For One Day Only

I'm pulling this down tomorrow, but someone told me they'd pay good money to see this. 

Don't worry about it, dude. This one's gratis.

Scenes from the Hana Highway, Part 1

I heart Maui.

Of course, I am obligated to love Maui. If one does not love Maui, it is proof that one has a soul made of glurpy, bubbling tar. But that's not why I love Maui.

I love Maui because its inhabitants are slightly nuts, and its roads are terrible. Someday soon, I'll (hopefully) amuse and delight you with dramatic retellings of Cafe Romantica and the Van In Which It Is Housed, The Really Pretty Scary Lithuanian Farmer and the Really Big Knife She Wields,  The Thai Restaurant Owner Who Screams At You From the Toilet, and perhaps some other fun stories from the Hana Highway. 

Right now, fresh off the heels of my nuptials, I'm still feeling kinda sappy. So tonight, I'm a-gonna tell you all a sweet little bedtime story from the curviest road on Earth. 

Once Upon a Time, on a far-off island, a girl consumed a ripe young coconut full of juice immediately before embarking upon the return trip from Hana, Maui, to her hotel in lovely Wailea. A handsome prince drove the bright red Jeep-shaped chariot in which they travelled. 

Within about a half an hour, the lovely maiden realized that she really had to pee. Like, really.

"OH MAH GAHHHHHHH!!!!! PULL OVER!" the maiden cried in desperation, and her handsome prince obliged. Darting off into the woods, the fair lady sheepishly took care of bidness. Don't worry. It was worth the indignity. She felt much better after that.

Mere moments after the couple returned to the road, the handsome prince abruptly pulled over again. 

"What are you doing?" asked the maiden, noting that if Prince Charming needed to take his turn in the woods, he should have thought of that a quarter of a mile ago. Geez. But the maiden was wrong. 

"I am letting this police officer pass me," said the wise prince. "Being followed by a police officer on the Hana Highway might be less than ideal. It's bad enough having to drive this road without having to watch my rear view mirror and check my speed constantly."

The couple pretended to be busy looking for something in the car so that the officer wouldn't realize that they had pulled over for fear of being pulled over if they didn't pull over. They waited a few minutes longer than necessary, and then resumed their drive. 

For about ten minutes. 

You see, as the prince and the maiden rounded a(nother) very sharp curve, they noticed that the police officer had parked on the side of the road. 

"[Drat]!"said Waffle Guy--I mean, the prince. "He's going to be behind me again!"

The lovely maiden was about to complain, when she and waffle guy noticed it in unison. There he was, a handsome, young Maui police officer, standing at the edge of a giant, lush, green gorge, coffee cup in hand, simply taking in the view. 

Following his gaze, the couple noticed the view that had commanded the officer's attention. 

"OH MAH GAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! PULL OVER!" the maiden cried again, as though it was the only thing she knew how to say. 

There, over the gorge, was a rainbow. A flippin' double rainbow. On the Hana Highway. In gosh-darn Maui.

On perhaps the most dangerous corner of perhaps the most dangerous road they could find, the charming-but-dim couple got out of their Jeep-shaped chariot to photograph the prettiest thing they'd ever seen.

If you look very closely, you'll see Waffle Guy--ahem, the Prince--shooting photos of the
 double-flippin'-rainbow on the side of the road in this photo. Darwin Award to follow. 

And, yet, they lived happily ever after. 

Thanks, Maui Policeman, for showing us the way.

The Wedding: A Summary

We had a tiny wedding in a far-off place, attended only by immediate family and a handful of lifelong friends. I highly recommend this strategy, by the way. It was relatively stress-free and positively delightful, I didn't have to introduce myself to any coworkers' husbands' sisters' dates at the reception, and the smaller crowd kept my tendency toward social anxiety at bay on one of the most important days of my life. It was great.

However, since we've been home, lots of you have had lots of questions for Mr. Waffle and me as to exactly how it all went down. I've been trying to tell you all, but words don't really do it justice. All I can tell you is that everything about it was perfect.

I thought I might show you a bit. These photos were taken by one of my oldest friends, the brilliantly talented Natalie Champa Jennings. When you're done here, do yourself a favor and check out her site.

A Wedding Story 
(cue cutesy violin canon here)


We got married at a place like this:

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

It's this really cool old place called Edgefield, just outside of Portland, Oregon. A hundred years ago, it opened as the Multnomah County Poor Farm, a massive old manor house where people who had lost it all would go to rebuild their lives. When the poor farm closed, it became a nursing home that was condemned in the '90s, purchased by a company that restores quirky old properties, and turned into what is now essentially a giant playground for grown-ups and the children who love them. It has several restaurants, extensive gardens and orchards, a vineyard, a winery, a distillery, a brewery, several music venues, a billiards hall, a pub, an art house, a golf course and a spa. It probably has other cool things, too, but I haven't discovered them yet.

If you believe in ghosties, the place is totally haunted. I'm not convinced that we share our space with spooks, but I am entirely certain that we all leave a bit of ourselves wherever we go. To me, the symbolism and the spirit of the place was moving. I loved the idea of beginning anew in a place that was founded on the principle of a fresh start. I was grateful to the people who'd been there before us.

We were married on Independence Day. It's not because we're particularly patriotic. It's because we're nerds, actually. Mr. Waffle notices really bizarre number and letter patterns, like palindromic license plates. So when we decided to wed, we plopped open a calendar and looked for interesting dates. There weren't a lot of them this summer. 7/4/11 was about as good as we could come up with, as 7 + 4 = 11. That it was a holiday was only icing on the cake, and that it occurred on a Monday and made everything less expensive only spoke to our annoyingly practical side. Plus, it made it really easy to come up with a cheeky color scheme. And let's just admit it--all wedding colors are cheeky. We went for a subdued navy and scarlet attempt at a Martha-Stewart-does-Fourth-of-July sort of theme. 

Here's are the highlights:

The Waffle children, his and mine, served as our bridesmaids, groomswomen, and flower girl. The ladies and I all started our day in the spa, getting dolled up. The Littlest Waffler particularly enjoyed this, as she had both a tiara and someone to secure it for her.  

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

After getting our hair and makeup done, I went back to the kids' room to have a snack and put on my dress. Somewhere, there are photos of a very coiffed and made-up version of me, wearing nothing but restrictive undergarments as I shovelled a pop tart in my face. Sexy. 

But the girls! Ohmygah--the girls! They were so beautiful.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

My eldest Waffle Child helped me into my dress, and we were off.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

The officiant was one of Waffle Guy's childhood friends.  Mox's words were precious. I feel like he did a great job of capturing the essence of our relationship, and sharing that with the people who mean the most to us. I was so grateful that he agreed to be a part of that day. 

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were rock stars. Our talented and dear friend Ryan Paul of Sleep Study teamed up with Kevin Steinman, another Minneapolis-based musician and friend, to provide what was unquestionably the coolest soundtrack for any wedding, ever. Go ahead. Listen to the song, and just try to tell me with a straight face that you didn't tear up just a little bit.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

Once, when I had a bad day, my best friend Molly brought me a plant, and a red balloon, and a card that had Winnie-the-Pooh on it. The card read, "No One Can Be Uncheered by a Red Balloon."

It was true then, as it is now, and it was with this is mind that I decided to forego a bouquet in favor of a giant red balloon. It made me giggle.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

And, you guys, Waffle Guy looked so handsome! I got all teary-like when I saw him.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

My favorite rock star of all played a song that we wrote together.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

Before we made vows to one another, we made some promises to some very important people--I to his kids, and he to mine. The words were simple.

"Today we become a family. I promise to love you, and to care for you in any way that I can, for the rest of my life."

 We kissed those pretty foreheads, and gave them matching necklaces to symbolize that we're all in this together.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were our vows. I'll post those later, in a separate post, if you're interested. And then, all of a sudden, I was Mrs. Bailey! I still get all giddy when I write it, by the way.

There was a kiss.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were smiles.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were a few tears. 

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were some more kisses.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There was an awesome reception involving (in no particular order) McMenamin's Monkey Puzzle Whiskey, some really good food, more great music, a comfy white cotton dress, a saltwater soaking pool, and great company.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

There were fireworks in the distance, and fireworks in my heart, as he carried me off to live happily ever after. 

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

As my little girl celebrated by writing on my hand with a sharpie, it occurred to me that my wedding, like my life, had been better than I would have ever dared to dream it could be.

I'm a lucky girl, and I'm grateful every day for the love with which I'm surrounded. Simply put, my family is my greatest joy.

Natalie Champa Jennings. nataliechampajennings.com

Escalator Family

Months ago, they decided that escalators were way cooler than steps. And so it came to pass that I don't have step-children. I have Escalator Daughters. And my daughters have an Escalator Dad.

Lessons from a Tourist's Photos: What Happens When You Reach That Bridge

Waffle Guy and I lagged behind the pack on our hike to the top of Multnomah Falls, Oregon, absorbed in the photographic possibilities that a few great lenses and phenomenal scenery had to offer, but the Littlest Waffler was waiting for us when we reached the bridge over the lower falls.

She trembled. Her weeping was silent, the tears leaving disorderly little trails on her cheeks.

"I wanted to cross it, Mama," she said. Her gaze was fixed on her dusty shoes. "I am so scared of heights. I couldn't."

"You don't have to cross that bridge," I told her. "But take a minute before you decide to go back down. Do you think you'll be really proud of yourself if you make it across?"

I picked her up and buried my face in her neck, the same spot I'd nuzzled when she was a newborn. Her arms reached easily around my shoulders now. She shook, but she held tight.

"I can feel your heart beating," I whispered. "Can you feel mine?"

"Mmmm-hmmm," she whimpered.

"That's the feeling of my heart taking all of the fear from your heart. Pay attention to that feeling."

We stood silently at the side of the trail for a long, long time. And then, "I'm ready, Mama."

I carried the Littlest Waffler out onto the bridge. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "I have to walk across myself." Her hand held mine tightly, but each step was her own.

Later, at the top of the Upper Falls, she would perch on a rock at the river's edge and beam with pride.

A time will come when she realizes that her mother is just a regular old person. But on that day, I was relieved to discover that I still have super powers. I scooped all of her fear out of my heart, held it in my hand, and blew it into the rapids below.

Brain Dump, or Therapy for the Impatient Mother

The youngest two Wafflers road-tripped back from the west coast with my parents after the wedding, stopping to play in all sorts of places along the way. I'm thrilled that they had the opportunity to create memories like that with my folks. When I think about the trip they're taking now, I think of my daughters as their future selves, snuggled in bed with daughters of their own, telling them the stories of the summer they hightailed it through the mountains with Mema. I can only imagine the silly conversations going on in that vehicle. They're due home any minute now. I'm delighted that they had the experience. It's awesome.

But.

I miss my kids.

I miss them so much that I cleaned their rooms today in anticipation of their arrival. And I asked Waffle Guy to hang new curtains for them. I baked them my Super Top-Secret Recipe Chocolate-Butterscotch Cookies of Ridiculous Goodness (with sea salt flakes). I laundered all their bedding with extra fabric softener, so it smells good, like the Middlest likes. I really miss them.

The weather, however, is not cooperating. Two lines of severe thunderstorms have moved through the area, slowing my family's homeward progress by a couple of hours. I normally love a good storm more than just about anyone, but this time, I miss my kids so much that I want boring weather.

And so, I'm here, writing to kill time. This sucks for you, the reader, because I have nothing to say, really. So you might be bored. In the spirit of consideration, however, I thought of some stuff to show you. Some of it might even be fun. We'll get through this together. It will be okay.

First, here's a picture of a palm tree in the sunshine through a rain-covered window. I took this photograph from a bus in Puerto Rico, where I went with the Middlest's school in June. It was one of the best weeks of my life.

If you hate trees, that's okay. I have a photograph of a baby bird, too. I didn't actually take this one. My amazing "escalator daughter" Taylor took it. We found the baby bird in Brooklyn. He was drowning by the side of the road in one of the craziest rain storms I'd ever seen, and there was no mama bird trying to save him. We watched. No mama.

So...we found a great organization in Manhattan that agreed to take him in and rehabilitate him, but first we had to smuggle him on the Subway from Brooklyn to the Upper West Side at rush hour. Every time the sweet little baby bird squeaked in hunger, I glared at the escalator daughters and told them to stop squeaking their shoes. It worked out perfectly. At the Wild Bird Fund, they named the bird Kate, which was nice of them, except I'm pretty sure it was a boy bird. There is absolutely no scientific basis for the male gender assignment to the bird, as I don't even remotely understand how to sex a bird. But I just have a gut feeling that it was a dude-bird named Kate. It's good to see that we've come far enough that the fellas want our names, no?

If you're the sort of person that hates trees and birds, all is not lost. Try this one on for size. Here's a photograph of a Ninja Turtle with Paul Bunyon in his head. He was made at an event at my new gallery by my awesome brother, Tylo, who knows a lot about what goes on inside the heads of Ninja Turtles.

If you're the sort of person who hates birds and trees and Ninja Turtles who have Paul Bunyon on their minds, then I'm afraid I can't help you. As a consolation prize, here's me with a motorcycle dude who is dressed up like a cow, and has a giant, helmeted stuffed cow on the back of his bike.

Now don't you wish you'd acted interested in palm trees?

Destination

At our wedding, my mother-in-law read these words, borrowed from a Hopi blessing:

"And there are things to be considered:

Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships? Are you in right relation?
Where is your water? Know your garden.
It is time to speak your Truth.
Create your community. Be good to each other...

There is a river flowing now very fast.
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.
They will try to hold on to the shore.
They will feel they are being torn apart, and they will suffer greatly.

Know the river has its destination.
...We must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river
Keep our eyes open and our heads above the water.
See who is in there with you
And celebrate.

At this time in history we are to take nothing personally.
Least of all, ourselves.
For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.

...Gather yourselves!
Banish the word "struggle" from your attitude and your vocabulary.
All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we've been waiting for."

It was special for a lot of reasons. The words are stunning, to be sure. Deeper than words, there was a lovely connection to Waffle Guy's roots--his father worked for the US Public Health Service, and Waffle Guy was born on the Navajo reservation. His parents developed deep ties to the Navajo and Hopi people, and still exhibit tremendous respect for the traditions of those nations. The connection to my husband's genesis, and to his parents' history, was a powerful thing to include in our wedding.

Deeper yet was the challenge to our future. I stood in front of my closest family and friends, and listened to those words, and marvelled at what a big thing it is to do all that we do in "a sacred manner and in celebration." In my trials, at my darkest hour, I wondered, will I truly find it in myself to celebrate? Could I do that for my husband, for my marriage?

Later that night, I looked at photographs I'd taken the night before our wedding, when we took a caravan to Oregon's Cannon Beach. My new in-laws arrived with a bag of kites, and my children, and Waffle Guy's children; my brothers, parents, friends--everyone dear to me--launched them into the constant offshore wind. The beach was alive with color and laughter. We squealed when the icy Oregon ocean lapped at our feet. Some of us took photographs in an effort to preserve those precious moments. Some of us held hands with our partners, or snuggled with family.

All of us celebrated.

It occurred to me, looking at photographs from the beach, that this is why I love my family--the one into which I was born, the one to which I gave birth, and the one into which I have joined. The past two years of my life have been rich with sacred, incredible moments like those.

My family is here with me, far from shore, and celebrating. God willing, I'll find a way to thank them, someday.