From the Bride’s Father’s Notebook Introduction
December 20, 2009
Katie and David arrived today. They were supposed to get here yesterday but the Blizzard of 2009 had other ideas. Thankfully they were able to get safely to just three hours away, to a good friends house, to eating and drinking and talking late. We were a little disappointed, but used the extra time to get the place fully battened down for the two-week onslaught before us.
We moved to a bigger place three months ago partly to have the room for these two weeks. A full 700 square feet, our new home is a palace! That’s how it felt to us at least, moving from 400 cozy square feet of efficiency. Our place has a kitchen more than one person can stand in at a time, a dining room (tiny but still a dining room), living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. We get lost in that cavernous space. Still, with Katie and David’s, and Daphne the Cat’s arrival, it filled up fast. Glad we have four hotel rooms standing by, reservations kicking in later when more people arrive.
Manly Snow Removal
We started the visit, the Wedding-of-my-Daughter Fortnight, by shoveling snow. I was anxious to get my hands on the shovel, an implement a 50 year old guy can use to show his still-vital manliness. Or to bring on a heart attack. So my future son-in-law did most of the shoveling while the proud chieftain father of his future wife watched. I spelled him a couple times, digging paths to the van. Fifteen inches is a lot of snow to clear for just a little path let alone a car-sized rectangle. Like a wedding, like marriage its a weighty thing to tackle.
Nita snapped a few pictures of us out there. In one I’m looking away, disinterested in a cool sorta way. The young, strapping, almost-son-in-law scooped snow like he was completing the last phase of earning my approval to marry my daughter. I guess I’d already given that approval (he was gentleman enough to have asked me), but it felt good to sense I might inspire a tad of fear, the village chief still with a little leverage left, the wise-but-still-vigorous master of my domain. Still, in spite of my cool exterior, the moment shook me.
Grilling and calling my angst away
I had purchased inch plus thick NY Strips, perfectly marbled and beautiful to behold. I wasn’t all that uptight really, but I had reacted to the singular experience of their arrival for the express purpose of getting married. I was glad for the chance to step outside and light the grill, sipping scotch and soda in the crisp, moonlit evening. Being the griller gives me a chance to actively support an event while stepping away from it: a guilt-free escape.
While grilling on our balcony when we lived in Jerusalem with views of the Old City, the wall, the West Bank, and if I was lucky the mountains of Jordan in the distance, I had been in the habit of calling Eric, our second son, to tell him about it. There was an element of bragging, ha-ha-ha, guess what I’m doing and you’re not, but mostly I liked chatting with him, especially about cooking out, a specialty of his. Tonight, I called him because the grill and drink weren’t quite enough to ground me, bring me back from my reaction to the enormity of it all, that moment’s weirdness. The call was brief; he was brewing and bottling Kombucha, a beverage he sells. Still, somehow saying hi, mentioning the steaks, hearing about his work, feeling his energy and optimism; these were a refreshing splash of water in my face. Calm from the grill, from my son, I was renewed and ready to enjoy the rest of the evening with the affianced pair and my wife.
Weighty Work
