Note from the author: I am in Washington State, deep in pre-wedding activities, and won't be posting as usual on Saturday. I am just closing down after my first day here, where I've walked in the middle of Puget Sound during low tide, and gone crabbing for tomorrow night's dinner. This seems like a good time to put up Saturday's post, and get it off my plate so that more immediate squeaks can be oiled. I'll be here next Saturday, too, so it's anyone's guess what I'll have to report then. Enjoy!
----------------------
We headed out this week, The Barn, The Dot, and I. The eldest of the next generation of Onerheims is getting hitched, and we wanted to have a first-person account of the family passage. Festivities are in the Pacific Northwest, and I like it here. It is kind of like Decorah, only with an ocean and one mondo airplane hangar. There are lots of resettled Scandihoovians in the region, so they have incorporated words like “lefse” and “rommegrot” into their lexicons. They can pronounce Dale of Norway without calling it “Dale” -- it's “dolly”, and they make those fabulous Norwegian sweaters you see. The really fabulous ones.
My brother Paul and his wife Carol offsprung two, both girls. Lora and I each have one boy and one girl, and Jeanie has two boys. That evens out the count of eight total, four boys and four girls.
Neil and Judith opted to become world travelers. The nieces and nephews benefit greatly by their choice, as it is life enriching to have an exotic aunt and uncle who talk about their Sherpa guide, or heading for Europe to catch an opera. At one family reunion, Uncle Neil passed out tissue-wrapped packages, one to each niece and nephew. He seemed particular about who got which package, though each bundle appeared identical. Lynn got hers first, followed by Morgan, then Lisa, Leslie, Tad, Colin, Bert, and Curtis. Inside were navy blue ball caps, each bearing one white letter. Shoulder shrug – I don't get it... Following his instructions, they lined up in birth order, and the plot was revealed. O-N-E-R-H-E-I-M was spelled out down a stairstep grade of heads – an even number of grandchildren for the name to be spelled exactly. It brought tears to my eyes. Neil is so like that.
Our bride Lynn was the first to receive a nine-patch quilt, my gift for this generation's high school graduations. Her design was called a shaded nine-patch, and I used the most current fabrics I could find – mostly Modas -- to give it a muted, college-girl look. Its name is “Roots and Wings, an Olson-Onerheim Original”, and a sailboat is appliquéd on the back as a label. It suited my vision of those girls growing up in the Pacific Northwest, and I hoped the patch of corn fabric I included would remind her of her father's roots in Iowa. Her wedding quilt, which isn't done yet, of course, is a sampler-style medley of rose-themed blocks, sort of a tribute to Grandma Onerheim. Both she and Lynn's Grandpa Olson have really good seats for the wedding, gazing down from heaven.
Weddings are a big deal anymore. It's not just the marriage part, but the fun so many people have planning the glorious event. For awhile I sneered at such extravaganzas, but I've since understood that lots of people really like making their wedding days special, to share their seemingly endless joy with cherished family and friends.
In our case, The Dot could hardly bring herself to wear a jumper and tights, let alone pine for a fantasy wedding dress. She refused invitations to the prom early in her high school career, because she flat-out hated the clothes. Eventually, she decided she really should attend her Junior-Senior Proms, on the off chance that she'd regret it later if she didn't. Once she got rolling, she began to enjoy the lark, and was glad to have done it.
My brother and his family are pragmatists, but a wedding is a wedding. You're going to need a dress, a cake, some music, and a place to hold the reception. There's hair, so you may as well throw in the nails. And a pedicure. Taste-testing cakes can be rewarding, and they assure me they found something I won't spit out in disgust. Ha! Like that would ever happen!
About six weeks into the process, I was talking to Paul on the phone. He said the wedding plans were going fine. He was in charge of check writing, and nobody had complained about his role yet. Not much slips by Paul, so I figured he knew a lot more than he was letting on. After years of being the only male occupant, I assumed he had learned when to offer his support, and when to shut up and write the dang check. It didn't mean he couldn't be entertained by the events as they unfolded, however.
In Decorah, there isn’t the same array of options for wedding receptions as there are in Big Cities. I prefer the church basement, but that is less and less common. People these days seem to party elsewhere after the wedding. Hubba and I had our reception in “the church parlors”, as it was called at First Lutheran in Ottumwa, Iowa. I thought it sounded elegant when put that way, “the church parlors”. Things were rather dignified, which turns out to be polite, Bible-belt code for “boring”.
When I moved to northeast Iowa, I was shocked to discover wedding dances. Are you kidding? People go out and drink and dance after a church wedding? Criminy, the priest showed up and had a highball with the parents of the bride! It took some real getting used-to.
Hubba and I joined a golf course, which is referred to as a country club in our region. It's in the country, so I guess that counts. We have been to lots of wedding receptions at the clubhouse there, but it's not The Ritz. Neither are the other golf courses in the area. We had Matter's Ballroom, but it burned down. Nob Hill Supper Club has been taking most of the overflow caused by that tragedy, along with Jewell's Skate Country, the local roller rink. We also have a century-old converted dairy barn on the local private hunting preserve, Chase the Adventure. It's real down-home hunting lodgey. The Cliff House is now The Bluffs Inn. Cliffs, bluffs, whatever trips your trigger, but they still hold receptions there in the restaurant, now called The Oaks Steakhouse. I could continue to name places, but it tends to be a second-verse-same-as-the-first exercise. We make do quite well, and places like the Elks Club and the historically registered KC Hall in Ossian have a lot more color than a hotel ballroom off the Interstate.
For elegance on a par with any Big City digs, we have The Hotel Winneshiek. A wedding reception there would dazzle anybody, anywhere. It's like not being in Decorah at all, really, but its unexpected-ness is a large part of its charm.
Choosing a place to hold a wedding reception in Greater Seattleland can be unnerving. Where to start? The list to choose from is daunting, and you never know just what you're missing if you don't check around. Understandably, you develop a new awareness of the skyline, as you drive, scan it, and plan a wedding gala.
Carol and Lynn had passed a club several times as they gadded about, putting together Wedding Numero Uno. It was a seriously gorgeous place, worthy of the honor of hosting the first-of-the-next generation wedding reception, but it was a private club.
“Maybe you could join that club, and then we could have the reception there.”
“Naw, your father and I just moved out to the Island. We don't really want to join a club over here.”
“I wonder if you have to be a member just to have a reception there.”
“Now there's a thought. We could at least ask.”
They made a phone call, and found out that this particular club did book events with non-members. They could have a Sunday reception there, and the price was darn good! Once they were able to see it firsthand, they knew they had found the place. It was perfect in size, and was attractively affordable. They knew Paul would be pleased that they were able to secure such a handsome facility at a decent price.
“We booked the reception, Dad.”
“Yes! We found a place that's handy, and very lovely. We knew it was a private club, but when we checked, it all worked out like it was meant to be. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
"Where is this Nirvana?” Pacific Northwesterners still use the term “Nirvana” frequently.
They told him, and he asked a few more clarifying questions.
“You know where we're talking about, don't you?”
“Yes, I do. Did you go see the place?”
“Of course. It was perfect. It is a very charming space at a reasonable rate.”
“Did they tell you anything else about the club?”
“No. They aren't making us join it, or anything. It's a private club, and we're just using it for one party.”
“Well, ladies, it might interest you to know that you're holding the wedding reception at a nudist camp.”
“A wha...?”
“Well, maybe it's not a nudist camp anymore. Current rumor is that a group of swingers bought out the nudists. The Lord sure works in mysterious ways, doesn't He? Now, who do I make the check out to?”
“Very funny.”
This has to be good. I'm looking forward to my first wedding reception in a nudist colony, but I'm bringing along some Clorox® wipes to pass out at the reception. Some of us may want to swab down our seats before we sit down.
You know, the roller rink/wedding reception combo looks better all the time.
©Copyright August 2005 Kari E.O. Burns
No comments:
Post a Comment