I finally finish my story

Jenny’s parents, her brother, Ed’s parents, his sister, and Debbie were in the “living room” of the W hotel. I joined them for one drink, and we then all turned in. Those that had driven to Chicago, had been on the road for two days; Debbie and I had been trying to get on planes for the last three. We were beat.

The rehearsal dinner had been quite an abbreviated affair, at Bin 36, a restaurant I had been looking forward to, but would have to save for the next trip out to Chicago.

The next morning, there was no time for breakfast. Jenny, Debbie and I got coffee at the Starbucks next door, and jumped into a taxi. Jenny had a hair and make-up appointment at 9:30. Originally, all the bridesmaids and the bride-to-be were to have manicures and pedicures on Friday afternoon; there was no time now for all that.

Remember the bridesmaids all had responsibilities? Everyone but me? There was a problem there too. Meredith, the one in New York was in charge of the gloves. Yes, we had to wear full-length, black satin gloves. I know! Brides lose their minds. That’s all I can say. Anyway, Mary had bought four pairs of black gloves and one pair of white. She’d also bought 5 matching lipsticks; lip glosses actually, Maybelline Lip Polish in Mauvestar.

And these items were in New York. Michelle, Seattle Bridesmaid, had been in charge of wraps. Her mother had actually sewn four black, burnt-out velvet (look it up if you don’t know what that is) wraps, and a white, raw silk one for the bride. Also not with us in Chicago.

While Jenny was getting gussied up, Debbie’s and my job now was to find the gloves and a wrap (at least for the bride), in just a couple of hours.

You do realize that elbow-length, white and black gloves are not the easiest things to find? Particularly in the middle of September? And the wraps? Well, if price was no object, there were several $300 jobs, but alas, price was an object.

Debbie and I found a mall, and covered quite a bit of ground in 120 minutes. We found two wraps for Jenny, at a Macy’s. Debbie bought both and hoped she could return the one Jenny didn’t want. We found the gloves, at of all places, Clare’s. Clare’s is a cheap accessories store; caters more to my 13-year-old girls than to adults looking for wedding apparel. While there, I saw a white, feather boa. Giggling, I bought it, laughing to think of Jenny’s face when I told her I found the perfect wrap.

The Maid-of-Honor, Debbie, was a force to be reckoned with (A force with which to be reckoned?). Anyway.

Somehow, in-between the time she spent trying to get on a flight during last three days, Debbie had made all kinds of new arrangements. I mean, that 67th floor of the Sears Tower sure didn’t sound all that appealing anymore for the reception – given the circumstances.

That became our catch phrase for the next 24 hours, “Given the circumstances.”

It worked for all kinds of situations. Late to the hair appointment? Well, given the circumstances… Canceling the mani/pedicures? Again, given the circumstances… Rehearsal dinner changed from 75 people to 20? You know, given the circumstances…

Debbie canceled the huge reception, and booked Bluebird, a very trendy restaurant with a private dining room upstairs. She set up a menu with them, a red and white wine to serve, and ordered the champagne. She was the one who dealt with the restaurants, the beauty salons, the church, the limo service. She was amazing.

I, on the other hand, had just showed up.

We hopped in another cab and got back to Jenny as the stylist was just finishing her hair. He looked and acted like the blonde guy from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Very much living up to the stereotype of a male hairdresser.

We showed Jenny the gloves, and told her we had found a wonderful wrap. A bit quirky, but given the circumstances…

She tried hard to be brave when I pulled out the boa from the bag. The stylist did not.

His eyeballs rolled back into his skull, his mouth opened, then pursed in dismay, and the disapproving “ohhhh…um…. No…” immediately was uttered.

All the fear, anxiety, and frustration of the last few days dissipated, at the moment Debbie and I fell into gales of laughter. Jenny was a beat behind, and the stylist… well, he didn’t seem the type to belly laugh.

We raced back to the hotel, got Jenny dressed, and got ourselves into our big black satin dresses. Her mom got pissed at her for running late, but given the circumstances…

In the Expedition limousine, intended for the large wedding party, almost everyone attending could fit. We got to the church, reapplied makeup for the last time in the little bathroom underneath the sanctuary, and it began.

The moment we walked down the aisle, with the bright, early afternoon sun streaming in through the stained glass windows, is the moment I remember most clearly. It was the saddest and the most hopeful moment of the whole experience for me. So few people actually made it. The church pews were almost empty. Many of Ed’s relatives, including some who had flown in from France to attend, were stranded on the East Coast. It was a glorious day, a beautiful place, and the most important time yet in Jenny’s life, yet almost no one who had been invited was there.

At the same time, just the fact that we were there, that Jenny and Ed were getting married (which to me is the ultimate act of hope), couldn’t be ignored. They were going on. They weren’t scared, or if they were, they weren’t going to let that fear keep them from their dreams. Every one of us in that church knew that the world had changed; and we also knew that it hadn’t. We were still going to love others; we were still going to have joy in our lives.

In the limo after the ceremony, driving all over the place, getting out and taking what seemed like three million photos, it was finally time for drinks. The bar was stocked with Coronas, sodas, and cute little bottles of – get this – Glen Ellen White Zinfandel. No other wine. No Chardonnay, no Sauvignon Blanc, no reds at all.

And you know, I worked at a winery for four years. I know my wine. I would not call myself a wine snob. However, White Zinfandel is not, how shall I say, my first choice of wine. Nor is it my sixth or seventh choice.

On September 15th, 2001, in a limo in Chicago, it was the best tasting wine I ever had.