Sunday Evening

When my boyfriend and I first fell in love, he was not in an open marriage in any way, shape, or form. After a couple of weekends of falling asleep next to each other, sneaking guilty kisses, and finding any excuse to be alone together even just to talk, we finally decided it was necessary for him to tell his wife what was going on before he did something that would ruin his marriage. Shockingly, she told him he could keep seeing me and a year later we're the poster children for happy, poly families. But we didn't always know it was going to turn out that way. This entry was written during the tense times.

"Wanna go get coffee?"

His eyes were locked on mine. Amidst the swirling coats and bags of people standing and preparing to leave the restaurant, I caught the question that was delivered to me. Even as I opened my mouth to reply in the affirmative the girl next to him responded enthusiastically,

"Coffee would be great!"

I wanted to turn to her and snap "He wasn't asking you," but there was no reason why anyone other than me should have assumed it wasn't an open invitation. After all, we were all here to hang out with our friends. Why would we want to disappear to a coffee shop together while everyone else went back to the house? I'm just his friend - just like all the other friends here who only get to see him once every two weeks and want to spend time with him. So I stay silent. And only the briefest flicker of his eyes portrays any conflict on his part.

So the swirling coats and bags signed the last of their checks and walked away from the table to join the smokers who were waiting on the sidewalk. He and I walked past the group towards the gate of the coffee shop patio. As we walked past she called out forlornly from her husband's arms, "I'm not allowed to have coffee." I'm not certain if her husband was more clever than her, or if we simply got lucky that he decided to enforce the limits of their financial situation. Regardless, I expressed our regret and told the group that we'd see them back at the house.

I walked up to the counter to catch him asking for advice on which coffee to order. He reached a decision and turned to ask me what I wanted. "I've been told I can't spend any more money," I replied.

"You won't be," he said. Fair enough, I thought and placed an order. He paid and the man behind the counter told us to take a seat while we waited for our drinks. He walked ahead of me directly toward the table I had mentally already picked out for us; it was the one farthest away from everyone else in the small coffee shop. He sat down in the booth that ran along the wall. At a two person table etiquette would dictate that I sit in the seat across from him, but that seat had its back to the door and the rest of the shop, which is something that makes me distinctly uncomfortable. Normally, I would tell the person who took my preferred seat to move and swap to the other, but today I simply accepted the excuse to slip in beside him.

We weren't talking much. He mentioned how tired he was, and how he should have left town already. I made passing conversation explaining my aversion to the opposite seat. Our drinks arrived and we lifted them to our lips in unison. Conversation was limited to the occasional bemused facial expression or snarky comment regarding the conversation at the table across from us. After a moment we fell silent again and simply sat side by side, drinking our dark, caffeinated beverages. The intro music for some mellow indie rock song began to play over the shop's speakers. As he sat his cup down he commented,

"You know, sometimes there are these moments where we could just be two normal people." He stares into his cup for a second before continuing. "This is one of those moments."

"Yeah." I smiled into my hot chocolate and didn't say anything more. I knew exactly what he meant. Meanwhile, the vocalist in the song began to sing about the conflicts of life while the people at the table across from us continued talking about sexuality and drama as if they had any idea what it meant.

Our Strange New Wedding Tradition

Our friend, Rickles, got married last year and he charged those of his friends who were coming to the wedding with a very important task. Namely, to shock and appall his new inlaws.

Now Rickles' wedding reception was very DIY in a traditional way. The centerpieces were very simple, large red pillar candles with some squares of Godiva chocolate scattered around them. The reception food was primarily nosharim - fruits, cheeses, and a chocolate fountain with strawberries, marshmallows, cubes of cake and graham crackers arranged around it. Skewers were provided to allow for ease of chocolating (because you don't want people sticking their fingers in the fountain).

Now I don't know if your minds have traveled to the inevitable combination of these elements, but our minds got there pretty quickly. I can't even say whose idea it was. In my memory it doesn't really seem like anyone suggested it, or initiated it. But suddenly, and organically, there we were - marshmallows on skewers roasting over our centerpiece candle before being combined with our chocolate and graham crackers. It seemed so natural, so appropriate, soright. It also had the added advantage of earning us a few dirty looks from the inlaws thus managing to be delicious AND fulfill our obligations to the groom.

Fast forward a little less than a year. Lorien and I are at our wedding shower (which is misleadingly named since we only got three gifts). We're opening a gift from one of my mom's best friends. It's this ornate candle stand complete with raised candle tray, decorative stones, and three large pillar candles. She's going on about setting the mood on our wedding night or some such, but Lorien and I aren't really listening. We've locked eyes and the same thought is travelling through our minds. "something ... something ... wedding night." "Or the reception," one of us says, quietly, to the other. I don't remember who said it now. Truthfully, it doesn't matter. Because we both knew. Oh, yes. It would happen - Temple rules against open flames be damned.

And so one of our chuppah holders, one who had been a primary participant in the Rickles Wedding Shenanigans, was given the responsibility to make sure we had what we needed. He came up to me at the reception and I handed him the keys to our trunk, allowing him to get the candles. "I've got the stuff," he said upon returning. "Where should I set up?" A quick scan around the room drew my attention to a particular table filled with a specific group of friends. "The Rennie table," I replied, gesturing their direction. "If anyone will be cool with it, it's the Rennies." And so it was decided and implemented. I didn't get to follow him over there, being whisked away to be social or dance to some sentimental song, but I did manage to overhear my photographer come up to the other photographer* and say "Did you see what they're doing at that table? They're making smores!" "I know," she replied excitedly. "I got a picture of it."

And I smiled as I continued making my rounds. It was one time, among many, where I realized that maybe I was a bit more offbeat than I'd given myself credit for ;-)

And Tim quivered in his pew trying not to laugh ...

The music to go with the lyrics

Link, he come to town
Come to save the princess Zelda
Ganon took her away
Now the children don't play
But they will when Link saves the day
Hallelujah!

Now Link, fill up your hearts
So you can shoot your sword with power
And when you're feeling all down
The fairy will come around
So you'll be brave, and not a sissy coward

Now Link has saved the day
Put Ganon in his grave
So now Zelda is free
And now our hero shall be
Link! I think your name shall go down into history

And no, that totally was not our processional music. That would have been ridiculous. But this was. Only played on a piano and sounding quite lovely!


..and yes, it was a two aisle ceremony so we're walking down simultaneously looking at each other over the guests in the middle.


all photos courtesy of Jody Burnett at burnettphoto.com

The 30 Second Theological Debate

Some of you may know of the awesome sparkly shoes I bought off etsy. They were a pair of glittery turquoise flats that perfectly matched my bridal accents BUT they were about half a size too big. However, having found them, I grew attached to the idea of glittery shoes. Failing to find any turquoise glittery heels, I resolved to make the flats fit. I stuck in the thickest insoles I could find and stitched on some sparkly trim to work as ballet style straps. Voila! Perfect fit.

The day of the wedding rolls around and I have my shoes retied about three times (tight enough to hold them on with out them being so tight as to cut off circulation is a delicate balance) before leaving the bridal room to walk around the temple to prepare to go down the aisle. As I'm walking through the courtyard I feel a *pop* and one shoe suddenly seems much looser. Sure enough, one of the straps I'd stitched on had popped off. I took a couple steps just to check, but I couldn't keep the shoe on in any reasonable manner. Briefly, the idea of trying to fix it flashed through my head - it could probably be done, but it would take a few minutes, we were already running late, and there was still no guarantee that it would make it down the aisle. So in about the second it took to consider the idea I discarded it. And, in keeping with my decision to not freak out about anything and implement Plan C* whenever necessary, it only took another second for me to come to my decision. I saw the Rabbi at the end of the courtyard and I shouted down to him,

"Hey Rabbi, can I go down the aisle barefoot?"

"What?" he replied, clearly a bit startled by my shouting at him.

"My shoe broke," I explained. "Can I go down the aisle barefoot."

"Well, there's no Jewish law against it ..." he answered tentatively.

"Is there a temple law against it?" I asked.

"Probably."

"Will you tell anyone?"

"I guess not," he answered, clearly a bit amused. And then he started muttering. I didn't catch all of it, but there was clearly something about "... standing up there before G-d ..." clearly under the impression that my going barefoot would somehow be disrespectful.

"But Rabbi, aren't we supposed to take our shoes off when we go before G-d?" He looked up, caught a bit off guard. "Isn't there a whole story about Moses and a burning bush where he's told to take off his shoes because he's about to step onto sacred ground? Wouldn't it therefore be more appropriate for me to go barefoot?"

My mother, amazing as always, completely had my back. "Isn't that why the Cohanim take their shoes off before they give the blessing over the congregation?" she asked. At that point I think my Rabbi really wanted to mention us being reform and not buying into the whole system of a hereditary priesthood, but that wasn't the point she was making and I think he quickly realized it.

I don't remember exactly what his response was. I don't think he officially ceded the point, but he did decide not to debate it further (after all, who wants to be on the opposing side of a shoe conversation against a bride AND her mother). Besides, I think he was pleased by my theological justifications. He made some sort of remark implying that it was time to proceed and we turned and walked into the atrium for the beddekken. And that is the story of the 30 second theological debate on my wedding day aka How I Convinced the Rabbi to Let Me Go Down the Aisle Barefoot.

*Plan C was the code phrase I'd created in a discussion with my mother when we were talking about where we'd take pictures. "I guess now we just have to hope it doesn't rain. I don't know what we'll do then." I told her that we'd implement Plan C. She looked at me hopefully and asked what Plan C was. "Winging it," I responded.






photo credit to Jody Burnett