Wedding Planning: Part III

My wife and daughter just left the house giggling merrily, and disappeared down the street, cutting through the misty fog of this miserable day. What, you might ask could they possibly be so giddy about? Today, they are on the hunt for…wait for it…bridesmaid’s dresses!

Yes, just yesterday Pam produced a color swatch for my consideration. She held it up to the lamp light in the breakfast nook and began extolling the virtues of the rich, teal color and how it so perfectly complimented a throw pillow on Kaitlin’s sofa. I had just walked in the house from a workout at AMFAM and as is my unfortunate habit, had missed the first sentence of this exchange, resulting in the mistaken conclusion that Pam was planning on painting the walls of the kitchen this dark, foreboding color.

“NO, silly!” she explained. “This is the color of the bridesmaid’s dresses. Come on honey, keep up!”

So, off they go today in search for wedding finery. I sense just a hint of cockiness in them. Fresh off of last week’s wedding dress triumph; I fear that they may be under the mistaken impression that they have this business well in hand. I know better. When it comes to all things nuptial, I am a pessimist. At each and every turn I expect glitches, missteps, bitter disappointments, and escalating, out of control costs. I have steeled myself for these unhappy outcomes and have determined that no matter how bad it gets, I will be calm and collected. Above all else, I intend to smile and be of good cheer. I am determined not to pull a George Banks. I will not be reduced to the confines of a jail cell because of hot dog bun type meltdown. See, George’s problem was that he actually thought that it was possible for everything to work out well and at a reasonable price. Well, I’m not falling for that delusion. I am fully prepared for the financial and emotional implosion to come and will face it with hearty good cheer!

So far the problem seems to be that I have done all this steeling and girding up of loins…for nothing! They picked the venue with a minimum of angst and within a reasonable range of our budget. Then the photographer was booked along with the DJ, again with nary a tear. Next thing I know they’re out there picking out a wedding dress in one trip to David’s Bridal. It would be very tempting to let my guard down a bit. Things are going quite well. It’s actually quite eerie.

But, I know full well that there are many minefields ahead, what with a wedding cake to order and flowers to buy. I’ve watched enough cooking shows to know how volatile bakers and chefs can be, and I don’t even want to think about dealing with the eccentricities inherent in the personality of your average florist. It could still get very ugly, very quickly.

But, for the time being, all is well here at Dunnevant Wedding Central.

Understanding Chris Christie

Chris Christie. I like him. I like his combative, straight shooting news conferences and town meetings. I like his style and the fact that he’s trying to bring back obesity in our public servants. Call it Grover Cleveland Chic. Even though I don’t agree with 100% of his ideology, I think he would make a good President. Anyone who can manage to actually govern New Jersey in a reasonably conservative way deserves my attention. He has the guts to take on unions and the career feather-bedders in both parties. He doesn’t condescend to voters. He speaks to them as adults. As a Republican in a deeply Democratic state he governs like he’s playing with house money, like he can hardly believe he got elected in the first place so since he’s here he might as well kick some ass.

Having said all this, I don’t believe for a minute that he didn’t know what his staff was up to concerning the lane closure controversy. Despite his protestations, Christie IS a bully…to which I say, so what?

For most of our nation’s history, mayors and governors were known as “bosses”, or at least the most successful ones were. They got things done through a combination of persuasion, competence and yes…intimidation. In this sense, Christie is something of a throw back. He asked the Democratic mayor of Fort Lee for an endorsement of his reelection campaign, part of Christie’s overwhelmingly successful bipartisan strategy of co-opting his potential political enemies. The mayor refused. Then Christie did something small, petty and vindictive as a demonstration of his power to make trouble makers pay. His aides ordered the closure of several lanes of the interstate right around the Fort Lee exits causing days of chaos, anger and frustration among its citizens.

When the Governor claimed in yesterday’s press conference that he knew nothing about any of this and that he had no idea what his staff was up to, he was telling a technical truth. He is a CEO and as such, his aides and top staff understand the time tested reality of something called plausible deniability. Basically this is an operating system whereby the boss allows only the most reliable and trusted people into his inner circle, then charges them with doing his will. If something gets messy in the discharge of doing his will, the CEO is to be carefully kept out of the loop so when and if it blows up, he can stand in front of a room full of reporters and honestly say, “I had no idea.”

But if you think he wouldn’t have approved of this lane closure business, you don’t understand A. politics and B. Chris Christie.

So yes, he is a bully and yes, this was a petty, revengeful, score-settling tantrum. But people, this is politics. Even worse, this is New Jersey politics. Nobody was pulled out of the Hackensack River wearing cement shoes. There are no bullet holes ripped throughout the mayor’s office. As score-settling goes in New Jersey, this is grade school horseplay.

The best we can hope for in our politicians anymore is competence. If you find one who is also tough as nails, that’s a bonus. But, there aren’t any more Jimmy Stewarts out there. The last Sunday school teacher to get elected President was Jimmy Carter and, God bless, our Republic won’t survive another one like him.

My prediction is that once the dust settles from this story, Christie’s poll and favorability numbers will go…up. I don’t think I’m the only American left who would like to see an ass-kicker in the White House.

Feeling the Itch

I turn to fiction in the winter, both the reading and writing of it. I’ve often wondered why this is, and have come to the reluctant conclusion that death is inspirational.

Last year about this time I began writing a novel. It is the second such book I have written, the first back in my twenties which was also started during the cold snowy months. Both plots are driven along in no insignificant way by death. This is not to say that the stories are about death, but rather that death serves as an excellent driver of plots.

In winter, it’s hard to escape death. It’s everywhere around you. Green gets replaced by gray. Leaves wither into brown and fly away except for the ones that stubbornly cling to the branches of tall oak trees, making them look sickly and tattered. Then the cold comes and the plants on the deck turn pale green and rubbery. The lush green lawns of the suburbs become matted and powdery, the color of sand.

Unlike the death of men, this is just a season. We know that in a few months time, the color will come back. We know this because it is reliably true. It happens every year. Still, to watch the world around us shrivel and die three months every year has always visited waves of melancholy upon me along with bouts of introspection. Ultimately, I escape to the reading and writing of fiction.

Once again, I’m feeling the itch to create something. The germs of ideas have lately come to life in my imagination. Most of them I reject because I lose interest so easily. Once they are rejected, I can’t even recall what they were, so complete is their banishment. Others fester up there for days, then weeks, until finally I find myself sitting here writing.

But if I’m going to write another book, I better get started while it’s winter. Once it’s warm and green again, I would much rather be outside living my real life than putzing around in an imaginary one.

Here’s a project for all of you literature fans. I wonder what percentage of the greatest novels ever written were started during winter? I’m willing to bet 75%.

It's Cold. Let's cancel school.

Anyone lucky enough to have octogenarian parents have marveled at the stories they tell of what it was like to go to school 70 years ago. Most started out in one room school houses. My father speaks often of his 5 mile walks to school, of how it was his job to keep the pot bellied stove full of wood during the winter months. We always listen in horrified fascination when he tells of the brute authoritarianism of his teachers who were famous for their knuckle-rapping rulers and fondness for public humiliation as a teaching tool. We can hardly imagine what it must have been like to teach a room full of kids from age 6-18. The fact that my Dad’s generation became known as “The Greatest” seems impossible from such a backward education foundation. But, all those guys and girls did was fight and win a World War, then come back home and unleash the most dynamic economic expansion in the history of Western Civilization, and while they were at it…they brought US into the world.

I mention all of this because I haven’t been able to think of much else since the events of yesterday in Henrico County. First, it was announced that there would be a two hour delay of school because of the…cold. It was 10 degrees at dawn and during the day the high temperature reached 26. I certainly hope my 89 year old Dad wasn’t watching TV when that was announced! The temperature didn’t set any type of all time record. There have been much colder days in past years, in fact, many sub-zero temperatures have been recorded in Richmond before. But I never remember having school delayed because of the temperature.

Then, mid-afternoon news began splashing all over the TV about some sort of incident at Glen Allen High School. First reports were of an agitated male teacher. Then the story changed to a love sick 16 year old student who “might have a gun.” Soon, the entire parking lot and all the streets around the school were covered with paramilitary units armed with machine guns, SWAT teams scurried around armed to the teeth, ready to spring into action. Every available Henrico County squad car seemed to be there, blue lights flashing. A crowd of worried parents stood in 15 degree cold waiting for information about the gun wielding teenager inside. Finally, a spokesperson for the, er..uh, authorities informed the crowd that in fact, the 16 year old in question was not in the school and in fact had never been to school all day. News teams from all three local news stations were on the scene with breathless accounts of what might have been another Columbine. One such reporter promised an interview at eleven of one of the girls who had endured this tragic day from the war zone of her Chemistry class. The County will no doubt provide psychological counseling for rattled students as they arrive two hours late this morning.

The old adage at play here in both cases seems to be, rather be safe than sorry. I get it. If some poor kid in Varina is found frozen to death at his bus stop, the County would be tarred and feathered for its insensitive negligence. If there really had been a 16 year old wielding a Glock inside Glen Allen High School and the county hadn’t unleashed 10 divisions to the school, I suppose the blood of innocents would have been on their hands. I suppose. We live in a country ruled by lawyers and governed ultimately by litigation, so this is the way things must be now.

Still, I cannot shake the conviction deep down inside me that we have become a weak and pampered country, where life’s difficulties and nature’s wrath have become things to avoid instead of obstacles to overcome.

10 degrees out? How about we throw on another layer and make an adventure out of it?

It's Good to be King

With only the National Championship game left to be played, the college football bowl season is almost over. When my team, the University of Alabama, lost to Oklahoma in the Sugar Bowl, a flood of commentary began to fly over the interwebs that finally, finally, after long last the mighty SEC had received its comeuppance. Um…no.

Let there be no misunderstanding, Oklahoma played an outstanding game and deserved the victory. They were clearly the better team. They were better on defense, offense and special teams, and on that night the Crimson Tide was even out coached. But to extrapolate the demise of SEC dominance from one game is wishful thinking.

With one game left, here are the records of the five major football conferences in this year’s bowl season:

ACC    4-5

Big Ten    2-5

Big 12    3-3

Pac 12    6-3

SEC    7-2

The Title will pit Auburn against Florida State, giving the ACC a chance to reach the .500 mark. I believe that the Seminoles are the better team despite coming from a weaker conference and should win the game. But if they do and the SEC string of seven consecutive national titles is broken, it will not mean that somehow magically the SEC has become weak. It will mean merely that every streak has an end. There will no doubt come a day when some other region of the country will rise to dominate the sport. My guess would be the Pac 12. But that day hasn’t arrived just yet.

So, all of you SEC haters out there need to keep your powder dry. We’re still the King. And it’s good to be King!

Saying YES to the Dress

I haven’t felt right for over a week now. Last Sunday started with pink eye and since then there have been a series of sore throaty/acky/cough-filled days and nights. I have been assured by my Nazi Doctor over at Patient First that I don’t have the FLU, more likely a lesser virus that I will have to muddle through with until it runs its course.

But yesterday afternoon delivered a highlight, a ray of sunshine into my otherwise dismal week. My daughter said “YES” to the dress.

Here’s how it happened. Since Pam and Kaitlin are both off this week, they thought it might be a perfect time to begin the great wedding dress hunt. I have secretly been dreading this from the day she announced her engagement. My two girls are gifted with talents and abilities that would fill pages of this blog if I were so inclined, however, they both share one excruciating flaw. They are both horribly indecisive, in matters of style and fashion, not always on the same page. Combine these two facts with the search for something as iconic and emotionally charged as a wedding dress, and, well…I was expecting a Bataan Death March style campaign drenched with tears and frustration. Needless to say, I stayed at home.

To be honest, that wasn’t the only reason I stayed home. I’m in no particular hurry to see my little girl trying on wedding dresses. There. I said it. I don’t think that this is something I should have a say in. I’m happy to pay for the thing, but I would rather wait until the big day to see her wearing it.

Pam sent me the first text at 4:04, “Dress 1 has been tried on. There were tears.”

Yeah, no kidding! Imagine that? Crying the first time you see the girl who just three days ago you were teaching how to field grounders wearing a wedding dress? Who could have seen THAT coming? No Thanks. I was very glad to be in my recliner reading the new Deen Koontz novel.

Text number 2, “Dress number two turned out to be the one Kaitlyn Burton wore in her wedding.”

Pam seemed giddy, almost playful. Things seemed to be going well.

Text number 3, “We may have found THE ONE!”

I looked at my watch. It was 5:47. Fifteen minutes later I’m hit with three texts in rapid fire succession,

“She’s trying a couple more on, but she found one that is gorgeous and fits well!

Oh dear. Now there is a second one that’s also beautiful.

Decisions, decisions!”

 Thirty minutes pass. It’s now 6:30 and I’ve heard nothing. In my mind I’m imagining the worst. Both of them discover that they are at odds over which beautiful dress is in fact, THE ONE. Pam tells Kaitlin that the only thing that matters is what SHE thinks, to which Kaitlin replies that she wants Mom to like it just as much as she does. Then the both of them collapse into silent indecision. I decide to send a text of my own.

“What’s the dinner plan?”

Twenty minutes pass without a response. Virus or no, I’m starving. I glance at my watch. 7:02. Finally, a response from Pam,

“We have no plan.”

Seriously?? That’s all I get? They are either hopelessly depressed by the whole experience, or Pam is messing with me. Then this headliner at 7:16…

“We said  YES TO THE DRESS, and within budget!”

The phone rings and its Kaitlin’s happy voice, “I found a dress Daddy!!”

Twenty five minutes later I meet them at Glory Days. They walk in together smiling from ear to ear. After ordering the fabulous soft pretzels with crab dip appetizer, Kaitlin insists on showing me a picture. “What do you think?” she asks.

She hands me her new Apple 5s cell phone and there she is, standing in front of a bank of mirrors, her curly hair tied up with a thing, a veil draping down behind her. It’s a wedding dress with stuff on it. I have no idea what the proper term for all of this stuff is and I never intend to find out. All I know was that she looked stunning, even on the 4 inch screen of a smart phone. I was determined to maintain my composure and I did. I said something like, “Wow, sweetie. It’s beautiful. It has lots of stuff on it.” when what I really wanted to say was, “How is it possible that you grew up so fast into such an incredible woman?” And, where in God’s name is my cheese burger? Anything to change the subject.

So, the dress has been bought, an important item crossed off the wedding To-Do list. It took only one 4 hour trip to David’s Bridal, with only tears of joy spilled. We may just get through this.

Resolution Rabble

The first day of 2014 will be great. I just ate a delicious breakfast of semi-homemade orange/cinnamon rolls with a side helping of 4 pieces of bacon. The bacon was about to expire so we couldn’t just throw it out, right? I plan on burning all of these calories up by taking down the outdoor Christmas decorations, then vacuuming the entire house. I will then fight through the teaming mass of humanity who will today descend upon American Family Fitness. These are the “resolution rabble” that we regulars have to endure for six weeks every Jan.-Feb. You can spot them a mile away in their $300 phosphorescent/neon workout clothes and their brand new $250 lime green running shoes, constantly pawing at their wrists checking their pulse rate after two minutes on the treadmill and taking selfies of their sweat-soaked “Livestrong” headbands.

Then, I will come home and watch college football all day. Georgia, LSU and South Carolina are up today and I’m hoping for an SEC sweep, if for no other reason than to annoy my ACC buddies. Thursday will be back to work day, so that bit of heaviness will creep into my thoughts from time to time. But, all in all, this will be a fine way to begin a year.

Happy New Year everybody.