Alan Ilagan

Thanks to some recent dog exposure, my allergies have been kicked into high-gear again, so I’m back on the Claritin, but managed to finish most of yesterday’s to-do list. With a long weekend ahead of me, we look to be on track for next week’s party. It’s hard to believe it’s almost here, and it will be interesting to see what sort of let-down/relief/withdrawal I will go through when there’s nothing looming on the horizon.

It seems that after any project is completed, there are a few days and weeks of idle, directionless sailing, when I’m thrilled and happy the experience was had, but mostly relieved and glad to be back to “normal”. Especially after a year of planning and preparation, where almost every single day was spent doing something for this wedding party (literally – I could itemize for you if you wish), it’s going to be quite a change.

The most important (and for me the most fun) part of this has been the journey, and the anticipation leading up to the event. To that end, it’s been a wonderful year, with a sparkling jewel of a wedding ceremony, and, now, the party to celebrate.

Here is a simple riddle for you: What takes 25 yards of dupioni silk, 80 yards of tulle, and 50 yards of organza to create? If you guessed my wedding reception coat, you’d be correct. I won’t even begin to calculate the hours of labor that went into it between myself and Marline’s Momma, who did most of the sewing. (She is amazing.)

For my part, I created the train and immense tulle underlay (all 80 yards of it). The hundreds of organza ruffles had to be individually hand-sewn by yours truly, but with customary diligence and planning I finished them all a while back, filling four large bags with the whimsical frills before applying them to the train.

The only problem is that it’s not quite conducive to walking, not so much because of the weight but rather the immensity and bulkiness of all that tulle and fabric (it actually requires that I be buckled into it.) Basically, I won’t be wearing it for long. However, it practically stands on its own, so I don’t even need to be inside it for people to enjoy its beauty.

It was, as it always is, a labor of love.

Today I am taking a day off from work to (hopefully) finish up some wedding reception party tasks – like hanging a gazillion paper cranes, completing my wedding coat, getting a haircut, finalizing the music playlist, and cleaning the house for our lone houseguest. If I focus, I can accomplish everything with the likely exception of all the housecleaning.

The real work was taken care of starting months ago – a thousand paper cranes, hundreds of organza roses, rows of paper garland, dozens of yards of tulle ruffles, a custom-made Guest Book, and an extensive collection of candles, table toppers, and other party accoutrements – not to mention the tent, the food, the lighting, and the grounds (all of which have been mostly handled and coordinated by my Mom and Dad).

Now, as we enter the final stretch of things, I anticipate a brief moment of relief. I can see the party at the end of the tunnel, and it’s filled with everyone we love most in the world.

Believe it or not, the majority of my life does not make it into this blog. That which does is, luckily for you, edited to protect the world from my sometimes-too-blunt assessments and opinions. I also tend to leave the depressing and bothersome things out of here, because the world has enough of that. Unfortunately, that leaves a cheery image that is often at odds with what is really going on inside my head and in my off-line life. As Madonna sagely noted in Truth or Dare, “It ain’t all hunky-dory.”

That said, I am headed into Boston for a long weekend in which I hope to recharge my drained battery and pony up for the rest of the wedding reception preparations that seem inconceivable and impossible to execute. I’ve done a lot already, but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. It should be old-hat for someone who’s had a zillion parties, but I’ve never had to plan something for over 200 people (I was thinking it might be lower, but who doesn’t show up to a wedding when they’ve RSVP’d affirmatively?)

My Mom is in charge of the food and drinks, and hopefully the tent as well. I am working on the rest – decorations, music, possibly flowers, table toppers, candles, guest book, desserts, and my outfit (which will require hours of more work). Andy still has not ordered his yet, but I honestly can’t worry about one more thing or I will go so crazy that I may miss the party entirely after being carted off to the loony bin.

For now I am taking a deep breath, loading up the Louis, and preparing to enjoy the silence of an empty Boston condo. It will be the first time I’ve been back since our ceremony, and it will be good to remember where it all began.

“Never again would they be parted. All the rest of their lives they would be together.” – E.B. White, The Trumpet of the Swan

The first thing most people asked when I returned from our wedding was whether or not I felt any different. I assumed, and professed many times, that I would not feel any such shift  – why should anything change after nine years with Andy? The biggest difference would be a bit more sparkle on my ring finger, and a few new memories of Boston.

I was wrong. The day I got married was one of the happiest of my life. The ceremony, the words, the blessings of family and friends, and the legal document – they all created a moment and a covenant between Andy and me that made a profound difference in my life. It was as if, finally, our relationship was official. Not that it hadn’t been for the previous ten years – this just affirmed it publicly, and though outwardly nothing may have changed, I think it resonated within both of us.

I don’t usually gush about love and stuff – and I’ve always taken the hard line and adhered to Madonna’s warning of, “What’s the point of sitting down and notating your happiness?” There’s something powerful and compelling about the darker side of life, something more interesting and artistic in the sadder aspects of our world – but every now and then there’s a moment of happiness and joy that transcends the cliches and mundane platitudes of Hallmark love, and for the first time I felt that.

When we chose the Boston Public Garden as the site of our wedding, we knew there was the potential of bad weather. May is hardly the safest month to bank on sunny skies, but we also decided that rain or shine, there was nowhere else we’d rather do it. We’d spent a number of our Boston trips strolling through the leafy expanse, watching the playful squirrels and waterfowl, and it always felt like an oasis in the midst of the city.

The site of the ceremony was near two of my favorite trees – a mighty Metasequoia and a looming larch – and between two flowering cherries.

On this, our wedding day, we truly lucked out. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and a pair of swans was just beginning to nest by the pond. After the ceremony, we walked around the park, savoring the moment and the beauty.

It is one of our favorite places in the whole world.

{To be continued…}

The hotel has changed their flower display in the lobby. On the morning of our wedding, big, beautiful double pink peonies burst forth in bloom, filling the air with their gorgeous fragrance. Grounded by green hydrangeas and backed by soaring pink cherry blossoms, it is the perfect backdrop to a sunny spring day.

Back up in the room, I have changed into my wedding outfit and take one last look at the Garden to see if I can glimpse our families assembling.

As decreed many moons ago, I am wearing an old pair of ripped jeans. They are the same pair of jeans I was wearing when I met Andy in the summer of 2000. Now, almost exactly ten years later, I somehow still fit into them.

I have on something old (a pair of lime-green moccasins circa 1995), something new (a striped Burberry shirt), something borrowed (a stone necklace from Denmark, courtesy of Suzie, that I have tied around a belt loop), and something blue (the jeans). Andy wears a lime-green shirt that matches mine, and a pair of new jeans.

Suzie has brought an unexpectedly-perfect bouquet of white peonies for me to carry, and they smell sweetly of summer. (Of all things, and of all people, I did not think of having flowers, but Suzie saves the day.)

It is time.

We make our way to the Boston Public Garden, where we meet up with our families.

Our friend and officiant Chris crafted the ceremony we had always envisioned – simple, sweet, meaningful, and with just a few touches of humor to keep our families smiling.

There were a few tears of happiness as well, and I finally understood what all the fuss was about. I always wondered if people really meant it when they said that their wedding day was the happiest of their lives. For me, it certainly was.

After the final vows and the first official kiss, I just had this overwhelming wish to hug Andy because I was so happy. It wasn’t planned, but that’s what love does.

{To be continued…}