Archive | March, 2019

The Suit

17 Mar

We joke about Rob’s suit now. About his bright blue, perfectly tailored, SNAPPY wedding suit.

When we’re going somewhere he needs to be dressed up we say, “Should you wear your suit?” and then we laugh. Becuase it’s A Suit.

In the best way, it’s A Suit.

If we had been married in the winter, or not on the beach, his suit would have been maroon. Rob is the sort of person who can pull off a maroon suit, a maroon WEDDING suit, nonetheless. That’s one of the reasons I married him. Who can even say that?

Who is he?

What a journey I’m on to find out!

Rob’s suit became A Suit because he is someone who can’t just buy clothes at the store. He falls in between sizes or nothing fits or or or.

After some rough gos with suits that were way off and colors he wasn’t satisfied with, we took a trip to Indochino.

A custom suit store.

Indochino sponsors Pod Save America, one of Rob’s favorite podcasts. The cohost, Jon Favreau, outfitted his whole crew in Indochino suits for his wedding and he was Obama’s speechwriter! He dated Rashida Jones!

(He didn’t marry Rashida Jones.)

Indochino is located in Beverly Hills, like HI RODEO DRIVE Beverly Hills. Parking is bad. You have to have an appointment, just always, don’t try to show up.

We learned from experience.

But goodness, the product is goodness.

Goodness.

Three fittings it took. Three fittings and a frantic poll about which suit color to choose.

Would you like to see those options?

Here we are.

Let’s call them:

     SUIT ONE

IMG_6737

      SUIT TWO

  IMG_6739

   SUIT THREE

  IMG_6738

Rob went with Suit Two. He went with it because our two most fashionable friends both chose it. He went with it after choosing Suit Three originally and having to back out last minute. (You get 24 hours to back out! He used it!)

Suit One was fun. But would Suit One have been too much?

We’ll never know.

We don’t need to know.

Because he got his Suit. A Suit. The Suit.

The suit that’s too snappy to wear to semi-formal occasions. The suit to end all suits.

In the best way, and forever more, Rob will have A Suit.

PS: A wedding toast, the dress, the invitations

The Invitations

14 Mar

I have had it in my mind for a year and a half that I would do some sort of wedding month on this blog. That I’d write it all out so I’d have my words, so my future children would have my words. That I’d pace it and plan it and make it something special. And now, all this time later, I’m sitting on a few very disjointed posts in no particular order.  I’ve decided it’s better to post them as they come than to never post them at all.

So.

Here we are. 

Welcome back to August 2017.

 

I got the idea for our wedding invitations from a blog I follow.

Well, I guess the word now is “followed.”

I just went to link to it and the blog has gone private. Invited readers only.

The end of an era.

I’m sad about the end of blogging. I miss the days of long, rambly diary posts. Of knowing what a girl across the country was having for dinner, just because. Because she felt like a friend.

Tonight I had blackened chicken with mango salsa and coconut lime rice.

It sounds nice, right?

It was.

I hereby promise to share my dinner with you as often as possible!

But first, my wedding invitations.

(I am no good at this blogging thing. If I were I’d cut the whole beginning and just give you the basics of the wedding invites. Then, I’d link to it on Pinterest hoping that I become the GO TO for postcard wedding invitation Google Searches.

But here we are.

And here is coconut lime rice.

I like the coconut lime rice.

I like the old blogging.)

I got the idea for our wedding invitations from a blog I used to follow.

I loved the postcard, especially a postcard from Cape Cod. I loved the idea of using photobooth photos for me, and for Rob, who does not like to have his picture taken.

It was supposed to have a feeling to it. Like hi! Welcome to vacation! Come on vacation with us! It’s casual! And fun! And bright yellow with sailboats! It’s a dream!

We’re a dream!

We got our invitations from Zazzle which was nice. (I changed the border color and went with the shiny finish.)

We got the stamp from Design Roots. It was custom and she was lovely and wonderful to work with.

We got our photo booth pictures at The Backstage Bar and Grill after eating enormous hamburgers. Maybe we should have done it before we ate enormous hamburgers?

Alas.

I wore lipstick.

Oh! JFK stamps, because of the Cape Cod connection, and also it was a very politically charged time. I often said trying to plan a wedding in 2017 was like Bill and Fleur trying to find joy in their love while Voldemort rose.

I think that’s it. They were crazy cheap and crazy easy and I have no regrets.

It was a dream. We were a dream.

It all came true.

 

PS: About my wedding dress

What’s New?

12 Mar

Every once in a while, my writing group and I do a group text catch up.

“What’s new?” someone asks and then we all launch in with the details.

Like how I almost exclusively wear medical clogs now. And that I’m way too devoted to this season’s Lakers and it would be just like me to get involved in a sports team for the first time in my life only to have them be the most disappointing sports team in recent memory.

Like how Dolly is sitting on my lap as I type this and it hurts my neck to write sideways, but that’s what we do for love.

It seems time for a What’s New blog post, doesn’t it?

I almost exclusively wear medical clogs now.

I guess I’ll start there.

I saw a cool looking hostess at a cool looking Venice brunch place walking around all confident in them and I went home and ordered them. They are expensive. They are heavy! Watch out!

I am trying to do better at not just seeing a cool looking thing and ordering it.

It’s going well, despite what the clogs imply!

Would you like to see my current Amazon wishlist?

The one I have so I sit with a purchase for a week and make sure I actually want it?

Here you go.

 

Matilda Tote Bag

Vintage looking clock

Lavender soap

Devotions: The selected poems of Mary Oliver

Clear bubble umbrella

Stylus pen

West coast coasters

The Body Keeps the score: Brain, Mind and Body in the healing of trauma

Kate Somerville exfolikate intensive exfoliating treatment

 

I’ve been keeping my phone in the other room at night.

What a revelation!

People have been saying this for a long time, I’m doing nothing new here, but let me tell you that it actually works. My screen time is down. I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and immediately check my phone. First thing in the morning I pet Dolly and read a few words of a book.

Yes, it’s going well.

Except.

have zero idea what time it is.

Saturday I woke up at 6:00AM and got out of bed with my blankets and books. Hours later I discovered my mistake.

There was some grouchiness.

I need an alarm clock is the point.

That vintage looking one looks nice.

(But I have a purple lamp! So is a purple clock too much or just enough?)

About the Lakers.

I keep thinking I’m going to write a long blog post about them. Something inspired and perhaps picked up by national media outlets, but then of course that sort of pressure means I never write about them at all so I’m starting here with this.

I do not know why people watch sports.

Well, I know why men watch sports. So they have something to talk about socially with other men and can avoid emotional intimacy. But other than that, why are we watching sports??

Sports are horrible!

I have enough going on emotionally, I don’t need to add invented drama!

I am the queen of invented drama!

This year I have devoted countless hours to the Lakers. I have watched most of their games. I have listened to a variety of podcasts about them, and then once you get into it, you have to start listening about their rivals.

I have searched Twitter for conspiracy theories and become interested in conspiracy theories. I’m so deep in, like so so deep.

And there is no reward.

Zero.

Before this point, the most I had paid attention to a sports team as an adult was The Patriots, sort of.

The Patriots always win! This is a good team to cheer on! (Other than the moral qualms, but I’m not going there right now.)

The Patriots win and so you get like an hour of happiness and I don’t know, if that’s all you have in your life maybe that hour makes a big difference.

But the Lakers never win. They keep finding new levels of disappointment and sadness.

Why are we cheering them on?

What’s the point again?

I went and made us a casserole last week.

A full-on Midwest style Chrissy Tiegen casserole with cream of mushroom and noodles and frozen peas, the whole bit. Topped with jalapeno potato chips, of course.

Rob had never had a casserole before, not a true one.

It made our week.

I mean, of course, there were other things going on. Dolly being adorable. Work and church and friends and family, but there, in that 9×13 pan that fed us for three meals, therein was the joy.

Rob never having had a casserole is shocking to anyone I tell.

I am from Utah. Casseroles are in our blood.

I took a “Foods” class in high school where one of the units was exclusively on casserole making.

It’s so easy! You need a rice/pasta, some sort of cream soup, a meat, a topping. Cheese. More cheese than you can even imagine.

What’s not to love?

Before I made the casserole, I started spreading it around. “I’m making a casserole tonight,” I told the friend I saw right before. “I have been craving a casserole!” she said.

She, too, is from Utah.

Before I made the casserole, Rob mentioned it to his grandma. “Jill’s making a casserole tonight,” he said.

“Be kind to her” she said.

She, too, is from the Northeast.

There are many reasons Rob has never had a casserole.

He is from the Northeast, as mentioned.

He is Italian. People have tried to argue lasagna is a casserole, but it’s just not a Casserole Casserole, is it? Where are the potato chips?

Also. Rob is an only child.

Casseroles are made for the large family. You throw it all in one dish, whatever you have left, whatever you have around, and it feeds everyone!

For cheap!

I went and made us a casserole last week.

(It was good.)

What’s new with you?

A Person Without Skin

5 Mar

I have been thinking about this quote from Less for months now.

The book itself was just fine for me, but this quote has stayed with me, swirling in my head, naming something I’ve only ever felt.

You’re like a person without skin.

Everything hurts.

Once, in his twenties, a poet he had been talking with extinguished her cigarette in a potted plant and said, “You’re like a person without skin.” A poet had said this. One who made her living flaying herself alive in public had said that he, tall and young and hopeful Arthur Less, was without skin. But it was true. “You need to get an edge,” his old rival Carlos constantly told him in the old days, but Less had not known what that meant. To be mean? No, it meant to be protected, armored against the world, but can one “get” an edge any more than one can “get” a sense of humor? Or do you fake it, the way a humorless businessman memorizes jokes and is considered “a riot,” leaving parties before he runs out of material?

Whatever it is—Less never learned it. By his forties, all he has managed to grow is a gentle sense of himself, akin to the transparent carapace of a soft-shelled crab.

PS: A few other quotes from the book that I loved:

And we realize that we thought we were the only changing thing, the only variable, in the world; that the objects and people in our lives are there for our pleasure, like the playing pieces of a game, and cannot move of their own accord; that they are held in place by our need for them, by our love. How stupid.

We think we know the ones we love.

Our husbands, our wives. We know them – we are them, sometimes; when separated at a party we find ourselves voicing their opinions, their taste in food or books, telling an anecdote that never happened to us but happened to them. We watch their tics of conversation, of driving and dressing, how they touch a sugar cube to their coffee and stare as it turns white to brown, then drop it, satisfied, into the cup. I watched my own husband do that every morning; I was a vigilant wife.

We think we know them. We think we love them. But what we love turns out to be a poor translation, a translation we ourselves have made, from a language we barely know. We try to get past it to the original, but we never can. We have seen it all. But what have we really understood?

One morning we awaken. Beside us, that familiar sleeping body in the bed: a new kind of stranger. For me, it came in 1953. That was when I stood in my house and saw a creature merely bewitched with my husband’s face.

Perhaps you cannot see a marriage. Like those giant heavenly bodies invisible to the human eye, it can only be charted by its gravity, its pull on everything around it. That is how I think of it. That I must look at everything around it, all the hidden stories, the unseen parts, so that somewhere in the middle – turning like a dark star – it will reveal itself at last.