Going bridal
First things first: thanks so much to all of you who left such lovely comments about our dream house! It’s hard for me even to express how much this house means to us.
I also think it was very brave of Sarah and the Incomparable Kate to admit that they are a little jealous. This revelation of an ignoble emotion makes me admire the two of them all the more because it shows a certain genuineness that I greatly value. It is also the case that I have often been the one who was “a little jealous.” Sometimes a little jealous like Medea. Here’s what I can say: we all deserve to live in a place we love.
Or none of us do.
But that’s a broader philosophical topic and would probably involve invoking original sin and a number of other outmoded notions about the moral poverty of the human condition that only a handful of us still seem to find instructive.
So erring on the side of generosity towards our species, I would wish a dream house for all of you, but especially my sister, who is actively hunting for that house now.
Here’s some Greek oregano and a mint plant I am growing in pots for easy transport to the new house.
In the midst of all of our wonderful news and good fortune, of course, the days until the wedding continue to tick away. Tick, tick, tick, tick…
But in the course of a conversation with my friend Heidi, who is a professor at Harvard and therefore arguably more likely than the average bear to have insight into all things bearish, I realized why it is that I so dislike being a bride. Or perhaps more accurately, why I so dislike anticipating being a bride.
Wanna hear? Oh, I knew you would!
While I’m at it, here’s my progress on Nasser’s sock. The yarn is Mountain Colors Bearfoot in color “Deep Blue.” It’s a wool/mohair/nylon blend and absolutely scrumptious. The pattern is, of course from Interweave’s Favorite Socks, a book I’m coming to know and love.
Heidi, in her wisdom, offered the astute observation that for many of us, being a bride has some parallels with the coming-out experience for a gay man or a lesbian. In other words, the experience mobilizes anxieties about gender roles, the expectations of others and the gap between those expectations and reality, and the strong possibility of being judged and found wanting.
In both cases, even if things go as well as could possibly be expected, those anxieties are still lively and we carry them into our interactions, especially with our family members, and they color our judgements when we interpret how people respond to us. And in both cases, these anxieties center around gender issues.
In the case of a living, breathing, flawed (and sometimes relatively old) bride, the cultural archetype against which she is measured is a hyper-feminized, exquisitely beautiful, fecund young woman. And the process of preparing for your wedding is, inevitably, bound up (at least at certain junctures) in how well you reflect that ideal. Guess what?
Bzzt. You lose!
And since culture is NEVER “just culture” and since it is nearly impossible to simply put all of these influences and expectations completely out of your head at all times, even if you think they are complete rubbish and utter bollocks and you in fact feel pretty good about yourself, you will find yourself some days looking in the mirror and thinking, “I’m almost forty years old, I’m not as thin as I used to be, I have no interest in childbearing, I tend to be opinionated, I laugh really loudly, and I bench press ninety pounds. So much for the delicate fairy-tale princess, folks!”
Good times, good times.
But there are even worse days than that, of course. And on those days, you find yourself cringing at the thought of meeting all of those guests who are friends and family of your beloved’s parents, people you’ve never met before and may well never meet again. Since you don’t know them, you tend to project your anxieties onto them. Even though you are sure, intellectually, that they are lovely people.
But let me repeat and clarify: this is not about intellect and it isn’t even about reality. It’s about archetypes. It’s about the eternal feminine. It’s about being exposed and on display. It’s about the awful undertow of cultural expectations.
And when you have a really bad day, you think to yourself, “Those people probably don’t know how old I am. They will be expecting a much younger woman. A woman with nary a grey hair. A woman without laugh lines. Will I confront their irrepressible ‘looks of horror’ at my own wedding reception? On the drive home will they turn to one another and say, ‘I had no idea she would be that old. Poor Alex, he’s ruining his life.’?
Now, returning back to Planet Earth, the truth is that they will probably spend the ride home discussing the high price of gasoline in California, talking about their son’s baseball game, opining about the most recent season of American Idol, and deciding where to go for Sunday brunch.
For better or for worse, we just don’t think about other people all that much.
You see, I do know this. I also don’t want you to waste your breath in the comments telling me that I’ll look lovely, that I should feel confident, etc., etc. I actually know that too. And when the day of the reception comes, I’ll have a great time because at that moment, I’ll feel just fine being me. Like I do 99% of the time.
But this confrontation with the archetype…this is the really bad, bad stuff. This is the shadow-boxing part. This is the anticipation of being publicly scrutinized based not on your intellect, your sense of humor, your talents, or your rare and delightful personal qualities, but on your appearance and—at some dark, primitive subterranean level—on your reproductive viability.
Under those circumstances, a person like me is maybe, just maybe, going to go just the tiniest bit crazy. Just the tiniest bit.
Forty-two more days. Then it will all be over and I can go back to ignoring the eternal feminine, as I have all my life, and those who love me will still love me and those who are disappointed in me or find me off-putting will still basically dislike me and all will be well with the world.
See how easy? Forty-two more days. Piece of cake. Wedding cake, that is.
May 10th, 2007 at 10:08 pm
Wait until you’re my age! You’ll look in the mirror, and instead of the description of yourself that you use now, you’ll think, “Oh, screw ’em if they can’t take a joke!”
May 11th, 2007 at 12:57 am
I wish you all good things for your wedding – particularly a wedding that reflects who you both are, and what you mean to each other. The rest doesn’t matter.
I understand what you mean though, I rejected whole chapters out of “The Wedding Manual” because it didn’t reflect who we are. Now I am having to go through the pregnancy manual and do the same thing.
All the best!
May 11th, 2007 at 6:03 am
Or, to expand on Bobbie’s excellent point, joke ’em if they can’t take a screw.
Frankly, I’m rather more of the opinion you’ll be in such a daze at having survived the lead-up to the actual Day, that only a few things will stand out. Such as when you’re looking directly in Alex’s eyes as you two exchange vows – *that’s* the scariest, most wonderful, stunning point, sort of like simultaneously getting kicked in the head and falling off a cliff. That’ll stick. (In a wonderful way. [g]) The rest will be brief flashes. Everything else you’ll have to remember from the pictures. And afterwards you’ll realize that all but the really important things just didn’t matter a damn, no matter what may have happened. Trust me! 😉
And scrumptious is a great word for Nasser’s sock!
May 11th, 2007 at 2:21 pm
I really can’t believe that the friends & family of your beloved Alex will be all that surprised upon meeting you. Unless, of course, all the pictures you’ve been showing us of him have been of a decoy, and he’s actually twelve, and there’s a few other things you’ve neglected to tell us. Listen, weddings never, ever, ever go off perfectly as planned. Someone will get their feelings hurt, someone will cry (probably lots and a few for all the wrong reasons), someone will make an inappropriate gesture/remark/toast, and something will get broken. BUT, when it’s all over, and you and Alex will look back and remember how perfect the day was, and how well-behaved everyone was. And all yours & Alex’s friends and family will remember you as the happiest, most beautiful couple they’d ever seen.
Now, if you can just survive until then.
May 11th, 2007 at 4:04 pm
I have attended many weddings of the children of my friends and business associates and it doesn’t bother me one iota that the bride and groom may not know who I am. I go to weddings to participate in this ancient ritual that reaffirms the hope that springs eternal in our human hearts – that love will conquer all. That despite the divorce statistics and the domestic abuse statistics and the choice of many to just live together, when two people, of whatever age and whatever history decide to make a public commitment to each other, before their family and friends, and yes, before God – well, it gives each of us hope. Maybe, despite the angst and stress and societal forces that seem to erode even the best of relationships, maybe this union will be especially blessed and love will see the couple through the hard times and challenges. And believe me, “in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,” that pretty well covers it. People aren’t going to be there to judge you or your dress or your hair style or your choice of reception food. They are there because it is a chance to say yes to love, to goodness, to all things that are pure and joyful and hopeful about our human experience.
May 12th, 2007 at 12:00 am
I agree with Marsha– and also, I love going to weddings because it’s a good chance to eat cake, drink, and dance. It’s hard for me to turn that down 🙂
I think it’s the most fun to remember how happy a bride looks. That shines through everything else.
May 12th, 2007 at 1:42 am
Actually, I think disliking the whole bride thing is much more basic than what you described. Many of us (like me) really, really don’t like being the center of attention.
May 12th, 2007 at 2:09 pm
Yeah, what Gypsy said! I tore up the Wedding Book and chucked it in the recycling bin. Went and got some papers signed at the Law Courts, and that was that.
Anyway DON’T put that mint in the ground, whatever else you do! It spreads like wildfire, it will choke out other plants and you’ll never be rid of it.
May 13th, 2007 at 11:48 am
I’m doing some atypical wedding planning myself. While there’s a traditional family-and-friends shindig in the works, because of my fiance’s military deployment, we’re getting married about 9 months before our wedding. It really strips it down to the basics – what is the most important part of it all? It’s the being together and having the whole world know we have a right to that. Puts the flower dilemnas way into the background.
May 14th, 2007 at 9:11 am
Cultural anthropologist here with a little tough love for the bride.
So you fall short of an archetype. You’re not young and dewy enough, fertile enough, thin enough, feminine enough. People are going to judge you in that beautiful wedding dress you’ve chosen. People are going to tear you down because you don’t conform to our culture’s idea of The Bride.
It’s really a lot more about you and choosing to value who you are and your life choices. It’s also about letting go of control.
Your wedding day will come and you will get married. Fly your freak flag high. People always admire that so much more than conformity.
-Helen
May 14th, 2007 at 5:41 pm
As an OLD friend from your distant past -small town days, may I add a
few heartfelt words to those of other “bloggers”. (And since I am 81 plus,
I am proud to even know what constitutes a blog.)
I was married 60 years ago on June 1, 1947.
As an orphan raised by a 70 year old grandmother, my girlhood dream
was to walk down the aisle in a white satin gown—(yes, I was a virgin) be a “good” wife and have 10 children!! (I might add here that after the first baby came–that number was lowered considerably!)
My dress was made by a dear friend–spring flowers came from the lawns
of church members–and the reception would never have met the standards
of sister Sarah; but my dream did come true!
It is a different time and a different age. I was ME and you are definitely
YOU. I like that YOU! You are an extremely bright, talented modern
YOUNG women.
Relax! Enjoy! and I’m sure all will go well.
P.S. I’m 81 years of age– and I still don’t know how to KNIT!!!!!!
May 14th, 2007 at 6:56 pm
P.S. # 2
I’m afraid that 60 years ago I would needed the “gender role issue”
explained to me. (It wasn’t easy being “green”.)
“How the times have changed”……….an expression used by my grandma!
JH
May 17th, 2007 at 7:28 pm
That feeling has nothing to be with being almost 40. I’m only 23 and I have almost zero desire to get married and be judged and reproduce. I am not one to fantasize about the white dress, big party, and huge cake. All that gives me the heeby jeebies.
And my mom who is almost 50 is getting married on the 19th of May, this weekend. She’s placid coming up to the big day. Like it’s just another Saturday and just another party to have. I don’t know.
I think I’ve been all willy about this as of late because I never thought my mom would get married (again) before me. Strange time and a strange world.
May 21st, 2007 at 7:35 pm
You use the term “utter bollocks” in your initial posting. Are utter bollocks things or a place? Isn’t utter bollocks near Lodi, California?