ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Putting It to a Vote

As you may know, we have this honeymoon to Toronto coming up. We've both been scanning the guidebook and making mental notes about things we want to see, places to visit, etc.

Among the Toronto spots that Frommer's feels we might like to see is Doug Henning's house. Doug Henning, as in that groovy longhaired 1970s magician with the overbite.

This guy. Now you remember.

I think it would be great to make this one of our stops. It fits right in with my need to see slightly offbeat locations, there's a quasi-celebrity involved, and we don't have to make it a big thing. The house is currently occupied, but there is a plaque out front. I think that we just figure it into a larger walking tour—stop, take a photo, move on. Simple.

The Fiance thinks this is ludicrous and wants no part of it. (He's probably still smarting over the fact that he had to agree to spend a whole 15 minutes in the Hockey Hall of Fame.) He even dared me to put it to an Internet vote.

So Internet, I ask: Do we make a quick stop at the Doug Henning house, or do we just pass up this chance—a chance we could not have anywhere else on the planet?

I mean, it's not like I asked to see the Shields and Yarnell Memorial.

Forcing My Hand

Remember the craft show I was in last November, the one that basically jumpstarted my wee teeny business? Remember how I had fun, sold cards, and wanted to do it all over again? I've spent the months since telling anyone who asked, Oh sure I'll try for a spot this year. Of course.

I got the e-mail last week.  I have until July 15 to apply for a spot in this year's show. As in, Put up? Shut up?

Uh oh.

Because I really really want to do this again (assuming I get a spot, of course). I had a good time and learned a lot, and the audience was a good match for my designs. Plus, the show is two weeks later this year, which is two weeks closer to Christmas—and my Christmas cards sold better than anything else. I have last year's designs, plus a few new ones I've roughed out but not perfected yet. If I don't apply/don't get in, I risk selling very few cards—if any—this year.

But...the show is also six weeks after the wedding. All the work to build up my depleted stock (e.g., getting cards designed, printed and packaged as well as finding a professional print shop) would need to be done either during the wedding preparations or in the six weeks after. Assuming I had the energy and the funds.

I could do it, I really think I could. But, oh Lord.  The idea of jumping from one big project into another one?  It just makes me want to curl up on the couch.  I realized last night that I've been working on two big projects—cards and wedding—since last June. Last fall the wedding work was pushed aside for the cards; this year it's been the opposite. At this point, the idea of a break holds a lot more appeal than the thought of researching local print shops or ordering more soft-fold boxes.

And if I did take a break, just give myself some time to rejuvenate, think up some new designs, and focus on Christmas, that might do me a lot more good than proving to myself that I survived some self-imposed project regimen.  Although he is in the you-can-do-it camp, I'm sure the Fiance would appreciate the break as well.

It has been suggested that I apply and see what I can do—I might not get in, and if I do but can't make it, the women in charge would understand. But I couldn't. I was so gratified to get a spot last year, and I would hate to leave Amy and Cinnamon hanging if I cancelled. It just wouldn't be fair to apply with that context.

I have until July 15 to decide. Or change my mind.

Good News

So I met yesterday with the dressmaker. It was the first time I would get to see The Dress in the right fabric, with the alterations we made last time. I was nervous—like going-to-the-doctor nervous—because I knew that if I still hated it, I would need to seriously rethink some things.

I loved it. The color works well with my skin, and the fabric absolutely throws off light. Even the changes we've made to the original style are working. It made me feel pretty and elegant, like I was getting in touch with my inner 1930s socialite.

We did have one, uh, situation to resolve. The original dress had been made of a very stretchy fabric. The new dress is satin—not stretchy. So the sections that used to stretch to cover my top half now covered about half that. It was a revealing moment. But a solution is being worked out and I will see it next weekend.

Even better news: My maid of honor loves it. She's also my sister, and gorgeous, blessed with a style gene the rest of us in the family are missing. So her opinion carries a lot of weight. And I know she'd tell me if she hated it—oh, she would tell me.

But she doesn't. She highly approves, and I highly approve, and this means there will be no last-minute scramble to find a new dress. Thank God. And thanks to everyone for the lovely comments last week. They made me feel so much better. You guys are the best.

I Used to be Sane. Then I Got Engaged.

Specifically, the issue of The Dress is starting to take over my brain, and my self-esteem.

I went into this whole wedding thing knowing that I had a few long-standing body issues. I even decided early on to ignore the whole wedding dress industry and have my gown made, based on a dress that already looked good on me. I’d heard too many horror stories about stores that don’t even stock my size in the samples, I wasn't convinced that a standard dress was what I wanted or worth the money, and I hated the way "plus size" wedding dresses looked. So I chose an alternate route.

I think, despite the best efforts of my maid of honor and fiancé, I am now upgrading to full-fledged Body Issues.

They really kicked in after my second dress fitting.  Mind, we were just fitting the fabric pattern pieces on me, so it wasn't the same fabric or color that would be in the final dress.  It's like the schematic--not anywhere close to the final product, but it gives you an idea of where you're going.  We even took pictures, and I thought it looked good.

Then I got home, saw the pictures again, and realized I looked...square.  Shapeless and blocky.  I didn't even show anyone the pictures.  And ever since then I'm wondering if I picked the wrong kind of gown.

Please note: This has nothing to do with the dressmaker.  She is very talented, and is putting an awful lot of effort toward turning my vague instructions into a real, actual gown. This is all about me, second-guessing my dress choice, wondering if I should have just given in and tried a few things on in bridal salons, and feeling (not always, but sometimes) like Ms. Big Bride Who Everyone Can See is Huge, Can’t You?

Even the most well-meaning comments about how "Everyone can’t wait to see what the bride looks like"—I get nervous just remembering them. My photographer’s motto? "Always know where the bride is." Which is, naturally, his job and why we’re paying him. But I still try not to think about being in so many pictures.

Which is all somewhat ridiculous because A) I’m apparently supposed to want the attention and B) I am making an effort to eat better, exercise and feel good about myself, which is helping, and C) I shouldn’t be so freaked about how I will look on one day for 8 hours. I am more than that.

Oh, and D) He would love me if I showed up in T-shirt and shorts. Because God knows, he’s seen me look much worse.

I look forward to the wedding and being with everyone, but I also look forward to the end of September when I can have my brain back and don't have to stress about these things anymore.

(And my Lord, my sister is going to kick my butt when she reads this.  Sorry, Nicole. :)

Family Dinner

In honor of Father’s Day, I’d like to share one of my Dad’s favorite "Chicago Stories." The things that happen in the big city…

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. All our love.

********

This takes place some years ago, when my Dad and I were still sharing an apartment in downtown Chicago. His wish for Father’s Day that year was to be taken for a meal at Gene & Georgetti’s, a rather esteemed old-time chop house in Chicago. Because he’s a practical sort, Dad was happy to settle for lunch rather than dinner to spare my pocketbook.

101 Days to Go

And we finally scored some free stuff!

First: Last night--met with our baker to finalize the cake flavors. At the risk of spoiling the surprise...

• Top and middle layers: Chocolate cake; cassis mousse for filling (tastes almost like raspberry)
• Bottom layer: Vanilla cake; filling is lemon mousse studded with whole raspberries (in the event that the groom cannot make it, I will be marrying the baker based on this filling alone)
• Half sheet cake on the side: Vanilla cake; filling is two layers--pistachio mousse and pear mousse.

Plus a sweet table with a ridiculous number of various pastry wonders. Plus fresh fruit. If someone can't find dessert in all that, they are beyond our help. Also--the evil that is fondant (that icky funky smoooooth stuff you see covering some wedding cakes) will not be allowed to darken our celebration. Buttercream all the way, baby.

Free stuff! We had an evening appointment, at about the time they were cleaning up for the day. Would we like to take home some croissants that would otherwise go to waste? Heck yeah. Bagged four free croissants (some filled), a brioche, and a scone. Sweet!

Second: Invitations are nearly complete, thanks to the fabulous invitation crew that came over on Memorial Day weekend. We just need to print the map cards, add postage and addresses, and get it all in the mail.

Third: I found out this morning that two very longtime family friends--who I was sure would not make it--will be coming to the wedding. These people have known me since before I started grade school. I am gratified beyond words that they'll be there.

One Step Closer to World Domination

My greeting cards?  Are now in a store!

Buy them live and in person at the Blackkoffee Internet Cafe, 6560 N. Sheridan Road in Chicago.  Stop in, have some coffee, and give Aimee and Brad a hello.

(Also, there are cards for sale.  Did I mention that?)

Sweet Tea

There's still a smudge of red clay on my left tennis shoe, and I'm hoping it stays there for a while.

The South can get you like that. You show up, spend a few years there, and move away, then come back and realize how much you missed the place. I didn't get to my alma mater this time—only Savannah—but it was close enough. It was good to be back in a place where people don't ask, "UGA? Is that in Atlanta?" because they already know it's in Athens. Doesn't everyone know that? The cars have Georgia bulldog stickers, iced tea comes in two varieties, and when you mention the slaw dogs at the Varsity, people grin.

It was all so wonderfully familiar.

The rest of the trip went well, too. Charlotte, Charleston, Savannah, and back. Four days with mom and sister, plus a side visit to see my dad and stepmom. There were slightly more...intense moments, too. You can't stick relatives together in the confined social space of a vacation and not expect some stress. It's all physics—eventually that pressure has to go somewhere.

My dad was the happiest I've seen him in years. He's been through a tough stretch the past several years and maybe, just maybe, things are starting to look up. He was more like his old self than he had been in a long, long time.

Except for her standard wedding fussing (and just standard fussing in general), my mom was good, too.  Physically, though, she's having a hard time. I think the stress of losing he husband, plus her untreated diabetes, are taking their toll. Getting older is not for sissies.  My sister and I have seen this coming, but the idea of how we will cope with her decline hasn't gotten any easier.

Still, a good break from the city (my first since Thanksgiving). Absolute fun: My sister picked up a book of Savannah ghost stories (complete with map), so we drove around the city looking for haunted houses while I read their stories out loud from the back seat. I highly recommend it. Also nice: The water taxi in Savannah; playing with my sister's dogs; and discovering that both she and I like bhangra music.

And when I got home Sunday night the Fiancé was waiting for me. He even ran out and picked up burritos for dinner. Sweet tea or no, I sure did miss him.

The Rev Says This Is so 2004

But I don't care.

New Flickr account.