Wedding Planning Part I: Wedding planners see Black and White and are very structured, aka vultures.

Seriously. A vulture is a person or thing that preys.

That’s what I feel like right now.  The drama that goes along with wedding planning!

I don’t understand why companies feel the need to squeeze every single dime out of you because “it is your wedding.” I am finding that it ISN’T your wedding at all!

Yesterday, my sisters Jeanna, Juliann, and Francine went to see my reception venue and to sign all the paperwork and finalize the date of my wedding.  All is good. They also had the opportunity to discuss in detail some of the choices I will have for MY wedding, including (pardon the paraphrasing):

Okay, here are the colors of the linens you can choose from. If you don’t like these colors, then you can go to an assigned outside vendor and pay more out of pocket to get the “right” color for you. Oh, you don’t like the beer we provide? Well, we can provide the beer you want and charge you extra. No, we won’t refund you the open bar tab that you are already paying for.  So, I am paying for an open bar and for beer that no one will drink? I will bring in some drinkable beer and you will charge me for AND charge me for the beer you provide? Oh, okay. After all, it is MY wedding.

I just get so upset with companies taking advantage of my emotions.  We want choices! Yes, it easier to get a whole package deal and this place is affordable, near the beach, and accessible to Jeanna, who’s pregnant and handling my out-of-state wedding planning.  But it’s already over our budget, and I can’t imagine spending more money to make it better.  Why can’t I provide some necessities and they can give me a refund on some of the services I won’t use?

Stay tuned for more wedding planning woes.

Side Note: I do appreciate everything Jeanna is doing and I do trust her, I am just a little emotional right now.

As the success of TLC’s "Say Yes to the Dress" has made clear, the idea that “the” wedding dress exists and must be found is pretty compelling among today’s brides to be. (Though I remain open to the alternative view that “a” wedding dress suitable for a given figure, venue, and price range might be equally worthwhile.) To that end, my little sisters, Jeanna and Terri, have been in Denver, CO for two days, looking for the dress that will make Terri’s dream wedding a reality. This is not that dress – though it is really cute…

1. Attitude: running is way more than “just” exercise. I agree with Larry Shapiro, fellow academic and author of  Zen and the Art of Running, that running is as essential as breathing is to my living fully. I literally find not running to be painful; I swear, my muscles begin to ache as if I could actually sense them atrophying and muscle tension in my neck and shoulders turns to migraine headache. Hence, I’ve always prioritized running. A morning run – or walk on a rest day – is among the first things on my daily agenda. Period.

2. Find a running partner: get a dog. I’ve heard more than one health care professional say that the quickest way to improve your fitness is to get a dog and walk him. We got an Alaskan Malamute – Shunka Wacon – who required at least two extended exercise periods a day. We’d run in the morning, then walk again in the afternoon. Because Shunka looked like a wolf and outweighed me before he was a year old, I felt safe running anywhere, from trails in upstate New York to dimly lit streets in Southern California.

2. Nurse and run. When my eldest child, Quentin, was born, I learned very quickly that I had only a brief window of time to run (or eat or work or whatever) following each nursing session. I used to get up before Quentin was due to wake up, and then dress for running from the waist down before getting him up to nurse. Afterward, I’d tuck Quentin in bed with his dad, finish dressing, get Shunka, and go. Later, as a single mom living back at home, I’d run before Quentin woke up, but after nursing his sister Reiley. My mother and sisters stood in as ready substitutes for dad.

3. Get a running stroller. Once I was back on my feet and living alone, the Baby Jogger was my “freedom stroller.” A gift from the kids’ dad, my first running stroller literally saved me. In order to get my run in before getting all of us ready and out the door, I had to be in my running shoes and on the street before dawn. I’d wouldn’t even wake the kids before strapping them into the stroller, tucking chocolate milk in sippy cups and snacks into the mesh pockets located conveniently on outer edge of each seat. Then I’d park them on the porch while I leashed the dogs (yes, I was crazy enough to get a another dog – a mutt adopted from the pound). And the five of us would be on our way.

4. Invite the kids to ride along. Not surprisingly, each of my children, in turn, became independently mobile before they were old enough to leave at home alone while I went running. Not a problem. They joined me on their bikes, scooters, or roller blades. When we first moved to our current hill-top home, I used to slow to a walk going uphill so that eight-year-old Quentin and six-year-old Reiley could keep up with me and Parker (in the aforementioned running stroller). I think the most cumbersome this family running team effort ever got was when my youngest sister Terri lived with us and joined in the run. There were mornings when we’d trade off pushing Olivia in “Bob” (I replaced the double Baby Jogger with the much lighter and more maneuverable Bob Ironman) and being pulled by Ayla (Shunka’s successor Malamute), while Quentin, Reiley, and Parker weaved in and around us on their scooters.

Most days now, it’s just me and the dogs – Ayla and Cooper, a quick, short-haired Vizsla who’s a better suited to Southern California’s heat than our beloved Arctic breed. All of my children except five-year-old Olivia can stay at home while I run, even if I get out after their dad leaves for work. Sometimes they don’t, though. Parker occasionally accompanies me on his bike; a couple of times a week, Reiley takes Cooper and runs with me part of the way. I’m glad they do. Of course, I appreciate the idea of simply putting on your running shoes and hitting the road; I just don’t think I enjoy it now as much as I once did.

Vizsla's are characteristically agile and trainable, but can they climb? After proving himself to be an adept scrambler at the quarry in Fontana, CA, Cooper surveys the route up…

The availability of the IB program at one of our local high schools is the most important reason Quentin returned to so-called real school. The IB diploma, which differs from traditional advanced placement (AP) in both structure (essays and projects as opposed to multiple choice tests) and content (emphasis on critical thinking and community engagement), is simply not an option for home-schooled students. Yet I could have been persuaded to keep Quentin at home, where he’s been able to manage 40 units each term, in addition to a challenging schedule of physical conditioning and rock-climbing practice, if only the kid had been able to balance academics and rock-climbing more consistently…without increasing levels of parental oversight and harassment.

Okay, I was loosing it. Much as I might like to just “let him climb,’ smile as he “just” passes his classes, and believe that he’ll “make his way,” I cannot let go of the idea that Quentin needs to excel in high school to increase the odds of securing both entrance to and financial support to attend the university of his choice. Just call it my contribution to his psychological baggage.

So how did it go?

In typical teen fashion, Quentin said it was “boring,” except for theater, where they played “ninja.” He was sorely disappointed that he couldn’t take fifth period (Spanish) during lunch and get out early. And Quentin could not get over the skinny jeans (”Don’t they know it’s 100+ degrees out?” he asked) and Mohawks (And someone had the nerve to look at me funny!).

This summer’s visit to Colorado Springs was full of “firsts,” including a trip to the Olympic Training Center that has been 15 years in the making. As long as we were there, Terri, Olivia, and I thought we’d try out for the women’s bobsled team . Think we have a shot at making it?

Wrong! Fisher cats are closely related to the American marten, which I think looks a lot like a large ferret. They dwell in forests from Canada to the northernmost parts of the United States. Reiley just did a quick bit of research on the creatures and offers the following cinquain poem:

FisherCats

brown, mammal

Lives under bunks.

East hare and porqupine.

FisherCats

While I was at Lama in New Mexico, Olivia stayed with Terri and her fiance, Maz; our brother, Brian, watched Olivia while Terri worked in the morning. One morning, when Brian was feeling especially energetic, he took Olivia fishing. Although Brian did catch Olivia with fishing pole in hand, this shot is much more characteristic of her activities that morning. In case you were wondering, no, they didn’t catch anything .

After explaining to the class that the day’s lesson will cover “perception,” the professor instructs the class to “please tell me when the jar is full,” as she begins to fill the glass jar to the top with large rocks. “Is the jar full?” she asks.

“Sure,” says someone in the back row, sounding a little bored at the obvious question.

The professor doesn’t respond as she picks up the box of pebbles and gingerly pours the contents into the jar, filling all the crevices around the big rocks with smaller pebbles. “Class, is the jar full now?” she asks.

“Well, OK, now the jar is full,” remarks the same back row student.

Still foregoing a response, the professor picks up the bucket of sand and slowly empties the contents into the jar. The sand easily fills all the spaces around the large rocks and small pebbles to the very top of the jar. “Now, class, is the jar full?

“No” comes a chorus of voices from the class. “No, the jar is not full.”

She smiles, and picks up the pitcher of water and carefully empties the liquid into the glass jar all the way to the top. “Class, is the jar full?“

“Yes!” her students enthusiastically respond.

Then the professor explains, “If you know what matters to you, what lights up your heart, what brings lasting joy and happiness, what is the next crucial step toward an important long range goal – do that first…and then there will time, energy, and space for everything else.” With that, she walks out of the room.

She’s right, of course. I just spent a week at a workshop that, in true “retreat” fashion, organized each day’s activities around extended communal meal times and daily spiritual practice, leaving yet more “pockets” of time to explore the the 110 acres we called “home.” In addition to participating in workshop activities – including visual arts practice, presentations and associated discussions, and course preparation – I managed to read, write, and spend time with my sons, who were with me. Moreover, I was well-rested, relaxed, and happy.

The transition back to “real life” has been excrutiating . It’s much easier to take time for delicious meals when you don’t also have to plan and prepare them, plus do the dishes. Likewise, it’s easy to get up, go for a run, followed by meditation practice and a shower before breakfast, when you don’t have to feed the dog and get the kids dressed and out the door. Less than 24 hours after leaving Lama, I’m already exhausted, facing a “to do” list that grows faster than I can cross items off. I’m afraid that sometimes you have to put the little rocks in first, which collectively edge out the big ones.

I am participating in a retreat and workshop at the Lama Foundation in northern New Mexico. Today our art practice included creating a sculpture out of objects found in nature. I created this piece: a weaving constructed of twigs, flowers, grasses, leaves, string, and pieces of tent binding. It was inspired by a bird’s nest I once saw while out rock-climbing.