wedding pix

Photos from the wedding of the year are starting to come in. Shall I keep posting them or is it getting too old?

photograph by Dorothy Reilly


the morning after

This is the lost and found after what is being called "The Rave on Corn Neck Road."
Not pictured: two lipsticks and three folding umbrella-man umbrellas.
Note to Zoe: We found your scarf.
Also not pictured: A $64 load of trash that went to the dump.
Also not pictured: Our house, which is a dump.

The announcement



happy birthday mom!

photograph byKeri Pickett
That's the birthday girl on the right, with the groom's grandmother on the left.

Today mom turns eighty, she says that it’s true
In spite of her looks which remain sixty-two,
Though she says she feels achy and slow on her pins,
She still can out-pace me in most everything.

She worked for some colleges, and built two great houses
She lived long in Maine (and that means catching mouses),
She’s hosted some students, and made some headbands
She’s played the piano on her baby grand,

She managed four children as wild as they get,
She substitute taught, and she had a few pets,
She’s taken up painting, and sculpted some chickens
And works doing things for the poor like the dickens.

She’s arranged ikebana, and grew some bonsai,
(If I did all these things I would certainly die),
This is too many things for one person to do.
I cannot believe for a second it’s true.

Yes, she’s had many lives, one right after another:
She’s been big in business, in houses, a mother,
I want it in writing she’s eighty years old.
[Cause I never believe what I hear, or I’m told.]
—written by my sister Erin in honor of the occasion



photograph by Keri Pickett

Help getting ready.



the bride is ill

We're not really all that surprised. As they say in the Bronx, it's "estress." A wedding is theatrics, and taking the starring role creates its own kind of pressure, which in this case has emerged as a cold. But that's what Advil is for. The show must go on.
Meanwhile, I have two dishwashers going full time and have wrecked my manicure picking labels off plates and glasses. Another full day should do it for the dishwashing, and then I can carry stuff from point a to point b and point b to point a. Perhaps this is pointless?


lights, camera. . .

We've been buying stuff for months. At this point, if we don't have enough stuff, that's tough. I hope you all like those orange coffee cups, because you will be enjoying them for years to come in my houses, my apartment and perhaps even in your very own home. We have 200 of them. Ditto the cheapo silverware, wine glasses and white plates.



A shower really seems a most appropriate wedding preliminary right about now. Guess which present came from da mama?


the chime of bells

I guess the electricians won't be finishing up tomorrow—it's raining, and they have to crawl around under the building—but I'm going back into exile anyway, laden with hams and cheeses and shopping en route for the big day. A week from Saturday.


wedding countdown

Yesterday was mother-of-the-bride hell.
The dentist filled two cavities and told me I needed gum work.
Then I went skirt shopping.
I went undergarment shopping.
I tried on many outfits.
I went shopping at Zabar's for coffee and salt and pepper for the wedding.
I talked with many people on the phone who do not have places to stay.
I rounded out the day by going with the bride to have our nails done.
Now that I reread this, I can see that for some people this might be a typical day. For me, however, it is an aberation.


i heart ny

Five years ago, I was painting on the beach with Neruda's class when Dangerman rang my cell.
"Planes just hit the World Trade Tower and the Pentagon," he said.
Today, when he rang my cell at the same time of morning, I was standing on the dock in Galilee, en route to the city where I left my heart.
Between the two days were all his calls from Afganistan and Iraq.
Nothing much is settled still.
But New York is still New York. And I got a parking space.


full moon hula

The hulahoop on the beach under full moon light. Guitars, poetry, fire, marshmallows—a beautiful thing.


o constant reader

Who are you, the person who reads every day from China Villiage, Maine, a place so small it is difficult to find on the map?
Inquiring minds want to know.

mouse room 2

Not that this is the room where I caught two mice (snap trap and glue trap) last night. And the night before, in even more rodent excitement, Neruda clocked a rat in her kitchen with a frying pan. I guess the rain has driven the little darlin's indoors, along with the rest of us.




So let's say a person had a tent up right now, a nice Saturday in September, and was planning to have a wedding on the beach. Yikes.