La Palais de Congress 

 

It’s too tempting to write every impression, every recollection from the last 10 days.

I’ll resist…for now.

We’re going to get to see the “official” pictures tomorrow. (Many thanks again to Eddie.)

Until then…some images from Montreal...

Here's the first picture I took at my own wedding (using my trusty little digital)

Doesn't she look amazing?




















And here's the last picture I took on my wedding night.


















After the last beer had been emptied and the last s'more had been devoured, after the last car had left and the flames in the the bonfire had dwindled to embers, all that remained was a bale of hay (and somewhere off in the pasture, some very confused cows).

In about an hour we’ll be leaving for Michigan, our car packed with ribbon and picture frames and a small bubble maker to keep the kids entertained and a half-a-dozen cases of wine and 30 small pots of daisies.

When we return in two weeks the daisies will probably be wilting, the wine will have been long since consumed, the ribbon (having been tied to trees) will be frayed (if not burned in a bon fire). But we will be husband and wife and our new life will begin in earnest.

There will be laundry to do and dishes and the kitchen floor (which Penny hates because it scuffs so easily) will have to be washed. We will return to our jobs and there will be bills piled up on the desk (the cool antiquey one we found for $60 at an estate sale) in our foyer.

And nothing will be the same again.

As of this second (and anyone who lives in Michigan knows the weather can change by the minute) there is a 0% chance of rain for next Saturday in Grand Rapids. Thursday and Friday are standing at about 20% each day.

I know that some people will say the act of writing this down has just jinxed us. Well, I’m sure I’ve made this point abundantly clear - I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I believe in luck (sort of) to the extent that you make your own. Sure, some people are born to rich parents, (or, sadly and more commonly, to poor parents) or with a certain look that their generation finds attractive, but basically your luck is what you make it.

For example, someone who wins the lottery is lucky…but you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket. That’s making your own luck. It’s the same thing with marriage. You’re lucky if you meet someone you’re “compatible” with (however you define compatibility), but you have to work at making it into a relationship.

As for the weather…there’s nothing we can do about it. You can plan a wedding in a meadow, and if it’s 75 degrees and sunny, you’re lucky. But you should rent a tent just in case.

Forgive my indulgence.

Getting married next Saturday is the best decision I've ever made. I sincerely feel like the luckiest person I know. If I were a religious man I would use the word blessed.

I think of myself as a person whose belief system is based predominately in "reality." I believe in things that are provable. That being said, there are plenty of things I can't measure or "see" that I believe, things I think of often and will never truly understand: time is relative, the immensity of the universe, the power of human emotions.

My "pragmatic" belief system led me to reject ideas I shouldn't have:
-One person can change the world. (They can and do.)
-People can change (they can...for better or worse).
-I had to solve everything by myself (I underestimated peoples' abilities, or their capacity for caring).
-Marriage. (I dismissed it as antiquated, patriarchal, wealth control, institutionalized nonsense. Frankly, I thought it was a con.)

The irony (besides the all-too obvious irony that I'm getting married) is that my parents had an exemplary marriage. What I saw between them was respect, affection, empathy. What I never saw between them was disrespect, hostility, dishonesty. I never saw (and I mean this...never once) spite, hatred, apathy, jealousy.

Of course there were disagreements, between them, between my brothers and I, every imaginable combination.

And too little time.

It's easy to romanticize the past, especially now, so close to my own wedding. The emotions I feel from moment to moment are so heightened that everything I do (I'm not exaggerating...everything, from what I pick up at the grocery store to how I stand at the plate in my coed softball league) is literally imbued with more emotion than maybe such mundane acts should ever posses.

I well up with tears on a daily basis. We were sitting in Leona's the other day, just going over the plans for the ceremony: the introductions, who goes down the aisle when, we say the vows, etc. etc., and I started crying.

And my dad won't be there. I can't believe it's been almost seven years since he died. He never saw me go to grad school, write a play, never met the woman who is going to be the mother of my children. In so many ways he made me a better person, and Penny makes me a better person still.

Whatever good is in me is mine. But I didn't form it alone. Far from it. At this point in my life my human frailties are all mine; my strengths have been absorbed from better sources: philosophers, artists, people I've met (and I'm grateful for what I'm able to recognize as good in the world).

I never believed in "meant to be." And I still don't. It's nothing more than pure coincidence that Penny and I met. We were born in different cities, years apart. Grew up in completely different parts of the country. Our families were from different continents. We weren't introduced by friends, or betrothed as children. There was nothing "arranged" about our meeting; (I know, I know...that makes it seem even more like it was preordained). We were waiting tables in some random restaurant. When we met, there was undoubtedly a spark...but how did it happen that this person grew to become for me ... more than I believed was possible.

We've heard people say (usually in bad movies) I love her so much it scares me. I have no idea what these people are talking about. I've never felt safer in my life. Do I worry about money and kids (I have dreams about them) and "The Future?" Of course.

I'm not walking around in a foggy euphoria (I read way too much about politics to have any delusions). I know life is hard, and I know how lucky I am in more ways than I probably deserve.

Penny is the most obvious example of that.

You know that time between full sleep and full wakefulness? The time when you’re not sure whether you’re dreaming or actually experiencing? I love it. I looked it up; it’s called Hypnopompia. It’s defined as “the experiences a person can go through in the period of waking up.”

Experience is an interesting word. Because when you think about it, you’re not really experiencing anything. You’re just lying in bed. You’re not doing anything. The “experiences” are all in your mind. But they seem almost real. Sometimes you can’t be sure…’did that happen – or did I dream that.’ That’s pretty cool.

If you’re lucky, you get to take your time waking up. You get to experience even more of that other reality that occurs mostly in your head. If you wake quickly, one of those freaks that spring out of bed, that time is (sadly) short.

But I’ve been lucky recently in that most of my days I don’t have to wake at any given second. I don’t have the snooze button to look forward to and hate at the same time.

But I’ve been unlucky in that most of the conversations between Penny and I have taken place with one of us in that hypnapompic state. It’s always sweet, usually amusing and occasionally frustrating. We’ve learned to communicate under the most difficult of circumstances…with one of us barely conscious.

“Honey, did you see my keys?”

“Tfffhere inm…hmmm…de fhhhunt.”

“Thanks.”

If we can do this, then everything else will be a snap.

 

I just returned from five days on the farm. I cleared fallen limbs and branches, started painting the stage and ate more meat than any man (or woman for that matter) should.

The weather couldn’t have been nicer if I’d made it myself. Every day was rain-free. The few clouds were more picturesque than threatening.

I watched my first bull testing, a process so graphic everyone should be made to watch it. The smells…musky bull, earth, shit, and something else I won’t even try to describe though it’s the most palpable…more intuitive than sense-oriented. Loud, angry, frightened bulls don’t moo. They scream, honk, howl. They kick and thrust and fall onto their front knees drooling, their enormous mouths flinging spit and snot and occasionally blood in every direction while their heads are held in place by giant metal bars.

I saw a day-old calf, still wet and wobbly. 104 pounds. (I don’t care how big the mom is, that’s gotta be uncomfortable.)

The meadow and the pasture are starting to bud and bloom. It’s invigorating, physically and emotionally. Every time I leave there I wonder when I’ll be able to go back. (I wonder if I would appreciate it as much had I’d grown up there.)

People in “the country” know a lot about their world. More than the people I daily see. Black walnut trees (and how the taste is different from English walnuts), and multiflora rose (apparently invasive and a total nuisance), and garlic chives (growing wild everywhere in clumps and patches).

This wedding is going to be amazing.

100 days to go. Someone asked me the other day why, after all this time, did I feel it was time to ask Penny to marry me. I’m a person who likes specifics. I prefer the rational to the emotional (though anyone who’s seen me watch sports on TV would argue otherwise).

The only answer I can give in full sincerity is that it just felt right. After thinking and weighing (the options…not myself) and wondering and worrying…it simply felt right.

The old cliché is true; when you know you know. And I knew. And fortunately, so did Penny.

Penny and I went up to Richland Center, WI (thank you so much to grampa Ursin, Lois, Allen and Kristi). The clean air and open spaces almost hypnotized us. And Cody and Ebony are the sweetest dogs ever.

We may have finally found our band. Uncle John was kind enough to send us a demo tape, and we liked what we heard. The disc contained acoustic versions of Ain't No Sunshine, I'll Be Around and Hootchie Cootchie Man. The singer's voice was strong and soulful; what more can anyone ask for?

This has nothing to do with the wedding, but I saw the headline and counldn't help but laugh.

Cubs Buy Pagan Contract

Pagan? That could have been me. I thought only the Devil and Newt Gingrich made contracts like this. (Badum boom..tsshhh)

A billboard in an alley in Roger's Park just off Clark Street.

 

Pictures from "family Christmas." (Who knew I would ever write those words in reference to myself?)


 

The old boat house.

 

Stariway to...The lake behind Jim and Molly's house.

 

The beginning of the New Year is always a good time to reflect, and, more importantly, look ahead. (Frankly, though I recognize the arbitrariness of the date, it is nonetheless a legitimate marker of time; like a birthday, or pitchers and catchers arriving at spring training.)

I ask myself: Did I work hard enough this year? (I think I worked hard in many ways, but there’s room for improvement.)

Did I spend enough time writing this year? (I don’t think I did, though I made some progress, completed some projects and made some good connections.)

Am I a better person? (Uh….)

Money is still a concern, though for a short time this past summer I was as financially comfortable as I’d been in a long time. Things are a little tighter now, especially with the additional expenses we’ve acquired. (Our rent went up by over $150 bucks, but that’s more than compensated for by the fact of our dramatically increased space – from 550 sq. ft. to over 1600, coupled with the fact that we just feel more comfortable here. I can’t say enough about having a little personal space, some “elbow room.”)

We bought a car. And insurance.

And, of course, there’s the wedding.

Questions are constant - about myself, about the larger world (seriously now…what the fuck are these idiots doing? And how did they get in charge of most of the countries in the world…especially this one. But that’s a topic for another blog). But for the first time in my life I have no questions about what love is.

I used to think love was conditional. And who wouldn’t think that? Look at the examples: Fifty percent divorce rates. Infidelity reportedly higher than ever. (Women cheat? Who knew?). The You Suck as a Person Industry thriving. (Self-improvement books, plastic surgery, the bastards at the pharmaceutical companies.)

I was lucky in a lot of ways. I can never appreciate enough the amazing example that my parents set for me.

But if I learned nothing else this year, I learned that love is, by it’s very nature, completely unconditional. (Duh!) I’m not going to try and define love, that would be egotistical, woefully inadequate no matter how long, and probably sort of ridiculous, because anyone who knows what love is also knows that the reason everyone writes about it and sings about and talks about it and dreams about it is because its indefinable. If you collected all the artistic works of human history (ballet, sculpture, painting, film, writing, theatre and on and on) that concerned themselves with the idea of love, you would still only be scratching the surface.

I have a lot of concerns (fears?), but not about love.

In more ways than I can (or should) say, Penny is my savior. She’s my messiah, my muse.

I love going up to Michigan.

The drive is like decompression; arrival is like landing.

We climb into our pod (aka our Toyota Matrix, aka "Neo") close the doors and we’re off, shuffling through half-a-dozen CDs (carefully hand-selected). With one stop for gas etc., (all off-ramp gas station/bathroom/foodmart/rest areas feel eerily similar) we arrive in under four hours.

I stretch mightily, shaking off the vaguely catatonic hypnosis from the road (driving is so much like sleepwalking).

Inhale.

I love the way Penny and I talk during the trip. We share space so well, a lucky combination of disposition, circumstance (man, we’ve had some small apartments) and pheromones.

The route feels like time travel. We leave our tightly packed neighborhood - rows of statuesque three flats between squat and sturdy six and eight unit condoplexes. We turn onto what is, for southbound traffic, the beginning of Lake Shore Drive.

The City eventually gives way to some of the most industrial parts of the Midwest. Gary, Indiana still smells like what a lot of the rust belt communities experienced before the advent of clean air standards: Ash, sulphur, sewage, god-know-what else strong enough to make you stick your face in your shirt.

Indiana becomes Michigan, and the hills and trees look manicured, even when leafless. They have the craziest things out there, things from centuries ago, like vineyards, orchards, farms - with very large animals!

Completing our journey back in time, after 180 miles of pavement, the road evaporates, becoming dirt, then gravel.

Inhale.

 

Penny and I spent our first Christmas eve eve as betrothed walking through the Lincoln Park zoo and checking out the zoo lights display. Neither of us had been before. It's actually really cool, and nicely done.
 

From Uncle Jim.

Yes, well that does bring up a conundrum for the eccentric confronted with a new problem, and lacking the determinism of a well worn rut. Of course true eccentrics always travel in ruts, but sooner or later, there comes a fork. Do you turn your loved one into jewelry, or call a taxidermist? Compress their carbon into a crystal, or stretch their skin over an heroic form? Diamonds offer perfect molecular order, but taxidermy has possibilities that plastic surgeons can only dream of. Consider the Jack-a-lope.

And consider the room: is it right for a discreet head mount, a showier shoulder mount, or, as favored by Mediterranean cultures, the whole body mount? The latter offers many more creative choices as one can pose one’s loved one in action. Perhaps on the stair climber, or cooking breakfast, or flopped out on the couch watching a game.

A mind is a terrible thing.

Jim

From my spiritual guru "Uncle" Art (aka Rabbi Lavender):

What will people think of next! Jewish tradition would be dead-set (sorry, couldn’t resist) against this. For one, Jewish tradition is unanimous that the cadaver should be

1) buried whole and untouched
2) as soon as possible after death, usually the very next day (except for Shabbat and holidays)

I think most of us want to believe that we will somehow live on after death. In Jewish tradition we live on in the memories that people have of us, and the good works we have done while we are alive.

Thinking that one’s remains can be turned into a diamond, which according to DeBeers and Ian Fleming are forever, strikes me as an exercise in vanity. So on behalf of Jewish tradition , I thusly proclaim it to be an act not only of vanity, but futility.

I love this time of year. I know, I know...secularist, Jew, liberal...and I still like Christmas time. Well, I guess I didn't get the memo about the "war against Christmas."  

And the plot thickens.

Robert wrote to me and said, "This is from a buddy of mine who is G.I.A. certified, holds a degree in geology from Skidmore, and who's family has owned a very successful jewelry business on Jewelers Row for years. If he says this is bullshit, it’s bullshit.”

While discussing this at work (yes, it has consumed my entire life over the last 72 hours or so) someone brought up the religious implications and we all wondered what different faiths (and sects within those faiths) might have to say about it. I couldn’t help but wonder what this might mean for people who believe in eternal souls…having your “spirit” captured in a rock, like those bad guys at the beginning of Superman II. I’m thinking about going into the cremation diamond business. Maybe I could call it General Zod and Co.

Robert's friend's conclusion was, "What a crock!!"

Curiouser and curiouser.

In one of my recent conversations at work about our upcoming wedding, the topic turned to rings, then diamonds. Someone mentioned that they were going to be turned into a diamond after they died, then made into a necklace so that their dearest (whomever that may turn out to be) could wear her next to their heart.

I was skeptical, then amused, disgusted, fascinated, then sketpical again.

I know they can make artifical diamonds, but from people?

A series of emails began (and continues) among my well informed and very imaginitive friends and relatives. This is why I love them so.

My initial thought was the same (or nearly) as [Jim's]; this has to be a scam. Not one to leave well enough alone (and fueled by a fit of post-work insomnia) I did a little research, most of which will bore everyone. (Except for maybe Jim...and that's one of the things (among many) I appreciate about him.)

Here's the link on the LifeGem site about the process.

For those who don't want to read all of the (admittedly, vague) info, here's the most important part. "After extensive research and development, [whatever that means] we have discovered how to extract the carbon from existing cremated remains." "Once captured, this carbon is heated to extremely high temperatures under special conditions. While removing the existing ash, this process converts your loved one’s carbon to graphite."

Like I said, vague.

Another thing that makes me leery is that it says, "LifeGem diamonds are individually inspected, graded, and identified by world-renowned gemologists trained by the Gemological Institute of America (GIA)."

A careful read here indicates not that they are GIA certified, but that they are "identified" (whatever that means) by gemologists "trained by GIA," which is not the same as being certified by GIA itself.

Searches for "cremation diamonds" and "cremation" on the GIA site turned up nothing.

From Corporate Information Officer magazine titled, “Diamonds (and Grandma) are Forever"
"Carbon leaves the body in the form of carbon dioxide during the cremation process, says Mark Bouffard, a LifeGem spokesman. But a patented process that manipulates the oxygen level in the cremation oven allows the carbon to remain.”

According to wikipedia:
LifeGem claims to use a "carbon curing" container to collect the human remains halfway through the cremation process. The carbon is supposedly converted to graphite after purification, from which point it is sent to a diamond synthesis facility. As of spring 2003 the task of synthesis was given exclusively to Lucent Diamonds of Colorado. The diamonds were made via the thermal gradient method by a team of Russian scientists using iron alloys as a flux at pressures of 5.0–6.0 GPa and temperatures of 1,600–2,000 °C. The entire process, from cremation to finished stone, is said to take about six months.

The wikipedia article also states:
It is important to note that, at present, there is no nondestructive method of testing the origin of carbon used in diamond synthesis: It has yet to be independently verified that LifeGem products (patent pending) are indeed composed—either in part or in whole—of human remains, or if the carbon is from another source.

Interesting tidbits:

Apparently, they originally created the process from pigs. I guess you can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear after all.

A Yahoo! search for"cremation diamonds" returned 183,000 hits.

Lifegem is a member of the Cremation Association of North America (CANA).

From About.com:
Getting the Carbon:
Carbon released during cremation is captured as a dark powder, then heated to produce graphite. The graphite is sent to a lab where it is synthesized into fancy colored diamonds. (I guess if the diamond thing doesn't work for you, you can always use the graphite and make someone into a gross of #2 pencils.)
Skeptical?
LifeGem says it has an open door policy, allowing you to inspect many aspects of their tracking system. The system follows all remains throughout the entire process, from cremation to faceting. They also offer a more advanced type of system that uses special markers to track remains.
Diamonds From Pets?
Yes, the company will produce diamonds from your pet's remains.
Diamond Quality
LifeGem says that its overall quality target is to produce gems at the VVS clarity level (very, very slightly included; very, very slightly imperfect).

So there you have it.

The general consensus among those I emailed is that this process runs from weird to creepy to just plain "sick." Though one friend of mine said she would turn her family into a tiara.

Good luck with that.

I had to do this math thing so I Google “calculator” and the fourth hit is the “Love Calculator.” So, of course I went to the site. The test is simple, you type in the first names of the two people and you get a percentage “prediction” on whether or not your relationship will work out.

So I type in our names, “Penelope” then “Pablo” and I get back 44%. That sucks. The message I get with it, the “advice,” says that relationships are work blah blah blah. So I switched “Penelope” to “Penny.” 54%. Hmmm.

I, of course, started punching in the names of couples I know, and most of the results come back in the 25% to 50 % range, and the same message about how you have to work hard at your relationship.

So I start trying to make the best couple, thinking of what names would be most compatible, who had the best future prospects. Dick and Jane. 13%. Diana and Charles. 24%. Camilla and Charles. 44%. Jacob and Emily. (The two most popular baby names in 2004.) 54%. Bill and Dave. 66%.

Far and away, the best couple I could make?

Moises and Eva. 93%.

Penny and I were watching some wedding “reality” show (like, for two minutes) and they were showing the wedding, (after all the drama…I use the term loosely) and we both commented on the kiss…how lame it was. (Penny and I kiss with more emotion when one of us leaves the room to get some water.) And that led us to talk about our “kiss.” I’m sure there’s some sort of etiquette (not to long or short, no tongue) but it seems that common sense would prevail.

Our wedding kiss will be the most photographed kiss of our lives; maybe the most photographed single moment of our lives.

Every kiss before the wedding has paved the way to this one. Every kiss after the wedding will be compared to it. It’s the one that seals the deal. Who knew such a small thing could carry so much metaphorical weight?

Today would have been Pop's 75th birthday. 

Penny and I took a huge step forward in our relationship today. We bought cell phones together. That’s right – we’re now on a “Family Plan.” It’s been said that you don’t recognize the most important times in your life as they are happening…but I want to acknowledge to the world that I now know what it feels like to share everything with another person. Cell phones; what could be bigger than that?

But seriously…we had our first meeting about the wedding. We met with Chef O and discussed some of the basics of what we want our party to be like. Some of the best times in most our lives revolve around family and food: holiday dinners, summer barbecues, picnics…and we want to have those same feelings at our reception.

It’s probably asking too much that a wedding reception be indicative of what we want our life together to be like. What’s an appropriate metaphor when you want everyone to know that you recognize the traditions that make you happy, while indicating how you want your life together to feel? What does our choice of side dishes say about our love?

We want everyone to be comfortable. We want everyone to be full. We just aren’t sure if we want a big cake or cupcakes. No one said this was going to be easy.

 

Thanks to Ed for the pics from our engagement.