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Perfectly Imperfect: Beauty, Brokenness and DIY Decor/Before

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” -Marilyn Monroe

Perhaps one reason I resist aspiring to perfection is my long-time love of vintage and antique goods. Perfection is a shiny veneer, pretty enough to look at, but usually a temporary state—and, frankly, a little boring. Wear and tear tells a story: a little rust lends a venerable charm, a few dings show an object was used and valued, a crooked hand-sewn seam or repair imbues an inanimate linen with tangible humanity. The Online Etymology Dictionary describes the root of “imperfect” as deriving from the “mid-14c., imperfite, from Old French imparfait, from Latin imperfectus ‘unfinished, incomplete’.” All of the imperfect objects in the gallery, above, were found at thrift, consignment, or antique stores, and all will become part of our wedding decor. When I look at them, I see the beauty in their imperfections, and the possibilities in that beauty. They are indeed “unfinished and incomplete,” though my goal is not to “perfect” them, only to highlight their inherent loveliness and enhance it by finding fresh uses for familiar things.

“To banish imperfection is to destroy expression, to check exertion, to paralyze vitality.” – John Ruskin

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A Mother’s Dream, in honor of the wedding that wasn’t

As a child and young woman, I attended a Presbyterian church in Georgia where my parents are still members. The current church was built in 1976, when I was six, and I recall the blend of curiosity and awe I felt upon seeing it for the first time: its massive stone walls, soaring wooden beams, the rich red upholstery in the sanctuary. The stained glass windows, an artist’s and writer’s dream, appeared at first glance to be abstract collages of color, but a closer look revealed images, stories, a narrative that traveled from pane to pane. And I was fascinated with the bride’s room, a small, quiet space adjacent to the ladies room off the narthex. Its lime green, high-pile carpet and counter-long mirror framed by marquee-style bulbs made it glamorous and exotic, and I liked to sit on the swirly brass vanity chair and imagine.

One of the most beautiful features of the new church (now 38 years old) was a central courtyard. It is best viewed from the narthex, adjacent to the sanctuary, as the wall between the narthex and the courtyard is made mostly of glass. My mother Margaret has always loved the courtyard, and for as long as I can remember, she has voiced her dream that I would get married there someday. We would stand in the narthex, side by side, imagining the scene together. Guests would enter from the narthex and take seats in white chairs lined up in the central grassy area, shaded by several trees. The groom and minister would enter from the door off the church library, to the left. The bride would enter from the choir room door on the far right, behind the guests, then walk the along the curved, pebbled walkway in front of them to meet her groom. Flowers would bloom all around, the sun light the ceremony. It would be intimate and beautiful.

For years that was the plan, that I would get married in the courtyard. We talked about it enough that I can still picture the walk clearly in my mind. But the years passed, and I remained single. I moved away, first to Ohio, later to Virginia, and I still remained single. The church was expanded and renovated, a fountain placed in the courtyard, and it began to look like I’d always be single. And the years flowed on: I was no longer a member of the church, the minister I’d grown up with retired. When my mother and I had stood at the window dreaming, it had never occurred to either of us that a wedding wasn’t a sure thing. Continue reading

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DIY Decor: Pieced Pillow Covers

Pillows may seem like an unusual form of wedding decor, but our venue has a number of long, plain wooden benches.  Adding groupings of pillows will, I hope, create some pops of color as well as soften up the modern lines of the venue’s interior space. Plus, my mother Margaret is a quilter extraordinaire, and I love sewing and fabric arts. Designing and making pillows is a great way for us to collaborate across the miles and share in the fun of the wedding-as-creative-canvas. I also plan to re-purpose some of the pillow covers for home decor after the wedding—another good reason to choose wedding colors reflective of those I love and live with every day. To save money as well as storage space, we’re creating slip-on pillow covers that fit pillows we already own (my blessed mother measured every throw pillow in her house). Each pillow cover we create for the wedding will be one-of-a-kind.

For the pillows featured here, Mom purchased a suite of fabrics online and supplemented from her stash. Most of the fabrics are from the Happiness, Blossoming, and Journeys collections by Kathy Davis for Free Spirit fabrics. I drew the (very rough) sketch to illustrate what I envisioned, a pillow featuring multiple fabrics in stripes of uneven widths. Using my sketch and the fabrics she’d selected, Mom created the beautiful pillow in the rocking chair shown in the large photo, above. The orange fabric, from the Happiness collection, is called “Sweet Words” and features words like “happiness,” “joy,” and “beauty.” Perfect for a wedding celebration!

Our Process

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This is the Place!

We have a venue! Welcome to the Rooftop Garden at the Center in the Square.

A little backstory: Steve and I started dating in February of 2013, and one evening that May, we headed downtown, as we often did. It was a warm spring night, and after dinner at Table 50, we walked to Billy’s for a cocktail. You know how in every relationship there are those watershed moments, key conversations or experiences when everything seems to shift, either stall out or leap forward? Maybe the martinis were particularly strong, but as we sat at a high-top near the bar, our conversation turned, for the first time, to past relationships. We shared stories of dashed hopes and talked frankly about some of the painful and pivotal events that had led us to where we were. There were a few tears, tightly held hands, kisses of acceptance and promise. When we left Billy’s, my heart felt light and sure. I hadn’t yet told Steve I loved him, but the feeling had taken firm root.

On our way to dinner, we’d seen a number of dressed-up folks, women in evening gowns, men in tuxedos and sharp black suits. The party-goers were too mature for prom, so when we spotted a large white tent on the corner of the market, we’d figured there was a ball or fundraiser going on. By the time we left Billy’s to stroll around and enjoy the weather, the party was in full swing. The tent was lit up, and we  heard the unmistakable sound of my all-time favorite 80s-cover band, Superhold.

People were sitting at round tables scattered under the tent, and more were just outside it, dancing on the parking lot dance floor. Now that it was dark, we could see the atrium of the Center in the Square filled with the festively-dressed folks we’d passed earlier. The party was in celebration of the grand re-opening of the newly remodeled Center, which had been closed for several years for renovations. The spaces that housed Mill Mountain Theatre, the History Museum, the Harrison Museum of African-American Culture, and the Science Museum of Western Virginia had all been redesigned and upgraded; the atrium now featured several aquariums, and there was a new butterfly garden upstairs. Crowning it all was a two-story rooftop garden. Continue reading

Marry? Scary! On Fairy Tales and Fears, 2

Some days the thought of getting married terrifies me. And I’m not talking about the fear of making bad decisions, like inadvertently hiring a DJ who insists on doing the chicken dance in full costume, or the inevitable wacky wedding day mishaps: a dropped bouquet, forgotten socks, a delayed bagpiper (ask my brother about that last one). I’m talking about the actual marriage part, specifically the 24/7 commitment to sharing not only my heart (which I give gladly) but also my bathroom and my brain-space.

I love Steve and always enjoy his company—as well as the company of his two smart and funny grown sons—and it will be nice to have someone else around to take care of scary spiders. But it does make me anxious to think about bringing not one but three people onto my permanent radar, into the closest circles of my heart and head. After all, aside from felines, I haven’t had a long-term roommate since 1995. At times I’ve been lonely, even profoundly so, but on the whole, I enjoy solitude, and as an introvert and a writer, I require a fair amount of it to function. I spend a lot of time in my head, reading, thinking, processing and, well, writing, and I’ve grown used to devoting much of the brain-space and energy not claimed by work to creative endeavors.

I’m also what’s known as an HSP, a Highly Sensitive Person. There are lots of great articles that describe what it’s like to live as an HSP, as well as an online diagnostic tool for the curious. In brief, HSPs are extremely sensitive to and deeply affected by sensory stimuli, which has both advantages and disadvantages. For example, HSPs tend to startle easily and often cannot tolerate loud or constant noise, and they may feel overwhelmed by visual excess. For example, when I’ve visited my brother and sister-in-law’s very full house (2 parents, 5 kids, 3 friends, 2 dogs, and 3 cats, plus grandparents at its peak), the sheer number of people and sources of sensory input—conversation, computer games, clinking dishes, cat meowing,  television, piano music, a Facebook video on another computer—make for an intense experience. There is also much love and warm laughter—a truly beautiful sound and something I feel privileged to share. Still, after a while, Aunt Sandee needs to fold up in a quiet corner to recover and re-boot!

On the positive side, HSP’s heightened sensitivity also increases our awareness of subtleties. We tend to pick up immediately on the emotional tenor of a group of people when entering a room, and we often experience art, literature, foods, and the environments we encounter more deeply. My keen color sense is no doubt attributable to being an HSP. And there’s a somewhat counter-intuitive flip-side characteristic: HSPs may crave and seek out new and intense sensory stimuli that is pleasurable, because it is a powerful natural high. I have an almost physical response to a pleasing color combination or a beautiful line of poetry. I even love wandering down a big city street, absorbing the cacophony of crowds and cars and shops and signs—but only for short periods of time. A little goes a long way.

Thankfully, one reason Steve and I work so well together is because he understands how much I need to be alone. In fact, long before he ever proposed marriage, he proposed something else that told me he was a keeper. “If we had a house together,” he said, “maybe you could keep a studio or an apartment that you could go to when you needed some alone time.” You would do that for me? I thought. You would be willing to invest in something like that so I could have us AND solo time and space? Of course, he would get solo time and space in the bargain, too, which–an introvert himself–he also enjoys and requires. But that’s when I knew he really understood me. Continue reading

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Choosing a Venue, 1: Not-so-Dirty Dancing

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The cats joined us. Any man who will pull a rickety wagon piled with three cat carriers and their shrilly questioning inhabitants on a path through the woods is a keeper!

The first wedding venue Steve and I looked at, if somewhat accidentally, was Mountain Lake, a destination resort high in the hills of southwest Virginia. We spent a week there not long after our engagement on a kind of working vacation. I’d been contemplating doing a nature piece about the area, so I wanted to hike some trails and take photos to see what, if anything, might surface as a focal point. Steve used the time we weren’t hiking to make progress on a major project he had underway.

Though my own interest in the area is ecological, Mountain Lake is most famous for being the primary location where the 1987 romantic sleeper hit Dirty Dancing, starring Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze, was filmed. In one scene Swayze’s character Johnny, a dance instructor at “Kellerman’s” resort, is trying to teach Grey’s Baby, who is visiting with her family, a dramatic lift, and they practice the move in the lake. The area looks a bit different these days, as most of the lake has somewhat mysteriously drained away in the past five or six years. Scientists believe that varying rainfall and run-off levels in combination with shifting plates beneath the lake are to blame, and there is evidence that the phenomenon is cyclical, having occurred at least once before in the late 1800s. The resort is still beautiful, and it was fun, too, to visit a place that has been permanently infused with a sense of romance since I first saw and loved Dirty Dancing at age sixteen. I never really had a thing for Swayze (though he certainly showed the world why women love a man who dances). More exciting than finding and falling in love with a man possessed of such mad skills was the fantasy I could learn to dance like that myself. I wanted to be Baby, not just because Johnny loved her (and I did want to be loved), but because I wanted the experience of waking something up in myself I didn’t know was there, of defying and breaking free from conventional expectations I sometimes felt boxed me in. Shedding the role of dutiful good girl to become a passionate artist: that was the film’s real appeal.

Though I must confess, I’ve always thought the moment when Baby shows up to Johnny’s quarters and they dance to “Cry to Me” to be one of the sexiest, most romantic seduction scenes ever. When she drops back into that first long, slow dip, it leaves me breathless.

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The lake in spring 2014

I wouldn’t describe myself as a Dirty Dancing “fan,” however, and Steve and I weren’t seriously considering Mountain Lake as a wedding venue. But they were hosting a bridal open house the Friday we were there, and we thought attending would be a good way to get a sense of venue packages and pricing. It was my first official event as a “bride,” and I felt a little like I had standing in the wedding book aisle in the bookstore: it was fun to claim that identity publicly. The onsite event planner greeted us warmly on the lodge porch, and Steve and I sipped complimentary sangria as we perused photo albums of on-site weddings. We sampled some to-die-for shrimp and grits while the chef shared his secret (sourcing from a mill in North Carolina and soaking the grits in milk), then tasted several desserts, including chocolate covered strawberries and a divine strawberry mousse. As we toured different types of lodging, a big cabin with the wrap-around porch and cozy fireplace made us start dreaming. What if we did get married there?

Then, we went back to the main lodge and asked to see the packages. You know that moment in the movie when Baby’s sister Lisa marches up to the aspiring med student Robbie’s place, having decided to sleep with him, then sees another woman emerging from his quarters? How her face shifts from hope to amazement and shock? Yeah.

The night before the open house, Steve and I had been sharing some wine in the lodge bar, eavesdropping on a rather entertaining conversation the youthful-looking bartender was having with two fifty-something women patrons. He was searching for a wedding venue himself; his long-term Venezuelan girlfriend’s visa was about to expire, and they had decided to get married. She wanted a carnival theme, but they couldn’t afford Mountain Lake, he reported, to the delight of the ladies, who apparently owned a B&B themselves where they hosted weddings, among other interesting ventures: after one of their neighbors had come and done laundry at their place, her ghost-hunter brother decided to do some filming there, and they had just hosted 36 people in one month who were searching for Sasquatch. One, or maybe both, of the women (there was wine involved) had gotten married at Mountain Lake some years before, and they were planning an anniversary party at the resort later in the summer. I was thinking their B&B sounded much more intriguing. And assuredly less expensive.

Mountain Lake

The dock extending from the movie’s famous gazebo, May 2014

Don’t get me wrong: Mountain Lake is a spectacular venue, even with the lake level low, and I’m certain the staff would work with us if we wanted to celebrate our wedding there. But aside from an early date when we’d shared our first hike (and first photo) on one of the resort’s trails, Steve and I just didn’t have enough personal connection to the place to make the investment worth it.

Besides, any Dirty Dancing fantasies I had have already come true, or close enough. I still don’t know how to do the mambo like Baby (and probably never will–though dance lessons are on our agenda). But I long ago learned how to seize opportunities to venture beyond my comfort zone, to let go of others’ expectations and focus on discovering new possibilities within myself.

And one afternoon during our stay, after playing a few rounds of ping-pong and pool in the Mountain Lake barn’s loft-area game room, I turned to Steve as we headed down the stairs and asked, “So, just how much do you love me?”

He hesitated, thinking I’d decided Mountain Lake was the place after all, that I was about to ask if we could break our budget to tie the knot there on the property.

“Do you have a dollar for the jukebox?” I said and grinned.

Relief washed over Steve’s face as he pulled a crumpled bill from his wallet. I punched in the Dirty Dancing theme song, “I’ve Had the Time of My Life,” and alone in the middle of the empty barn, in the middle of the afternoon, we danced. He did look a little panicked when I backed up and jokingly threatened to run at him for the famous lift. Instead, I slowed as I reached him and folded myself into his arms for a kiss. Making beautiful memories needn’t cost thousands of dollars; more often than not, happiness can be had for less than the cost of a cup of coffee. Steve grasped my hand tightly, spun me out and around, and we kept right on dancing.