Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Jury Duty

I was called for jury duty for the Superior Court of Rhode Island. According to state law, I was required to serve two days in the jury waiting. If chosen, I would stay for the duration of the jury selection process.

It sounded easy, free parking, two hours for lunch and just two days of service.

Jury duty is a very strange thing. It is both fascinating to be part of the judicial system and excruciatingly boring while you wait.

I did notice that most of the people in jury room did not want to be there. A lot of the conversations focused on how to answer the lawyers’ questions so that they would scratch you from the panel. Some people didn’t want to miss work. Others had child care issues. Some just hated sitting around.

Jury duty is such an inconvenience.

I had waited a long time to be called for jury duty. It is something I have always wanted to do. However, I will admit that I too succumbed to the group think and began to hope I would be dismissed or that somehow I wouldn’t make the final cut.

It is very hard to sit in a room with 40 other people and just wait.

And wait.

And wait.

When you are forced to watch it, daytime TV becomes torture.

So, I grumbled and complained and fidgeted my way through three days of waiting to be chosen as a jury. My capacity for waiting wore thinner each day; the grumbling grew just a little louder.

They sent me home the third day, not being chosen for a jury.

When I got home, I read this at www.boston.com

Elsewhere Saturday, five U.S. troops died in separate bombings in the south, setting July on course to become the deadliest month of the nearly 9-year war for Americans.

The three days of boredom, in an air conditioned court house, I had endured for my constitutional freedoms instantly became paltry.

I will never complain about jury duty again.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Our Version of Say Yes to the Dress

While Daniel is hell-bent on making our girls into girls, who can and and want to do anything and everything boys can do, when they are with me we tend to do classically girlish pursuits.

One such pursuits is watching Say Yes to the Dress together. This is a TLC show that shows the day to say operations of Kleinfeld's Bridal in NYC. It is fun to see which bride picks which dress and who causes how much drama.

In honor of my anniversary tomorrow, we had our own version. We hauled out my wedding dress.

Here it is:

I know, I know, It's so 90's. Well, yes; I did get married in 1993. The original Beverly Hills 90210 was on TV and things like hair and wedding dresses, where a little puffier.

17 years ago I was 21 and the thought of looking like a princess in Puffed Sleeves made me giddy.

When I took it out, I was thinking, "It's so puffy, even before you add the crinoline."
"There's a crinoline!"
"Oh, there is butt bow!"
"It's sooo beautiful but EWWW, it stinks!"

(It did stink. The day I got married it was 102 degrees and 98% humidity. I never had the dress dry cleaned. Hot weather plus 17 years encased in a plastic garment bag equals 1 STINKY dress!)

Then I stepped into it and I knew.

After all these years, I would still say yes to this dress.

It still makes me feel like a princess. I love the lace, I love the roses, I love the silk. Darn it I even love the bow on the butt.

This is my dress.

The dress that I would choose again to wear walking down the aisle.

We wanted to look at it because I have hopes that one or both of my children might want to wear my dress.

I want my daughters to feel like princesses on their wedding days. I want them to feel confident and poised but also beautiful. I want this because I think they are already beautiful and on their wedding day, I want the men in their lives to see on the outside, what I hope will still be there on the inside.

Beauty, Grace, Confidence, Intelligence, Femininity and Gentleness.

Hilde is with me. Her eyes light up and she smiled when she saw it. I could tell she wanted to be a princess too. When the sequins glittered I could see her making plans. She is a girl who will fall in love at first sight.

Heaven help us.

Maeve, the thinker, ever precise, and always her own person, wasn't so sure. She likes the embroidery, the lace and silk. Definitely not the bow, and to my surprise definitely not the sleeves.


The sleeves are my favorite part.

Time will tell. Hilde might want something completely different and Maeve might turn out to be more nostalgic than I thought.

Daniel will be happy to present them with their ever burgeoning Craftsman dowry and brag about how the girls will be running the garages and I will be happy no matter what they wear.

As long as they say yes to their dress and more importantly the men who will love them for all that they are and are becoming. .

It's okay if they don't choose this dress.

It's mine anyway.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

A poem for my anniversary :)

"Marriage" by Marie Howe.

My husband likes to watch the cooking shows,
the building shows,
the Discovery Channel, and the surgery channel.
Last night, he told us about a man who came into the emergency room

with a bayonet stuck entirely through his skull and brain.
Did they get it out? We all asked.
They did. And the man was O.K. because the blade
went exactly between
the two halves without severing them.

And who had shoved this bayonet into the man's head? His wife.
A strong woman, someone said. And everyone else

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Life is happening outside the computer

It is 4th of July weekend. Fireworks, ice cream and a parade.

There is a John Wayne marathon on AMC

Meet me in St. Louis was on TCM last night.

My husband is home from his travels to the Dominican Republic and Embassy Row in Washington DC.

We were dog-sitting.

The girls had a sleep over.

It is Maeve's Baptismal birthday.

Today was the baptism of one of my best friends' son, and the girls are the Godparents.

Needless to say, the blog has been neglected while life is taking place.

Don't worry, I have a head full of things to write about and a phone full of pictures waiting for me to get the chance to sit at the computer.