Rob and I just returned from Denver, where we gathered with his mom’s family to celebrate his grandparents’ 60th wedding anniversary.

I have nothing but superlative things to say about Rob’s grandparents. They are inspiring. Grandma Marge and Grandpa Dick bop around like they’re a good 20 years younger than their respective 79 and 81 years.

Last winter, we asked Grandpa Dick if he would get ordained on the Internet so he could marry us in Maui. He did, and it was wonderful. 

It was a huge honor for us that he was so intimately involved in our ceremony, and I think everyone enjoyed his personal touch. In fact, we appear to have started a trend, as several of our friends have gone on to incorporate their grandparents in their wedding ceremonies.

Rob has always adored his grandfather. They are two peas in a pod, so to speak, and indeed they behave and even look like twins 53 years removed, down to the awkward gap they like to leave between themselves and the next person when posing for a photo. Rob had his first beer, a Guinness, in Ireland with his grandfather. They share a quirky sense of fashion that includes Tilly hats and beaten-up, ugly-as-sin L.L. Bean boat shoes.

Rob’s grandmother has always been very dear to him, too. A retired schoolteacher, she used to help him with schoolwork and edit his papers in high school and, let’s be honest here, college. And even though he grew up living halfway across the country, his grandmother was incredibly involved in his childhood, down to knowing the specific details of his academic, extracurricular, and (when he allowed it) social life.

But they’re just like that. Whereas most “old people” like to talk (and hear themselves talk), telling the same stories over and over again to any audience that might willingly, begrudgingly, accidentally or otherwise present itself, Dick and Marge always want to know about you.

They’re healthy, they’re active, they’re engaged, and they love to laugh. And after 60 years of marriage, they still hold hands. If I only live to be half as old and half as happy as they are, I’ll know I will have had a great life.

At any rate, we were all asked to share something with Grandma and Grandpa at the beautiful anniversary party Rob’s mom and her sister organized. We intended to write (and perform) a little “We Didn’t Start The Fire”-inspired song, but, well, we all know how those things pan out. Instead, we wrote up a little history lesson — apropos coming from the historian and the writer, presented to the lawyer and the teacher. Boring, perhaps — but hopefully at least a little bit interesting.

More photos of the party at right. Hope you enjoy.

Congratulations Grandma and Grandpa!

Amanda:

The year is 1949. Harry Truman is inaugurated for a second term, and he unveils his Fair Deal program. This is the year that NATO is created, and the Geneva Convention forms.

Rob:

This year, China becomes a communist country, and Russia tests its first atomic bomb. In the UK, legal aid is born, though it won’t reach the United States for another several decades. Apartheid is made the official policy in South Africa.

Amanda:

In 1949, minimum wage is 70 cents an hour, and average yearly wages are under $3,000. You can buy a house for $1,900, or a new car for $1,400 and fill it up with gas for 17 cents a gallon. A men’s suit is $24.50, a Sealy mattress is $38, and you can buy the newly released Polaroid camera for $89.95.

Rob:

This year, there are still six surviving veterans of the US Civil War, and the Vatican discovers the bones of the apostle Peter.

Amanda:

Los Angeles receives its first-ever recorded snowfall, and the B50 Superfortress completes the first non-stop airplane flight around the world.

Rob:

1949 is the first year in which no African-American is lynched in the United States.

Amanda:

The first automatic street lights are installed, and the first 45 record is released this year. Candy Land and Silly Putty are born, as well as the world’s first computer.

Rob:

It is this year that brought the first Volkswagon Beetle to the US, and cars race around the Charlotte Speedway in North Carolina for the first NASCAR race.

Amanda:

The kids these days are watching Bozo The Clown, The Lone Ranger, and television’s first western, Hopalong Cassidy, and the first soap operas air on TV. For the first time, the Sears & Roebuck catalog includes television sets, and RCA perfects a system for broadcasting color television. The very first Emmy Awards are presented.

Rob:

Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific opens on Broadway in 1949. Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby all record the musical’s hit song, “Some Enchanted Evening,” but it was Perry Como’s version that topped the Billboard charts this year.

Amanda:

The top movie at the box office this year is All The King’s Men, which sweeps the 21^st Academy Awards. The big movie stars are Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, Clark Gable and Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, Gary Cooper, and Doris Day.

Rob:
1949 brought many incredible talents to the world. This is the year that Meryl Streep was born, as well as Richard Gere and John Belushi. Wolfgang Puck and Andy Kaufman were born, as were Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, and the legendary Hank Williams Junior.

Amanda:

But something else happened started that year, something of enormous importance to each and every person in this room. 1949 is, of course, the year that Marge G***y and Dick C***s got married. 

Rob:

We wanted to research and write something for Grandma and Grandpa because doing things like this has always brought us closer – from Grandma writing English papers for me until I was in college, to my many heated email debates with Grandpa, to our discussions about various posts on Amanda’s blog. 

Amanda:

But Grandma reminds us of the importance of looking to the future. Although tonight is about celebrating 60 years of happy memories, we want to recognize that everything we all do today, tomorrow, and in the years to come is rooted in the legacy that Grandpa Dick and Grandma Marge started in 1949.

Rob:
And so, with that in mind, we congratulate you on your 60^th wedding anniversary. We love you very much, and we look forward to sharing many more happy occasions with you!

Several months ago, Ben and Abbie had their first “for better or for worse” moment: they decided to run a marathon together.

They started out strong, running together six days a week along the lake shore, past their new condo and the grassy spot where they got engaged, nothing between them but the Chicago summer sunshine and a gigantic yellow lab.

Of course, life eventually got in the way – as it always does. Abbie’s responsibilities as Dimmer Queen of the World kept her out of town for days at a time, and Ben was spending more and more time in the lab, playing with worms under the auspices of finding a cure for cancer.

Then, Ben injured himself. He claims he hurt his knee trying to keep up with Abbie’s high school track-star pace, but the physician in him knows the truth: after one too many sleepless nights studying at Starbucks North & Wells, his leg muscles had finally atrophied.

It looked like Ben wasn’t going to be able to run the marathon after all.

But on the morning of the Chicago Distance Classic, he was up with the sun (like he is every day), pumping himself full of coffee (like he always does) and lacing up his running shoes (which were still brand new and in the box). Ben knew how important it was to Abbie that they run this race together, and that alone made it important to him.

So he ran with her.

He ran with her when the gun went off and thousands of people swarmed through the gates. He ran with her along the lake front, where they had begun their training, and he ran with her as the course grew unfamiliar. He ran with her when his knee began to ache, refusing her offers to stop to rest and rehydrate.

And when he could run no more, Ben did what he always did: he urged Abbie ahead.

This is a guy who manages to succeed in everything he tries — a talented student, scientist, singer, photographer, even drummer. You kind of want to hate him, but here’s the thing: he has absolutely no ego about it.

When it comes to Abbie, on the other hand, Ben has an undying confidence in her ability and insists that she follow her dreams. Like the time Abbie casually mentioned to Ben that she was thinking about getting her MBA –- and suddenly, business school catalogs mysteriously began to arrive in the mail.

For her part, Abbie is incredibly strong and independent. She’s out of town all the time, and she rarely whines about having a husband who spends 95 percent of his time in the lab. 

Ben and Abbie are both completely fine on their own. But here’s the remarkable part: after they’ve been apart for any appreciable amount of time, you can actually see them light up when are together again. Ben and Abbie love to be together, not because they need each other, but because they love each other. And that’s amazing, after ten years together — to still light up like that.

Anyway, Abbie ran ahead, determined to finish the race not just for herself, but for the both of them. She ran strong and fast, on the heels of the Ethiopians and the gazelles, and I swear to you that she was barely sweating.

When Abbie crossed the finish line, she kept on running. She looped back around the crowds, past Museum Park and back on the course, against the current of other runners. She ran until she found Ben, hobbling pathetically along the course.

All they had to do is look at each other, and they just lit up. And they knew they could carry on.

They ran together those last few miles, laughing and entertaining each other with their usual silliness and stupidity, the way only best friends can.

When they reached the home stretch, Ben and Abbie fell into step with each other. They were holding hands when they crossed the finish line.

Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs.! Have a great time in Maui! And Ben, stop reading my blog on your honeymoon! That iPhone is so confiscated.

But wait, there’s more! You didn’t think I would leave out all the intimate details of our honeymoon, did you?

It was inexplicably wonderful to vacation in Maui with a big group of family and friends — we pretty much took over the resort! We couldn’t walk from one end to the other without running into at least a handful of people we know — but we were glad that we opted to honeymoon on another island altogether. The sheer exhaustion of all that socializing (and almost two years of, for me, planning, and for Rob, worrying) hit us like a ton of bricks, which seemed apropos given that we were vacationing on an island completely covered in rock.

With several active volcanoes spotting the terrain, the Big Island feels more like the moon than a tropical paradise. You can drive for an hour and scarcely see another soul, let alone a shrub. A thin haze (or vog, as they insist on calling it) hangs in the air, giving the days a dreamlike quality and making the nights almost frighteningly dark. And there is lava everywhere.

The landscape is absolutely breathtaking and unlike anything I have ever seen. I’m not one to cry at a pretty sunset, but something about setting foot on earth that was only just created 20 years ago gives me goosebumps. It feels like the end of the world, and the beginning, all at the same time.

On a drive through Kilauea national park, home of the most active volcano, the road comes to an abrupt stop because, just several dozen years ago, lava flowed over it. How ridiculous is that?

The whole “active volcano” thing made Rob a bit nervous. Here he is on our way up the mountain, preparing to put the top back on our sweet white Chrysler Sebring convertible, when the weather abruptly changed.

And here he is as we passed a sign that warned us to roll up our windows, as the emissions from the volcano contained sulphur and were unsafe to breathe. I, of course, insisted on rolling them back down to take a picture.

Rob was having none of it.

The entire vacation, he worried that the volcano was about to erupt and we’d all be swept into the ocean to our certain deaths. I made fun of him, naturally. They can predict when the volcano is going to erupt, they wouldn’t let tourists in dangerous places, this is America, blah blah blah.

But no sooner do we get home than the the Big Island’s name was splashed across headlines:

Huge Fountain of Lava Gushes From Kilauea Volcano in Hawaii
Kilauea volcano magma meets ocean with 100-foot lava burst
Scientists scratch heads at unpredicted eruption, should have listened to paranoid tourist

Yes, that’s right. Our honeymoon spot was ablaze.

The flight home was obscene. Do not, under any circumstances, fly United Airlines to Hawaii. Here is Rob, in the teeny-tiny, seven-gate, outdoor, cockroach-infested, Greyhound-station-esque airport, on hour three of our 30-hour delay, making the most of the mandatory down-time by billing some hours.

And here I am, on hour 29.

Caption: I hate it

Finally, for what amounted to (or at least felt like) three days without sleep, we were back in Chicago. And just in the nick of time for wedding numbers two and three!

Oh yeah, I almost forgot: We got married!

No, seriously. I almost forgot. You know that feeling you get in the middle of winter, when the wind is blustering around you and you haven’t been able to feel you toes since Thanksgiving, and you just can’t seem to remember how it felt to stand in that exact spot in the middle of sweltering July?

That’s how it feels to get married on vacation. You know it happened, your memories are fond if hazy, and yet it seems more probable that it was all a hallucination.

In the interest of, um, remembering The Most Important Day Of My Life So Far, here are a few favorite, hilarious, or otherwise blog-worthy moments.

(dusts off the slide projector, dims the lights)

Here we are on the plane to Maui. We flew with Rob’s family and got to sit in first class.

I never realized that airplanes operate under something of a caste system. The difference between coach and first-class is absolutely appalling, what with the hot towels and the beverages served in a real glass and the course dinner (no kidding), when everyone else was crammed together and trying to hold themselves over on a meager bag of airplane peanuts.

Rob even got a plate of fruit, including honeydew melon, which, he was surprised to learn, was not, in fact, cantaloupe that wasn’t done cooking, nor was it called “greenaloupe.”

It was the best part of the trip so far, which is saying a lot, because I did find myself getting pretty giddy and into the “bride” spirit (uh, FINALLY) that morning, what with all the attention a person gets from walking around the airport carrying a huge bridal garment bag high above her head so as not to wrinkle the train.

Likewise, Hawaii did not disappoint, being as beautiful and paradisical (is that really not a word? I am making it one) as everyone says it is. Accordingly, I will spare you the gratuitous photos of vivid sunsets and abundant hibiscuses (hibisci? I’m really striking out here) as big as your head and will share just one shot, taken from our table at the very delicious Mama’s Fish House, where we enjoyed the world’s most expensive Mai Tai ($18 ) and one of Maui’s most beautiful views:

It is a bizarre experience to travel for 15 or more hours to a remote and foreign island, only to arrive at your hotel and be immediately greeted by EVERYONE YOU KNOW. Hosting fifty of our family and friends in Hawaii was absolutely wonderful and, in that special way Rob and I have of turning fun into work, maddeningly stressful. We so wanted to make sure everyone felt comfortable and happy and loved and, most importantly, appreciated for trekking halfway around the world for our nuptials.

Meanwhile, for practically every thank-you we said, we were thanked for getting married in a fabulous location, though mostly by our 26-year old family friend, Jason, who came with his parents and couldn’t stop marveling that he hadn’t spent a dime, and by my 18-year old cousin Kevin, who was mostly thrilled that some woman on his plane gave him a hundred bucks in exchange for his aisle seat.

It is just incredible how special people make you feel when you get married. Particularly my dad, who, just before walking me down the aisle, told me something along the lines of, “Listen, now, you got a good thing going for you here, so don’t f*ck this up. Just take it easy on him. You gotta let the little sh*t go.”

That’s some classic “Kenny G” (as his friends now call him) for you, folks. Believe it or not, he meant it in the sweetest, most fatherly way — as advice, not a reprimand — and it takes a special person (and perhaps many years of therapy) to understand that.

Anyway, here we are going down the aisle. I love the looks on our faces here:

So, when you are getting married in Maui, you don’t really make an “inclement weather” plan. I mean, it hasn’t rained in Wailea in June, like, ever.

But what I hadn’t counted on was the possibility of wind. And not just that famed trade wind that blows continuously across the island. We are talking gale-force, hair-whipping, skirt-uplifting, I-can’t-hear-you-and-you-are-standing-next-to-me, oh-my-gosh-is-that-a-cow-flying-
through-the-air, I-don’t-think-we-are-in-Kansas-anymore, 45-mile-per-hour GUSTS, people.

During the rehearsal, I thought I felt a drop of rain, but then I realized it was the waves crashing into the shoreline with such force that the bridesmaids were in real danger of being completely doused, dresses and nosegays and updos and all.

Minor glitch.

Still in vacation-on-a-tropical-island mode, I was (surprisingly enough) unfazed, but everyone else (*ahem* ROB *cough* *cough*) got themselves into such a tizzy over it that my inner Bridezilla came roaring out. It was not pretty, but a few phone calls and one medium-grade hissy fit later, our entire day of wedding festivities was bumped back by 45 minutes with the hope that the wind would die down later in the day, as it had been the past several days.

It, unfortunately, did not.

OK, so it really wasn’t that bad. Here we are during the ceremony:

You may be wondering why I am adjusting Grandpa’s tie as he officiated our ceremony. Well, actually, I’m covering his lapel microphone in a somewhat futile attempt to block the wind. That’s also why we are standing just a little to close to him.

Oh, and if you are one of those people who doesn’t like me but reads my blog anyway and are about to start in with the snarky commentary about the way my dress is pulling in a horribly unflattering way, you can can it right now. Believe it or not, I hadn’t gained ten pounds from drinking too many poolside smoothies. (That was on the honeymoon, thankyouverymuch.) I had a horrendous experience with my dress shop, Weddings 826, and their alterations person. Go ahead, go read my review on Yelp. Now start feeling bad about yourself.

But if a small monsoon and a little polyester was the worst that could happen to me on my wedding day, I count myself as a very lucky girl.

Truly, I thought everything was more perfect and wonderful than I dreamed it could be. In fact, I surprised myself to realize that I was actually having FUN on my wedding day. I didn’t cry once, simply because I just couldn’t wipe the huge smile off my face.

I mean, Rob actually kissed me in public, TWICE! Once when we were pronounced husband and wife, and once here:

Of course, right now, I’m bawling like a baby thinking about how happy and fortunate I felt that day, to be marrying my best friend and partner, to be surrounded by so many of the people we love most in this world, to be on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, and to have the best damn reception I’ve ever been to, if I do say so myself (or, if my Auntie Peggy says so herself, “Nobody was NOT dancing!”).

The next day, we’re sitting at the pool with a group of friends when I suddenly realize aloud, “Oh crap! We didn’t get your grandpa to sign our wedding license!”

To which my dear husband replied, “Oooh! Does that mean we’re not married until today?” There was hope in his voice, as he dislikes odd numbers and would far prefer that our anniversary be on the 22nd.

After some quibbling among our friends as to what I would take as my full married name (maiden name as middle name? New last name altogether? The addition of an “L apostrophe” before my last name, followed by a “de la Mancha”? We have weird friends), we became the first couple in history to have their grandfather sign their marriage license in his swim trunks at the pool:

There is more, of course — you do know there are professional pictures and a honeymoon, not to mention two more wedding parties (who has three weddings?) — but that’s quite enough for now. Even I’m sick of hearing about my wedding!

You know what’s expensive? FURNITURE. Specifically, bedroom furniture. I can swallow dropping six hundred bucks on a nice kitchen table that I’m going to have to look at every day while I’m eating dinner off a $400 coffee table while sitting on a $500 couch and watching a television set that cost more than I care to think about. I’m even registered for a $200 saucepan that is never going to do anything more than heat up a can of Campbell’s soup.

But bedroom furniture? Really? Some fancy, expensive drawers in which to store my Old Navy wardrobe? A nightstand where I can stash stash old editions of Yoga Journal and the rosary I got for my First Communion and don’t know what else to do with? This is what I’m supposed to pay upwards of $4,000 for?

Seriously! A bedroom set costs four grand! Do you know how many fancy purses you can buy with four grand? That’s enough to take a nice trip to Italy to visit Andy and Sarah. Or buy a wedding cake in Maui, for that matter!

Of course, not all the furniture is quite this expensive, but can I help it if I have champagne taste? I like Pottery Barn, so sue me. But Target doesn’t sell king-size headboards, Ikea is disturbingly modern, and Roy’s Furniture in Chicago is full of (according to our dear friend J.G.) “paisley goy shit.” (MAN is it good to be back in Chicago!)

How in the world do people afford to furnish their homes?

In Nashville, we kept all our clothes on the floor of our walk-in closet (Rob’s heaped unceremoniously, mine stacked hapazardly but at least looking somewhat tidy). But the moving trucks are bringing all our stuff to our 1,400-square foot closetless condo on Friday, and I don’t know WHERE we’re gonna put it!

A few months ago, we (and by “we,” I mean “I”) decided we’d be ordering our wedding cake from the cleverly-named Maui Wedding Cakes. They’re one of three bakeries on the island, so we (whoops — “I” again!) did Eeny Meeny Miney Moe.

They estimated that a two-tier cake for 50 would run us around 300 bucks and asked us to contact them again once we had specifics about what we wanted. (I really couldn’t care less as long is its chocolate and tasty, but apparently Rob has very strong feelings about whether or not he can possibly get married if there is going to be a SQUARE CAKE.)

So over the weekend I sent them this picture and said, “Can you do this?”

Today, I received this response:

Option: CUPCAKES
30 Chocolate cupcakes with White buttercream icing
30 White cupcakes with White buttercream icing
fresh single purple orchids, purple and hot pink dots

6″ cake on top (serves 6-8 )
Choice of basic cake bodies and fillings (see below)
White Buttercream Icing
Smooth sides with Pearl Beading
fresh purple orchids, purple and hot pink dots

cupcake stand rental
We set up cupcakes on the stand
$4015.00

The sad thing is, after a year and a half of wedding planning, I wouldn’t be too surprised if that was NOT A TYPO.

Sent her a response with a lot of sentences that ended with “?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!???!?!?!?!??!?!!!!!!!???” I’ll keep you posted.

It is apparently a brilliant time to have a destination wedding in Hawaii.

I heard the news about ATA and Aloha airlines shutting down and filing for bankruptcy when my mom e-mailed to say their connecting flight on ATA from Phoenix to Maui had been canceled. Thankfully, because their flight was booked through United, United had to cover their canceled flight, and my family ended up getting bumped up to a direct flight that would have cost at least $500 a person more.

Two of my friends, who booked their flight from Oakland to Maui through ATA, were not so fortunate. In fact, it appears that they are simply out of luck.

Seriously, can I plan a wedding or WHAT?