My Big Fat Gay Wedding, part 2: The Little Things

As Martha Stewart once told me, through a television screen, a wedding needed to have a theme to unify elements and make the whole event cohesive.  Joseph agreed with her.  So did I, but I was too filled with ideas of what the day should look like that I couldn't pick a theme.  Joseph bought me a scrap book to mock up different wedding looks, which I did.

 At various times, I wanted to play up different things.  Once I thought I would pay homage to October with a white pumpkin wedding theme.  When I knew we were looking for a cabin, I thought a woodland theme with lots of pine cones and old camping lanterns would be nice.  And of course, I had various ideas about those things I loved like mermaids and butterflies.  

Butterflies and Pine Cones, which Hope, Joseph's Sister sent to us for our special day.

To make matters worse, Joseph thought we should use our Wizards.  To clarify, "Our Wizards" refers to these little funny wizards I drew to represent us and the products that came from our farm life on Vashon Island.  We called our farm "Rustic Charms Farm," and these wizards brought the charm to the farm.  I told Joseph the wizards were not allowed at the wedding, but maybe the save the date cards could feature them.  Well, the save the date cards made me a believer, and I couldn't refuse Joseph's one wish for the wedding theme, so we embraced those silly little guys fully.  

In the end, we kind of threw out the idea of one theme and used all of them.  The Theme was Frank and Joseph, and it thrilled me how well all those separate elements went together when we forgot what looked good in magazines and chose the things we loved.  

These are the little things that helped to make our day special:

Joseph found a website that printed personal mugs and set me to work sketching designs for favors.

As it turns out, white pumpkins, pine cones, butterflies, and lanterns look nice together.  At least I thought so.  

One of Joseph's hand made crocheted rugs represented the home we had already made together as we stood at the altar.  The altar was a simple deck table with a vase to receive roses.  

The wedding attendants (whom we called OWL's, which stood for Outstanding Wedding Ladies) each carried a couple of pink roses to the vase on the altar.  When they had all made it, the vase held 12 pink roses.  Joseph and I carried the thirteenth rose up to represent our thirteen years together.  This rose was the only red rose.  

Joseph had me sketch up more drawings and write a story so that the kids could have personalized coloring books he had printed up especially for our big day.  Of course it featured our Wizards.  Joseph made this book available to the public, click on the picture for details. 

The favors looked good on the entry table.  We also had our wizards on a printed menu to tell people about the turkey dinner they would be eating and the cheesecakes to follow.  The guest book was a photo book we had made with pictures of all our guests so they could sign in year book style.  

The wedding menu

Joseph and I wanted to give our guests tastes of our favorite things.  We stuffed the wizard mugs with our favorite Community Coffee from Louisiana.  And instead of a wedding cake, we had four flavors of Cheesecake Factory cheesecakes.  Yum! 

Not only were the cheesecakes beautiful to look at, they were much easier to take up to the mountains than a wedding cake.  They traveled frozen, then thawed in the refrigerators over the two nights before the wedding.  

Of course my wedding needed blue butterflies and a big wizard star!  Katie and I had sore shoulders taping all of this up, but we loved it.  

Feather butterflies everywhere

everywhere!

My Big Fat Gay Wedding part 1: Location, location, location

Having gone through the process of having a wedding of my very own, I now know, before almost anything else, the one thing you should know is where you are getting married.  The location determined many, many things about the wedding.  Almost everything that we had brought to this place had to be adjusted to accommodate the venue. 

A raven overlooks an impressive vista.

                Joseph and I knew that after thirteen years together, we didn't want a traditional wedding or a traditional location.  We wanted our wedding to take place in  natural scenic beauty.  We enjoy the splendor of western Washington.  And, since we had to be married in our own state, it made sense to us that we made our wedding into a destination treat for those members of our friends and family who were traveling to us.  So instead of a church or a community hall, we wanted to offer our guests a place to stay. 

Mt Daniel in the distance

                With this in mind, Joseph set off in an internet search for a cabin that could accommodate many people and a large gathering.  We found a likely place, scheduled a viewing, and then sort of forgot about it.  We went to visit Joseph’s parents one weekend.  They offered us their house and back yard for our upcoming nuptials.  Well, this would be a perfect solution.  We would have the natural beauty that surrounded their house with only a few tents and space heaters to rent.  We said we would talk about it, and fell to deciding this would be perfect.  But we remembered we had the cabin rental to go and view the following Saturday.  Having nothing better to do, we thought a drive up to Snoqualmie would be fun, so we kept the appointment. 

This is the place!

                And that’s all it took.  This cabin, overlooking Lake Kachess, had to be our wedding site.  After one look, there was no going to a backyard wedding.  This was the place.  

Lake Kachess below

The fire pit

A deck with a view

Autumn Beauty

Best back drop for our vows we could find

Post Wedding Blues

                My wedding was a beautiful weekend in the mountains surrounded by very good friends and family.  It was a small wedding, under forty people, in a big cabin full of love.  My wedding day was fair and bright and painted gold by the autumn sunshine. 

Golden Autumn Splendor

                Joseph and I were trying hard to keep the ceremony short and simple and devoid of emotion.  I wrote the words, Joseph proof read and came up with some points to look over, and then we rewrote the vows and called it good.  Short, simple, a little sweet.  But when it came time to say it, to speak the little words we wrote, I couldn't speak above a squeak.  I tried to harness my voice, but I just couldn't.  So much for getting in, saying I do, and getting out.  We both cried like babies. 

                We had both been looking forward to the Monday after the Sunday ceremony when we would be back in our house with our dogs and our television and our normal life again.  I knew that Monday going home that I was going to feel a little sad.  I knew this was normal, but I didn't know how sad it was about to get. 

                We came home and were greeted by two happy dogs who had stayed home with the dog sitter for the big weekend.  They both seemed so content despite one having a limping leg from being too gung ho with her walks, and the older one having a little trouble with bathroom times.  (To my lovely landlady, Hillary, please note the dogs were never allowed on carpets other than our throw rugs, and the messes that had happened were all very well contained and cleaned easily.)  Dinky, the incontinent dog, seemed fine and happy otherwise. 

Good Old Dinky

                Then Friday came and Dinky couldn't stand up by himself.  We thought it might be some joint pain we had noticed with the cold weather, so we used a towel for a sling and helped him up when he needed to go out.  Saturday, we found him very sick and in so much pain he tried to bite us when we touched his hind legs and lower abdomen, which were all starting to swell.  We began looking for veterinarians who would come to the house, because I refused to put Dinky through a vet visit in his current state.  Those visits were stressful enough for him in good health.  We found a veterinarian who was able to come to us on Monday morning at the earliest.  Sunday we kept him as comfortable as we possibly could.  He refused to mess himself, but trips outside were agonizing for him.  I was so proud of Joseph, he stayed strong. 

                Then the Vet came in with Monday’s gray, cold morning.  She was kind with a small, sweet voice.  She had big, sympathetic eyes and listened to our plight with interest and understanding.  After a brief assessment, she told us that we had a difficult choice to make.  Would we do everything for him to keep him alive despite his pain, agony, and loss of quality of life?  Or would we allow him to pass with what comfort she could provide?  The choice was easy.  Having grown up on the grandparent’s farm, where the animals lay their life down for our hunger, we all knew the responsibility we had towards these animals.  Death must come for us all: dogs, chickens, humans, horses.  But for these animals who shared their life with us, we had a responsibility to make their passing as easy and painless for them as possible.  Prolonging Dinky’s life meant prolonging his suffering for my own selfish need to keep him near me longer.  Joseph agreed wholeheartedly, and the Vet did, too.  Dinky was made very comfortable, and passed away peacefully in our arms.

A surprise!

                Joseph surprised me with Dinky when we had officially moved into the same house together.  He was a skittish ball of black fur and big eyes.  We had him before we had celebrated our first anniversary.  He was a part of our lives from the very beginning.  Joseph and I haven’t known life together without Dinky in it.  And the old guy had made it through our wedding weekend without giving away how very sick he was becoming.  He greeted us back home with a wag of his tale, always politely waiting for us to come to pet him.  My Dinky, the Wolf of Tacoma, has passed away and my home just doesn't feel the same. 

Dinky, the Wolf of Tacoma

                I’m sorry for such a sad blog.  I promise to write more about the little wedding details that made our big day so fantastic.  But for now, I wanted to express my loss.  Life moves on, whether we will or not.  

Green Tomato Pickles

The days seem to slide off, one by one, in a rapid sequence like a string of pearls breaking and scattering on the floor.  Where did the summer go?  Where is August?  Where is July?  It’s almost time to bid farewell to September, and I’m just not ready for it.  I think when you have things that you have to plan for, like a wedding or school, the days become more streamlined and fall away even faster.

The days went too fast for my tomatoes to keep up, too.  They were planted in late May, but I had hoped with lots of plant food they’d make it to the end of summer.  Well, with the equinox, the nights became too cool and moist for ripening tomatoes to finish turning red or gold or orange (I had four different kinds this year).  So I went out yesterday and gathered up all the big green ones and a few with blushes of color.  The coloring tomatoes went on my kitchen shelf to finish what they were doing.  The green ones I made into green tomato pickles. 

When life gives you green tomatoes, make green tomato pickles!

            I love pickles.  They are part science project, part housework, and just a little bit magical.  With the vinegar bubbling and the cheesecloth of spices simmering in the liquid, the process feels like witchcraft with its cauldrons and its potions.  The smell of the spices was warm and salty and made my mouth water.  I had to go to the store to pick up extra ingredients.  The recipe I used came from an old Ball Jar magazine.  It called for spicy peppers to be added to the tomatoes as well as pearl onions and garlic cloves.  I put in some fresh bay leaves for good measure, but not too much, I didn't want to overwhelm the flavor with the astringent taste of a bay leaf.  I substituted most of the spicy peppers with some sweet peppers in bright colors.  Even so, my hands were burning with the vinegar and hot pepper juices clinging to my skin.  It was a small price to pay for eight quart jars of autumn magic. 

            One of the best parts of the whole process was getting to break in my new apron.  Joseph bought it for me from Ikea on our last visit.  It has handy pockets and some pretty flowers on it.  When I was little, I always admired the aprons in Grandma Alice’s kitchen and elsewhere, but could never play with them satisfactorily.  Well, now I have a small apron collection that more than makes up for it.  And yes, I might look a little funny in them, but that is part of the fun.  

I may need to bust out the iron!

eight quarts of autumn magic

Hello Gorgeous!!!!

My tiny garden gave back to me the two things I planted this year: sunflowers and tomatoes.

Home is Where Your Heart Grows

You can’t always tell where your heart will grow, or what it might grow.  They always seem to burst out of us in such unexpected ways.  Some fall to the ground like apples, become rooted to the very places they grew up, and become just like those apple trees they fell from.  Some get caught on the wind and blow far away in gusts of inspiration, and wind up growing in unexpected places. 

My friend, Paul, can attest to this.  He grew up in Michigan.  He found his way to Vashon Island of all places.  He met me there, and worked in the very same deli where all my best friends worked.  Like me, he was a non-native who was welcomed into the fold of tried-and-true islanders.  He finally felt the call to return to Michigan, and he even wrote me a nice note in Facebook about how he’d be going for good.  Well, to my surprise, I got another message from Paul today stating that he was back on the island once again.  I know the need to return, Vashon has a siren’s voice that calls me back often with the promise of love. 

My own heart is like a flower that goes to seed, flies away, finds a new inspiration, and a new chapter, and grows there.  Then, just after I've flourished, my blossoms fade, they fall away, and my seeds go off in a puff of wind to find my next inspiration.  I think, of all the flowers, I’m probably a sunflower.  The sunflower used to be a mermaid named Clytie.  She fell in deep, deep love with the Sun, and watched him from sun up to sundown.  Her face grew bronzed and bright under his glaring rays, and her limbs withered away from lack of eating.  The gods felt sorry for the mermaid who couldn't be loved by the sun, so they transformed her into a sunflower, which watches the sun from dawn to dusk as Clytie did once long ago. 

So my heart bursts into seeds that fly through the air.  They are eaten by birds and taken by wing to places and adventures that offer me enough soil to grow and become something new for the time being.  I grew on Vashon Island, once, and made myself at home in many gardens there.  Pieces of me grow there still.  But life and my own need for change (something that can devastate me when I don’t engender it myself) made me move along.  With all this chasing inspiration, I am very thankful that I have something to hold onto: Joseph.  I love him as much as Clytie loved the sun, more perhaps, because my love is returned.  So while I scatter my heart-seeds wherever I might, I still always grow to turn my face wherever Joseph may walk, from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.  Joseph is the constant in my ever-changing life.  I’m lucky enough to be with a man who can grow and change as much as I need to, but still keeps me grounded and rooted where I am. 

I am the luckiest of sunflowers; I’m loved by my sun. 

And I’m happy to know a good friend is back on Vashon Island.  I can’t imagine the place without him.  

Ma Vie en Rose

When I was a little boy I loved wearing my cowboy handkerchief tied around my chin like a grandma so I could play Little Red Riding Hood.  I used to tie my cute little bathrobe on, and then let my top half slip out of the sleeves so I could recreate Cinderella’s skirt.  And my favorite color was shining, happy, uncompromising pink. 

My favorite things were all pink, and my Mom knew it.  She used it in some instances for her advantage.  When I hated all the boy clothes with the rough Tuff Skin pants and the tee-shirt with the picture of the guys riding three-wheelers on it, my mom pointed out that the sunset behind the three-wheelers had blazing pink hues in it, and suddenly I was on board with wearing it.  The Easter Bunny brought me pink rabbits for my basket.  And the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs cake my mom made for my fifth birthday was dyed pink because mom refused to make boxed strawberry cake mix. 

When I went to kindergarten, my mom had to make sure I wasn’t going to get beat up on the very first day, so she pulled me aside and asked if I knew how the cool kids talked about colors.  I responded that I didn’t know how they spoke about colors.

“Well,” my mom said, slyly, “when cool kids have a favorite color, the cool way to say their favorite color is to say what makes the colors.  Like if their favorite color was green, they would say their favorite color was blue and yellow.  And since your favorite color is pink, you would say red and white.” 

“Oh,” I said, now in the know.  “I gotcha.” 

And wouldn’t you know it, that first day in kindergarten our favorite colors did come up.  When they got to me, I said very loudly, proudly, and more than a little pompously, “My favorite color is red and white.”  Then I looked around to see who understood, who was cool enough to speak the cool color code.  It looked like a couple of kids knew, maybe.  And when we lined up in our favorite color groups, I stood in the red section and looked at all the girls in the pink section and knew they were un-cool suckers.  They didn’t know the code. 

This little trick worked for two years, until second grade when I understood that when you said red  in school, you got red.  So I was back saying I loved pink, because pink was about honesty.  And the honest truth was I loved pink.  So for my birthday party in school, I wore a crown in my favorite color, pink!  My mom brought in cupcakes, and mine had a pink plastic mermaid on top of it. 

And now, everything is coming up roses in my yard.  There is a large, beautiful bush of roses next to the porch.  This bush puts out blossoms that should be on the cover of magazines.  And in a green plastic pot next to our steps, there grows a bush of roses that my Gram dug up from her own large bush.  These roses are the best.  They not only have huge, over-blown blossoms, they also smell like heaven.  They smell like roses are meant to smell.  And you can smell them across the yard.  The best part, ever since I was a kid, I knew that these roses were the best shade of pink in the world.  And now they’re blossoming right next to my front door.  Paradise in a plastic pot!  

Doodles

My good friend from work, Eileen, noticed that I doodle little drawings when time allows.  Eileen also has grandiose schemes for beautifying our break room.  Those two worlds collided and suddenly the little doodles she had me save over the last month or two have been framed and placed on lockers all over.  Eileen is also a doodler, and she has a keen eye for placement.  With her matting and the gallery style white and black motif, I feel like some kind of artist!

Here are a few of my doodles.  All of them are sharpie marker on printer paper: only the most refined art supplies for me! 

I call this one “Like Clockwork.”  (Yes, I’m fully aware that giving a sharpie doodle a title is very, very humble.  What can I say, I’m a humble guy!)  My grandpa on my mom’s side was a clock maker by trade.  He literally spent his time creating, fixing, and maintaining time pieces.  He had a shed full of tiny gears, wheels, and cogs.  And he had that magnifying attachment to his glasses to see the smallest pieces.  Steampunk has made a big splash in the art scene lately, and I really love the idea behind it, but it makes me sad for the fact that my grandpa died before I developed an interest in the trade he devoted his life to. 

I was reading a book about Isis around the same time Eileen told me to save my doodles.  I call this piece “Isis I” as I have many pictures featuring the Egyptian goddess.  Sometimes the wheels and gears that are inspired by my grandpa’s old profession become moons and stars.  The people of Rome, when they began turning to different mysteries to feed their spiritual lives, found Isis to be a goddess who could embody their broadening sense of their world.  She was a goddess who existed with other pagan deities, but who could simultaneously be the sum of them, the ALL.  This view was known as henotheism, the belief in and exclusive worship of one god while acknowledging the existence of other gods and other views of gods.  I like the idea that the worship of Isis put forward, that we can all have our individual truths while honoring and acknowledging the truths other people have. 

This piece is called “Moon and Tides,” and if you know about my place of business, then you know that these things affect my life daily.  I have never paid more attention to barometric pressure in my life. 

Whenever I listen to lectures or lessons or take notes, I cover my paper with little drawings.  The mindless movement of pen on paper frees up the busy part of my mind and allows me to listen better.  Now, if I can only convince my professors of this, I know I insulted more than a few by sketching while listening.  This drawing started out with a girl with a star in her hair, but quickly turned into a mindless series of dots.  I call this, “Spots.” 

“Isis II” is another picture of Isis.  Moons around her are drawn out in a series of spinning wheels.  Botanical features come into play as Isis spreads her mythical wings. 

It’s funny, all those doodles don’t look like much alone.  They usually end up in the waste paper basket.  But Eileen made me see, when they are lined up in a collection, they look like something worth noticing.  Maybe that’s true for most things about being human: if someone else takes the time to see it, we can appreciate it, too.