Kasia September 19th, 2008
I knew this weekend was going to be difficult. I didn’t realize quite how.
This weekend is my friend Dave’s wedding in suburban Chicago. I am a “groomsmaid”. Canuck and I are here trying to squeeze in everything.
Wait. I have to back up.
About a month ago, Canuck and I received a letter from the marriage coordinator of our parish. That last part of our marriage prep – the two afternoon sessions at the parish – had been scheduled. The dates, unfortunately, fell on the same weekends as the two out-of-town weddings we were obliged to attend: this one in Chicago, in which I am standing up, and another one in October, in which he is standing up.
However, the letter was worded in such a way as to impress upon both of us that we were expected to attend. Neither of us read the letter and had the slightest idea that we had the option of declining to attend. So, being a problem-solving kind of gal, I said, “How can we make this work?”
We decided, after some debate, and after my ENDOW class was found to begin the Thursday before the wedding, to work it thus:
Instead of driving to Chicago Thursday morning and doing some sightseeing (I have only been to Illinois a couple of times in the ten years since my grandmother and aunt died), then driving back Sunday afternoon, we would leave straight from my ENDOW class, drive as far as Kalamazoo, and spend the night there. Then we would drive on to the northern suburbs of Chicago (seriously, we’re practically in Wisconsin), go to the rehearsal and dinner, go to the wedding, and leave the reception on the early side. Like nine, ten o’clock. Dinner, hopefully cake, and then vamoose. Drive as far as Michigan City, Indiana on Saturday night. Then get up early Sunday morning and book back to Troy for 12:15 Mass (which we were supposed to attend as part of this).
Slightly crazy, I know, but like I said, neither of us read in the letter the slightest hint that we were not expected to attend this as part of our preparation.
So I e-mailed the coordinator and laid out what we would be doing. I kind of hoped that she would say “Oh my goodness, you don’t have to go to THAT much trouble! Just skip it!” – and if she didn’t, at least if we got hung up in traffic they would know that we weren’t just goofing around and not taking it seriously.
She wrote me back, thanked us for going to so much trouble, and did say that if it came down to a question of our safety, that it would be better for us to miss than to risk harm in trying to get there. But she didn’t excuse us from it. So we figured that was that – we had to go.
For some reason, though, I dawdled over cancelling the Saturday night reservation I had made at the hotel in McHenry.
Two stinkin’ days after I finally called and cancelled it, I got a call from the marriage coordinator. Turns out that they had “a small group” to begin with, and after all the RSVPs were in, only three couples could attend. So they cancelled the sessions.
The hotel is booked solid. We can’t get the reservation back. So we need to move to another hotel 45 minutes away for Saturday night – but at least we don’t have to be in Troy for 12:15 on Sunday. I keep trying to remind myself to be grateful for that. Right now it’s not coming easy.
Because – since we don’t have the hotel room in McHenry past 11:00 a.m., and since my beloved is legally blind and cannot drive, he will have to come to my hair appointment with me – which is, now pointlessly, in another suburb (by the bride’s mother’s house, where I was going to be getting ready with the other girls), and then we will have to kill several hours in formal attire without me messing myself up (as I am wont to do).
The groom and his men are getting ready in Barrington, several suburbs in another direction.
I am running on about six hours’ sleep and a lot of caffeine, recovering from a cold, and have been having little teary meltdowns off and on all day.
So if you’ll excuse me – I had to get that out, though there’s plenty more where it came from – I am going to go soak in a hot bath, try to find the coordination to paint my toenails (because my shoes are really not ones you can wear and get away with not doing that) and gape mindlessly at the television until I fall asleep, which I pray may be soon.
If you were wondering why I hadn’t been posting, that might be a hint… 
(When I first knew I was going to a wedding in Chicago, I thought I’d try to meet up with some bloggers, like Ma Beck and Paul the Regular Guy. Then the rest of that happened. Yeah. Gonna have to wait until the next visit, I’m afraid…)
Hope you’re all saner than I am today!
Love,
Clam
Note to self: get to Confession!!!
