A story about The Olds, an Anniversary and Supermodels

It's been a bit since I've blogged.

It has been a bit overwhelmingly overwhelming in these parts lately with the moving and settling in, so I haven't had time to sit down and think on things.

But everything is shaking out and getting in place, so I will be back much more frequently.

On another note, a few weeks ago, I read a news story the blogging is for The Olds.**

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This morning I took our wedding cake out of the freezer.

In non-shocking news, we are a little late to the game.

Today is our second wedding anniversary and I am hoping we haven't missed all the good luck.

It's super pretty.

And if I remember correctly, on the inside are both vanilla and chocolate layers.

This was the one bite I got.

And, also, if I remember correctly it was really good. 

This is the way it looks today.

For the past two years while we were on our first big adventure, it sat cooling in BigD's refrigerator** freezer.

You're probably aware that most couple eat the top layer of their wedding cake on their first anniversary, but we couldn't work all of the logistics out in time.

But I just learned that the practice of saving the top layer comes from the 19th century when all cakes were mega, mega expensive.  And cakes were needed for both weddings and for christenings.

So, since christenings tended to come relatively soon after the wedding, they would just freeze the top layer and use it about a year later for their baby's christening.

This was from our first anniversary.***

 
Who knew we were so old fashioned?

In any case, as much as I tried to convince Husband to wear our wedding garb**** our to dinner tonight, he sweetly refused, but he did agree to our fancy rehearsal party get-ups.

Happy anniversary, sweet Husband. It's been a big two years and there's only more goodness to come.


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*This is not a deterrence, but this morning when I sat down to type, Andy Rooney and his eyebrows popped in my head.  He does not blog, but he does pontificate on things in a particular manner that seems (to me) to be a precursor to blogging. (Also, he does not even know exactly what a blog is, and he kind of hates what he does know about it, so by that logic it must be for The Youngs. Score.) If you are following this, that might mean you are one of The Olds, too.  If you are too young to get it, then "google" it like all the other young'uns.

**I can NEVER spell this word. No joke, I think it's one of the hardest ones in the entire English language.  Why isn't there a "d" in it?  I think there should be.

***Yeah it's a pretty horrid photo of me.  But in my defense, it was a rotten angle.  Even skinny people look gross from that angle.  Also I was 38 weeks pregnant.  Only celebrities and supermodels are cute then, and then only a few of them.  The rest of them go into hiding on their compounds only to emerge a few months later super fit and gorgeous to make everyone feel inferior.

****I loved my dress and think the whole wedding event happened so quickly that I didn't get to wear it long enough.  I wore it the next day in our hotel until we had to change to get to the plane.  Then when we got back from our honeymoon, I wore it again to eat a breakfast of boiled eggs with Husband and my sister.  I do not think this is weird.  On our tenth anniversary, we're going to do it all again.  Only eight more to go...

Do these socks make my feet look fat?*

Over the past few weeks, I've also been asked:

"Now that you're heading back does this mean you're going to be shutting down or renaming your blog?"

The short answer:
No and no.

The long answer:
Striped Socks and Skinny Jeans was never really about stripes, socks, skinny and/or jeans.**

It's always been about figuring out how to navigate where I am---which right now has been Stavanger, Norway and soon will be Atlanta, Georgia.

I've written about gettting hitched up, being newly married, traveling and having a baby, as well as other weighty topics such as wombats, how not to be burgled, glitter and tobacco.

I've even had contributors.

None of this will change.

So I'm just going to keep on with what I'm doing.

Please feel free to stop back by anytime.  You're always welcome.


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*Horizontal stripes are often not considered a great idea on most body parts unless you are very very brave.  I am not.  But stripes on feet?  I kind of like them.  They just seem friendly.

**The name came from my very first trip to Stavanger, which was not Husband's first trip.  (He's American, but had lived here before, moved back to the US.  Then we got hitched up and moved back to Stavanger for a few years.)

It was early in 2008 and as it often is in these parts, Stavanger was cold and rainy.  But being the optimistic sort that I am, I immediately tried to figure out how to make the dampness less annoying.  And I began with my feet, which if you've ever had really wet and cold feet, you may know that often that makes all the difference.

If you every happen to drop into Stavanger, and really most of Scandinavia, you'll notice that women tend to wear close-fitting pants or leggings, often jeans, tucked into knee high boots. I am convinced that it is less (or at least equal) a fashion statement and more of a practical one.  

On dark, dank days, the last thing you want to do is get the hemline of your pants wet.  Then not only will it eventually creep up your pants, but also will track into your home.

Which brings me to the next bit, the striped socks.  Unless it's a place of business, shoes are never worn inside.  Once you step over the threshold into your home, the shoes are removed.  And really, no one wants to see holey socks.

Also, I just like stripes.

One year ago today

My older brother has been with his wife for more than half of their lives and married for almost ten.  

So when he toasted us at our rehearsal party and said, "Pay attention every day, because the years pass quickly." I knew he must know what he's talking about. 

He's right.

I cannot believe that an entire year has passed since the hitchin'.

And it's been a big year.  

We've knocked out (or made a big dent in) most of the major milestones...marriage, major move, cultural adjustments, employment instability (then stability), family illnesses, travel and sometime in the next few weeks, we'll have a Pickle, as well. 

And even with all of it, it's been really good and mainly a whole lot of fun. 

I don't know how we got so lucky, but we're both pretty sure staying lucky comes down to remembering something the Big D said a few weeks before.  

I asked her for advice and she said,"Why don't you two just try to always be nice to each other. Then see how it goes."

And thus far, it's been going really well.  

Megan's hitching

Megan and I have been friends since the very beginnings of graduate school.  (Carolyn Davis, who's wearing the blue dress and dark cardigan in middle row, posted this photo on Facebook and then was dear enough to send it to me so I could borrow it at a decent size.  We all look so young there!)

And since 2000, we've had adventures. 

Both of us have always had odd freelance schedules, so occasionally, on sunny weekdays, Coney Island was just the place to be...then we'd head up the boardwalk to dance all afternoon at Ruby's, the diviest bar on the beachs.... (trust me on this...It's loads more fun that it sounds and were some of the best afternoons ever, especially on days when the Cyclone was open for business.)

Then there was always Halloween.  On this particular year, Megan was a mermaid.  Jess was a pregnant housewife and I was Miss Reform School. 

And of course, the wettest and rainiest concert Bruce Springsteen ever played.  (Yes, we are on the very tip top row of the stadium...But it was our second concert that tour, we scalped the tickets that afternoon---for face value no less, gotta love Bruce fans in Jersey---- It was awesome---and the one concert out of the ten or so I've seen that Bruce played "Rosalita.") 

And there have been countless events in between.

...Sipping key lime martinis on Manhattan rooftops.

...Staying up the entire night before the movers came to finish the packing.  (We spent several hours in the smallest hours of dawn wandering the streets for discarded cardboard boxes. Who knew eight years in the same apartments could fill up so much space?) 

...Helping me make new friends in Atlanta when she came to visit shortly after I got settled into my new apartment.

While I sort of hate that we don't have more photos of the nights out and the parties and the afternoons wandering, they most likely would be full of incriminating evidence and compromising situations, many of which I just don't want to explain.

...At least not now.  I do have lots of notes and explicit permission to use the stories as I see fit. 

She's is the best kind of friend...Amusing, brilliant and best of all she shows up.  And I don't mean just arrives, but participates and is a good guest.  And By good guest, I mean, adds to the party and stores up good stores and observations to tell later.  

This is a key quality. 

So even though Husband was at a crucial time in his work and couldn't come with me, I headed to New York last week, for Megan and David's hitching.  It couldn't have been lovelier.  They got married in the back gardens of a castle.

There were parasols for the guest waiting outside, then loads of dancing, food and drinks.  I saw people I hadn't visited with since I left New York.  And even in the midst of all the activities, Megan and I visited a bit as well. 

She and David hired a celebrity silhouette artist to work the wedding.  (Yes these do exist.  The night before this guy ---who was second generation, using his father's scissors that had never been sharpened--- had flown in from Los Angeles where he was the entertainment at a movie premiere.) 

He snipped out two copies.  One for the guest to keep and another to be glued into their guest book with a note.  Because my family couldn't come, Megan told me to bring a photo for the artist to use.  
(Yep, that's an approximation of Sweet Lillie. I had a photo of Milo, too.  But then actual human guests walked up and got in line, so we decided to wait.  Then time ran out.  I hate that we don't have a full family, but oh well...)

Megan loved Lillie's so much that after we walked Adele, her puppy who is almost exactly Lillie's age, she sat down for a portrait as well.


David waited patiently standing by...

And then it was almost time to go. 

Merry Merry Mariah Carey

I'm pretty easy-going and flexible, but there are certain things I cannot stand, things that I abhor with the heat of 1,000 suns.

It's odd and unnatural, but true. Some things just make my eyes bleed...

I politely tolerate all of them in public situations or in polite company, but several things are not allowed in our house.

For instance....

Carrots: Equine candy, icky texture and the go-to vegetable.
I just can't respect a "filler" food. "Hmmm what should I add to this here soup? Oh I don't know...What about a carrot?" Seriously, check it out. Carrots are tossed into everything, willy-nilly and with wild abandon...Soup, stew, pot roast thingys, salads...

Skorts: Be a skirt. Be a short. I don't care, but just commit to one or the other. (Also see: Portabella mushrooms. Do not try to fool me. I KNOW you are not a burger. This same line of thinking goes for sporks as well.) It's wishy-washy and weak. I just can't support it.

Roses: Cookie cutter sentiment, the Hallmark card of flowers and a smell like the feminine product aisle of the CVS.
When we were getting married, our dear Lucy handled the flowers. It went a little like this.
Lucy: What flowers would you like me to use?
Me: "White, with maybe some cream as well. That would be great."
Lucy: "What kind of white flowers?"
Me: "I don't know. What can you get?"
Lucy: "I can get anything. Flowers are growing all over the world, somewhere."
Me: "Well, I don't think we need to fly in something. Pretty much anything is good, other than roses. Please do not have even one rose."
Lucy: "Really? They tend to be less expensive, so you could have loads and loads of roses."
Me: "No thank you. If that is the case, I guess I will just have three."
Lucy: "Three roses?"
Me: "No. No, thank you. No roses. If cost becomes a factor, I'll just have three."
Lucy: "Of what"
Me: "Of anything else in the entire botanical world. I'd rather only have three of something than even one rose."
Lucy: "That's ridiculous."
Me: "Hmmm how about tulips?"

Mariah Carey:
I cannot stand her butterflies and her eight octaves. I don't care that her mother was an opera singer or about any of her teeny weeny dogs. It just seems dishonorable and just wrong that she has more Number 1 songs than Elvis or the Beatles. Her skirts are too short and I don't want to see her boobs. My eyes bled when I happened to catch her episode of Cribs and "walked" through her house filled with fluffy things. I hate the sound of her voice when it talks as well as when it sings. And when I read this morning that she got a tattoo of "Mrs. Cannon" I outwardly retched and inwardly snickered.

But as with most things that I abhor, there is usually one small exception.*

Often, there is one tiny little detail or caveat that will get an "abhored thing" into Hus Durel.

For instance....

Carrots: Husband chops carrots into teeny tiny pieces and blends them into his pasta sauces for a lovely earthy flavor.

Mariah Carey: I love one of her songs so much that I listen to it when it is not Christmas. I love that it is cheery and happy and makes me go-go dance against my will. I love it so much I plan to listen to it for most of the day.

Then when Husband arrives, I will play it for him and then we will discuss why he does not have a Mr. Elizabeth tattoo.

Hit play immediately, if not sooner. (You're welcome.)





And another, sweet version...from a sweet movie



And if you're cooler than I am, here's one for you, too...



*Roses have no exception. Not one. I can talk for hours about how much I hate them. But I won't. I may tell you that I am allergic, but it's not true. They make me mad to look at them. If you give one or more of them to me, unfortunately every single one will go into the trash or out the window the minute you are out of sight. And in case you're concerned, we had loads and loads of gorgeous flowers at the hitchin'. And not one rose, anywhere.

Måned-dag

I'm not a huge fan of holidays. As a general rule, I think that any government, religious or Hallmark mandated holiday is packed with unreasonable expectations and fraught with danger. Of course, those expectations are usually mine and the danger comes when my mind is not read.

So, I try my best take them off the table. But I do love made up holidays.

And, Husband, as with most of my ideas that are not illegal, immoral or hideously expensive, indulges me.

So a few months ago, in the early days of March, the weather here was a little dreary and I decided we needed a holiday. So, we agreed on month-aversaries---Every month on the 16th, we would have a little celebration.

When he told another recently married colleague at his work why he was leaving a bit early for the March month-aversary, that colleague said "Watch out man, you're traveling on a slippery slope..."

I think that comment frightened Husband a bit, so he announced he has only bought into this holiday schedule for a year. After that, it will be on a case-by-case basis. So, we'll see how it goes, but it's all okay with me....

For the etymologists out there, yes, quite possibly the correct term would be mensis-aversary or some such, but I just can't do it. (I have a general aversion to the fact that using the word mensis in conjunction with our -versary would only conjure up thoughts of feminine products. I just can't do it...)

And in Norwegian, I think the construction would be something like måned-dag, but I can't pronounce that yet, so monthaversary it will be for the foreseeable future...

So thus far

February 16th
We ate cake




March 16th
We went skiing



April 16th
We ate Italian food and Husband got me a flower that I have been able to keep alive thus far.




May 16th
We're traveling again, but this time, it's in search of a traditional smorgasbord or perhaps some oddly shaped glasses.

Picture Perfect

I think it's really hard to take photos that look exactly like us (really, of me in particular).

And these two are...


(December 1, 2006---my 35th birthday party---almost two months after the beginning of the first part)



(February 16, 2008---getting hitched---almost two months after the beginning of the second part)

Welcome

Meet Khloe (and her big brother Elias).




She arrived yesterday in the middle of the night.

She's the reason that my dear friend Lisa couldn't come to our wedding. And really, I can't think of a better one.

Welcome to the world!

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.

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