The Last Date Night

. . . before the wedding, I mean! FryDaddy and I hadn't had a "big date night" in quite a while - our lives have been crazy-busy and not just with the wedding plans. (Scale back all you want to, Gentle Readers, you still have a long list of errands to run and goals to accomplish. This is a fact you'll be much happier off accepting early in the process.) In the past, we tried to have a "big" date night every couple of months. These ranged from our trip to the opera (with our funny plastic Viking helmets) to my exposure to Metallica. But lately, there just hasn't been the time or the energy. You see, living in the pleasant boondocks means that most "big date nights" involve a fair amount of planning; such events really can't be totally spontaneous.

But there was a glimmer of light - the somewhat-local symphony was presenting a full-scale version of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 in D Minor. You know this piece if you've ever listened to the opening of Countdown with Keith Olbermann or heard the popular hymn "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee." (Although I'll admit I didn't know the bit about how the piece allegedly influenced the development of the compact disc. Read the article!) I got tickets as an early wedding present, we got dolled up and out we went.

The tickets were second row, which gives you a different point of view from being up in the balcony. We were close enough to see the gouges on the floor from the endpins of the double basses. And it's just a magnificent piece of music! It's so overwhelmingly joyous that you want to leap to your feet, pump your fist in the air, and yell from the depths of your soul, "YEAH!"

And that's without understanding the German chorus!

Seriously, a wonderful night and one well worth repeating. Until then, listen to this and remember that Beethoven was stone-deaf by the time his final symphony premiered in 1824. Or go watch Immortal Beloved - that's pretty cool, too!

Bad Hair Day

I must have been the worst hair salon client ever. Okay, maybe not the "worst" in terms of mistreating the staff, but the "worst" in terms of being the client you really hope goes to someone else.

Women have a complicated relationship with our own hair. It's true. We're never really happy with it - if it's curly, we want it straight; if it's blonde, we want it red; if it's short, we want it long. It's always like that. Oh, we may like it well enough some days, but trust me, it's only a temporary truce. We get especially weird around big hair occasions. No, that doesn't mean an occasion that calls for big hair; although living here in the South, we do have a few of those. I mean events for which your hair really, REALLY matters.

Like a wedding.

So imagine, if you will, being the well-meaning hair stylist who has been at work, patiently minding her own business who suddenly is faced with me, a two-weeks-away-from-the-wedding bride who comes in hating her hair, wanting it changed totally (cut, color, and style) but doesn't have the faintest idea what she wants.

I wouldn't have blamed the stylist (oh, let me add that I'd never gone to her before - see what I mean about being the worst client ever?) if she had suddenly discovered that she was due for her break.

Bless her heart, she was a total professional in dealing with a near-madwoman. We talked and talked - what did I like? What did I NOT like? (A very important question that isn't asked as often as it should be.) When I said "red," did I mean "auburn" or "copper"? Highlights - did I want "honey" or "caramel" or maybe more of a "gold"? Oh, sure you don't think these are important questions, but trust me - there are certain situations in which these are VERY important questions. We're talking "defending the dissertation" important. And some things just shouldn't be rushed. Hair decisions two weeks before the wedding - that's in that particular category.

And it was worth it.

Meanwhile, back at the Nest, puffy, fluffy clouds of white dog hair continue to float through the breeze. I want to clean the house, but it just seems futile. In a Samuel Beckett sort of way, had he ever chosen to write about dog hair. (Hmmm - Sam Beckett's Hair of the Dog. It could have been wonderful!) With two white dogs taking up residence AND having to keep them separated for another three weeks (Haint's still undergoing heartworm treatment), it's as if the shedding fur has a life of its own. And it's a twisted, mocking life. I swear, I (okay, in all honesty, it's much more likely to be FryDaddy) can vacuum the floor and suck up half a Pomeranian worth of fur and thirty minutes later, there are furry tumbleweeds rolling across the all-too-briefly clean floor.

Sigh.

Hair. What can you do?

Licensed to Wed!

April came in with a heat wave - temps are breaking records around here, sticky pollen is turning everything a less-than-charming shade of yellow, the mutts are shedding to the point that sweeping seems pointless, and - oh yeah - we got the wedding license! Only took two trips, too.

First things first. As much as I've been trying to enjoy the warm, sunshiny weather, I'm breaking down and shutting the windows to crank up the AC. Truly one invention that makes living in the South a bit more bearable, although it's also damaged our molasses-slow pace of going about life. (Seriously - in late summer, it's just too bloomin' hot to rush! Better to sit still and take all day to make really good sun tea and comment on your neighbors' grilling ability.)

Pollen. Yuck. Nuff said.

License. Yay! A painless process and we have a lovely, embossed-with-gold-seal-and-in-no-way-official version that, yes, is suitable for framing. There are still details to finalize (of course), but nothing that is all that crucial. We've got the church, the pastor (who's been wonderful about viewing some of the craziness with a world-weary smile - I bet he's seen just about everything), our families will surround us on that day, and we've got each other, although we still occasionally wonder just how that happened. Without getting into too much gritty detail, suffice it to say that planets had to align and lessons had to be learned, some of which were very bittersweet.

But here is where we are. And this is who we are here with.

Sort of makes the dress and the shoes unimportant.

But I sure hope the AC is the church is working that day!