My Home Is Not a Place

I’ve been meaning to post this literally for years, but I haven’t done a good job of posting anything lately. Anyway, this is yet another post related to our wedding. Really, I think it’s the last one. Probably.

As my home continues to grow larger, I find myself thinking of it again.

At our reception, we were toasted warmly, comedically, and all-round brilliantly by the Best Man and Best Woman. Despite having such a hard act to follow, I took the mic to say the following few words.

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Those toasts are certainly a hard act to follow. So I promise not to be funny or heart-warming.

They say … you know … They … Them … the ones were always quoting when trying to spout conventional wisdom. They say that “Home is where you hang your hat.” But that’s never quite rung true for me. That’s just geography. However, in the somewhat confusing nature of conventional wisdom, They also say “Home is where the heart is.” That seems closer to the truth for me.

But I really like what the Roomie Pastor said at the end of the ceremony about finding a home wherever we’re together. That seems right on, because it seems like maybe Home is about the people who are there.

I’m fortunate to be able to think about so many people as Home:

My amazing, incomparable parents.

My big brother. My grandparents, aunts and uncles.

My friends from high school. Their parents.

My college friends, and some of their parents. Hmm. That seems like a lot of parents. I’m thinking maybe I needed a lot of guidance.

My friends from FUN and the beach. People I’ve worked with. My softball friends. The Girl’s family and friends.

And, for the past few years, more than anything, the woman I’m so fortunate tonight to be able call my beautiful bride.

I look around this room and see so many of those people here, and I can’t help but raise my glass to all of you. Because I’ve never felt quite so at home as I feel right now.

Thank you all for being here to welcome us home.

How We Did It: the Ceremony

A couple of folks had told me after the wedding that they wanted to read our vows or get a copy of a reading or whatever, and I thought, “If only I had some platform I could use to publish information to multiple people at once …”

So I’m going to post the ceremony here on the Chronicles. Besides, if that ceremony isn’t part of the Chronicles of Abs, I don’t really know what is. It’s not exactly what was said, in that I’ve changed some names, and I think the officiant made a couple of last-minute tweaks for better deliverability, but it’s pretty much what we came up with ahead of time. All the talking is from the Roomie Pastor (it’s not just a clever name – he was actually my roommate for the last three years of college) unless otherwise noted.

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[Guest Seating. Jazz playing.]

[Music switches to Forrest Gump Theme. Step-mother of the bride is seated, followed by mother of the groom , then step-father and mother of the bride.]

[Music switches to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Roomie Pastor, groomsmen, and groom enter. Bridesmaids process. Music stops.]

Welcome. I am the Roomie Pastor and I have the privilege of performing this marriage ceremony today.  On behalf of Abs and the Girl and their parents welcome and thank you for being here. They are delighted that you are here today to share in their joy during this wonderful moment in their lives.

By your presence, you celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and you support their decision to commit themselves to one another for the rest of their lives. Abs and the Girl would like to see this day as an affirmation and celebration of their commitment and not the beginning of it.

Today their relationship changes. All of us know it will grow, and become stronger and better. Indeed this day is a day of hope. A day in which Abs and the Girl demonstrate their commitment, devotion, and mutual respect, as well as their faith and love in themselves and one another.

You who are gathered here as witnesses are called to continue your support and encouragement as they unite in marriage. You are not here to simply hear words uttered in ceremony, or just to witness the first kiss between husband and wife. Your participation in this ceremony is as important as your participation in their lives. So, we ask for your active participation in this ceremony. You should feel free to clap and cheer and laugh when it strikes you.

One more thing. It’s an unusual situation, but some of you may know Abs by the name his mother calls him or a shortened version of it. After 20 years, I can’t bring myself to call him anything else, so I’m going to be calling him Abs during the ceremony. But if you know him as something else, you should remember that I called him that.

We are about to start. Everyone, please stand.

[Pachelbel’s Canon in D plays as the bride processes, escorted by her dad. They walk to the front, dad kisses his daughter on the cheek, shakes Abs’s hand, and takes his seat.]

Please be seated. 

We all know marriage is more than two people standing up here repeating vows. There is an art to any creative activity. So too in marriage.

• Part of the art of marriage is finding room for the things of the spirit.
  So to you two I say continue in your search for the good and the beautiful in this life.
• Part of the art of marriage is being flexible.
  So in your marriage cultivate flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor.
• Part of the art of marriage is to comfort each other and strive to be each other’s best friend.
  Most important, develop the capacity to forgive and heal your differences day by day.
• Always remember that your love can prevail. It can be the miracle that invites you to learn, to blossom, to expand your horizons.

From your new marriage relationship can come the nurture and strength you two need to face the world.  Only from this moment on you will face the world together in a new way.  Today a new family is born and our world will be the better for its birth. For this we all celebrate.

Now, the Girl’s sister-in-law, will do a reading.

[The Girl’s sister-in-law]:

From The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

[Roomie Pastor]: Now the Girl’s step-sister will do a reading.

[The Girl’s step-sister]:

“I Wrote a Good Omelet” by Nikki Giovanni

I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem...

after loving you

Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the rain...

after loving you

I goed on red...and stopped on green...floating

somewhere in between...

being here and being there

after loving you

I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly

confused but...I don't care...

Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood

...and laid me down...

to sleep...

after loving you

[Roomie Pastor]:

This is the part, in a traditional ceremony, where the wizened holy man offers sage words of advice distilled from the ages.  Well, I suspect I'm too young and handsome to be wizened, and I'd like to think I'm here today as your friend.

So as your friend, what I offer you is something maybe more valuable: a promise. I am here for you.

So are we all. Look around you.  Many have come from far and wide, not just for a great party, which we'll have, but to pledge their support for you, to say not only "yes, I am here for your wedding", but also "yes, I am here for your marriage".

I am your parent, your brother, your sister, your dear friend. I'm here for the both of you. If you need my advice, a different perspective, or just someone to listen. We are all here for you.

And, let me speak for everyone here today, when I say, I love you both.

And now that we have pledged our support to you, it is time for you each to declare your love and promise to each other.

 

As you share daily life,

do you promise to love, honor, respect, and cherish each other,

to celebrate life's joys together and comfort each other through life's sorrows?

Do you promise to help each other discover and follow your own true path in life,

to try to appreciate your differences as a source of richness,

and above all to do everything within your power to permit each of you to become the people you are yet to be? 

[Abs and the Girl]: I do

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by Abs]: I, Abs, choose you, the Girl, to be my wife.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by the Girl]: I, the Girl, choose you, Abs,

to be my husband.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

Exchange of Rings

  May I have the rings please.

Abs, place the ring on her finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, the Girl, receive this ring as a token of your pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[The Girl]: I do.

The Girl, place the ring on his finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, Abs, receive this ring as a token of your renewed pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[Abs]: I do.

 

By virtue of the authority committed to me by the law of the state, I now declare that you, Abs and the Girl, are husband and wife.

Abs, you may kiss your bride!

[Smooches. Then faces crowd]

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you for the first time, Mr. & Mrs. Abs.

[Crowd: goes wild]

May your hearts be united in love, and your lives intertwined forever in tenderness and devotion and may you find a home everywhere on earth where you are together.

[Newlyweds literally skip down aisle to “All I Want Is You” by Barry Louis Polisar]

Too Short

Dear Dad,

When I think about our time together, the freshest memories naturally come first. I think of you in the hospital twice because of debilitating strokes. I think of learning about things like left side neglect, edema, and brain cell recruitment. I think of all of us adjusting to new ways of things. I think of the eventual frustration with being unable to use your left arm, unable to continue working at the job you loved so much. I think of endless trips to Walgreen’s and how, try as we might, we could never seem to provide you with enough blue pens. I think of how you never lost your sense of humor, how, when the Girl and I called to tell you that we were engaged, you inevitably said, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

But those are just some of the recent things I think of. And those aren’t the things I want to think about. As I pondered what to say here, we were looking through some of your things from high school, and I found a poem you liked so much that you had handwritten a copy of it. I think it’s very fitting:

When I quit this mortal shore.
And mosey ‘round the earth no more,
Don’t weep, don’t sigh, don’t sob;
I may have struck a better job.

Don’t go and buy a large a large bouquet
For which you’ll find it hard to pay;
Don’t mope around and feel all blue –
I may be better off than you.

Don’t tell folks I was a saint,
Or any old thing that I ain’t.
If you have jam like that to spread,
Please hand it out before I’m dead.

If you have carnations, bless your soul,
Just pin one in my button-hole
While I’m alive and well today.
Don’t wait until I’ve gone away.

With that in mind the older memories seemed to come more readily, in rapid fire succession, and I think of so many things from while you were alive and well.

I think of you, me, and my big bro playing catch in the yard for hours on end.

I think of us all wrestling on the family room floor.

I think of games of Charades and Blind Man’s Bluff.

I think of all 3 of us taking road trip vacations to Civil War battlefields, of the sudden outbursts of unexplained laughter from the one of us who happened to be reading a Dave Barry book.

I think of shelves full of books stacked on books surrounded by books. Of books in paper bags and on tables.

I think of breakfast meetings at Bob Evans.

I think of the 3 Abs men meeting in a random college town to take in a football game that none of us really cared about.

I think of watching countless hours sports on TV, of going to Reds, Pacers, and Colts games.

I think of sitting in the bleachers of various high school football fields the big bro was playing on, as you invariably leaned to me sometime in the third quarter and observed, “Third down. Big play, buddy.”

I think of foolishly leaving a message on your home answering machine, not knowing that you wouldn’t ever think to check it. I think of how, from then on, I knew, if I needed to get you on the phone, I could find you most easily at work, even at odd hours.

I think of an endless curiosity that reveled in books with titles like Why Clocks Go Clockwise. Those books taught me not only why clocks go clockwise (they were developed in the Northern hemisphere and were based on sundials), but also why firemen always have Dalmatians (they worked well with horses).

I think of how creativity was valued in the absence of knowledge. At one of those Bob Evans breakfasts, I read something off of one of the cards at the table and wondered what it was talking about. Big bro said, “Hell, I don’t know,” and was ready to move on. But you stopped him: “Hold on. We’re about to make stuff up.”

I think of how home projects are measured not in the time or effort or even money they require, but in how many new tools and trips to the hardware store we needed to complete them.

I think of digging through a road atlas, following your instructions to find us a state highway that went in the general direction of where we were going, just to “get off the interstate and see the country.”

I think of how an argument might have been your favorite kind of discussion.

I think of an abiding love of Hoosier basketball. One time in college, I received a letter from you that made my roommate marvel. It wasn’t just that you had sent a letter with the check I needed, although that was pretty unusual. It was that the letter was two handwritten pages. The first paragraph talked about the business at hand. The other page and three quarters talked about the prospects of the IU’s impending basketball season.

I think of how, even for the last six years, you always paid attention to how the Wabash football team fared.

I think of the benedictions I have to offer:

• May you find a place full of interesting books and time to read them
• May the small secrets of universe reveal themselves in interesting ways
• May you see the Hoosiers and Little Giants find victory regularly

Finally, I think of the short visits we had since I went to college, be they to have a beer, watch a game, or just hang out. At the end of all those visits, we both seemed to have the same sentiment, expressed in various ways: it was way too short, but I’m really glad we were able to get together.

Maybe we could say that about life in general, Dad: it’s way too short, but I’m so incredibly glad that we were able to be here together.

Love always,
Abs

The Season of Not Giving

My family has operated Christmas based on lists for as long as I can remember. If you wanted gifts, you had to make a list. And having those lists was huge for my brother and me, given that we almost never did any Christmas shopping. We always did Christmas buying, and we always did it on or around the 21st - 23rd of December, as that was when we arrived in Indy from our more coastally located homes. (It's really kind of impressive. We're machines when we do that.) Over the years, though, we've had more and more trouble coming up with lists. Part of it is that we don't think we need much stuff. Part is that I went through a traumatic experience when moving out of a house I lived in for 6 years and ended up throwing away enough stuff to fill a small apartment, and, as a result, I try to be somewhat resistant to stuff accumulation. And part is that these days, for the most part, when we want something, we just buy it.

So this year we kind of suggested that our folks not bother getting us Christmas presents. We weren't really lacking for stuff, and it seemed kind of silly for anyone to buy us things that we didn't really want or need. Due in part to some other circumstances, our folks pretty much agreed. There were a couple of gifts that had already been purchased before we negotiated the cease fire, but we really didn't do much gift giving. And that was fine. Really, it would be nice to just get together and relax and enjoy each other's company until we drove each other nuts and then go home.

Now we didn't intend this cessation of gift giving (which was really motivated by a desire to avoid gift receiving, but you can't have one and not the other) to be a far-reaching thing. In fact, before I departed for Indy, I saw that my company was collecting money to give to a local homeless shelter, and I gave the cash in my wallet one afternoon. It wasn't a big deal or anything, and it's certainly not something I should pat myself on the back about. It was just one of those, "Oh. Here you go," kinds of things. So why am I bringing it up, you ask? Good question.

The reason I'm bringing it up is that I got a call from the receptionist today saying that she had some money for me. I thought that was odd, but I'm not inclined to argue when someone randomly says she wants to give me money, so I went up there to collect it. [Notice how I've avoided all tasteless jokes about how certain females had better have my money at certain times lest they experince unpleasantness. The thought never even crossed my mind. Are you proud or disappointed?] It turns out that something hadn't worked with giving the money to the homeless shelter while I was gone, and they were just returning my donation. I guess that non-gift giving thing extended farther than I expected or intended.

I hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas this year, even if it was nothing.

A Bizarro Rockwell X-mas

Maybe for you, like for the people who make Hallmark commercials, the idea of Christmas conjures Norman Rockwell-ish images of families cozily gathered around the warm glow of a fire, rosy-faced and gazing at each other fondly with the twinkle of lights on the tree behind them, with Sister carefully opening a present while Brother, Mom, Dad, and Grandma all watch in eager anticipation. Doesn’t that just sound like Christmas to you?

It doesn’t to me. I think more of people doing 85 different things at once, telling off-color jokes and making fun of each other in a way that typically escalates into some enthusiastic expectorations of, “Sheeeeeeiiiiiiitttttt,” or, “Well, now, goddammit…” Don’t get the wrong idea. People aren’t being mean or evil, and it’s not like the kind of stuff you see on Cops: Naughty or Nice. It’s all in good fun, and everyone laughs a lot. We just generally have somewhat skewed senses of humor. For example, my mom gets a kick out of involving Granny in different things. She’s always telling me how she “took Mother to Texas” or “took your granny for a boat ride” or something like that. I know that doesn’t sound all that odd at first, but the thing is that my granny is dead. So Mom is really talking about doing those things with Granny’s ashes. Weird, huh? I think so, but it’s weird in a creepy but funny sort of way. And Mama Abs refuses to believe that it’s even a little bit creepy. People who aren’t amused by it clearly don’t have senses of humor, according to her. However, I think it’s kind of a tired joke at this point because Granny died 10 and a half years ago, and they’ve been carting those ashes around ever since. (My uncle once put the ashes on a bar at the Elks lodge where Granny used to hang out and asked random people there, "You wanna buy my mother a drink?") Making it even weirder is that it’s really just half of Granny’s ashes doing these things at this point, as the other half have been buried or scattered or something. Sometimes, Mom will even “put Mother under the Christmas tree” (the ashes are in a goldish box with a ribbon on it). Sigh. I guess Granny did always like Christmas. All that is by way of explaining that I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Rockwell didn’t spend any time at my folks’ house at Christmas time. Or if he did, he sure as hell didn’t paint pictures about it.

Take this Christmas, for example. Instead of a traditional gift exchange, we decided to try a Yankee Swap type of thing with my step-dad’s family. The short explanation is that everyone brings a gift and puts it under the tree. Then everyone draws a number. The person with number 1 chooses and unwraps a gift from under the tree, then the person with number 2 can either take number 1’s present causing number 1 to pick and unwrap a new present, or number 2 picks and unwraps a new present. Et cetera. I’ve tried this with lots of different groups, and they often don’t get into the spirit of the thing, which can be summed up in one word: "MINE!". These folks who don't get into the proper spirit think it’s “mean” to “steal” someone else’s present, so it ends up being just a gift drawing. Booooorrrrriiiiinnnnnggggg. I knew that this family group would have no trouble with those types of hang-ups, and it would be a good time. I wasn’t disappointed.

There were some growing pains as people got into the flow of this kind of gift exchange. I got hosed by drawing number 2, so I didn’t expect to end up with a good present. What I unwrapped when it was my turn was a handful of little glass things that Mom told everyone were “salt dips.” I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to, but the kicker was that these glass thingies were once my step-dad’s mom’s property, thus making them heirlooms, I guess. Having heard that, I thought there was a good chance that someone would steal them from me or at least give me something more interesting for them afterwards like, say, a pack of matches.

After I unwrapped the glass dip thingies, Mom was explaining to everyone (about 15 people) what they were and where they came from. As that explanation wound down, my step-dad’s grandson’s fiancée (or should I say my step-sister’s son’s fiancée? how about step-nephew’s fiancée? whatever, you get the idea), who is a nice, sweet girl who recently graduated with a degree in Mortuary Science – no, I am not making this up – decided to move things along and grabbed a gift to open. Not many people noticed, though, as there was a general hubbub about the dip thingies and who wanted them (not me) and how there were other family heirlooms to consider among the gifts under the tree. However, the to-be-step-niece-in-law got everyone’s attention by holding her newly unwrapped gift – a bag of some indeterminate material – aloft, patting it, and asking, “What is this? Is this a joke?” Everyone in the room looked confused as they tried to figure out what it was. Apparently, it was a joke, as evidenced by my brother and I nearly collapsing in fits of laughter when we realized what it was. Then, Mama Abs started laughing. The to-be-wife-of-my-step-dad’s-grandson wanted to know what we were laughing at, but we couldn’t tell her just then, due to all the laughing we had to do.

Finally, gasping and stuttering in between guffaws, I said, “Those. Are. My grandmother’s. Ashes. Half of them anyway.”

Hilarity ensued from there, and I imagine a weird and possibly creepy family tradition was born. And why not? Granny always did like Christmas.

To her credit the girl in question laughed about it, too. And, yes, she was allowed to grab another gift. And, no, I didn’t get stuck with the glass salt things. I got a DVD. So everybody won.

Can you imagine that in a Norman Rockwell painting?

Me neither.