Wednesday, 10:30 am in Atlanta

So I am heading back to the States for ten days or so.

DaAnne, AKA the Big D---so named because she is about as non-big as one gets, unless you count her hair, which can be pretty rockin' and sizeable---has breast cancer.

Her surgery is happening on Wednesday morning, which depending on where you are in the world could be any of a number of hours in the day...

4:30 am in Hawaii
7:30 am in California
8:30 am in Colorado
10:30 am in New York
4:30 pm in Stavanger

Just to name a few...

So I am going back to be there for it and for a week or so afterwards.

It's been draining in almost every single way over the past few months. Jumble together the alphabet (MRI, PET, etc...) and she's had the test. The diagnoses have run the gamut from extreme to mild, finally settling on lumps in her breast. And she's been a trooper, working full time and keeping up with her usual way-too-much DaAnne-ness, the whole time.

(Not to mention the "small" event of our wedding, which was in full stressful hyper-speed planning mode when all this started...)

Which brings me to my point.

She's been given a "Sending-Thoughts" pager. It's so that whenever someone thinks of her over the course of the next few days, they can call the pager number and it will ring or buzz or ping or something. And she will know immediately that someone is thinking of her.

And sure there have been loads of study on whether good thoughts or prayer are actually helpful in the medical sense, coming to a variety of conclusions at most points somewhere between "yep, sure does" and "nope, not one single bit."

That is not my concern, because that is not the point, at least not the way I see it.

The point is, I can bet with almost complete certainty that every time her buzzer makes a noise, it will send her a little bit of encouragement. She will know that there are people out there in Georgia or California or Norway who are on her side, hoping that everything will be okay soon.

So, while I won't publish that number here, I would appreciate it if you all could keep Big D in your thoughts over the next few weeks, especially on Wednesday at

4:30 am in Hawaii
7:30 am in California
8:30 am in Colorado
10:30 am in New York
4:30 pm in Stavanger

Shin-dig in Storhaug

Last night Husband and I went to an inflyttningsfest (literally a "moving party" Flytte=move or relocate, Fest=party), which is a housewarming party.


(We're in their kitchen.)

But before we went into the kitchen, we stopped at the door to take off our coats and our shoes.



Please see name of blog above. That is why. Socks are important here. Shoes go off practically the moment you enter a house. So good looking socks and clean smelling toes are of paramount importance. Especially if you are popular, I suppose. Which I also suppose would only be the case if the socks and toes were in order...


Our friends, Erin and Kyrre, are new to their home in a neighborhood just up the hill from our house. Because most of the boxes were unpacked, it was time to have everyone over. Erin is American, by way of Brussels, and Kyrre is Norwegian, so the inflyttningsfest guest list was an international mix.


(That's Erin on the right. If you'd been around, I'll bet she would have invited you, too. She's friendly like that.)

If you can bear the 8 seconds of this, listen closely and not only will you hear English by way of me thinking I was taking a photo, you'll also hear Spanish and Norwegian as well.



This is the photo I was trying to take...




Packed into the living room, kitchen and most of the house were, among, others:
1) Kyrre's Norwegian colleague from Stavanger University who bikes to work everyday, even in the rain. When she had to take her children to nursery school, they rode in a cart attached to her bike. Thankfully it was mainly downhill. Now they walk. The children, I mean. She still bikes. Every day. Even in the rain.

2) A consultant from Maryland who works at NATO (whose offices are housed in the middle of a giant hill. He doesn't get to work in the middle of the hill. He has to work in a rickety temporary offices outside. Which I guess is okay because he's a temporary worker.)

3) Hilarious Norwegian friends of friends who attempted to explain some fact of Norwegian culture to me.



It was completely mixed and was not quite English and not quite Norwegian.



I am not sure I understood it. At least not completely.

4) A group of Spanish and Mexican couples who moved to Stavanger because their husbands work for the oil companies. One husband looked a lot like Alfred Molina, the actor. (But not as the scary Dr. Ock, more as the kindly Dr. Ock. But still tall and friendly.) The Spanish woman made a tortilla, which is kind of cake made of onion, egg and potato. Another one is slightly sassy. (Scroll up to group photo. Sassy is in blue shirt. She's the one you want to stand next to at parties and hope you're lucky enough to hear one of her slightly wicked comments. And that's a compliment.)

And that's just who I talked to in the first hour or so.

Loads of fun.

I can't wait for ours.



Small aside....
Right now, Husband is in the living room, pretending to work, but really watching a Discovery Channel show on poots. Apparently poots fueled by brussel sprouts will ruin a dinner party because they will (now please read the following out loud in a posh English accent) "thwack you in the face, if you know what I mean."

How Not To Be Burgled

(I'm taking a lesson and then am practicing on the Barnetrekket, which basically means Children's Slope. I'm in black, standing in front of the woman in the orange vest. Yes, I am about to bite it on the Bunny Hill.)




(This is Husband on the tip top of the whole world--not the Bunny Slope-- about to board down. We have significantly different skill levels.)


I am a little paranoid about my engagement ring.

Yes, it may seem silly and most people manage to wear them and not lose them all the time. And diamonds are pretty much unbreakable, being the hardest substance and all of that...

But, as a general rule, I tend to be clumsy and accidently destroy things. If there is a door jam, I will run into it. If there is a step, I will stub my toe. Glasses are not safe in my hands and there is a high chance I will shrink your sweater if given a chance.

So based on three plus decades of experience, there is absolutely no reason to think that I can be trusted with an engagement ring.

So my ring is styled based on those thoughts. It's set low, so there will be no knocking into things and having the stone fly out. It's set in almost an industrial style setting, so that stone is IN it. And it's insured.

So most bases are covered.

But, if we are doing something sporty, I take it off and leave it at home.

So last week, I was searching for somewhere to leave it, while we left town to go skiing.

(There is really no crime in Norway, so the chances of it disappearing were practically nil. Unless you put me into the equation, which ups the possibility considerably.)

So I wanted to make sure Husband knew where it was, so when we got home, one of us could remember and would find it again.

So this is the conversation...

Me: Where should I leave my ring? What if we get burgled? We're going to be gone for four days.

(Long not very interesting part where Husband indulges my craziness, while reminding me that there is no crime in Norway.)

Me: Okay, so I am going to hide it anyway. So, pay attention. I am going to leave my ring right here.

Husband: Brilliant idea. Put it right with your other jewelry, so when the burglar comes in, he won't have to work so hard. He can just open the obvious drawer and it will all be together. It's really quite thoughtful of you.

Me: Okay, so where should I leave it?

Husband: What about your box of tampons? I can guarantee you that no self-respecting burglar is going to be taking those.

Three things

So I've been a little neglectful about posting lately because it's been busy.

I have been slowly unpacking the house, which is a pain in the caboose, for sure.

I'm starting a new business venture with two friends of mine. It's top secret for now, but is going to be fun.

And I'm preparing for a trip back to the States next week.

All more on that later, but in the meantime, today, while I am working on all the rest, instead of putting up long posts, I am going to drop in little bits....

Next Door Neighbors

It's been a busy day. The movers just left. They brought all the rest of our things...

Moving has been going on for what seems like forever...

In early Janaury, I moved my apartment over to Husband's house. Then we separated everything we owned into piles: Going and Staying. Then Going was divided into three piles: Going Now, Going Soon, Going Later.

The Going Now pile consisted of a few clothes stuffed into suitcases and that's what we've had for the past two months as we have wedding'd, traveled to the beach, gone skiing, settled into Norway, etc....

The Going Soon pile consisted of a few more clothes and my computer and came in a box on a plane.

The Going Later pile was loaded into a giant container and was loaded onto a ship. And that was what arrived today.

So right now the upstairs of our apartment is piled with books and kitchen things. The downstairs is piled with surfboards and towels. Then there are the clothes, many of which I couldn't bear to put into storage or give away, but suspect that I won't have much use for here, like bright blue leather cropped pants or a long grey satin ball skirt.

The chaos is a bit overwhelming. When the movers left, I started to work on things bit by bit, but then would get distracted by another task and then another. So as a consequence, not so much is done other than all of the unpacking.

As I plotted my next move, I did exactly what I would have if this had happened in New York.

I called Lisa.


(this photo is from last year when we met in Boston for the wedding of her sister Kim who is another favorite of mine who I have known as long as I have Lisa.)

She and I have been friends since we were both 22 and I coerced her into having a drink with me the first week I moved to New York.

When I moved to New York, I didn't know a soul in the entire city. But from asking around from home, most people have a sister or a friend or a cousin or a next door neighbor from sixth grade who live there. So I collected references and numbers and when I got there, I called and introduced myself and asked them if they would like to meet for drinks.

Most said yes (and are still my acquaintances), but Lisa had just moved from Georgia and was not inclined to have another Southern friend. She wanted to branch out and expand and have new exotic Yankee ones.

But, for whatever reason, she finally made a date with me. And that was it. For years we were partners in crime, sharing beach houses and double dates. When my family was too far away on holidays, I would join hers. On Sunday morning, I would walk from the West Village, through Chinatown and over the Brooklyn Bridge to her apartment on Cranberry Street to spend the days, when she didn't make the opposite journey. I was in her wedding and it disappointed both of us that the date of mine fell when she was too pregnant to travel.


(Lisa and her grandmother Ginger at Kim's wedding. Ginger, Sandy (Lisa's mother) and Kim came to our wedding, not only because they are our dear dear friends, too, but also to represent. I couldn't have been more thrilled to see them.)

And, along with every other good quality Lisa has, she loves to clean, organize and straighten things. It de-stresses her and calms her. And if you get her in the right frame of mind, she'll admit that a bucket full of hot soapy water, a giant sponge and a dirty floor just thrills her to no end.

Which is about as opposite from my feelings as is humanly possible. I am just not sure I possess that gene or it's in a dormant state, only roused by adrenaline or direction. So, on more than one occasion I have offered up my abode when Lisa has run out of things to scrub or put up in her own.

So this afternoon, when I couldn't figure out what to do next (or really even first) I called Lisa. I caught her on her way to work suspecting that her daughter is planning to arrive any day now.

All I had to say was "Hey, it's me. The movers just came and things are piled all over the place."

She laughed and said "Oh no. I wish I could come right over."

A few days ago, my friend Wendy wrote a post about wanting to share a duplex with another dear friend of ours.

And I feel exactly (almost) the same. For years, I have been collecting my list of best next door neighbors in the world.

I don't want to live in the same house or in a duplex, but would love to be neighbors with all my friends.

And for years, I have been lucky enough to live in the same town for years with some of them at certain times. And even some of those have gotten to be friends with each other. So really, it would be perfect.

We could all have our separate houses, but on Sundays we could have afternoon cookouts and later in the evenings after all the kids are asleep we could sneak over to drink wine and discuss. Book club would be so easy to arrange and I could get to the next level in knitting. And the mix of perspectives...

Ack, no matter how happy I am, I so get homesick for them. But it's a little more challenging these days. We'd all have to gather from New York and Atlanta and Hawaii and Colorado and California and Europe.

And today, Lisa was on her way to work in LA as I am confused in the late afternoon in Stavanger. But still, if nothing else, she's there, even if it's halfway around the world, eight hours in the past. knowing exactly what I needed when.

So back to it.

And I'll update on Skiing and Scotland soon.

And stay tuned for Husband Knows Stuff,Episode #2 in which he will tackle "Blood vs. Guts, the Blood Pudding vs. Haggis debate."

Husband Knows Stuff, #1: What is a fjord?

It's been a pretty eventful week thus far and we're back at home for just a night. And only long enough to scarf down Thai take-away and do a load of laundry. Then we will be off again...

But in the meantime, here the initial installment of my newest feature. It's in the rough stages, but will appear sporadically, so please enjoy.

WARNING:
While the expert speaking in the attached video is held in the highest esteem by me, and by people who know, the information is in no way guarenteed to be be accurate.



And if there are any questions you would like for Husband to explain, please leave your questions in the comments. I'll make sure he gets them. Trust me, he knows lots of stuff. Maybe he can help you out as well.

Have a Happy Easter. There's lots to tell and I will early next week.

Things I Learned Today, Installment One

So our camera broke today. An error message saying "Memory Card Error" popped up on the screen instead of the inspired photo I was trying to take of the giant shrimp statue in the harbor.

Husband replaced the memory card, but was too embarrassed to take it to his friend, the technophile, because it is so out of date. So for a while, until we get a new one, we'll have to do without photos, but not for tooooo long....

In the meantime, I'll add in links when I appropriate (or deemed so by me...).

Today, we got a loaner car. It's a Saab 93 diesel (wagon, natch...) and we'll be driving this one until our actual car comes in the mail or on a boat or via train or however it is that cars get to places when they are not being driven. So Husband ditched work early and picked me up for a Friday afternoon drive.

We went all over the area and into the country side and here are a few things we saw and a few things I learned.

1) If you are driving along the road and see a sign that says "Fartputer" do not be alarmed. Slow down because, if not you will soon be flying over Speed Pillows, which are speed bumps.

2) A goat is a geit, which is pronounced Yight (rhymes with sight). More than one goat is a geiter.

3) It doesn't matter that it was cold enough that we were buttoned up and wearing gloves. On this afternoon, the sun was out and the waves were breaking. So, car loads of people were pulling up to the beach, stripping down and then zipping up their wetsuits all for a few hours of surfing in the afternoon sun.

4) Not all cars in Europe are stick shifts. Some of them are automatic, one of which, in our possession for the next month or so, is parked right by our front door.

Easter week

So today is the beginning of the holiday week. Norwegians take Easter seriously. And not in the religious sense, in the vacation sense.

Many take off the entire week beforehand, all the way through Easter Monday, which is the day after Easter. At the very very least, pretty much the entire country shuts down from Thursday until Monday, which means that, with some exceptions, there are no grocery stores, restaurants, movies or businesses open. The public transport runs on weird schedules and the towns empty out.

So we are as well. On Sunday morning we're going to Husband's friends hytte (pronounced heee-tah), which means mountain cabin. In the traditional sense, it's the place Norwegians to commune with nature and to have family time. And in the older ones, it was rustic. And by rustic, I mean lacking indoor plumbing and heating.

Husband promised that is not the kind of hytte where we will be spending our time. We will be in the other kind of hytte. The kind with five bedrooms and two and 1/2 baths, running water, heat and enough room to lounge about.

His longtime close friend who owns the hytte will be bringing his sons and their three friends and there will also be another couple and their baby. During the days I will be skiing and Husband will be snowboarding Røldal.

We'll come back on Tuesday night. And on Wednesday, we'll head to the airport to fly to Aberdeen, then take a train down to Edinburgh. Sadly, we will not have time to visit Nessie on this trip. But next time.

When we arrive back on Monday night, Easter will be almost over. I just hope we can get a cab from the airport...

Improving my mind

I think Husband (Hi! Husband!) is reading this because he switched up the television channels again today!

Today he left it on CNN.

I think he's trying to improve my mind. Little does he know that after the world news, Larry King comes on and I heard all the salacious details about the high class call girls.

I also learned from one of the madams that most of the clients tend to be married men, who aren't actually "cheating" on their wives. They are just there for "companionship," because "they don't feel appreciated at home."

As I mull that over, I am wavering between several different thoughts.

The most prevelant one is "Bwahahahahahaha."

I'd Like a Wombat for a Pet

So I mentioned yesterday that Husband turns on the television every morning for me...

On this particular morning he switched it up and turned it to MTV's Breakfast Show.

From my nook in the dining room, I heard this kicky tune that seemed vaguely reminiscent of The Kooks, who I love for a variety of reasons, so I ran around the corner to see who it was...



Sure they are cute boys with floppy hair who have named themselves after a marsupial, but best of all, check out that enunciation. Their mothers (and theater teachers) must be so proud...

This is the song The Wombats would like to dance to with you....



But this is my favorite remake...It's by a group called Nouvelle Vague, who remade New Wave songs in a bosso nova style...

The Best is Yet to Come

Every morning when we wake up, Husband goes upstairs to start the coffee and to turn on the television.

(I am no good with electronics, especially the ones with more than three control devices, all of which are in a language I don't understand yet.)

So, mainly based on the fact that if the television is turned off, I will be unable to turn it back on, it stays on for much of the morning...

I listen through God Morgen Norge in the hopes that the language is becoming embedded in my subconscious, plus I find it hilarious because at least twice a week, one co-host (check out the man wearing the blue jeans) is usually unshaven and looks like he is coming off a twelve-hour bender.

And the first time I caught the show in mid-January, the featured guests were/was a Swedish country music group...Think the Patridge Family, but Scandanavian and oh so mournful. I loved it.

Then the children's programing comes on and occasionally I will pay attention and work on my colors and shapes.

But, for the most part, I usually ignore the television and it's just Norwegian white noise soundtracking the first hours of the day.

But just a few minutes ago, I was sitting in the dining room surfing around on my laptop, catching up on news and email.

And what do I hear, but our wedding song.

Which, for those of you who did not make it to Gainesvegas on February 16th, is "The Best is Yet to Come," first popularized by Frank Sinatra.

For a little bit of how it sounded on that actual day, here is a brief clip of our wedding singer, singing our wedding song

So I run around the corner, into the living room, and see that the Kiwi is using the Frank Sinatra original (here set to Japanese anime, because well, that's what I could find)in their latest commercial...

What is the Kiwi, you ask? I can't find the website right now, but imagine the 7-11 as a slightly bigger, slightly less clean grocery store.

A Masters in Expat Housewifery*

Though we just got here eleven days ago and we've only been hitched for a little more than three weeks, I'd been researching the Expat life for months.

I'd been reading blogs written by Stavanger wives who had moved here for their husbands' careers...(look to the right for Victoria's Guide to Norway, for example.) I'd researched the Norwegian lifestyle. Husband had been prepping me and we came for the house-hunting visit. So I thought I was pretty versed up on the Expat aspect.

Then there was the marriage aspect of it all. I have been a bridesmaid 14 times, so that should count for something. I've been talking to my friends about it for years and finally found someone I wanted to marry.

And,most importantly, even with all the unknowns, I'd been gathering advice from all sorts of sources. And, the best advice of all, came from the infinitely wise DaAnne...

A few weeks before the hitching, she and I went shopping for the skinny jeans immortalized in the title of this blog. We were sitting in some restaurant outside of some giant mall outside of Atlanta, having a few glasses of wine, engaging in a little pre-shopping strategizing.

And, feeling a little sentimental, I said, "Mom, do you have any marriage advice for me?" It must have surprised her because she started laughing, even spewing a bit. Finally, after several long moments and attempts at humorous deflection, she said, "Why don't you two just try to always be nice to each other. Then see how it goes."

So, armed with my jeans and a resolve to always be nice, I thought I was about as ready as possible.

And, for variety of reasons, both personal and professional, I intended to take good notes about the experiences along the way.

And of course, I knew there would be challenges ahead, but that no matter what, Husband and I will handle it happily and well.

And we have and we will. It's been a great amount of fun, with more to come...

But just based on the sociological discoveries thus far, I suspect this experience is really the structure for a Masters Program...

Some planned core courses:

Get Your Mind Right, Girl 601
The Psychological Economics of Work In and Out of the House

Conversion 702
It's Not Just Fahrenheit to Celsius

Cultural Ideology 601
Just Because Your Bra Size is Now 75D Does Not Mean You are Fat

Anti-Math 508
You Just Might as Well Quite Converting Kroner to Dollars

I'm still working on the rest of the curriculum.


*hous wif-uh-ree, preferably pronounced with a Middle English accent.

Happy Easter

Norway, along with many European countries, shuts down over the Easter holidays. Stores are closed. No one goes to work. I'm pretty sure that the mail doesn't come as well.

The entire country just stops, packs up and heads out of town.

So we are too.

For the first half of the week, we're going to a friend's ski cabin. The we'll be back in Stavanger for a night.

On Wednesday of that week, we're leaving for Scotland and will spend about a day or so driving around the Highlands and then to Edinburgh for four days.

Husband wants to see the Highlands for the landscape and history.

Me, I am dying to go to Loch Ness. Yep, it will be touristy and perhaps even cheesy, but I grew up on a diet of monster stories and folklore. I soaked up everything about the Yeti and the vampires and the Frankensteins. And really for all their creepiness (and occasional murders and blood-drinking), they always seemed a little bit lonely.

One of my absolute favorites was the Loch Ness monster, Nessie, for those in the know...

Who is Nessie, you wonder???

The thought of taking a boat tour of the loch with the (yes, I know it's slim to none, but humor me for a moment, please) possibility of a sighting is too scary and delicious to even fathom.

I don't care a bit if every shop for kilometers will be hawking Nessie goods or if it's like the Disneyland of mythical creatures.

I'm lobbying to stay at the B&B overlooking the lake.

Loch Ness Clansman Hotel

Then we'll head south to spend a few days sipping on whiskey and shopping in Edinburgh.

Though, I also saw a note that Scotland may shut down for Easter as well. If so, we'll just keep driving to England.

Post Office Bride

It's complicated to get all the paperwork to live in Norway.  There is such a strong social system here that the government can be stringent about who can and cannot stay in the country.  

Sure there could be ways around it, I guess, but everything depends on a personal ID number which comes with the visa.  Without one, you cannot register to see a doctor, get a bank account, apply for a work permit, etc... It's a pretty big deal. I'm semi-unclear about some of the details, but for a variety of reason, I needed to register. 

So on Friday morning, we gathered my stack of papers and headed to the police station.  Which is pretty swanky as police stations go.  It's open and airy and art is hanging on the wall. No rotten criminals or unattractive mugshots.

My stack of papers, included, but was not limited to our marriage license, my birth certificate, applications, a copy of my passport, photos and Husband's financial statements.  We had heard that that last was ultra important because we have to prove that I have some means of support, to illustrate that I will not get here and then start applying for monies from the state.

We thought that it would be relatively easy for me.  Husband lived and worked here for more than three years, so instead of just a work permit, he has a settlement permit, meaning that he doesn't have to reapply and can stay as long as he would like. 

Well, as we stepped up to the window, we realized that I actually needed a Family Reunification Visa, which is loads more expensive and also has more criteria involved. 

The woman behind the desk flips through our paperwork and asks to see Husband's passport. She takes it away to make a copy of it for my file. Then when we ask how long it will be for the visa to come back, she laughs a bit and says perhaps five to six months.

Then she asks if I am a Post Office Bride.  

Because Husband is not Norwegian, but has a Settlement Permit, we are in a special category. 

The office is sending my application to Oslo, where it will go into a pile of applications.  Then when it comes to our turn, they will compare the travel reflected on my passport with the travel reflected on Husband's. 

They want to make sure we've been in the same places at the same times and that he didn't just pick me out of a catalogue. 

Which, while annoying to be sure, it's really pretty funny.  Sometimes the truth is only just a shade off. 

Fish and Guests

\



Whenever I tell people that we live in a renovated sardine factory, they inevitably ask "Does it smell like fish?"

And the answer is "No. No more than a renovated factory loft in SoHo smells like sewing needles or the sweat of exploited workers."

Norway is so far north in the world that over the course of the year, the amount of sunlight varies radically depending on the time of year....In the winter, there is very little sunlight, often just four or so hours. And those hours can look like twilight when the sun doesn't get very high over the horizon.

In the summer, there can be as many as 18 or more hours of sunlight...

Also, it rains. Alot.

So, having dark sleeping quarters is just as important as having ample windows. So you can both soak up as much sun as possible, while still having enough darkness to sleep.

Which are only part of the reasons why I love our house. It's on a hill, so the downstairs, which is storage, sleeping and bathrooms is pretty dark. Then upstairs is an open layout with high ceilings and windows 3/4 of the way around.


(No, all that furniture is not ours. Neither is the dog. His name is Rufus and belongs to our landlord's girlfriend. Lille and Milo will be here soon...)

Plus, it has a red and blue door. And you're welcome anytime.

The Hitchin' Happened

Yep, I have a husband, a ring and a marriage certificate, but I don't have a completely clear memory of the entire events of our wedding day. It came so quickly and then was over.

There are things I remember with complete clarity:

Being so excited to see Husband on that morning when he was waiting for me at the alter, I hitched up my dress and ran just so I could get there quicker. Which is only fitting because I always said that I wasn't going to get married until I found someone just right. Someone who when I saw him at the end of the aisle, I was going to be so excited about it that I was going to skip to him at the very least. And, without really thinking about it, that's pretty much what I did.

Though I was really disappointed in my father for deciding not to take part, especially at such a late moment, I couldn't have been more happy to have mom walk me down the aisle. If we're going to follow the tradition of "giving away", then the person who is doing the giving should be the one person with the authority to do it. And there is no one in my life who has more authority in that capacity than my mother. She raised my brother, sister and me, mainly on her own, and we wouldn't be half whatever it is that we are without her guidance, then or now.

Being so touched (and I mean that in the non-Hallmark card, shot though a fuzzy lens, way) at the generous out pouring of love, time, effort and genuine good spirits from the very first moment that Husband and I received from the minute we announced we were going to get married. And further, that we'd like to get married in just under two months.

That almost every single person who was really important showed up. They traveled from California and New York and Atlanta and Colorado and all over the country to be there. The ones that couldn't were just too pregnant or had life events that couldn't be rescheduled. And even those called and supported and were there from far away.

But for the rest of it, much like any couple on any wedding day, we didn't get a good chance to visit with many of our guests. We didn't hear all the Vivaldi we chose for the ceremony or drink a bloody mary or eat more than one bite of the fancy cream cheese pound wedding cake.

And there were little moments, dancing with my stepfather or having my new nephews get sugared up and tap me on the back and pop around the other side or looking across the room and seeing friends from different areas of my life start to be friends with each other....but I guess it was a little bit like not seeing the forest for the trees.

We missed a lot of it, so we have been so excited about seeing the photos and watching the video, if just to prove it really happened.

And according to the email I got last night, it did.

Elizabeth and Anthony's Wedding Slideshow