The wedding dress, freshly steamed, hangs from the highest point in our living room.  Patio chairs are stacked inside, waiting for the rains to stop. Favors are packed, vendors have been paid, driving and shuttle directions have been broadly cast. Weddings officiated by me: more than a hundred. Weddings as Mother of the Bride, just this one.

I'm a little awestruck that people are arriving from all across the United States to celebrate this couple. I'm completely impressed by how organized and sensible the bride has been. Now we move through this week one day at a time. My lectio divina practice is especially helpful every morning -- as are frequent walks.

What's that feeling behind the excitement? Oh yes.
Joy.

I'm close to completing my latest manuscript, a biography of a feisty, determined 19th century novelist who wrote her ten books after raising four daughters. I've been working on this book since 2021, fascinated by the development of Julie P. Smith's writing process and publishing confidence. But another huge part of this book is the importance of writing letters.

What are letters, after all, but a conversation that uniquely requires absence? And because we throw our voices across the distance, our marks on paper must be filled with spirit, filled with  interest and humor and news.

When I was six years old my mother moved from San Francisco to New York, and although we visited, she never came back and I never lived with her again. Yes, that sucked. But I have a pink binder filled with her letters to me totaling hundreds of pages. Scrawled postcards, typed single-spaced and numbered pages -- telling me that I was in her thoughts and she loved me, and asking a million questions about my life.

In answering back, is it any wonder that over the years I became a reporter, persuader, researcher, poet? And Julie during the Civil War, separated from her husband eight months every year -- her yearning helped her to become a lively, sharp-witted writer. He was no slouch at writing either. Oh to have a letter from someone you love. To be able to touch their handwriting, fold the page, keep it in a pocket near your heart. To reread it, and perhaps see the salty mark of tears. I would not have known Julie's story if I had not found the box of letters.

Other letters round out my pink binder -- letters from my Dad while I was away at summer camp, letters from my brothers and sisters when we grew up and away from each other. Letters from my grandfather describing his New York childhood in the early 1900s. His voice arises from his handwriting. He's thrown his voice not only across a continent, but also across the decades.

If you love someone, write a letter and send it to them through the mail. What a gift they will receive. And you never know where it will end up.

In addition to congratulations, good wishes, laughter and gifts, the bridal shower is an opportunity for the bride to benefit from collective feminine wisdom . At the shower for my daughter, generations were well represented by the bride’s mother, sister, niece and aunt, several peers, family friends and three little girls. I particularly liked the cards, collected in a recipe box, on which guests wrote favorite recipes, date night suggestions and hard-won tips about marriage. I can assure you that none of the recipes were elaborate, and as for marriage tips I contributed, “Always wear comfortable shoes.”

It was a time to shower our bride with love and small luxuries before her big day. The gifts were fun and thoughtful, the favors were pretty. But on reflection, this three-hour event provided other subtle benefits.

1. It was a mini wedding. Similar to the theater of a wedding, the shower has costumes, props, prescribed activities. In this sort of rehearsal, hosts and guests could meet and play without the solemnity of the wedding, and experience how awful shapewear feels. The best symbol of this was the making of the paper-plate-and-ribbon confection known as the rehearsal bouquet. The rehearsal bouquet would not exist but for the gift wrappings of the shower, evidence that women came together to celebrate and support the bride-to-be.
2. Forming a new tribe. While friends joyfully caught up with each other, strangers become acquaintances and collaborators. They will see each other soon at the wedding and hopefully will rise from their reception seats to meet each other and chat.
3. Surprising and intangible gifts. Bridesmaids and shower hosts got to exercise their secret talents. One may be a project management powerhouse, while another becomes the chauffeur and gift secretary extraordinaire. The shower hosts got to practice setting things up as well as possible, then letting go completely – and the wisdom (date night suggestions, recipes) and humor (games, kids, blingy underthings) that arose were unique to the group. I came away feeling that the prevailing spirit of the event was generosity on many levels. A good way to prepare for a wedding.

This is a photograph of my maternal great-great grandmother, Helen Yale Smith, when she was known as Nellie to her parents. I've been reading family letters for three years now, as I've been writing a book about her parents, Julie and Morris Smith. Those are all fresh flowers -- many orange blossoms -- in her hair and on her white satin and brocade dress, trimmed with tiers of lace. The blossoms behind her must have cast a great sweetness wafting as she passed.

Nellie was marrying into a much wealthier family, and her mother, Julie, did everything she could to dress her daughter in the opulence that was socially required -- without having to sell the family carriage to do so.

Nellie needed not only the bridal wear but also traveling and at-home clothes that would befit her new life. With Julie shopping as carefully as she could, and making the clothing at home, the wedding gown, veil, shoes and other outfits cost altogether about a thousand dollars, which would be around $32,000 today.

On May 5, 1878, Julie wrote to Morris:
"The usual allowance of dressmakers and seamstresses all the week has kept me on the alert. Nellie’s last dress is nearly completed, but it will take another week of hard work to do up the underclothes and finish all the last stitches. You see, I have tried to have everything done at home and it has been very hard work. I have worked all the while and had my head full besides. But the things are prettier and have cost less than if made out [by a dressmaker’s establishment in Hartford] or purchased in New York City."

A minister once likened a wedding to making a mountain summit, and a marriage to a desert marathon. The wedding is on a set date.  You plan and provide for all kinds of elements to come together on that date -- venue, costumes, scripts, photography, transportation, food, flowers, starring and supporting roles. Party favors! Weather! Even if it was once a whole year away, that year melts and suddenly the day is right here. You have climbed and steadily gained altitude, and found things you needed, or needed to discard, along the way. And then -- It Happens!

After that, you are done. With the wedding.
But, with no set end date in sight, the marriage commences.

A desert marathon does not sound comfortable, so let's remember that there are many oases and camels and other wonderful resources already there, waiting for you.  There are many, many adventures ahead. But whereas the wedding date needed your drive and momentum and list-making to get there, the marriage needs something else.

It needs your ability to be in the moment and stay there, rest and abide there. It needs your flexibility. Understanding. Patient listening. Sometimes there are sandstorms. Sometimes you have to allow mysteries to remain mysteries until they clear up and you can move forward again. Sometimes what worked in your first ten years of marriage needs to change for the next ten years.

The marriage can endure as you both grow and change, and you can have a really good time with it. Maybe even a little list-making doesn't hurt.

I've been thinking a lot about marriage lately. Peggy's wedding is a mere nine months away. Mark and I will be celebrating 20 years married this October. And I've been writing the love story between Morris and Julie, pictured above. 

In their marriage, she raised four daughters in New England while he, youngest brother of many, had to spend most of every year at the family business in New Orleans. Boy, did they miss each other. They wrote more than a thousand letters to each other, letters that were saved. We get to read how much they loved one another. How hard it was -- and yet -- each of them grew into the adults they had to be. They often signed their letters, "I love you dearly." With twelve hundred miles between them, they made and kept a good marriage.

My daughter, Peggy, and her sweetheart, Monty, got engaged over the holidays.  We are all happy and excited for them.

I won't be at the wedding in my old Officiant capacity -- for the first time, I'll show up as Mother of the Bride. This turns out to be a completely different role!

What to do when facing a completely new role? I'm studying, of course. And Peggy is in charge. We had a launch meeting at the local breakfast place; we each have lists. Engagement photos, bridal outfits, tasting -- we're in for a fabulous, if sometimes hair-raising experience.

The accomplished, Bay-Area-based events planner, Alison Hotchkiss wrote what seems to be a quintessential planner, soup to nuts: All The Essentials Wedding Planner, and Peggy is working through it. She's also using Zola online.

This planning is stirring up memories of my own two weddings, very different from one another and from this one. And I'm remembering all of the hundred or so wedding ceremonies that I led as officiant. It really is a watershed rite of passage, a slow mystery -- becoming a married person.

I feel so lucky that The Wedding Officiant's Guide is again, at least for today, placing top in Amazon's Wedding ceremonies, vows and toasts category.  And fifteenth in Romance Fiction Writing Reference! Chronicle Books makes excellent books, and I'm proud to be one of their authors.

I've been building scaffolding around writing a book: supports to give my project many chances to succeed.

The first eighteen months of starting this book involved resting, wool-gathering, reading. Writing questions to myself in a small black journal dedicated to the book. Mulling things over. An apt image would be a large, shallow collecting basket for those fragments of herbs, bits of shiny stuff and strands of half-stories.

Another crucial part was taking a summer off from researching the book-- something that I could never have done in my corporate career. But I was so burned out; it was a huge relief to just be a human being and not a writer for three months. I spent hours outdoors. I painted with watercolors and swam, cooked, spent time with family and traveled. When fall came, I was rested and ready.

I had to get my house in order. I gathered all the books on my topic into one area. I printed some of my notes. I taped photos of my subjects to the wall in my office.

Next came the talisman. From Etsy, I bought and tied on an inexpensive thread bracelet as a reminder of my commitment to this book. I made a double square knot. Either the bracelet wears away and falls off, or the book is completed, whichever comes first. This is my own invention and I have done it for three books so far. Also in the magical realm, I remembered a lesson from writer and teacher Kate Evans and wrote a permission slip, posted on the wall, which allows me to say yes to the everything that helps me write the book, and say no to mostly everything else. You can call on ancestors and angels for help in the permission slip, too.

Another author/teacher, Joan Rose Staffen, recommends writing a manifesto, an extended permission slip where you note which hours work best for you, what your rewards might be, and what you have at stake. Both methods strengthen one’s writing self. As author and journalist Cathleen Miller often told her students, “Only YOU can write this book.”

Then more practical steps. I blocked out writing time during weekday mornings in my phone calendar. On the whiteboard I created an 18-month timeline, breaking the time into chunks for drafting scenes (relatively quickly, 12 weeks) and more time for revision and polishing. This schedule gives me December off for holidays and family. Also April, to take a breather before more edits.

On yellow pads I listed actions to take. The lists are not necessarily in order. As composer John Cage famously said, “Begin anywhere.” This year, for the first time, I opened a large monthly calendar on paper where I briefly log in, by hand, what I accomplished that day. I created documents for chapter one, the table of contents, the introduction, the bibliography, the chapter notes. And I created a tracking sheet for elements of the book, including the index and acknowledgements.

Here's a writing accelerator: I bought Ann Randolph’s Unmute Yourself writing class, 9:00 am Monday through Friday, to join anywhere from fifty to a hundred other people on Zoom while we write. This is my second go-round of structure, ritual, and fellowship. The class lasts a month and the low price is well worthwhile to jumpstart the morning writing routine.

Three weeks in, I’ve completed drafting Chapter 1, and parts of Chapter 2 and the introduction. Once I’ve finalized the table of contents, I'll review the notes from the past year and tuck them into a tickler file, confining them to their chapter.

The process I’m describing evolved over time. It gives me enough processes and rituals and tools to keep addressing the work, morning after morning. Each day that I log progress, I feel some satisfaction. I wrote, and the book is moving in the right direction. I hope something in this laundry list might help someone else as they think through how to attack their own next book.

Yesterday I reviewed my log of writing, reading and art-making since January, and was pleasantly surprised. My current projects are so much in their beginning stages that everything feels loose and mysterious, and I had wondered whether much had been accomplished at all. But there it is in black and white – scores of days of generative writing, mostly essays that can feed the projects, plus several months of reading (biographies) for research, and very recently, some summery days of plein air painting and collage. My studio is a chaotic, fertile mess. I flew to Seattle to soak up a writer’s conference. I pitched a lecture about Spiritualism and historic women in the San Jose area and landed a date at the Winchester Mystery House; I reviewed Marc Zegans’ haunting book of San Francisco poems, Lyon Street, and now the review lives in the summer print edition of Rain Taxi. What an honor! And poems I wrote about my Dad were published online in the summer edition of the excellent and tender Months to Years Literary Journal. That feels like a reasonable workload for six months. I am now my own boss, and my boss gives me Fridays off.

Late last fall we sadly learned of the death of my first husband, the painter, poet and cartoonist Momo. Father to my daughter and stepdaughters, Momo and I shared nearly thirteen years of art shows and escapades, first in the narrow alleyways of San Francisco’s North Beach, then in Eugene, Oregon, and finally in an outpost in pre-Google Mountain View. I’ve been reviewing those days, sifting through them. Nostalgia could come too easily – “those were the creative days.” But in fact, that’s not true. I was an active poet and performer when I met him, and had begun to paint and sculpt. When we met and married, through no real fault of his, I became a Shadow Artist, an important phrase by Julia Cameron. The spotlight was on Momo. I became his manager, curator, driver, dresser, and the one who paid the bills. I guess I needed all that experience – it grew me into a successful project manager and corporate communicator. But only after the marriage ended did I gain the energy to write books, and to create piles of collages for art shows. Some successful artistic couples collaborate to create a rich body of work – but it just didn’t work out that way for me.

Now I keep learning lessons over and over about how to stay a healthy and fully creative human being. For example, the writing and art won't happen unless I arrange conditions for the flow -- a place to work, the right tools, a time carved out on my calendar. And to say yes to my current projects means saying NO to so many other attractive things, especially in this "post-pandemic" summer when theaters,  concerts and fairs are newly revived, and travel beckons, and friends want to gather. No complaints about this abundance, but I'm working on balance. There's a new biography underway, another how-to book, a memoir and more. Thank goodness for all those years learning project management! Enjoy your summer.

(This is a refreshed earlier blog post)
“Eat the butter,” a friend joked when I posted a photo of sweet, buttery cookies that I’m “giving up” for Lent this year. She pointed to a news story in which Pope Francis recommended that we consider giving up indifference to others this year. I appreciated her wisdom, and that brief exchange made me want to delve deeper into the mechanics of Lent and other religious practices – Ramadan, Yom Kippur – that offer opportunities to pray, repent, fast, and do good works or give alms. Because of the universality of this practice, I’m removing Lent’s religious coverings to get a better look at the biophysics and metaphysics of these four exhortations.

Pray
In my part of the world, it’s early spring, and all sorts of agitations are afoot. The weather is changeable, windy, and wet; it can be hot one moment and very cold the next; the light is bright against black shadows. Baby lambs, children, teenagers and adults alike experience growing pains. In the university where I worked the students are in the “grind” part of the semester: the gloss of starting has worn off, and the fruits of their work are still months away. This season goes so much more smoothly when I add a daily session of quiet and meditation. While an ideal diet of quiet could be a half hour in the morning and another in the evening, I’m convinced that even five minutes a day is a good start. The benefit of sitting quietly, focusing on my breath or on a positive thought, is that it gives me a chance to come back to center in the midst of all the external agitation and change. Blood pressure drops, breath can deepen. A prayer of gratitude generally arises from that quiet.

Repent
To repent means to rethink something, and to try to do better. When I repent, I let my mind jump out of the track of an old habit and give it a chance to start a better habit. One year I tried to cure myself of unconsciously using (and throwing “away”) single-use plastics. Later, I wanted to get back to using public transportation. Baby steps work best for me, so I jumped on the light rail every Friday, and brought my mug with me to coffee shops.

Fast
Like many others, I have a sneaky part in my brain that sees Lent as a chance to lose weight. Lent is not about losing weight, but in a funny way, it could be. Think about how it used to be before planes flew produce around the world all year long. In the Northern hemisphere Lent is the season in which our larder of last fall’s potatoes and apples grows thin – we’ve been eating roots and heavier foods all winter and treating ourselves with sweets (Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day) as a spark of brightness in the long night. But now the ground is giving forth lettuces and young dandelion leaves, a tonic of sweet and bitter greens that fortify our livers. So the period of Lent has corresponded with eating less.

But the call to fast is also the call to sacrifice something and to take that energy and pour it into the next practice, which is giving generously. Energetically, these two practices are both sides of the one coin; less for me, that I may give more to you. So I am abstaining from what I call luxury foods, and also not eating until I am actually hungry. This clarifies my relationship with food (I’m one of those emotional eaters) and frees up my energy for the next practice.

Do good works/Give alms
I hope I’ve established that quitting something without giving to others is not the point of the Lenten or Ramadan or Yom Kippur practice. It’s not just about me – it’s about having a loving heart and helping to create stronger social ties that heal our world. When we intend to do good, at least in my experience, the opportunities come thick and fast. This year I contributed to World Central Kitchen which brought hot meals to flooded and war-torn areas. I supported an artist-friend's book and worked for a community fundraiser. Lent is also a great time to write encouraging letters to others. There’s no shortage of opportunity.

Forty-ish days
Finally, this is a season with a beginning and an end. We are human; we need discrete practices that approach and recede. This chance comes every year; this year I strive to do my best, and accept that it will be imperfect. Six weeks is a good length of time to practice new habits, and maybe my new habits will stick around even longer. 

But give yourself a fighting chance at this—it’s not enough to just decide what to do on Ash Wednesday and then hope for the best. Track the progress. Find a small notebook and give a sheet to each of your practices. Ignore the failures—take failure out of the equation. Instead, every time you have a success, make a tick mark. See how many marks you can amass in the next forty days. Build the good habits, and allow openness and the curiosity to see what other thoughts arise about yourself, about creating a better world. And be prepared for joy to arise -- not at the end, but all the way through.

This recent news is inspiring!
Governor signs legislation allowing individuals to become one-day wedding officiants

Governor Kathy Hochul today signed legislation (S.739A/A.6300A) into law, creating a new path for people over the age of 18 to apply for “one-day designation,” authorizing them to solemnize a single marriage on a specified day in the State of New York.

“Joining individuals in marriage is a beautiful moment that should be shared with an officiant selected by the spouses-to-be,” Governor Hochul said. “By signing this legislation into law, we are eliminating any barriers to becoming an officiant so friends and family members can share such a meaningful time with loved ones of their choosing and have their marriage recognized under New York State law.”

Legislation (S.739A/A.6300A) amends the domestic relations law to enable individuals to apply for permission to be designated as an officiant in order to solemnize a particular couple’s marriage.  New York is a premiere destination for weddings and this legislation is yet another reason for couples to celebrate here.

State Senator Alessandra Biaggi said, “Couples in New York will now have the opportunity to be married by their friends or family— allowing them to further engage their loved ones on their special day. I’d like to thank Governor Kathy Hochul for her commitment to modernizing our law, and thank Assemblymember Sandy Galef and my colleagues for their support of this legislation.”

Assemblymember Sandy Galef said, “New Yorkers joined in marriage by a friend or family member no longer have to worry about whether or not their marriage is legally valid thanks to the passage of this legislation. Thank you to Governor Hochul and my colleagues for your support of this legislation that will allow friends, family, and loved ones to share these meaningful moments without having a religious connection or political affiliation.”