Occasionally, when the mood strikes (or when the
muse doesn't) we "featured columnists" come up with
the brilliant idea to do a column about nothing.
Not "nothing" like Seinfeld did it; that was inspired
nothing. More like just a bunch of stuff floating
around in our heads, none of which warrants expansion
into a full-length column, but all of which is cluttering
up our brains so we might as well get it all out.
For openers, and for those who responded in varying
ways to my Wedding Column, I feel obligated to follow
up on the actual event. It WAS an amazing wedding.
Sara, the bride (and my new daughter-in-law) was
incredibly beautiful; my son Peter, the groom, strikingly
handsome. My favorite moments: seeing my son choked
up, wiping tears from his eyes as he watched his
bride walk down the aisle. The look on Sara's face
when she entered the dining room for the rehearsal
dinner and realized that everything looked exactly
as she had planned it, down to the last rose petal
strewn across the last candle lit table. The appreciative
reaction to my video; my hours of loving labor were
richly rewarded by applause, laughter, and numerous
compliments, which of course, made it all worthwhile.
I can't begin to describe the wedding reception,
except to say that it was magical: from the picture-perfect
setting (imagine a sprawling New England lawn, resplendent
with trees, overflowing with flowers, the sparkling
sea in the background); the endless stream of clams,
mussels, shrimp-to say nothing of lobster dinners
for one hundred and thirty guests-the thoughtful,
tasteful, loving attention that had gone into every
last detail. Other favorite moments: the newly married
couple's first dance; the best man's heartfelt toast;
my son's remarkable poise (most notably on the dance
floor); and being surrounded by family and friends
gathered together for only one reason: to share
in this once in a lifetime celebration.
Strangest moments? Only one, really. The sudden awareness
that my son was not only beginning his own new family,
but was becoming part of another family who, for all
intents and purposes, are complete strangers to me.
Least favorite moments? Not having the time I thought
I would have to spend with certain special people,
like my Dad and his wife. Missing my mother, who would
have so loved being there. And on a less serious note:
catching my reflection in the mirror after partying
for hours in the east coast humidity only to discover
that my smooth, straight hair had morphed into the
curly wild-haired look I thought I'd abandoned in
the '70s. Oh, and my very least favorite part of the
whole adventure? Traveling.
I used to travel a lot when I was in the museum
design business. It came with the territory. And
after the initial excitement of traveling to new
places and seeing new sights had worn off, I remember
that traveling, even then, was not what others imagined.
It was always a hassle, always physically and mentally
draining, at least for me. I never handled jet lag
very well. Now, having been out of the travel game
for several years, I found that nothing had changed;
the entire experience totally wore me out.
And, despite all that I had read and heard about
post 9/11 security, I couldn't help noticing that
nothing much had changed there either. Yes, the
lines were longer. But not for those of us with
E-tickets. Turns out that if you ordered your ticket
by credit card, all you had to do was go to a computer,
swipe ANY credit card with your name on it (or at
least, the same name under which you had
purchased the ticket) and you were issued your boarding
pass. Voila! No lines, no muss, no fuss. I don't
get it. I mean, wouldn't even the dumbest terrorist
have a fake ID and credit card? And while the metal
detectors were obviously turned up to extremely
sensitive, picking up the rings in my plastic binder,
they still missed the nail clippers and tweezers
in my makeup case. When we grabbed a bite to eat,
we saw backpacks and carry-on bags sitting unattended
for at least fifteen minutes. And that famous locked
cockpit? Not on our plane. Not only was it open,
but several people walked in and out of it as we
watched. Finally, although we were all issued baggage
claim stubs, no one at Logan Airport, and no one
at LAX seemed to care whose bag we walked out with;
in fact, there was nobody at the doors even pretending
to check our luggage.
There's nothing like coming home. Aside from the
delight we take in sleeping in our own beds, on
our own pillows, with our very own bedtime snacks,
for me just reuniting with my dogs is pure bliss.
Watching their ecstatic rumps wag as fast as their
tails, being smothered with licks, being loved with
such utter devotion and forgiven (for leaving) with
such pure hearts, is something impossible to duplicate
in all of human experience.
And speaking of forgiveness, if only it were as
easy for us as it is for dogs. I'm harboring some
deep resentments that I would give anything to get
over, some people I would love to forgive, but it's
just so damn difficult. I suppose that's because
forgiveness is all about wanting to be forgiven.
I think I could forgive anyone almost anything if
they were truly sorry; if they just apologized.
Although it was unnecessary, some would say ludicrous,
I apologized profusely to my dogs for going away.
With humans it's so very complicated. We do all
this thinking, and analyzing, and rationalizing.
We would rather be right than say we're sorry. We
would rather prove our point than be forgiven. What
me your opinions at Lynn@netlistings.com