the stronger" person in the back, so I asked DH which one he wanted to be that day. Unfortunately, he quickly got quite seasick, and neither of us had thought to pack Dramamine. My father offered to go back to shore with him, as his bum shoulder didn't really tolerate the paddling. He and I switched kayaks without capsizing, much to the guide's surprise, and my mother and I continued on. 

We learned about spotted leopard sharks, the 4 different marine environments, and the 7 La Jolla caves. Sunny Jim's is the cave that was dug from the surface and is now a tourist attraction. Our guides took us into Clam Cave, which had deep green water and purple rock marking the high-tide line on the walls.

Then it was back to the hotel for warm showers and a quick lunch before the wedding rehearsal. After another rest, it was time to head to the Old Town Tequila Factory for amazing views, excellent margheritas, and meeting (up with) friends and family. By way of explanation, the bride's friend from Annapolis brought the fantasy football belt she had won last season, which she is showing off here.

We ended the day with my New Jersey aunt and uncle at the St. Louis Cardinals vs San Diego Padres baseball game. The Padres had won the previous 7 games, so Petco Park was sold out. It was a fun atmosphere, especially since the game was close, and the Padres pulled off the win!

One of these years I will remember to put my chin down for selfies.

TSPGH: At home in the Heinz History Center

Dear Husband and I have had a wonderful summer, although we each lost out on a week of vacation, I because I because of forgetting to block off my clinic schedule, he because of jury summonses (yes, plural). So we took mini-staycations. One day in June, we visited a little slice of Bavaria (click for my blog post), and then we went home and vacuumed/washed DH's car. One day in August, we visited the Senator John Heinz History Center (click for their official website), named for the US Representative and Senator who died in 1991 in a plane/helicopter crash over an elementary school. I do not remember this, but it must have been a big deal at the time.

DH and I had each visited the Heinz once or twice with out-of-town guests or for specific events but never together. specifically to look at the exhibits. So I decided to take advantage of the "three for free" offer that made the History Center, the Andy Warhol Museum, and the Children's Museum free for the month of August in celebration of their being named in the top 5 for their categories in a USA Today poll. (Pittsburgh was the only city to have such a good showing.)

First up, lunch at  Eleven, the classy joint next to the Heinz where we celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary (the steel anniversary in the steel city). Just kidding--Open Table let me book a table for two at an eatery of the same name in Dublin, Ireland! The one in the Strip District isn't open for lunch. Thankfully I realized my mistake the week before from the reminder email and pivoted to Kaya, a Caribbean fusion restaurant. Delish.

Then it was on to the museum, where we joined the masses--apparently more than 60,000 people visited during the month of August this year! DH decided he wanted to see the set and props from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, so we explored almost the whole 4th floor over the course of the afternoon.

The true museum to Mister Rogers' Neighborhood is in the Fred Rogers Institute at Saint Vincent College in nearby Latrobe, PA, where he grew up. I believe the set pieces at the Heinz used to be at WQED Studios in the Oakland neighborhood where the show was filmed before being moved to this section of the Heinz, which is like a free-for-all to showcase the variety of their collections. For instance, the fashion case is currently displaying some of Fred Rogers's clothing, like a bathroom, this one-of-a-kind stole, and of course cardigans.

There were lots and lots of other collections represented, mostly with a grouping of items and short labels but not the whole narrative explanation or fancy staging you would get in a dedicated exhibit. Below are a shot of the "healthcare" group with a scale, a nurse's uniform, and some medical paraphernalia. On the right is the "public safety" group showing a policeman's uniform and a submachine gun from the prohibition days.

The Heinz also collects the history of the region's various social and cultural groups. Above are a Czech costume, a gilded painting of St. Wenceslas, and marionettes. Below are furnishings from a now decommissioned synagogue.

There's also a large room on the 4th floor demonstrating yet more of their collections, such as how they store paintings, furniture, big objects like cars, and lots and lots of ceramics and glassware.

Of course, it wouldn't be the Heinz History Center without an exhibit about Henry J. Heinz (1844-1919) and his famous 57 varieties of pickles and other condiments. There's a historical section complete with life-sized diorama depicting how he started selling fresh vegetables as a child, a section on the company's influence in other countries, several of their advertising campaigns (such as the little green pickle pins), and a big wall with sample jars and labels from the earliest decades to the recent past that was my favorite part.

After a short break for a snack back at the car, we tackled the exhibit on glass. From some of the descriptions, I guessed this might have been put together in the 1990s. Regardless, it was well done, explaining the different ways that glass is made (did you know panes of glass used to start out as large blown tubes that were then cut open into rectangles??), the vast variety of ways glass is used for high and low technology, and of course many kinds of decorative glass art.

Cheers from the streetcar in the lobby!

My Wife: A Photo Essay

This is a guest post by Dear Husband, in honor of our 18th wedding anniversary, of some of his favorite pictures and facial expressions. 

Baaaa-by!

(Not ours, a colleague's.)

Ready to eat a dinner of leftovers from the Hayhurst family picnic

while spending the night at a tiny cabin.

Pre-s'mores grin.

(What could she be so happy about?)

Mmmm, hot tea with breakfast at the diner.

Napping in the car on the way home after church; note the partially open mouth.

Coda: DH asked to snap a picture of me enjoying dessert after our anniversary dinner, but then he didn't tell me he had taken the photo, so I held the pose until I finally opened my eyes and laughed because he was still watching me with his phone camera up.

Everything's a metaphor, notes from the Love Shack

While crashing through the underbrush that had overgrown what we finally determined wasn't actually the "nature trail" (there was too much nature), Dear Husband regaled me with a metaphorical reading of our predicament as it related to our marriage (setting out with good intentions, unexpected obstacles, etc.). Our path in life has been no better signposted, as we work together to try to figure out the best way forward. 

Later we made s'mores, and I reflected upon how making and tending a fire is a lot like a long-term relationship with its ebbs and flows--whoops, wrong metaphor. At any rate, it takes a great deal of effort and some resourcefulness early on to get damp wood to light. Eventually you notice healthy flames licking across the logs, but after awhile, the fire settles down again and has to be coaxed into flame again.

We humans sometimes do ridiculous things, like build a campfire in the sweltering August heat, or buy a big expensive white dress to wear for one day in your life. In both cases, we do them to say we've done that thing, and/or because they carry other meanings (nostalgia, tradition, comfort, conformity, ...).

DH and I rented a tiny cabin at a wooded campsite for one night to celebrate with one set of rituals the 18th anniversary of another. This one was decidedly smokier but no less satisfying for having been spent at a trailer with the tiniest possible bathroom. 

We ate leftovers from the family picnic, took that ill-fated "hike," and tended a fire for several hours.

Even when I spread out the coals at the end of the night, in preparation for dousing them before bed, it was surprising how much heat they gave off.

Okay, if not the smallest bathroom, than the worst designed. You had stand between the wall and the toilet to close the door. It should have had a sliding door, or an accordion-folding door, or a door that opened into the main room instead of into the bathroom. As you can see, we survived. But it kinda puts a cramp in your glamping style if you get wedged in the shower. I'm just saying.