Mumbling Madly

I almost didn’t go…I almost didn’t go to the after-wedding party because I was exhausted and cranky. Our hotel room was next to a bunch of children (related, but still…), the sweater I wore all day was stinky in the pits and I’d spent all this time during the wedding trying not to raise my arms, and quite frankly I was burnt out on family time. I can’t believe I almost didn’t go…I wouldn’t have gotten to know my allusive and often controversial brother-in-law, his crazy awesome new wife who talked my husband into walking around in her heels, and I wouldn’t have had a 2nd hand smoke hangover the next day in my lungs.

Josh called the front desk and asked for a locals hang-out, a place that might have a pool table and beer. We ended up in a classic dive, filled with smoking locals and a smattering of visitors. My new sister-in-law immediately began working the bar in a way only a gal raised in Vegas possibly could. She waved her hands, announced to everyone she just got married, drank shots without using her hands, and generally became the life of the party. At one point I caught a glimpse of a playboy bunny tattoo under her arm and all was revealed. I found her terribly exciting and somehow got equally sucked in:

Half of the holidays was seeing my family and the other half was dominated by the wedding of Josh’s brother. This was sort of a last minute wedding, planned after Josh’s father offered to take us all to the Oregon coast for the weekend after Christmas. Josh’s bro and long term gf (and mother of his 2 kids) suggested they get married, everyone was thrilled, and then the wedding sort of spiraled into a Huge Thing.

A Huge Thing meaning we ended up with the wedding cake in the trunk. We barely got the wedding cake, since the owners of the small mom and pop bakery barely made it to the slushy, snow covered, Hawthorne street their store is located on. Cake was suppose to be picked up by 8am…we didn’t get it until 10:30am. Then the three of us (Josh, his sister, and I) all turned into morons and could not manage to get out of Portland and onto the appropriate coast bound highway. Wedding was at 2, we needed to be there by 1:30. After going round and round in circles we finally left the city by 11am. We had grand notions of stopping at Burgerville in Tigard but that never happened. Going to the bathroom was also not an option. On Highway 6 we hit snow and semis chaining up outside of the pass. The car jostled all over the place with Josh’s sister freaking out about the state of the cake. At 1:30 on the nose we rolled into Pacific City. Then the bride made us wait for 2 and a half hours…with 7 children all dressed up and no where to go in a small room off of a restaurant. I almost cried. Here’s a pic of me trying to hold it together with my (much calmer) sister-in-law:

The important thing is that the wedding finally happened, only one serving tray of pizza was knocked over by a small child, and we finally got to eat. The cake made it barely unscathed–only a slight crack in the frosting on one side. I helped stick a whole bunch of roses around the cake, sprinkled petals around the base, and then carefully faced the uncracked part toward the front of the cake table. Here’s a much happier pic of me with my hubby:

Stay tuned for details and pics from the scandalous after-party at a local Lincoln City dive bar.

When we arrived at my parent’s house the day before Christmas Eve they didn’t have a tree. The weather had prevented them from their usual trek out to the Christmas tree farm so everything was delayed. I found this so distressing that my dad called up the tree farm out in rural Vancouver to confirm that they were indeed open. The kindly old couple confirmed they were open but…good luck trying to get to them in the weather. Snow had been falling all morning but my dad had put chains on his suburu station wagon and was feeling confident. Gina, Josh, Dad, and I all bundled up and prepared to trek out to the country to chop down a tree (sort of like a touchy-feely after school Christmas special).

We didn’t make it very far before I started noticing abandoned cars, their snouts buried in the blackberry bushes along the side of Fruit Valley road. Some of the cars were at frightening angles, almost upside down, and many of them were blanketed in snow. Then the row of cars we had been following stopped. Someone ahead of us had been sucked into the wall of snow at the side of the road. Folks started turning around, tires spinning in the snow, we followed suit and hauled the suburu around. The car in front of us slid and soon we were slipping parallel to the road next to them. AAAAAAH! Several slips and twists later my dad maneuvered around several cars and we were on our way. After some discussion (my Dad insisted he could find an alternate route to the tree farm–my sister and I loudly protested), Josh suggested those who felt nervous could be dropped off at home and then find a pre-cut tree. This idea was met with hesitation (my dad REALLY wanted to cut down a tree) but Gina and I had thrown in the towel. When we got home my Mom backed us up and my Dad settled for a tree found at Home Depot. (This was after visiting multiple places that were sold out of trees).

Incidentally, on the off chance we couldn’t find a tree, my Mom cut a large branch from the fir tree out back and stuck it in a bucket of a water.

As per usual, I have to break down the holiday in parts. The horrendous weather put us a little on edge; luckily the trip down south was fine. We arrived just in time to ‘check in’ and attend the infamous cookie decorating party at Ben’s house, (if you look real close you can spot the naughty cookies):

Thanksgiving was at my house. It was great. The turkey sort of destroyed my oven, but otherwise it went over well. Pics can be found here.

I’m preparing more performance memoir for this Friday’s cabaret at Annex. It’s elaborate, prop-laden, and personal. Props include the fake Barbie laptop my Dad gave me when I had my wisdom teeth removed ten years ago, a really hideous sparkly slip dress I used to wear around down with harley boots in the mid 90’s, and a plastic orange. This performance piece will be performed in addition to an exhausting FD dance number that feels more stressful then fun. Update: Memoir performance is postponed to the next show, Jan 2nd!

My tiny students are out of sorts; the holidays have shaken up their routine. There is consistently more crying in class then usual. I understand: sometimes I feel like crying too.

My husband was sick during the entire Thanksgiving break. Monday came and both of us went our separate ways. Work, rehearsal, work, sleep. I miss him.

Went to Utah to attend the opera with family. Madame Butterfly was dedicated to my grandpa, a founding Utah Opera board member since it began in the 70’s. It was a whirlwind trip on the heels of a hectic week of rehearsals, scheduling, dodging and ducking. I flew into SLC on Friday night and left Sunday morning. My grandpa’s house remains largely the same since my aunt continues to reside there. It’s comforting to see the old pictures and nick knacks still standing, yet, strangely disconcerting to have my grandpa know longer around…no longer living there. While searching in the cupboards my uncle found an ancient can of apricots:

We also found a historic box of starch. This was back when folks used to starch their clothes. My uncle and I spent a while trying to research the date of the box. It might stretch as far back as the turn of the century but our internet research turned up inconclusive:

The opera was beautiful; I felt horribly under-dressed as we dined at a fancy benefit dinner prior to the show. Men were wearing tuxes and women sported long gowns. I can’t believe I wore my red Dansko clogs to the opera. However, the atmosphere was elegant and festive. Relatives I used to never know but have recently become well acquainted with in the last six month were there (i.e. my great uncle, avid collector of phonographs). We sat at a special table in honor of my grandpa and sat through speeches and pleasantries.

Madame Butterfly is a feminist nightmare. Written at the beginning of the century by the legendary Puccini, the whole opera is one big heartbreak waiting to happen. Chauvinist pig, Captain Pinkerton shows up in the orient, marries a former concubine and then splits. She waits for him dutifully for three years, gives birth to his son, and sing aria after aria about how lucky she is to have him. Pinkerton finally shows up with a new, white, American, replacement bride and let’s everyone know he’s just swinging by to pick up his kid. Madame Butterfly discovers the new wife, realizes her kid is as good as gone, and kills herself. Dang.

This is my brother and I outside the theater:

Every election season my sister-in-law becomes part of the grey…undecided, mostly, with the propensity to go with what feels comfortable: voting Republican. This preference is largely prompted due to family upbringing, religious values, and a healthy distrust of the government. However, she is pro-choice, pro-socialized healthcare, understands the need to have social services, and is well educated. She is a valuable part of shaping my political sanity–for every asinine Republican extremist there is the reminder that many of them represent the practical, rational, thoughts and feelings of my sister-in-law. I can count on her to be reflective, concise, and reasonable with my political questions. I can’t, however, beg her to vote for Obama–I’ve thought about it–because she has a point: he’s inexperienced, young, lacks the foreign policy experience of McCain, and while, I wholeheartedly disagree, she finds him difficult to listen to vocally. Can’t negate that as much as I want to…she’s family after all. It’s very easy to lump all Republicans in a shameless manner, it’s quite a different experience having one sit down at the dinner table. Besides, she has some really great quotes, today one of them being, “Welfare should be limited…instead of giving people free food we should be handing everyone free condoms instead.”

I drove all over industrial south Seattle just to locate the City Light building. If you show up and prove you have an account with them (i.e. you pay the bills to keep your house lit) they will bestow upon you 3 fluorescent light bulbs and a water-saving shower head. Those bulbs are not cheap, so I’ll take any freebies I can get…and the shower head is for my parents.