I'm finding it even harder to choose a wedding date than I originally thought. I've done research and drowned myself in advice like: choose a date around a holiday to make travel easy, don't choose a date around a holiday because travel will be expensive, choose a random date and just go with it even if it lands in the middle of the week, choose a date that is significant for you, don't pick a date in football season (this one is true), go off-season, go in-season, etc.
At first I had it narrowed down to a 1-month period in summer since E was planning on teaching. I had wanted to avoid those hot months in Florida, but I was starting to get used to the idea and got it down to 2 possible Saturdays. Then, we find out E will actually be working on his Master's degree that year and starting to teach the fall after our wedding. Well, I was going to stick to my summer plans until I realized we would possibly be in the middle of a move in the summer if he gets a job in another state (very likely). There is no way I would survive planning a wedding, a honeymoon AND a big move in the same month. I'm sure you would agree.
The upside to all this is that I have a tiny bit more freedom in choosing a month. There is the option to have a wedding and save the honeymoon for later, but this is one of those things I want to be a little traditional about. E and I do not have what you'd call a traditional relationship by far, and we like to do things the weird way. I mean, he proposed to me in my pajamas, for goodness' sake. We're both the outgoing ones in our families and wouldn't think twice about joining Americorps or going off to help rebuild houses somewhere if we had the time, money and opportunity. I'm going to make our wedding about us and not about making a big fancy show, BUT I want our wedding to only be nontraditional in the fact that I will try to make it "green" and not impact the environment too much. Besides that, I want a ceremony, a reception, and then a freaking honeymoon. All in order, just like that. So, I'm left with two options: the County Schools spring break (E will be doing an education internship so he'll get that off) or UF spring break (as a student he gets this off, too). Yes, he gets 2 spring breaks. This happened last year as well.
I had my heart set on April, since that is one of the months it rains the least in Gainesville (along with October, in case you wanted to know). I got excited when I saw April 10 was a Saturday, because how cool would it be to have our wedding on April 10, 2o10? Unfortunately, that's at the end of the Alachua County spring break week. The Saturday before reminds me of a bad day and I can't get it out of my head so I don't want my anniversary on that day every year. My other option is probably March 6, 2010. I'm thinking that sounds good, but UF hasn't even sent out a proposed schedule for 2010. They tend not to decide until the last minute, and I don't want to deal with a wedding date that could possibly change a few months before. Would people even go to a wedding that was set right before their spring break? *sigh* It might be best to do summer after all or even a later honeymoon. Well, I'm still hopeful for 4/10/2010. Any advice/thoughts?
Friday, August 29, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Review: Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt
Angela's Ashes is a memoir describing life growing up in Limerick, Ireland, soon after winning independence from England. Frank McCourt praises his mother, Angela, for raising 4 boys with (or without) a drunken father who is perpetually losing jobs and sends no money to the family. He can see his boys have barely any food and a few rags for clothing, yet he can't muster the courage to quit the pint. Angela manages to keep their lives afloat while reminding them to be strong, even though she finds it difficult herself, having lost 3 children to illnesses that most likely could have been avoided with the funds for proper medical care, warm housing and nourishment. McCourt doesn't idolize his mother, however, and still points out her flaws honestly.
McCourt summarizes his memoir in this way:
"When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."
This serves as a proper introduction to this book. It is difficult to believe he survived into his 20s. He dealt with typhoid, horrendous pinkeye that lasted for several years, barely a few slices of fried bread each week, and torn rags for clothes spring through winter. He was no special boy, and knew that he had more than some children in his school. Though his shoes were mended with pieces of tire, at least he had them. He wanted to go to school no more than any other child. He just wanted to work and provide for his family the way his father had not.
This book is written mostly in stream of consciousness. Not much punctuation, but written the way a child would think. It makes it easy to get inside his head and feel all the anxiety and anger he feels. He perseveres to reach his goal of making it back to America, where he was born and lived until he was 4 or 5, and escape the poverty-ridden Ireland that England left behind. McCourt embraces his religion, though not the priests who run it. Many of them tell people to feel blessed to be poor, while enjoying banquets and comforts in their own homes. While some priests are kind and forgiving, others call the boys evil in confession and he fears being rejected and left for hell if he admits too much.
I was completely engrossed in this book and could hardly put it down. It's a pretty exciting read throughout. I found myself pulled into the Irish culture, starting to call beers pints by the end and cursing with the word "fecking" instead of the usual.
I was pleased to reach a part in the book where McCourt encounters Shakespeare, but only one line's worth. In any case, he finds it to be the most beautiful line he has ever read. He says "...it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words." He didn't really know what the words meant since he was only 11 at the time. The line is "I do believe, induced by potent circumstances that thou art mine enemy" said by Catherine, Henry the 8th's wife.
My favorite line from the book is "It's lovely to know the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." It's a good lesson to take from the book as a whole. The other feeling I take from this book is utter confusion and sadness at the way McCourt's father, Malachy, treated his family. I can't understand how a man could drink away the only money his family receives to survive off of for a whole week in one day. He just sits at the bar, even with his son telling him to stop drinking the money for the baby's milk, and drinks pint after pint until all the money is gone. He seems to have no remorse. He refuses to ask for handouts because he feels it is unmanly and beneath him. Eventually, he goes off to England where the jobs are and sends money home maybe once. Then they just don't hear from him. The other men who return say he drinks the money away, loses homes and loses jobs, having no regard for the family he abandoned back in Ireland. I just don't understand how a person could do that. I guess that's alcoholism for you.
I only wish I could find more photos of McCourt's family at that time than the one that is in my edition of the book. Of course, this would be difficult since they were very poor and it was so long ago. If anyone finds one other than the photo of McCourt and his classmates in front of Leamy's school, let me know. Oh, and read the book. Definitely worth it. I found my copy for just $3 at Book Gallery West on 16th and 43rd. It's a great place to find cheap books if you're willing to sift.
McCourt summarizes his memoir in this way:
"When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."
This serves as a proper introduction to this book. It is difficult to believe he survived into his 20s. He dealt with typhoid, horrendous pinkeye that lasted for several years, barely a few slices of fried bread each week, and torn rags for clothes spring through winter. He was no special boy, and knew that he had more than some children in his school. Though his shoes were mended with pieces of tire, at least he had them. He wanted to go to school no more than any other child. He just wanted to work and provide for his family the way his father had not.
This book is written mostly in stream of consciousness. Not much punctuation, but written the way a child would think. It makes it easy to get inside his head and feel all the anxiety and anger he feels. He perseveres to reach his goal of making it back to America, where he was born and lived until he was 4 or 5, and escape the poverty-ridden Ireland that England left behind. McCourt embraces his religion, though not the priests who run it. Many of them tell people to feel blessed to be poor, while enjoying banquets and comforts in their own homes. While some priests are kind and forgiving, others call the boys evil in confession and he fears being rejected and left for hell if he admits too much.
I was completely engrossed in this book and could hardly put it down. It's a pretty exciting read throughout. I found myself pulled into the Irish culture, starting to call beers pints by the end and cursing with the word "fecking" instead of the usual.
I was pleased to reach a part in the book where McCourt encounters Shakespeare, but only one line's worth. In any case, he finds it to be the most beautiful line he has ever read. He says "...it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words." He didn't really know what the words meant since he was only 11 at the time. The line is "I do believe, induced by potent circumstances that thou art mine enemy" said by Catherine, Henry the 8th's wife.
My favorite line from the book is "It's lovely to know the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." It's a good lesson to take from the book as a whole. The other feeling I take from this book is utter confusion and sadness at the way McCourt's father, Malachy, treated his family. I can't understand how a man could drink away the only money his family receives to survive off of for a whole week in one day. He just sits at the bar, even with his son telling him to stop drinking the money for the baby's milk, and drinks pint after pint until all the money is gone. He seems to have no remorse. He refuses to ask for handouts because he feels it is unmanly and beneath him. Eventually, he goes off to England where the jobs are and sends money home maybe once. Then they just don't hear from him. The other men who return say he drinks the money away, loses homes and loses jobs, having no regard for the family he abandoned back in Ireland. I just don't understand how a person could do that. I guess that's alcoholism for you.
I only wish I could find more photos of McCourt's family at that time than the one that is in my edition of the book. Of course, this would be difficult since they were very poor and it was so long ago. If anyone finds one other than the photo of McCourt and his classmates in front of Leamy's school, let me know. Oh, and read the book. Definitely worth it. I found my copy for just $3 at Book Gallery West on 16th and 43rd. It's a great place to find cheap books if you're willing to sift.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
The Engagement Dinner, Where Families Meet
Last weekend, E (my fiancé) and I traveled down to Naples, otherwise known as Retirement Village or Village of the Damned Old. What would entice us to, first of all, go to Naples and, second of all, waste so much gas going there? Well, remember the whole us-getting-engaged thing? We figured our families might appreciate knowing who they were accepting as their own. We’ve been dating over three years, but our families have never actually met each other. *Enter scary music.*
Yes, we were off to Naples for my family to meet the fiancé’s family. I’ve seen situations like this plenty of times on TV, which of course makes me an expert on the matter. We are supposed to arrive late, drenched from the rain and muddy up their house while one relative drinks himself into stupor and another burns the turkey and/or drops the mashed potato tray on the carpet. Right? Oh, I forgot the argument or two the parents are supposed to have amongst themselves, making everyone feel awkward. Maybe a kid can drop a half-sucked candy in my purse before I leave “for later.” To my utter amazement, these things did not happen. My main fear was this: My family speaks mostly Spanish and his family speaks none. My secondary, but somewhat related fear was that my family would be very shy (except for my dad, who sometimes talks so much that people don’t really know what he’s saying in that Spanish accent).
I did everything I could to make it as smooth-sailing as possible. I wanted to have it in a restaurant in Naples (where E’s family lives, 2 hours North of my parents, 4 hours South of me) so no one had to do any cooking or cleanup. However, each time I mentioned this Engagement Dinner to any of E’s family members, they assured me that they would make the turkey. I had E tell them the restaurant idea, but they insisted on having the dinner at their home so that everyone could mingle. Everyone? Everyone is my mom and dad who speak mostly Spanish, my sister, my brother and sister-in-law who will be busy with the baby, and my fiancé’s parents and teenaged sister. Really, the only people who would be saying much (our dads) could just sit nearest each other in the restaurant. Anyway, I was outnumbered. My only request was for catered food so no one would have to slave in the kitchen and we keep it simple. They said of course.
Here is where it gets good.
About two weeks before the event, E starts getting frantic calls from his father. His mom has apparently gone nuts-o with preparations. He can’t seem to muster any other words than “your mother is freaking out.” I think he just repeated that 5 or 6 times. I keep telling E to remind them I just want something simple that requires no prep other than calling a restaurant to make sure they’ll send food at some point during the day. About 4 days away she called and asked how to spell my family’s names for the place cards… Let me repeat myself. PLACE CARDS. At this point, I know I’ve lost control. If the magnitude of this dinner has gotten to the point where she thinks place cards at the tables are the next logical step, then it has gone way past the simple dinner I wanted it to be. Now my family is going to be extra shy because they’ll feel all out-of-place and intimidated. All I wanted was for his mom to maybe vacuum the floor and make sure there are enough paper plates for people to serve themselves.
My family get-togethers are usually some rented tables for the food to sit on and lots of paper plates and plasticware. Plastic tablecloths, too. Then we pray and line up to pile great mountains of arroz con pollo, pernil, pan con mantecilla, yucca con mojo, pasteles, arroz con dulce, and tembleque on our winn-dixie brand plates. That’s what makes us feel at home. I hope his family can visit mine in Miami soon to see it.
The day finally arrives and we are warned to stay away from the house as long as possible. We stop by in the morning to drop some stuff off and see if we can help, and I immediately enter into panic mode. His mom has spent the past two days making hors d’ouvre after hors d’ouvre. There are so many starters and dips in the works. She also had a cake made for us with our names on it (I actually loved this part and thought it was a great idea), brownies, and strawberries with their own sauce for dessert. There were huge wildflowers that must’ve cost a fortune ready to go into tall floor vases, roses, and detailed little centerpieces for each table. There were the name cards, along with full sets of fine china and family silverware.
Doilies.
Once I found out she had hired her daughter and her daughter’s friend to “work the party,” E decided we should leave. We would pick up a couple of things she still needed and have a quiet lunch. I guess he saw me starting to shiver. I have to take a moment to say that his mom is a wonderful, fun person. She only goes overboard sometimes because she wants to do a good job and make everyone happy. Apparently, she’s into this event-planning thing.
We took a moment to visit my family in their hotel once they got into town so I could have a quiet reunion before dinner. I hadn’t seen them in a few months. Their reaction to the actual dinner was about what I expected. They were really shy and asked me if they were under-dressed (except for my sister, who asked me if she was dressed too fancy, oddly enough, even though she was in cute jeans, a polka-dot top and matching shoes and hair band). The first 5 or 10 minutes were spent introducing people and then listening to the painful silence that followed. My fam wandered around a bit, clearly out of their element and pointed out various beautiful details. Luckily, they opened up with a little time. People starting talking, although they later told me they were a bit weirded out by the teenagers waiting on everyone with hors d’ouvre trays and drinks. I was sad that his mom ended up spending most of her time in the kitchen and not much time chatting. I could tell my family really liked her when she was around.
Besides a few phrases that needed repeating or translating, all went -mostly- well. We all had a great time, enjoyed the food and my family loved his family. They didn’t really like Naples the city, but that is to be expected.
Yes, we were off to Naples for my family to meet the fiancé’s family. I’ve seen situations like this plenty of times on TV, which of course makes me an expert on the matter. We are supposed to arrive late, drenched from the rain and muddy up their house while one relative drinks himself into stupor and another burns the turkey and/or drops the mashed potato tray on the carpet. Right? Oh, I forgot the argument or two the parents are supposed to have amongst themselves, making everyone feel awkward. Maybe a kid can drop a half-sucked candy in my purse before I leave “for later.” To my utter amazement, these things did not happen. My main fear was this: My family speaks mostly Spanish and his family speaks none. My secondary, but somewhat related fear was that my family would be very shy (except for my dad, who sometimes talks so much that people don’t really know what he’s saying in that Spanish accent).
I did everything I could to make it as smooth-sailing as possible. I wanted to have it in a restaurant in Naples (where E’s family lives, 2 hours North of my parents, 4 hours South of me) so no one had to do any cooking or cleanup. However, each time I mentioned this Engagement Dinner to any of E’s family members, they assured me that they would make the turkey. I had E tell them the restaurant idea, but they insisted on having the dinner at their home so that everyone could mingle. Everyone? Everyone is my mom and dad who speak mostly Spanish, my sister, my brother and sister-in-law who will be busy with the baby, and my fiancé’s parents and teenaged sister. Really, the only people who would be saying much (our dads) could just sit nearest each other in the restaurant. Anyway, I was outnumbered. My only request was for catered food so no one would have to slave in the kitchen and we keep it simple. They said of course.
Here is where it gets good.
About two weeks before the event, E starts getting frantic calls from his father. His mom has apparently gone nuts-o with preparations. He can’t seem to muster any other words than “your mother is freaking out.” I think he just repeated that 5 or 6 times. I keep telling E to remind them I just want something simple that requires no prep other than calling a restaurant to make sure they’ll send food at some point during the day. About 4 days away she called and asked how to spell my family’s names for the place cards… Let me repeat myself. PLACE CARDS. At this point, I know I’ve lost control. If the magnitude of this dinner has gotten to the point where she thinks place cards at the tables are the next logical step, then it has gone way past the simple dinner I wanted it to be. Now my family is going to be extra shy because they’ll feel all out-of-place and intimidated. All I wanted was for his mom to maybe vacuum the floor and make sure there are enough paper plates for people to serve themselves.
My family get-togethers are usually some rented tables for the food to sit on and lots of paper plates and plasticware. Plastic tablecloths, too. Then we pray and line up to pile great mountains of arroz con pollo, pernil, pan con mantecilla, yucca con mojo, pasteles, arroz con dulce, and tembleque on our winn-dixie brand plates. That’s what makes us feel at home. I hope his family can visit mine in Miami soon to see it.
The day finally arrives and we are warned to stay away from the house as long as possible. We stop by in the morning to drop some stuff off and see if we can help, and I immediately enter into panic mode. His mom has spent the past two days making hors d’ouvre after hors d’ouvre. There are so many starters and dips in the works. She also had a cake made for us with our names on it (I actually loved this part and thought it was a great idea), brownies, and strawberries with their own sauce for dessert. There were huge wildflowers that must’ve cost a fortune ready to go into tall floor vases, roses, and detailed little centerpieces for each table. There were the name cards, along with full sets of fine china and family silverware.
Doilies.
Once I found out she had hired her daughter and her daughter’s friend to “work the party,” E decided we should leave. We would pick up a couple of things she still needed and have a quiet lunch. I guess he saw me starting to shiver. I have to take a moment to say that his mom is a wonderful, fun person. She only goes overboard sometimes because she wants to do a good job and make everyone happy. Apparently, she’s into this event-planning thing.
We took a moment to visit my family in their hotel once they got into town so I could have a quiet reunion before dinner. I hadn’t seen them in a few months. Their reaction to the actual dinner was about what I expected. They were really shy and asked me if they were under-dressed (except for my sister, who asked me if she was dressed too fancy, oddly enough, even though she was in cute jeans, a polka-dot top and matching shoes and hair band). The first 5 or 10 minutes were spent introducing people and then listening to the painful silence that followed. My fam wandered around a bit, clearly out of their element and pointed out various beautiful details. Luckily, they opened up with a little time. People starting talking, although they later told me they were a bit weirded out by the teenagers waiting on everyone with hors d’ouvre trays and drinks. I was sad that his mom ended up spending most of her time in the kitchen and not much time chatting. I could tell my family really liked her when she was around.
Besides a few phrases that needed repeating or translating, all went -mostly- well. We all had a great time, enjoyed the food and my family loved his family. They didn’t really like Naples the city, but that is to be expected.
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