And the Cast Grows Larger…

Yes. Cast. Because my daughter’s wedding is not only a wedding, but also a TV show. Yes. We have joined the millions of other people who have become part of the growing phenomena of reality TV. The show that Lindsay is on is about four brides competing for a honeymoon. The brides attend each other’s weddings and rate them. The highest rating wins the honeymoon- valued at about 15 to 20 thousand dollars. So, there will be three extra people at the wedding, who will be critiquing it on camera eventually to be shown on national TV. Naturally, everything has to be perfect. And that means if there’s a bone in the filet of fish, you will lose points. For sure. The reality of the reality TV show became more actuality when we (and when I say “we” I mean about eight of us) were meeting with our very favorite wedding caterer, Vickie, to make and pay for the final arrangements. The actuality struck me when Vickie said the words “camera crew”. Those two words-camera crew- were not in our vocabulary when we began this journey. But life-as this year has proven- holds many surprises.

The night of making final arrangements was towards the end of a very hectic week of dealing with the unexpected- the unexpected in terms of Sonny our almost eight-month old Cockapoo puppy. It began with my dreams. I am a little bit psychic and my dreams sometimes are premonitions of what is to come. I am sounding a little strange, but I think many writers are a little atypical. Anyway my dreams foretell the future in some way or warn me about things. One night I dreamt that Sonny ran away. The next day as I was doing some work in the kitchen and I dared to allow Sonny to wander aimlessly around the house, I went to check on him. He has a cat-like habit of walking on the back of our sectional. And that’s just where I busted him- eating my English Ivy plant that was supposedly out of his reach. So after scolding him and sticking my fingers down his throat to see what I could retrieve, I googled “if your dog eats an English Ivy plant..” And the responses I got were “call the vet, take him to the vet immediately, call the ASPCA," etc. etc. Obviously, this was not good news. So I called the vet. “How much did he eat?” Dr. Gotthelf asked. “How much did you eat?” I asked Sonny. Sonny didn’t know, nor did I. “Do you have hydrogen peroxide in the house?” Dr. Gotthelf inquired. “If I did, it would surprise me,” I responded. “Well, give him a tablespoon with a dropper and he should throw it up. Then watch him for the next 24 hours.” I went looking for the hydrogen peroxide and was surprised to find it in Kimberly’s bathroom; however, I could not locate a dropper. The only thing remotely close to a dropper was my turkey baster. So Sonny boy got a hefty shot of peroxide basting down his throat. In less than five minutes he threw up on my $900 rug that he’s been chewing holes in. I was able to see how much English Ivy he ate along with all the tissues he’s been stealing out of my mother’s garbage pail. He was fine for the rest of the day, but unfortunately my $900 rug is in really bad shape. The next night, I had another dream about Sonny; he was running around the yard, then disappeared and came back with different hair. The next day, my mother and Diana- who is my mother’s companion and takes care of Sonny for me also- were sitting in the backyard when I came home with some groceries. As I was unpacking I saw Diana come through the sliders and leave through the front door. I followed her. I noticed that she was holding Sonny’s leash and collar, but there was no Sonny. “Is everything alright?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t. “No,” responded Diana, “Sonny got through a hole in the fence and is in the yard of the neighbor behind you. I’m going to get him now.” There was supposed to be no way for Sonny to get out of the backyard because Mark had checked for holes in the fence but he must have missed this one. I decided to go back to my backyard while Diana tried to retrieve him the other way. I was going to rely on the slight possibility that Sonny would come when I called “Come”. Sometimes Sonny comes; but only when he decides he’s good and ready. First, I went to the bushes and called over the fence to the neighbor behind me, whom I never met, “Is my dog still there?” I yelled. “Yes,” responded a man’s voice. I couldn’t see him but he sounded a little nervous; I thought I heard Sonny romping around like a lunatic on the other side. “Can you get him out of here soon because I’m afraid of dogs,” said the voice of the man. Wonderful, I thought. I called, “Sonny!!!” And then, as if appearing from thin air- just like in my dream, out came my very naughty puppy, although his hair was the same; however, at that instant, I did realize how much he had grown over the last few months. Whew! I went to sleep that night, relieved and hopeful that I would have no more dreams.

On Thursday, Kim, my mom and my sister-in-law, Bonni met at the Bridal shop for the final fitting of Lindsay’s gown. As we were waiting for Lindsay, a girl came over to me to introduce herself; she said she was Danielle. At first, I must have looked a little puzzled, then she further explained, “I’m the day of coordinator.” I remembered that Lindsay had told me about Danielle- that this was a barter type of deal. Scott and Lindsay were helping Danielle and her fiancé out with their stuff, in exchange for Danielle being Lindsay’s day of coordinator. The TV show will also give Danielle some publicity for her day of coordinator business. Dan, Danielle’s fiancé was building Lindsay and Scott’s deck in the backyard also as barter for Scott’s being the DJ and photographer for their engagement party and Lindsay doing Danielle’s makeup. [Dan and Danielle- cute- sounds like Phil and Phyllis (Scott’s parents)]. Danielle explained to me what exactly she’s going to be doing the day of the wedding. “I will be taking care of Lindsay- helping her put on her dress, helping her go to the bathroom, fanning her if she’s hot- all the things you won’t have to do so you can take care of yourself, not worry about Lindsay at all, and enjoy the wedding.” I wanted to say where were you the last 27 years? There could have been many times I could have used a day of coordinator to take care of Lindsay, especially the time I lost her on the beach, when she was 6, for the longest 30 minutes of my life.

So, we had an entourage for Lindsay’s final fitting. However there was one point when I forced myself to tune out and fade out everyone except for my older daughter and me as I admired her in her wedding dress. It was my “moment”. I allowed myself to revel in this moment, to embrace its significance as a milestone in my life as a mother. I thought for that one instant how incredible this moment is- as incredible as when I held her for the first time in a pink hospital blanket- a moment any mother dares to imagine. Then I let my mother in my moment- for it was just as incredible for her to see her first granddaughter in her wedding dress. Then I let her Aunt Bonni in my moment, who adored her as her first niece, her quasi-little girl before she had children of her own. And then, Kim came in my moment, who must have been thinking how she used to play bride-dress-up all the time with her older sister, and possibly might be imagining herself in a wedding dress some day. And finally, what the heck, I let Danielle in my moment, even though I just met her, because after all, she was the day of coordinator. The dreamlike scene ended abruptly and it became frenetic and hectic as usual, with all of us asking questions and making sure that every single part of that dress was as flawless as possible before the seamstress puts her final stitches in.

Our busy night continued as we sped off to the caterer, meeting Scott there and the florist. We had to go over every last feature of the wedding, from the table linens to the centerpieces to the runner for the aisle, blah, blah, blah. Everyone was talking at once. Everyone had ideas and more ideas and better ideas. At one point, I got up to sit next to my mother, the only one not speaking. She leaned over to me, “I think you need about two more coordinators,” she said in her most facetious voice. Vickie, our caterer, finally put on her teacher voice and shut us all up. “I think we have too many chiefs here,” she bellowed. The cacophony ended; though, only for about ten minutes while Vickie ran the show. Then it began again. It seemed to last forever. Bonni said at one point, “I have a manicure in 12 hours, let’s wrap this up.” I got up to ask about using a restroom; I didn’t want to disrupt the wedding that was going on while we were meeting. Vickie directed me to a smaller bridal suite right at the bottom of the staircase. It was a lovely little room with a beautiful private bathroom. When I came back, I asked Vickie, “Can that be my and my mom’s bathroom during the wedding?” “That’s the room where the camera crew is going to be,” she responded. She must have seen me wince at that. “But I’m sure you can go in and use the bathroom while they’re there,” she added, appeasing me, with a big smile and a few nods for added emphasis.

Yesterday, we went to Teresa, our hairstylist. I had my hair dyed, keeping it my new red shade, which everyone seems to like and did a trial for my hairstyle for the wedding. Bouncy big and little curls. We went over the logistics and time frame for next week with Teresa. We will begin at 4:30 in the morning with our makeup, hairstyling, and dressing and then camera crews..yes…camera crews.

Lights, camera, action… my daughter’s wedding- one week from today.

"All right, Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my closeup"

Yikes

Yikes..Two more weeks. Mostly everything is behind us now on this wedding journey. The only thing ahead is the wedding itself. Last Tuesday we had the rehearsal dinner with most of the players, minus one bridesmaid- cousin Julianna from Arizona and groomsmen, Herb, who was at a Yankee game and Chad, whose whereabouts were never explained to me. Anthony, from the Riviera, directed us in what he thought was the right order as we directed him in what we thought was the right order. Of course, the Rabbi did write down the right order and it would have come in handy if Lindsay remembered to bring that list. So, in reality, we never actually rehearsed or we rehearsed the wrong order because as we went over the Rabbi’s list of the order, it was quite different. Consequently, I’m very confused now. Do I walk Lindsay down the aisle with Mark at the very beginning as she appears at the end, or do Mark and I walk down the aisle first, turn and look as Lindsay comes in and then walk her down the aisle? I have no idea. One thing I suspect, though, is that I will probably not have remembered this anyway if we rehearsed it correctly in the first place.

The rehearsal dinner took place a little earlier than usual because Michele, Scott’s, sister is due to give birth next week. A lot going on here. A lot of wonderful things.

After the rehearsal, we went to Sergio’s for dinner, hosted by Phil and Phyllis, Scott’s parents. They wrote a touching speech/toast, which Phil read, expressing their pride in Scott and their joy in him finding Lindsay and welcoming our family to their family as our children marry. Then, we ate; we drank wine; we laughed. It was lovely, even though, oddly, everyone got a different kind of piece of cake at the end.

I have a checklist in my head of all the things that need to be done and all the things that have been done. The seating, which was an absolute nightmare, is finished, I think. Every time Lindsay called me to help her with the seating, I kept telling her I couldn’t help unless I see it. It was finally accomplished with Phyllis’ help. We’re still debating over whether to have programs and menus or just programs or just menus. I don’t know when that’s going to be settled, but I’m getting tired of being asked the question Should we have programs and no menus or menus and no programs or both programs and menus or neither. And my answer to all of the above is, “Ask Aunt Bonni.” My sister-in-law, Bonni has become the go-to gal for all the final details. Thank goodness. She’s been a wedding planner before and I didn’t want her to “work” for Lindsay’s wedding at first because I wanted her to be a guest, but she’s more than happy to do it and I’m more than happy to have her do it. So now, when I wonder why Lindsay hasn’t been calling me ninety times a day to ask me questions I can’t find an answer to, I find out that she’s been calling her Aunt Bonni ninety times a day.

Dresses. Yesterday, mom’s dress got crossed off the list. We went to the store to pick it up. She looks absolutely elegant in her lacy, silvery blue gown with sparkling sequins glittering throughout. My gown is at the dressmaker, being altered. The only possible problem with it, as the seamstress explained to me, is the zipper, which is the kind that gets stuck, sometimes. Wonderful. She promised she would try to fix that. I am trying to be optimistic about that. I know Kim’s dress is being altered and was two sizes too big because she lost weight. Her shoes, which needed to by dyed, will be ready, we hope, three days before the wedding, but I’m trying to be optimistic about that, as well. And the final fitting for Lindsay’s wedding gown will be this Thursday, after a whole day of final details at the Riviera with Aunt Bonni, the florist and whoever else Lindsay told me was going to be there.

Everything needs to be perfect. Not only because we want it to be perfect to begin with, but also now because it will be televised on a TLC wedding show, where Lindsay is competing against three other brides for a honeymoon. So, the three brides will be there, as guests, and they will be critiquing and rating the wedding on film. Mark is not cooperating about signing the release for his appearance on the TV show, so I might be on camera walking down the aisle with a man with a pixilated face. I’m going to be optimistic that Mark will change his mind and that my zipper will zip, though. That is my mantra for the next two weeks- BE OPTIMISTIC.

Optimism is my armor, my shield, because in these final days, the unexpected still makes appearances; for example, now Mark has a double hernia and needs surgery. We are scheduling this for right after the wedding and keeping him away from lifting any heavy objects and not doing any exotic dance moves at the wedding.

Optimism. Deep breath. Positive energy. The right order. Two more

weeks…….yikes….

TIME...

You can tell that the summer is coming to a close when the morning air is crisper and the days grow shorter with an earlier dusk. It’s like when great parties are ending or vacations or wonderful movies or your favorite song. It’s like when you take those last three bites of a luscious lemon meringue pie. You want to savor every last morsel. You want to stop time. But time controls everything. It is the director and you are the player. Exactly three weeks to go to the wedding. I get a pang in the pit of my stomach when I think of that. The final weeks of this journey. A matter of time…to get to our destination.

About three years ago, I went to a psychic with Lindsay. My friend, Dorothea, recommended her. It was the winter of 2007 and she lived somewhere in Queens, I think. I do have all the information, including everything she told me, recorded in a journal I used to keep in my bag. However, with all this moving in and out of rooms and storing everything in boxes, I have yet to find that journal. I have reread those pages again and again, so I have mostly all of them memorized. I believe her name was Karen (the psychic). She had a garden apartment amidst a complex of identical garden apartments and I recall we had trouble locating hers and almost gave up. When we finally got there and were inside, I remember her smiling serene face, then the distinct odor of marijuana mingled with the smell of cats. I thought to myself yeah, this is one of those times of my life where I will be spending my money frivolously. Of course Mark had validated that before I left. But it only cost $40 per hour, so I didn’t think it was too high a price to pay for a vacuous experience. She had tarot cards to tell your future; I had used tarot cards before and they turned out to be startling accurate. Anyway, as she gave us information, we shuffled the cards and she would say, “Give me five,” each time. I tentatively would turn over my five cards, hoping they were good ones. There were many things that she told both me and Lindsay that did come true, almost immediately. For example, she knew we were going on a trip and she predicted a delay on the flight, which did happen. A few times she told me I would be okay financially, which was good to hear, because I never seem to have enough money. Then she said that I would be receiving a large sum of money and asked if I had a lawsuit pending. “No,” I told her. “I am expecting a bonus from my company, but definitely no lawsuit.” “Well,” she responded, you are going to get money from some kind of legal transaction, so I just assumed a lawsuit. I definitely see a legal transaction, though.” This certainly perplexed me, but in a good way. It’s always nice to hear that money is coming your way. I still had time to ask more questions towards the end, so I asked about my mother and gave her five more cards. “I see her in a house, with a lovely garden.” “What?” I responded, “There is no house. She lives in an apartment in an assisted living residence.” “I can only tell you what the cards tell me and I definitely see a house.” “Whatever,” I replied, but thought to myself there goes my 40 bucks down the toilet. After we had left, I told Dorothea what she had said and Dorothea told me that she knows of people who use her and what she tells them doesn’t necessarily happen right away; it might happen years later. “Okay, “ I answered, “we shall see.”

That was 2007. A little less than three years ago. This past Friday I just returned from a week away at a continuing professional development conference with my company. They shared big news- we were bought by a large, billion dollar company. The stockholders had a meeting with the attorney. I am a stockholder. He informed us that we were going to get a cash-out on the deal. One very smart thing I did in my life was to buy into my company as they were becoming for-profit. My investment quadrupled. Karen, the psychic, was right- a legal transaction. And just at the right time, when I am coming down to the wire with coming up with the final cash for the wedding. My payment should come four days before the wedding date. What a relief. I thought again about the other thing that Karen had told me about my mom being in a house with a garden. It suddenly occurred to me- my mother was living in a house! My house! And her room overlooks the garden in my backyard. Goosebumps covered my arms.

Time ticks by. Last year we were celebrating the first weddings in my circle of friends, Roselee and Joey’s daughter, then Janet and Rob’s daughter. This year as we journey towards our daughter’s wedding, Roselee and Joey welcomed a granddaughter. Last night, we visited. I held beautiful little pink-skinned Mya in my arms- the first grandchild. It was like heaven on earth. Roselee showed me a book that Janet had given to her about being a grandmother. Inside she had written that we should keep it in our circle of friends and pass it along as we all become grandmothers. I looked at Roselee and Joey’s daughter and son-in-law, Michelle and Mike, now parents, although, they are still kids to me. I used to get so upset with my own parents when they regarded us as “still kids” even when we were parents. Sometimes time stands still when we see our kids. Sometimes we wish it would. Because, in reality, time turns us from kids to parents to grandparents.

Time. A colleague and mentor of mine, Sally, once said, “Narrative is movement through time.” I’ll never forget that time. We were sitting in a conference room in Washington, D.C. around a long shiny dark wood oval table. Sally, one of the most brilliant women I will ever meet, was telling us how to understand the narrative genre of writing. It was as if she had given me the Holy Grail at that moment. Anything I’ve ever read or written suddenly was illuminated from that day on. The art of telling a story is movement through time. It is as if the past, present and future is encapsulated in your life stories.

I began this entry in the morning and it is now past 3pm. The day is flying by and I still have so much to do, like get my gown altered for the wedding. I have a 5pm appointment tonight to do that. Tuesday night is the rehearsal dinner. Soon it will be next Sunday and we’ll only have two more weeks, then one. I only hope I have the time to get everything done, but only time will tell.

August 5, 2010

It is a sticky, cloudy and drizzly morning. The date is August 5, 2010. One month from today our journey will end and the wedding we’ve been planning and anticipating will take place. I sincerely hope that the weather on that day is nothing like today.

Now the final countdown begins; however, last month, July 2010, was a whirlwind of life changing events that threw my emotions in all directions. That’s a lot to say, considering the year I’ve had. The month of July was moving month, moving Lindsay out of my house and into her house; moving my mother out of her room at the assisted living residence and into a room in my home. It was a month of breaking down walls, putting up walls, building closets, clearing clutter, painting, shopping, packing and planning. Everything had to be ready for my mother’s move on the last day of July. And even though Lindsay had not completely taken all her belongings out yet, on Friday night, July 30, she said goodbye to her room, her sister, her puppy, her dad, and then to me. It was to be her first night with Scott in their new home, finally ready enough to live in. I put my arms around her petite 4’10” body for a bittersweet hug and quietly sighed, “Have a nice life.” She laughed, “Oh Mom, I’m gonna be five minutes away.” “I know,” I answered, solemnly. In that moment I wanted to go in reverse; to go back twenty years, pick her up with young arms, carry her back to her room and read her a bedtime story before tucking her in for the night. She would laugh at me if I told her that was what I was feeling; she would never understand until one day, if and when she has a daughter who leaves to begin her own life. Moving in, moving out, moving out, moving in, moving emotions, moving on….

I didn’t have the luxury of feeling all weepy and sentimental for long, because the very next day I had to get to my mom’s place to move her. There were still more boxes to pack there, as well, and the anticipation of hoping to fit all of my mother’s furniture into my spare room. I arrived at 8 am and my mom, aunt and I went down for my mom’s last breakfast at the Bristal. Everyone was so sad about my mom leaving. There were cards and gifts and hugs and tears. Through all this, I couldn’t help thinking what the wizard said to the tin man in the Wizard of Oz- first that a heart will never be practical until it is made unbreakable, then, that a heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. That said it all. My mother was leaving Oz that day and finally coming home. Later on, she told me she couldn’t help thinking that living there was a journey she had to take and that she learned so much about herself from that experience. I marvel at my mom- how positive she always is; even during the most frenetic times, she could just stop and be reflective.

My brother came over to help us, thanks to Bonni, my sister-in-law’s not so subtle hint- the movers are getting to your mom’s at 9am, Martin. “Do you think I should go over to help?” was his response. Now, that’s a really good idea, I’m glad you thought of that! (Bonni’s reply). We had three wonderful moving men who had to work around my brother and I packing up last minute items and my mother looking a little overwhelmed and worried and wanting so much to help. They even added an unplanned extra stop- dropping off my father’s desk- the iconic symbol of the memory of my father-at my brother’s house before taking the rest of everything left of my mother’s life to my house.

I considered the probability of my mom thinking to herself how her life had become minimized to three men, her daughter and son carrying everything she owned onto one truck. I thought about her parting with my father’s desk, the one thing she had left of him, now becoming part of my brother and who he is. This is what we do in life- we maximize- we minimize, we grow- we shrink, we get- we give it away. We grow such deep attachments to the possessions accumulated in the lives we share; it makes it difficult to part with some of them.

Finally, with Kimberly back at my house orchestrating how everything should be placed, by 1pm, everything was done. And everything fit. It was an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. And my mother was happy; she said she felt like she was home. I must say her room is the prettiest one in the house. And I think Sonny, our puppy, is going to be her best friend. He follows her around, constantly, wagging his little stub of a cropped tail. My house is beginning to get more in order; my dining room table is back in the right place; there’s less junk piled around in boxes. The amount of garbage that accumulated through this process required bulk pickup. Mark needed a dolly to bring some of the stuff out last night. But this morning, everything was gone, including that humongous fish tank. Some things are easy to part with.

My nephew, Max, home from sleepaway camp, came to stay this past week to keep my mother company while I went away on a two-day business trip on a very, very small plane. Lindsay came over on Tuesday with one of her baking books and the three of them (Max, Lindsay and my mom) had a baking party. Lindsay loves to bake and always dreamed of the day that she would bake things with her grandmother. When I returned home that night, they couldn’t wait to get me to taste the most delicious chocolate cinnamon cake with banana sauce.

The last month wedding details are being done. Yesterday Lindsay, my mom and I went to the Judaica store to order the ketubah- Jewish wedding contract. The saleslady at the store commented on our three generations of women. While we were at the store, I noticed a little onesie for a baby that said “Forget the Moyol, It’s a Goyol”. I pointed it out to Lindsay and my mom and said if my friend, Roselee’s daughter, Michelle has a girl, I’m getting that for her. When we returned home, we found that the box of yarmulkes were delivered to my house, too. Last night, Lindsay came over to do the seating arrangements. That was a tedious, argument-provoking endeavor. Tonight, we have the second fitting of Lindsay’s dress. Meanwhile, while we are planning, life is happening, all around us. My company was sold. Now I don’t know what will happen to my job. Oh well.

It is August 5, 2010 and while we wait for one more month to pass, the waiting is over for our dear friends, Roselee and Joey because on this day, their first grandchild, Mya Jade, a goyol, is born. Life is happening all around us. Mazel Tov.