Halloween is over, and Thanksgiving is on the horizon. The good folks at Apartment Therapy’s The Kitchn have posted five tips to help you prepare now for Thanksgiving; I have to admit that you’ll find the most useful hints in the comments, not the article.
This year, both our families’ Thanksiving plans are uncertain, and The Fella and I miiiiiiight have the chance to celebrate the holiday on our own, with a modest vegetarian feast and a cuddle on the couch. We’ve been cautiously daydreaming about the menu, each dish something special that one of us especially loves, and with The Fella’s squash galettes as the centerpiece.
Do you want to know the clincher, the moment when I went from idly daydreaming to hope-hope-hoping? It was during the conversation about pies: he wants pumpkin, I want blueberry, and neither of us wants a whole darned pie. And then I remembered my mini-pie tins, tucked away in a remote cabinet. This year, I want to be thankful for teeny tiny pies.
After three spring-like days all in a row my spirits are substantially lifted. And to boot, I found a new sweater and top which I plan to wear for my 40th birthday coming up in three weeks. I’ve got the what-to-wear, now to figure out the what and where. I don’t think we’ll be able to top the 30th when JM took me to the Matterhorn, but I’m sure something will occur to me.
I’m also getting in some great walks around my neighborhood and enjoying all the old houses and tall trees. Perth, I think I love you. There are so many little parks, two within a stone’s throw from my house. I could get used to this if only we had central heating during winter…
Happy Swiss Day! To celebrate I made nachos because, hey, melted cheese, and I bought some Lindt chocolates. Mmm. Isch fein gsii. I really should have bought bread and fleischkäse as well, but I’m too tired after all this walking to hoof it to the speciality store to get it. En guete y’all.
Brides and grooms routinely kvetch about delinquent RSVPs. I’m no different. We dearly hope that our friends and family will come to the celebration, but we do need to know roughly how many people we’re seating and feeding and boozing up, and how many tables and how big a dancefloor and how many of this and how many of that.
Ten days before the wedding and a good three weeks since our RSVP date passed, we still have about 15% of RSVPs outstanding. So far this week, my sweetly toned query, “Oh, we sure hope you can you make it to the wedding! Can you?” has prompted the following responses:
“Of course we’ll be there!” They didn’t need to RSVP, because I’m psychic: I knew they wouldn’t miss it.
An offhand “Nah, we can’t make it.” They didn’t need to RSVP, because I’m psychic: I knew they’d have to miss it.
“Didn’t we RSVP? Uh… we did! I wrote you an email last week! Or a letter!” Did you? Hmmm. If you did,
A) I most likely would have received an email or a letter.
B) You’d know which one you sent.
With that in mind, I have a feeling that you didn’t RVSP, and I’m trusting that feeling, because — didn’t you hear? — I’m psychic.
At a pre-wedding tea party, my friend J was kind enough to take some photos. Because I’m The Bride, I figured in many of them. (Yikes.)
As J framed a shot, she poked her head out from behind the camera and chided me. “Elsa, every time I point the camera at you, you make a funny face.”
“I — uh, I think that’s just my face.”
There was a pause.
“Oh. It is. Okay.”
Since the BITWRATHPLOOB is apparently a longterm houseguest of some family members, it seems only courteous to extend him (?) an invitation to our wedding.
But we have to get a head count, y’know, so he’d better r.s.v.p. (And none of this “and Guest” stuff, neither.)
Presenting my to-don’t list, several things I won’t be doing in the remaining few weeks before the wedding:
– reading along with the Infinite Summer project. Sigh. Another month, I would have jumped on this.
– mastering the iPod in time to use it for the wedding playlist.
– getting a professional facial or a profession make-over or a professional anything. No, I take back the last one: I will probably go so far as to get a professional haircut.
– losing any damn weight, so please don’t ask. (Happily, because I’m not wearing a fitted gown, I have avoided the apparently rote question of dressfitters: “So, how much are you planning to lose?”)
– making a contingency plan for the eighty-bazillion things that could go awry at a DIY party of this scale. Why borrow trouble, especially when most of the likely disasters can either be shrugged off or solved with a cell phone and wad of cash?
– biting my nails or picking my cuticles to a red, ragged mess, as I often do when I’m nervous or on edge. No sir, nope, not a chance. No. Why would I? Yikes.
And, most of all:
– Clearly, I will not spend even one day between now and the wedding without a bout of teary-eyed gratitude to our families and friends, who have been so unstinting and creative in their generosity to us, and at my mindbendingly good fortune of finding The Fella in a whole crazy world full of people.
A selection of words and phrases used in a wholly positive discussion of our wedding day plans:
– “a whole mess of kids squealing all the way around!”
– “[Best Woman] promises to cram me full of coffee first.”
– “It might be hot as a crotch in that hall.”
– “whore’s bath”
We are such romantics.