Why Only Gay Couples Should Be Featured in the "Vows" section of the New York Times

Also, older couples.

Can someone help me with this? 

I'm profoundly irritated by the wedding section--"Vows"--of the New York Times.  Every. Single. Sunday.  

I read Philip Galanes's always-enjoyable column, and then  I think, oh, no, the next pages are all about WEDDINGS.  I know what to expect: acres of print devoted to heterosexual college graduates who've tied the knot in event spaces, churches, and gardens. Chatty anecdotes about how they met.

Don't care.  Beyond don't care--I'm exasperated and bored.  Doing the expected thing--is it that hard?  Many of these untried relationships will end in divorce--why pretend any differently? But The Times seems to--the writers play along, recounting it all without a hint of tongue-in-cheek (or are they chortling cynically in the back room?).

The gay couples, on the other hand, have struggled against discrimination, and the older couples know that life can dish up failure but forge ahead anyway in the risky business of getting married.  Reading their stories bucks me up.  Their accomplishments have something to teach us.

Here's a blog post I wrote in June 2012.  Still holds. 



WEDDINGS TO READ ABOUT
June 17, 2012

Today's New York Times has six pages of wedding announcements, June brides and all that.  Most couples are heterosexual and in their 20's or early 30's.  Their faces look unlined and confident.   I think, "yeah, yeah, and good luck to you.  Let's talk in 30 years and see what's happened." 

What interests me--and the only announcements I actually read--are couples who are a) gay and/or  b) in their fifties or beyond,  people who've had some trials and tribulations and are still willing to step off a cliff and hope for the best.  Getting married is easy when you're 25, straight, and doing the expected thing. (Or 27, in my case.)   When you're over 50 and a little worse for the wear, or when presidential candidates are debating your right to marry--that's the story I want to read.

Today's featured couple,  Nancy Coffey and Timothy Nagler, ages 66 and 65 , would seem fall into my sphere of interest, except that she's clearly had lots of cosmetic surgery, so much so that I thought she was 35, and he's lost 50 pounds to please her.  (She said when she met him "he looked like he was pregnant, literally, and he was wearing a pink linen shirt.  He was a sight to behold."  Oh, Nancy!)  So good luck to them, but I hope they can accept the physical realities of being in their sixties.

No, give me come-back weddings; weddings where the bride and groom have imperfect bodies but big, glowing smiles; weddings where the perfectly toned body of the bride isn't draped in Valentino.  And definitely weddings where the Times has to say which bride or which groom in the photo.  Way to go!

Arranging Wedding Flowers

Yesterday some readers asked if I missed my friend and next door neighbor Laura's wedding on Sunday.

Yes, I did.   I felt very sick when I woke up Sunday morning.  My voice was a croak, and nobody would have wanted me there.  So I missed it, although I was lying on the bed with a window open when the ceremony started, and I propped myself up on one elbow and could see down into Laura's courtyard windows when her two daughters walked her to the living room. I heard bits of the ceremony, including a lot of laughter.

The day before, her daughters, Leah and Annika, arranged the wedding flowers in our kitchen, so I  got to see that, too.

They showed up at 8:20 on Saturday morning with three big boxes of flowers that they got up at the crack of dawn to buy at the Oakland Flower Mart, $400 worth:

There were a lot more flowers than this looks like:  spider mums, hydrangeas, and a whole lot else.  Annika was the project leader, and Leah and her friend Corinne (who now works at PBS headquarters in Washington, DC, and writes for the "The News Hour," sees Gwen Ifill!) were production assistants.

Here they are in action:

 Corinne (foreground) and Leah stripping leaves off stems

Annika putting the finishing touches on the first bouquet

Most of the flowers were white

 Line-up of finished bouquets

Small bouquets for centerpieces

Annika at work on the last two arrangements

Putting on the finishing touches

All this took nearly five hours.  Then they were off for manicures.  Later, they returned to carry the flowers downstairs to the cool of our basement  and clean up the kitchen.

All very fun.  I did come into the kitchen at one point and tell them that if they ever found a house they liked that had laminate kitchen countertops, THEY SHOULD BUY IT ANYWAY.

Everything's Kind of a Mess, Etc.

October, already!  Unbelievable.

The bathroom remodel project is proceeding and has pretty much claimed the house and about 75% of my sanity and focus.  Here's what it looks like now:

A tidy shell

In the foreground, below, the tile possibilities:

 

From front to back:  floor, shower (subway tile; same color as vanity will be painted);  counter samples on top of that; back splash samples leaning against the tub

I'm going to ask, even if my sister is cringing because she doesn't want me to get talked out of our (tentative) choice.  Which do you like best?

Here's Sample A, warm and rustic:

Sample B:  Cool squares

Sample C:  Cool  and sophisticated(?) rectangles

In the course of demolishing the bathroom, the contractor came across this:

Frolicking dogs, anyone?

He thinks it dates from the 1930's and the first family who owned this house.  The second family, who sold the house to us, put up bordello-red flocked wallpaper in this bathroom, which we got rid of ASAP. We put up frolicking fish:

Next:  no wallpaper at all.

* * * * *

If all that isn't enough chaos and decision-making, this morning I did this:

My friend and next door neighbor, Laura, is getting married in a couple of weeks, and after hearing from her daughter Leah about the glammy outfit she bought in NYC to wear to this event, I thought maybe I could see if I could figure out something a little more daring that what I was planning to wear.  Also, my sister and I watched part of the documentary on fashion photographer Bill Cunningham yesterday while we recovered from tile shopping, and Bill got me behind the concept of stylish vintage.

So, on the bed,  are samples of clothes that span decades: left to right. a pleated red silk skirt I wore to a wedding in 1985-the waist wouldn't zip by at least two inches, very demoralizing.  In the center in a plastic bag, a dress I wore to a wedding. in 2011.  To the right of that,  a dress bought for a wedding in 2012 and too warm for this one.  On the far right, the dress I wore to my sister's wedding in 1982 (not a prayer).

See the open jewelry box on the upper left?  Fiddling around that stuff resulted in this:

I'm stuck! We can't get the clasp open.  I'm going to have to run down to the jewelers to see if they can liberate me. I'm definitely not wearing these to the wedding, unless the jeweler can't help me out.

* * * * *

On to more chaos. Here's my studio at the moment:

Even though I swore I'd never do another quilt with triangles, this is what I'm playing around with:

I have no idea what I'm doing, although I did find myself trying this:

Who knows.

* * * * *

On other fronts:  The Food Pantry has had a change in leadership--a new manager and a new director.  Lots of changes, including my role checking in clients in the front room.  Unsettling to all of us long-time volunteers, but I'm talking myself out of being an Old Fartette.  I'm trying to embrace the changes, or at least do my best at observing and cooperating.

Before the Pantry opened on Monday, I made numerous trips to the green bin with spoiled vegetables, each time walking past waiting clients.  On my fourth trip, a large African American man who was holding court, called out, "That white lady is working hard!"


"Yes, I am!" I said.  Didn't mention the effort of dealing with change.  

* * * * *

On a more serious note:  Mr. Adorable has been hospitalized!  Some of you may have seen this on Facebook.

He has asthma and developed pneumonia, which resulted in wheezing and shortness of breath that even a nebulizer couldn't reverse.  The doctor ordered him to the ER, and he's spent the past three days in a "palatial room," (per his Auntie Claudia), at the Monterey Community Hospital in Pacific Grove.  He's better and more than a little restless:

 Killing time in the hospital gift shop until he can be sprung.  Cute even in hospital wear.



High Desert Wedding: Part 2

When the guests gathered at 4 pm for Francis and Libby's wedding, everything was set up and ready to go, with plenty of parking along the road:

One of the perks of rural living: plenty of parking

 The long tables were set up with tablecloths and burlap runners, with centerpieces of flower bouquet and pots of succulents:

 

 

 

 

Bales of hay covered with vintage tablecloths served as benches:

 

 

 

Iced beer in an old bathtub, plus two kinds of locally-brewed craft beer on tap:

 

 

Four quilts that Debbie made since January, all  "Around the World" pattern, were tossed over a chain-link fence for color and camouflage:

 

 



 (Pause: Four quilts made while you're madly helping to plan a wedding and busy being employed?)

 

 

This quilt goes to Libby and Francis. (I lent my Bernina for Debbie to use for machine-quilting, my contribution to this gargantuan effort.)

 

Silverware ready for the buffet dinner:

 

 

 

 Around 4:30, the crowd of more than 100 guests migrated over to the ceremony area.

 

 First down the aisle: two of Libby's cousins with the couple's dogs:

 

 

Two more cousins, with sunflower bouquets:

 

 

Short boots with dresses was the order of the day

 

 

 

Libby's sister, Annie, as maid of honor:

She also carried a cell phone for the bride

 

And then Debbie escorted her daughter down the aisle. 

 

 

 

The officiant was a judge who's a family friend:

 

Libby using her cell phone to read her vows:

 

 

 

Francis looking very happy walking up the aisle:

 

 

 

Wedding party group shot, minus two bridesmaids (sorry!):

 

 

One of the best-dressed guests, I thought:

 

 

 

Debbie and me, beers in hand--could have been 1970...

...except we're both blonder than we were then.

 

 

 

One of the most moving parts was Debbie giving a heartfelt toast, thanking her "village"  not only for the help they'd given preparing for the wedding (including helping to paint her house and bringing food to the wedding), but also for support during a difficult divorce, especially from her sister Katie (right), their parents, and Debbie's former babysitting co-op from Mt. Washington.   

Here's Debbie giving her toast, with younger daughter, Annie, standing by.

 

How many MOBs wear short red lace dresses with boots?

 

And Francis and Annie listening to Debbie's toast:

 

 



 

Dinner was locally- and organically-raised.   Debbie bought the pig months ago and  went to watch it be butchered.  Libby chose the recipes for baked beans, salads, and mac 'n cheese, and friends prepared them and brought the food. 

 

After dinner, the band, LA Hootenanny, took over,  the sun slipped behind the hills, and the lights came on.

 

Dessert was a wedding cake baked by Annie, plus a dozen home-made pies made by Debbie's friend Dianne, one of which Jerry got to bring home and eat three times a day:

 



 

Note the tiny pastry hearts on the crust.

 

 

We left for home the next morning, after a quick trip to Debbie's to pick up the pie and the sewing machine! 

 

Still shaking my head over where 44 years have gone and how someone I met when I was 20 has a married daughter.