My Weekend Wand (and other stories)

Wedding Day has come and gone, and what a lovely event it is to think back on and praise God for! Someone asked me to post lots of pictures of Kayleen & Carlin’s big day, and I do plan to fulfill that request in a future post, when I have lots of pictures to choose from. It’s a rather unique situation to be both a photographer (albeit, an amateur one) and the mother of the bride (an amateur one too, I guess) at a wedding, in the sense of resulting pictures when the day is over. I did have my camera available at the reception, but I think I took only one picture with it. I saw many beautiful opportunities for photographic shots that day. I can only hope the designated photographer captured them – and a wondrous lot besides.

What I do have to share before the photos, though, are some little stories including impressions and experiences from the days surrounding wedding time:

My Weekend Wand

When my twin sister Annette, along with her husband Nolan and their oldest daughter/my oldest niece Nolita made their plans to attend the wedding, they decided to come a few days early and stay a bit later so they’d be available to help us with preparations and the aftermath. That’s just the kind of people they are.

They stayed right at our house. Those who might question why we’d host guests over the time a daughter is getting married likely don’t realize the scope of ambition and intuition that came with this particular guest package.

They’d ask what they could do to help, and I say, “Wipe down the kitchen counters and clean the backsplash” or “Fry up this hamburger for sloppy joes at the Set Up Day lunch” or “Make a pan of Mississippi Mud dessert”. It seemed only a short time later, I’d turn around and there was the food sitting on the shining counter.

Honestly, it was like I was Fairy Princess or something, waving my wand and saying “Do this, and that and this” to my subjects. Magically, the work got done, and in short order.

From scooping ice cream into 250 individual clear plastic containers for the dessert buffet at the wedding, to patiently ironing yards of table cloth and stringing yards of lights at Set Up, to ordering in pizza for the Tribe of Dan members who gathered at our house after the wedding, to using their rented car for hauling home pans and roasters of leftover chicken and rice from the wedding, to smoothing out and boxing 250 handmade cloth napkins that had been washed and dried after the wedding, the Nolan crew was simply (or maybe I should say complexly) amazing.

And let me say that the preparation and clean-up magic of the weekend had little to do with my wand or the waving thereof and much to do with my subjects!

A Wedding Nightmare

I have my niece Holly to blame for the wedding disaster dream. When she came to our house one evening to help Kayleen the week of the wedding, Holly asked me how preparations were coming along, and if I’d had any wedding nightmares yet. I answered that I thought I was keeping apace quite well in the wedding prep schedule, and that no, I hadn’t had any scary dreams.

Well, of course I had a troubling dream that very night. In it, Kayleen and I were travelling somewhere and our vehicle needed gas. For some reason when I filled up, I had to put the gas in a jerry can. And I had to fill said can inside the car. There was some thick mayonnaise-y stuff coating the opening of the jerry can, so it was quite tricky to get this gas poured into the container.

Kayleen had her wedding dress in the car, draped over the seat and under no protective covering and wouldn’t you know, I spilled some of this gunky, gassy mess onto her dress. She and I were just devastated! Until I discovered that the dress was actually my own wedding dress from 31 years ago. Then both of us were like, no big deal. And I woke up, relieved to discover that none of the disaster was reality.

In Sunday School at church the day after the wedding, the lesson text was the story of Jacob at Bethel. Naturally the topic of dreams came up in the discussion and our teacher asked us if our dreams today have significance. When I mentioned probably not nightmares before a wedding, the teacher wanted to know more details.

After briefly describing my dream about spilling the gas, the teacher asked if my dream was stress-fueled. Stress-fueled. Annette was sitting beside me in class and we both recognized the unintended pun about the same time. It was fun to share a giggle with her, and then with the teacher and the rest of the class as they caught on.

An Unwanted Crop

If you’d have asked me before the wedding how I’m coping with the stress of preparations, I would’ve told you that I think I’m doing fine, over all. Kayleen was exceptionally well-organized in her planning, and I tried to be at least decent in mine. I was able to sleep most hours that I was in bed at night, I didn’t come down with a sore throat or even the sniffles, and I felt like I was able to handle any frustrations that came up by talking them out with Ken, thereby releasing them from intense and undue focus on my part. (Tears were also a coping tool in this process.)

BUT. Somewhere down deep, in the dark and damp, the stress spores were gathering and budding and strategizing about how and when to bloom. Apparently, the Monday after the wedding was the target date.

That morning I woke up with my upper lip mushroomed out in cold sores. There were several spots that kind of blended into one whopper sore heading toward my left nostril and I had a couple on my lower lip, too. All told, there were SEVEN cold sores. That’s a lot of stress, if you ask me. And a lot of soreness, not to mention nastiness in the looks department.

Cold sores are strange creatures. I have, according to info I read on some medical websites, a dormant cold sore virus living permanently in my body. I am not alone in this. About 80% of the people in North America have it, too, and if you are one of those people, you have my empathy.

Normally, my immune system is able to keep the virus in dormant mode, but a trigger such as stress can allow the virus to multiply rapidly, spread down my nerve cells and pop out onto my lips.

I used to get cold sores way more often than I have in the last ten years or so. Hence, this latest crop was rather a surprise. I really dislike cold sores, every stage included, from the tingling onset when I’m scared it’s a sign of terrible things to come but still hoping like crazy that it will pass without developing into anything major, to the ugly, painful, oozy period where it hurts to eat or talk or sometimes just be, to the ugly, brown crusted-over patches of lip skin phase in which uninhibited youngsters will ask me the question that everyone else I meet is probably dying to ask: “What’s wrong with your mouth?”

As par for the cold sores course, my lips are healing nicely since the 7-10 days after breakout are up. Hallelujah! I can still tell where the sores were, but the scabless spots are pink now instead of crusty brown.

This post-wedding batch of cold sores has had a way of humbling me, of reminding me to be realistic about my inability to handle stress loads well on my own and about my need for graciously accepting the help of others.

It has also helped me to be grateful. I don’t know how many times I have thanked God that I didn’t get these cold sores two days before the wedding instead of two days after!

That Puzzling Pair

As twins, we don’t try to trick people into thinking that I’m Annette or that she’s Danette, but it happens sometimes. Because we have tended to look less like each other rather than more similar over the years, it can be surprising – and amusing – when it does happen.

At the wedding reception, Annette and Nolan served apple cider to the guests. This involved standing at the punch table and keeping the drink dispensers filled so that the guests could help themselves to cider any time they wanted. The cider jugs were kept in a fridge in the kitchen off the reception hall.

One time when Annette went to the kitchen to get some fresh jugs, one of the cooks who knows me quite well saw her and exclaimed, “Danette!” and proceeded part way into a scolding of the bride’s mother for being in the kitchen during the wedding. Annette hastily informed her that she’s not Danette, and about the same time my friend remembered that I have a twin sister.

Both ladies had fun relating their version of the story to me later at different times, and I got to laugh twice at the mix-up.

On Sunday after the wedding, we hosted some of Kayleen’s relatives and some of Carlin’s relatives in our home for lunch and the afternoon. The meal was served buffet-style in the kitchen on the main level of our house, and guests took their plates of food to tables and chairs (or just chairs) to eat in a room either upstairs or downstairs because we couldn’t accommodate the whole crowd solely in our dining room.

Annette and I were upstairs and down throughout the day enough that we managed to confuse my nephew, going by what he said to his family after they left our place later on that afternoon. His mom, Ken’s sister Colleen, sent me a message with the humorous account of her children chattering about their day. My niece said that it suddenly dawned on her that Danette’s twin was there when she kept seeing a person who looked so much like Danette but she was wearing a covering (instead of a veiling like I do). Then the light went on for my nephew and he exclaimed, “Ohhh, her twin was there! I just thought Danette was everywhere!”

Photo Cred: Nolita Bechtel

This Post’s Quote:

My dad preached the message at Kayleen & Carlin’s wedding. In his opening comments, he told the audience that the couple always hopes their wedding day turns out perfectly; that everything goes off without a hitch. Then he paused, realizing he had unintentionally used a pun, and continued with, “I mean, they do want to get hitched!”

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

I remember my mom telling us children some fascinating details of her birth story, such as her being another “blue baby” (after the two siblings before her had both died from the same condition), the doctor writing out her death certificate before he wrote her birth certificate, and the tiny pink spot on her forehead growing larger and spreading over her entire body, bringing promise of life and health.

I don’t remember hearing this particular part of the story, though, as told by my aunt Nita recently: “The doctor wanted to buy Eva. He said, ‘My wife and I can’t have children, but you (Mom’s parents) can still have some more children. I’ll give you $10,000 and a brand-new car if you will let me have Eva.’ We always told her she was worth more than the rest of us!”