Today was the last day of this wedding journey. Tomorrow is the destination. Two hurricanes passed by yesterday without incident. Triumphantly, the sun glistened brilliantly this morning outside my kitchen window while Sonny laid on his side on the window seat, fast asleep, unaware that one of the most important days of our lives is just one day away. We bought him a tuxedo vest, despite protest from Mark, so he can be part of the photographs and memories of the wedding day. We had a hectic week of last-minute preparations. I feel as triumphant as the sun when I look at “The Friday List” of things to do that is completely checked off with things accomplished. I am just as elated looking at the “The Saturday List” mostly completed.
If one more person tells me that the wedding day is going to go by so fast, I might scream. The whole week flew by. A week full of daily drama and disappointments, though minor. The problem with brides is that they need to take the word “perfect” out of their expectations. Perfection does not exist. It is the elusive butterfly that appears for an instant, and then flutters away defying you to remember its magnificence. If everything were perfect, there would be no stories to tell. We have a lot of stories to tell about this week. A lot of interesting, funny stories- the kind that you weren’t laughing at while it happened to you- the kind that make life worth living.
The best thing about this week was that I had my mother here to witness it, to share it, to reminisce with me. I must have turned to her at least once every day to say what would I do without you? Her response would always be the same- what would I do without you? During all the driving around and in and out of places, she would tell me stories about her wedding. She remembered every detail and every story- funny, sad and disappointing stories. I made her tell them over and over again as we ran around doing errands.
I remember growing up loving to go through my parent’s black and white wedding album. I used to gaze at the famous picture of her whole entire family at the time- The Waltzers. She was the youngest of eight children- six boys and 2 girls and the last to get married. There were already thirteen grandchildren by the time her wedding took place. The famous picture was of my mother’s parents, all her brothers and sister and their spouses and their children sitting around my mother and father, the bride and groom. That picture was like the Mona Lisa to me- the Waltzer family. When my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, my cousin Nancy had that picture blown up into poster size. And when my mother and Aunt Semmie moved into a shared suite at the Bristal Assisted Living, my cousin Garie also had blown up a copy of that same picture and had it framed. I think that photograph means the same to a lot of my cousins.
When my mother was getting married, she told me how her parents couldn’t really afford to make her a wedding. She knew she had to have some kind of wedding, though, because she always promised my cousin Regina, her niece, that she would be her maid of honor. My mother told my grandma that many of her friends’ weddings were paid for by their siblings. So, all her brothers chipped in and made her a wedding. They were all musicians- pretty famous musicians; so naturally, my mother had a first rate band for her wedding because all my uncle’s friends were in it. The Waltzers had a way about them- they could make beer look and taste like champagne. My Uncle Ruby used to say all the time, “We’re the greatest!” Whatever money they pooled together wasn’t much- just enough to make a cocktail hour- ceremony in a synagogue, then drinks and hors d’oeurves in an adjoining room. My uncles told my mom- “This is like a society wedding.” She wore a beautiful light blue wedding gown- strapless- just like Lindsay’s. The seamstress made her a jacket to cover her shoulders for the ceremony. It was the hottest day of the year. And in 1952, there was no air conditioning. To make matters worse, the rabbi, delayed at a funeral and stuck in traffic, was two hours late. My grandma, the one whose optimism I inherited, turned to my mother and said, in her Polish accent “You veren’t supposed to have gotten married until that hour- tventy minutes after 3:00. This is vhat vill make the marriage vork.” Everyone ate the hors d’oeurves while waiting for the rabbi, everyone except for my mother. She didn’t even eat at her own wedding. Almost everything that could go wrong went wrong. But her dress was beautiful and her wedding album showed happy smiling faces of family and friends dancing to the music and having a good time eating all the hors d’oeurves. And Grandma was right- their marriage lasted 55 years.
This week my mother was like a good luck charm, guiding me through all the dramas of a bride seeking perfection. A very stressed bride, who scrutinized her wedding gown when she picked it up, who had her eyebrows waxed and came out of the room as if it was the end of the world because the lady made them too thin. This was a scene where she was hyperventilating in the car, crying and hyperventilating to her makeup artist, Holly, who had to make a special trip to pencil in her eyebrows again. Problem solved. All this stress, however, caused a pimple, the size of Texas it seems to Lindsay, to appear on her chin, one day before her wedding. And what does everyone say to her? –“Don’t worry, you’ll be beautiful, the makeup and the photographers airbrushing will cover everything- it will be perfect. The day goes by so fast. It will be over before you know it.” Stop saying that already!!!
I don’t want it to be over. I honestly don’t. What will I do? Today I went into Michael’s Craft Store- I think I’ve been in there fifty times this year. I suddenly realized this was the last time I will have a reason to go there for anything for this wedding planning year. It made me sad. When I got home, I saw that Mark had hung the “Here Comes the Bride Banner” on our front door. I added the wedding bells and gold ribbon. We went out for dinner, the last time as a family of the four of us (with my mom, of course), the last time when Lindsay will be a Feldman. We ate at our favorite Thai restaurant, the one where we held Lindsay and Scott’s engagement party. Yes. It went by so fast. Tonight, I must get a good night’s sleep. I have to be up at 4:30am to start the day. The long-anticipated day. It will fly in like that evanescent butterfly. I will try my best, as I’ve been told by many to soak in every single moment, to take it in, in its full dimension. Because all too soon, it will be a two-dimensional photo album that my granddaughter might gaze at one day. Now that would be perfect.
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