How Does My Garden Grow?

This weekend, a couple friends came to visit up from Baltimore. We were hoping they'd help us pick out some flowers for the garden, but they jumped right in and together we completely over-hauled the entire back yard. Saturday morning, unusually warm for April, we all walked up to the farmers' market in front of Borough Hall. We picked out some hanging baskets, a flat of Impatiens (which I had always assumed to be spelled and pronounced "Inpatient's") and a few other brightly colored blossoms. A quick stop to get some spades, gloves, and soil, and we were all set.

Back at the apartment garden we began digging out the seemingly unending tangle of roots hiding just below the surface. Throughout the day we rooted, weeded, finished a red brick border around the patio, cut back the vines growing up the walls, cleaned out excess dirt, planted all our flowers, cleaned off all the patio furniture we inherited, and enjoyed a beautiful day with excellent company. It was a remarkable amount of work, but we now have a beautiful garden to enjoy all summer.

We celebrated by firing up the grill for the first time, and making a feast of brats, burgers, salad, corn, and asparagus. Dark by then, we still ate outside basking in the elation that comes from hard work done well with good friends.

Frankie Manning

Frankie Manning died today, at age 94. He was the heart and soul of the swing dancing scene. Inventor of air steps, pioneer of the dance for two eras, and inspiration to thousands of dancers all over the world.

I was lucky to have taken a few workshops with him years ago, and to have been a part of the NYC scene. You could always find Frankie out in New York dancing, not a care in the world but what fun step he could still do after all these years.

Tonight we celebrate his life in the way he would have insisted--dancing to his favorite band, the Harlem Renaissance Orchestra at Swing46.

Back from Boston

Watching the marathon was surprisingly good. I had sort of figured I would wander around Boston until I had a chance to see my uncle run past and that would be it. Instead, I ended up staying along the rail on the course the entire time until he came by. It was fascinating to watch all the runners, 25,000 in total, come through. Even more fascinating were the variety of attitudes. Some were weary, some determined, but many were downright celebratory. A large number of the runners were smiling and waving to the crowd. One guy even did a cart-wheel to the cheers of the spectators. I was amazed at the amount of positive energy, and that made it a lot of fun to watch.

I know, being a New Yorker, that it's my duty to downplay Boston as the quaint little town it is. But I have to say, when it comes to the subway, I found it to be pretty lacking. From where we were on the race course (near Boston College), we took the green line into the Back Bay area where the finish line was. Outside of "downtown" this train is on the street level, and it stops for every traffic light and any pedestrians who feel like standing in front of it. It took us more than 45 minutes to travel a distance of four and a half miles. There were two women jogging along the street parallel to our train, and they pulled ahead of us at each stop for about six stations before they were so far ahead that I could no longer see them. Boston, you need express trains.

The attempt to live blog the marathon turned out alright. I couldn't get the "Publish" button to appear on my blackberry, so I had to create new posts instead of editing the first post I created with updates. And as my battery wore down quickly during the day, posts went from short narratives to as few words as I could use. Once I find a better delivery method, and another event worth of the effort, I'll try again.

Live Blogging the Boston Marathon

I'm travelling to Boston to support my uncle running in the Boston Marathon. I'm going to try something new and see if I can live blog it from my blackberry over on the family blog: Boston Marathon

Leinie Berry Weiss for the Summer

Further evidence that, indeed, everything will be alright out in Brooklyn. I've discovered a huge beer distributing store on Court Street that carries Leinenkugel. Some of my most fond memories of Houghton involved Monday nights when a group of us would go to Pilgrim River Steakhouse and have steak burgers and pitchers of Leini (usually the honey weiss). It was always a great start to a week.

In the summer, Leinie had a berry weiss that always hit the spot. Some friends of mine even had it at their wedding. Now that I've found Leinie in Brooklyn, it looks like it's going to be a great summer of grilling in our backyard garden.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Brooklyn

The new apartment feels more like home every day. One week after moving in, we're putting the last few pictures up on the walls, and looking toward what we can plant in the garden. We've met all the neighbors in our building, and they're all friendly and welcoming. Our neighbors upstairs even left us a bottle of wine!

The neighborhood could hardly be better. Turning left from our front door takes you into the heart of Brooklyn Heights with it's townhouses and tree-lined streets. Turning right takes you to downtown Brooklyn where nearly every subway train comes through. From there, Court and Smith streets run south for miles lined with restaurants, bars, and shops of all kinds. We're right at the crossroads of history and convenience.

For the first time in a while, it's truly exciting to be living here again.

April Showers...

April is not usually a turbulent time. Spring always brought warmer weather, cleansing rain, and the promise of summer to get me through classes or just out of the winter doldrums. This April has brought showers, not of rain, but of change.

April 1st marked severe layoffs in my company. The company has been cutting back across several departments for about six months now, but this was the first time it affected my department. Nearly one half of our staff had been let go, including my friend of twelve years and many other wonderful people who have become like another family to me over the last two and a half years. The office is now quiet, and empty seats out-number filled ones. Those of us still there now share mixed feelings of relief and guilt that our friends and colleagues are gone while we remain.

The following Saturday, Lynn and I moved to our new apartment in Brooklyn. The move was surprisingly easy, and the moving company we hired was fantastic. A few friends came over on Saturday and helped out unpacking boxes, and by Sunday evening the place already looked like we'd been there for some time. Almost a week later, we have almost no boxes left, and are now hanging up pictures and re-arranging the rooms to make our home.

We've been able to explore the neighborhood a little, but this weekend we hope to spend some quality time learning about our new environs.

Slow Down, You Move to Fast

Things are a bit hectic at the moment. We're moving tomorrow, our lives are in boxes and the apartment of two years feels foreign. The office, and indeed my whole company, is going through big changes, and many of us are waiting to see what happens next.

At this point, everything feels up in the air.

Then I cam across the video below, and it reminded me to slow down, look around, and remember where I am.


The Lost Tribes of New York City from Carolyn London on Vimeo.

Boxes

Last night we broke out the Fresh Direct boxes we've been saving and started packing. Starting simply, we attacked the book shelves first, and quickly filled all eight boxes that we had. (We like books. A lot.) Now we're on the hunt for more boxes.

I'm always amazed when I'm preparing to move at just how much "stuff" I have. One would think with a small NYC apartment there isn't room for much&emdash;and that's true. Yet, after two years in this apartment I'm finding all kinds of things I didn't even know I had. I've always found moving to be a good chance to get rid of all this extraneous stuff. So in packing just those eight boxes last night, we also made two runs to the garbage and recycling room. It feels good to get things in order.

It'll feel even better to settle into our new home next week.

Passing The Torch

I just returned from Houghton, and my Fraternity's National Convention. This was a big event for me, returning to my alma mater for the first time in years and passing on the gavel to the next National President.

It's been two years since I was first elected President, and it's been a busy two years. I accomplished several of my goals, from obtaining insurance for the Fraternity to completely over-hauling the policy structure of the National Office. I've missed a few, a Travel Incentive Program that doesn't yet support the service aspects of the group. At the end of the day, though, I think I left the organization in a better state, with a more functional National Office and a clearer sense of the goals necessary to move forward. People have asked me what my "legacy" will be, and I'm not sure how to answer. I suppose, so long as the Fraternity is insured and March 14th, 2009 is the approved date on the policies I fixed, then I'll be happy that some of the more important work was worthwhile. Two Chapters bear my name on their Charter, which I'll freely admit, is pretty cool. I've offered to continue advising the new President, and I'm confident that the organization is in good hands.

But for me, I don't think I'm ready yet to leave a legacy. There is so much more work to be done for this organization to really get into a position to affect positive service in the music world. Lynn, also no longer a National Vice President, and I are focusing our efforts now on the Alumni Association. Some of you reading this may be hearing from us soon. I get the feeling that I'm in this for the long haul, and that's a good thing.

This Convention was a homecoming for me, in a few ways. It was wonderful to preside over the Convention at my home Chapter, and fitting that I come home to pass on the torch. It was also the first time I was able to spend real time in and around Houghton since graduation. Sure, I made a brief visit a couple years ago, but spent about 24 hours there, and most of it in someone's house. This trip was different.

Although the events of Convention didn't start until Thursday, we flew up Wednesday. Our flight connected through Minneapolis (as all flights to Houghton do), and they almost didn't let us leave that airport citing bad weather in Houghton. We eventually took off with the very real possibility of redirecting to Marquette should the winds at Houghton continue gusting above 60mph. It took three tries at approaching the landing strip, but we did land in Houghton and were off on our adventure.

We went into town, and met up with an old friend of mine John. John and I met back when I used to have lunch every Friday at Marie's Deli and he would be playing the harp. Eventually, he would join me for lunch, and we became friends chatting about everything from music to astronomy. I hadn't seen him since graduation, and we had a lot of catching up to do. He also adores opera, which helped he and Lynn get along just fine.

Thursday began as Wednesday ended; we had to finish our preparations for the meetings and business that is conducted at Convention. But afterward we headed to MTU's campus to meet up with some others. In true Tech tradition, we borrowed some cafeteria trays and went sledding down McNair Hill. Then it was back to the hotel for some time in the hot tub before heading back out for dinner at the Bass (Ambassador) and drinks at the DT (Downtowner Lounge).

Friday was meetings, meetings, meetings, and Saturday was one big long meeting--both extremely relevant to Mu Beta Psi, but not for our narrative here.

Sunday, as everyone was leaving, we decided to take a drive. Another time-honored Tech tradition is to go Copper Country Cruisin'. So, we piled a few other visiting Brothers into our rental car and went up US-41 and M-26 to Copper Harbor. It was exhilarating to be back, and I was amazed once again of the stark beauty of the land there. As we drove along Lake Superior, with waves frozen mid-crash, I fell right back in love with the UP. It will likely never again be where I live, but it will always be my home.

Taking It to the Limit

After an incredibly difficult week both in and out of work, Lynn and I decided to run away for the weekend. We went up to Killington, VT to meet some friends and ski our troubles away.

I went skiing a lot with my dad growing up, but during college almost completely stopped as other concerns crept in and time became a luxury I no longer enjoyed. Moving to NYC certainly didn't help get me out-of-doors, until Lynn and I started going up to Killington once or twice a year. I found, though, that while I remembered how to ski, the practice of skiing had considerably changed. My body has changed, and certainly the way I use it. And even the skis themselves had changed, the last pair I owned were straight and longer than I am tall. Nowadays with the parabolic skis, they're shorter, lighter, and feel quite a bit different.

Once or twice a year, for three years now, did not make me immediately recall the days when I was young and just wanted to go fast. But as I pushed myself a little more each time, I found the memories return, the muscles recall, and the technique slowly improve. Two weeks ago, skiing with Lynn's family, I went down the first black diamond run in at least a decade. Two days ago, I pushed my own limits much further.

We were skiing this weekend with a good friend who stood in our wedding and his girlfriend. They are both excellent skiers, and we find ourselves pushing a little harder when around them to keep up. My friend in particular is also a good motivator, and he knows just when I need a little nudge.

Our first run from the condo down to the base lodge was green, if only because there were no other trails to take. The second and third runs were half blue and half black diamonds—the real warm-up runs. As we rode up the Bear Mountain quad lift, along the famous Outer Limits trail, we couldn't help but all feel good about our skiing and our weekend. My friend, seizing the opportunity, noted how the snow was good, the moguls smaller than usual, and that this was the day—if ever there was one—to take Outer Limits.

Outer Limits is long and steep. It's known for being one of the steepest and toughest trails in the East. It's a double-black diamond trail.

And we did it.

I won't claim it was pretty, but I made it to the bottom without falling, and that's an accomplishment I'll take pride in. It was frightening, slowly moving toward the brink at the top of the mountain. But I heard a voice behind me, a friend saying "Don't stop! Don't stop!" and I kept going. Once over the edge and making way down the mountain, it became much easier. Where else was I to go but down? I focused on the snow ahead of me and where I should make my turns, rather than how steep the hill was and very far it was to the bottom. As with many things, once I'd committed to doing it, the act of doing it was a much smaller hurdle.

When I reached the bottom, the four of us celebrated with a well-deserved waffle at the base.


Images of Outer Limits from Wikipedia

Schermerhorn

Sometime around 1200 years ago in the northern part of Holland, prospectors followed a small river inland to a vast area of peat for digging. Being in the peat lands of the Netherlands, the river often flooded in storms, forming a wide shallow like from time to time. This earned it the name "Skir mere" which means "bright lake." This name was eventually shortened to "Schermer," which also became the name of the area around the the river's flood basin.

By the year 1250, the removal of peat and the repeated river flooding connected the Schermer river to the Zuiderzee, thus allowing for trade all the way to the North Sea. The people there settled a small village where the Schermer met another river, and they called it Schermerhorn.

Even today, the village of Schermerhorn is home to less than 900 people. Yet those bearing Schermerhorn as a surname have spread across the Netherlands and around the world. There were Schermerhorns among the original Dutch settlers of New Amsterdam, and they rose to be among the earliest aristocrats of the New World. For generations the Schermerhorn name was passed down through the wealthy Dutch of New York and Brooklyn.

It was a Schermerhorn who, married into the Astor family, created the Astor hotel to rival a competing family member's Waldorf Hotel. These hotels were later merged into the famous Waldorf-Astoria. (This same Schermerhorn, Caroline Webster Schermerhorn Astor, had a 39-foot-tall cenotaph erected for her grave at Trinity Church, not far from where I live now.)

The Schermerhorn farm, across the river in Brooklyn, had been divided and subdivided as the small village of Brooklyn grew into the second-largest city in the US. By the time of Caroline's reign over New York society, all that remained was a street running through Brooklyn (later called Brooklyn Heights): Schermerhorn Street.

Lynn and I have found an apartment, we're moving to Schermerhorn Street.

House Hunting in the Middle

I'm a bit frustrated. The building I love has become so incredibly annoying that I can hardly wait to leave it. The adjacent building has added 9 floors to itself, completely blocking all of our windows. We have to draw the shades so as not to draw the attention of the workers 8 feet outside the windows. But the shades don't block the noise. 7am sharp, every morning.

I've always said that the building is wonderful, it's just everything around it that's bad.

So, we've made the decision to move (possibly to Brooklyn). Our lease is up April 1st, and that's no joke, so the time to be looking elsewhere is now. Ideally, we'd want to overlap a little with our current lease to make the transition easier.

We've toyed with the idea of buying an apartment, especially with the market coming down so quickly. But the market isn't quite there yet, and we don't want to commit ourselves to a mortgage when our own industries aren't the most stable. And the process is so long. We've spent more than a month looking at properties on weekends, just to see what's available. And many of those properties will still be there if we start looking again later. It takes ages to negotiate a price, go through the process, and close. Far too long for our needs right now.

Meanwhile, with the rental market in NYC, the attitude is "now or never." If you look at an apartment, find that you like it, and fail to sign the lease that day, it's probably gone tomorrow. This too is abetting a little with demand falling off in this economy, but the prevailing attitude is still there. We've got an appointment for Saturday in Brooklyn. If we see something we like, we have to make the decision to live there immediately. There's no time to consider other neighborhoods, or sleep on it. Yes or no. Now or never.

I want the middle road. I want to be able to compare and consider apartments, to take the time to feel out the neighborhood, and what it would be like to live in a certain place. I want to learn about the building--where is the laundry? The recycling? But I also want the speed and ease of finding a place soon, and not spending weeks to months negotiating and signing a lease.

Tomorrow I may have a new address.

Learning Relativity in the Subway

On the subway home from yesterday, there was a boy and his parents. I'm not a very good judge of age, but I'd put him around 2 years old; he was talking, but not the most steady on his feet. Generally, my reaction to toddlers on the subway quickly falls into one of two possibilities: "aww, cute" or more frequently "please stop screaming."

This child was well-behaved enough, and I saw a very interesting thing happen. He was sitting on his mother's lap, on the right-hand side of the train. Thus, to his right was the direction of travel. His father, sitting across from him, was asking if he knew how many stops they had before they got off the train. The child, thinking hard, decided instead to point out that everything outside the train windows was moving "that way," to his left.

The father said, no, the train was moving "that way," pointing to the child's right and the direction of travel. Having none of it, the boy insisted, no, that way--left and against the direction of travel. They went on like this for a while, before the father gave up, and the mother distracted the boy with a small box of goldfish.

Mmmm, goldfish.

I found it strangely fascinating, watching the two argue about what exactly was moving, and in which direction. The boy, knowing full well that he was sitting down, and clearly watching the stations and lights whiz by from right to left, correctly stated his observations from the center of his at-rest coordinate system. The father, aware of his position in the larger coordinate system consisting of the whole city, correctly stated his observations from a moving point within that larger system. Both were right, but both continued to try and convince the other to change coordinate systems.

The source of their confusion is that the boy is still thinking concretely, unable to change his frame of reference to the world outside the train. Adults, though able to think abstractly and change their frame of reference, often refuse to change once they've chosen one. Most adults would never say, "get on the 1 train, and wait for the third stop to arrive." But both father and child sat there, staring at each other across the subway car, teetering on the edge of one of the first principles of Relativity.

Sometimes we need to remember, when talking to each other, to define our frame of reference.

The Pull of Brooklyn

Lynn and I have been spending a lot of time in Brooklyn lately. It began innocently enough; dinner with a friend in Park Slope, and celebrating a friend's new apartment in Prospect Heights. But before long, we were on walking tours of Brooklyn Heights and Cobble Hill. And then we took the big conceptual leap—what if we moved to Brooklyn?

I've tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid becoming the stereotypical "Manhattan Snob." Why, the very first day I came to NYC in 2003 I went to Queens—by mistakenly taking the wrong subway. I've spent a considerable amount of time driving around the Bronx—lost, looking for a bridge into Manhattan that didn't have a toll. And I don't know any of my friends or acquaintances who have also been to the Staten Island Mall—though it was a horrendous ordeal that I will never repeat. But I have, on occasion, explored the outer boroughs deliberately. The end of the A train in Queens, and Dyker Heights at Christmastime.

Still, I've lived in Manhattan for over five years, and the vast majority of my time in the outer boroughs is limited to getting to or from Manhattan. It's not so much that I have anything against the other three (I'm excluding Staten Island here, I will hold that grudge until the day I die). It's just that they're so far away from everything—that is, Manhattan.

Or so I thought. The more time we've spent in some of the nearer parts of Brooklyn, the more I've liked it. Some of the neighborhoods we've explored are lovely, with tree-lined streets, rows of brownstones and townhouses, and a very close sense of a true neighborhood. Certain neighborhoods are, in short, wonderful. And I am, frankly, really enjoying spending time there.

Add to this the falling real estate market, and a recently married couple thinking of taking the big step of their first real home, and you have several weekends now wandering between open houses seeing what's available. Lynn found this helpful picture on the interwebs to guide our search:

We've been looking primarily in Brooklyn Heights. It's a quiet, beautiful neighborhood of Federal and Queen Anne styled buildings. It has an esplanade overlooking the water, and it's own little "main street" with shops and restaurants. And it's only one stop from Manhattan.

We're looking for a neighborhood feel, check. Close to subways, check. And the added bonus of being an absolutely beautiful neighborhood, check. Brooklyn is looking more appealing every day...the pull is almost tangible.


Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/8172159@N02/

When Solitude Isn't

There's a trail at Killington called Solitude, and aptly so. It's narrow, and winds it's way through the forest off on it's own. It's entrance isn't obvious coming off the peak, it's not particularly challenging, and in some places is more flat than sloped. So it's not a very popular trail.

But there are times when you're cruising down Solitude with friends, skiing inches apart from each other. You're talking, and laughing, trying to knock each other over playfully. Around you the trees saunter by, the sky is endless, and every once in a while you round a corner and see the world stretch out beneath you. And you're grateful for it all: the surroundings, the people surrounding you, that you have surrounded yourself with them.

This year's resolution is to find—and appreciate—more of those times.

The Holiday Traveling Show

Occasionally, this blog sits around for a while. Generally I'm either distracted by shiny objects elsewhere, or simply can't think of anything about which to write. Not this time, though. Things have really just been a whirlwind of activity.

Lynn and I spent Thanksgiving in Michigan, flying out there for about four days. We were lucky to spend some time with some of the Flemings in Ann Arbor, and visit with them a bit. Thanksgiving dinner itself was at my mom's house (a first, since we've always had a big Soave family dinner) with several members of a new branch of the family. The next day we had dinner with some of the Soaves, and soon after flew back to New York.

Christmas was similar, as we found ourselves out with Lynn's family for Christmas, and up in the Catskills to my dad's place the next couple days. Fortunately, we had a brief layover in Connecticut on the way back home where we enjoyed the whole house—empty—to ourselves. Don't think I'm complaining, though. These holidays were our first as a family, and to spend them with all of the extensions of our families showed us just how lucky we are.

All the while, and in between, we've also played host to several friends who've come to visit or have been passing through the city. Many of Lynn's singer-friends have come to town for the audition season, and several others have been through just to say hi and spend some time with us. November and December have been an almost continual progression of traveling and hosting, and what could be better than friends and family at this time of year?

The stats:
Families visited: 5 (all out own!)
Friends hosted: 7
Distance travelled: 1,750 miles

The fun continues as we'll be up in Boston for New Year's, and then off to Killington for some fun in the snow!

Interlude

Where Did 90WestStreet Blog Go?

I can hardly believe it's November already. It's nearly time for family, friends, thanksgivings—and the first anniversary of the Great Flood of '07. The full story as told through this blog is here.

For all the craziness of that time last year, there were some really good things that came out of it. We got to meet and know neighbors that we must have walked past daily. A lot of the building residents came together. And out of that new-found solidarity as neighbors, came a collaborative blog: http://90weststreet.blogspot.com/. It became the centerpiece of our organization and communication. It kept all of us up to date with the issues of moving back in, the contamination tests, and the Port Authority settlement. And with the chat feature in the side rail, residents have kept in touch even since the last post.

Over the weekend, I noticed traffic to this blog from Google in Mountain View, CA. The referring url was http://90weststreet.blogspot.com/. Thinking it strange that Google would be surfing these blogs, of all others, I went to check on the 90WestStreet Blog.

Gone.

The url gives the error:

Blog has been removed

Sorry, the blog at 90weststreet.blogspot.com has been removed. This address is not available for new blogs.

No explanation, no citation of an abuse of the Terms of Service. Nothing. Google's Help Center explains that if there was a ToS violation, the blog would still be in my Dashboard. But the blog is not there, it has been completely removed.

I have to wonder, with as many collaborators as there were on that blog, if it wasn't someone else who was just cleaning out their Blogger accounts. But the visit from Google has my suspicions raised, the timing seems hardly coincidental.

I clicked around Google's Help Center trying to find an email address to send questions. Each thread of "clarifying" the problem ends in an over-simplified explanation of how I must be logging in with the wrong account. I posted to the "Google Help" group, though, so we'll see what comes of that.

But why? Why delete this blog? There's a lot of important information for residents in there.

Standing On Tip-Toes (Part II)

I arrived back at the hotel, and moved from the room I had stayed in Friday night to the room that I would stay in with my wife on our wedding night. Getting dressed was quick and easy, and I had a nice few moments of downtime with my mom, putting on the cuff links she gave me.

The drive up to the Waterview, where the wedding and reception were held, will stand out in my memory of that day. It's a beautiful drive, through a sleepy little town and up a winding river. It was around four in the afternoon, and the sun dripped through the colored leaves in that lazy-late-afternoon way. I drove, followed by cars of groomsmen and parents, along that river and followed its bends. And just before arriving at the Waterview, you swing uphill and drive across the dam that creates Lake Zoar above the river. To your left is the low river valley you've just come through, and to your right the shining blue water opens up into a wide lake with steep shores. It left me with such a sense of peace.

Once there, I was shuffled off to the very back of the room where the ceremony was to take place, lest I spy my bride taking pictures outside. It was a great time to hang out with my groomsmen and my cousin (who officiated), as we sipped champagne brought to us and waited for guests to settle in. Eventually, we moved to the lobby to line up, and then we were off through the doors and down the aisle.

I walked up the aisle and took my place next to my cousin and watched as the groomsmen and bridesmaids all followed. But I kept glancing back at the doors off to the side where the procession came from. I knew that after the maid of honor, I'd see my bride and her father. But there was one little detail I had forgotten. When the music changed slightly and my bride entered the room, everyone stood up. It didn't occur to me that everyone would stand, it had completely slipped my mind! More to the point, I couldn't see her. She was in the room and on her way and we were getting married and I had to wait until she walked from the side doors to the bottom of the aisle before I could see her.

A friend later told me I was standing on my tip-toes trying to see over the crowd.

And then I saw her, and my breath caught. My bride, walking right toward me. It was everything I could do to stand in place. I'm not sure there are words a groom can use to describe his bride that would make sense outside of that moment, but she was so beautiful.

The ceremony seems like a series of moments now. I remember it in little snippets. Smiling at Lynn. Laughing at the jokes my cousin told. Feeling the affection of all these friends and family who traveled from all over the country to be with us. The conviction with which she said her vows. The sincerity with which I said mine. The kiss at the end was a release, a celebratory expression of all the feelings after having to stand still and not pull her into my arms for so long! It was such a personal ceremony, the kind that only my cousin who grew up with me could provide, and yet accessible to everyone through his words and the way he brought everyone in. Lynn's cousins added many kind words and sage advice. Friends sang a song and read a sonnet that were what we'd been singing and reading to each other throughout our relationship—but not in so many words and notes. Nothing could dampen those moments, and nothing did. Even the little interruptions added to the sense of sharing a personal moment with everyone in the room.

We walked back down the aisle as husband and wife. The only thing left to do was celebrate!