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Dear Barb,
On Saturday night, Ellen and I in one car, then Spence, Spencer Charles, and Chris, in another, wound past horse drawn carriages and around one way streets in downtown Indianapolis to Buca di Beppo's for what Ellen called a welcome/rehearsal dinner. The dining room sparkled with colored lights, echoed with laughter, and sported photographs of nuns watching TV or dodging each other in bumper cars. Most of the fifty-four out-of- town wedding guests had arrived before us and arranged themselves around separate tables. As Ellen's photographer, I chatted with everyone, requested folks turn chairs, and hand-waved them to scrunch closer. Food was
plentiful. I could eat the spaghetti marinara and a lemon buttered chicken breast that the chef cooked without lemon butter. The fragrance of the rich desserts–cheese cake and chocolate fudge cake–drove a friend with allergies out of the room. As the dinner progressed, drinking adults grew happier, boys got sillier, and baby grand niece Addy–trying to stay awake–screeched louder.
Love,
Janet
Dear Millie,
For Ellen and Chris' wedding celebration in Indianapolis, I rented all three suites in the Harney House Inn B & B, formerly a Victorian boarding house. Renovations made the home luxurious. On the second floor, Spence and I took the garden room complete with spa tub in the bedroom, space for yoga in the living room, as well as paper, metal, and glass flower decorations. Spencer Charles slept down the hall in the Riley room, named for James Whitcomb Riley whose home was next door. Ellen and Chris stored wedding decorations and games for youngsters in Charlie's room
because their room was another flight up–the spacious penthouse with large kitchen. Between the welcome dinner Saturday night and the medieval wedding Sunday afternoon, we didn't have time to soak in the tub, cook in the kitchen, or even sit on the porch and listen to the music from a street festival on the corner. But we enjoyed a scrumptious breakfast that the inn keeper's daughter prepared accommodating our dietary restrictions–even pancakes made with applesauce for me.
Love,
Janet
Dear Lori and Eliza,
Before Ellen and Chris' wedding celebration at The Sanctuary on Penn, I helped decorate. For the reception room, Ellen and I found a glass vase to hold wands with bells and blue ribbons. On the gift table, we spread the tree poster to collect guest finger prints and set a wicker box for cards. Chairs and tables draped with black cloths awaited in the great hall. We put mulling spices on everyone's plate. Ignoring “the staff can do that,” I corrected the backwards knife and fork placements at half the settings. Ellen went off with her friend Deva to dress and braid her hair. I slid plates under lanterns Chris had spaced, adjusted all the spice bags so the writing was right side up, and asked the director for three missing knives. Then I scattered light and dark blue flower petals. Ellen had said to put them on any way that looked good to me. I place and replaced them so they'd look random. The overhead fan helped.
Finished with the table, I joined the friends in the bride's dressing room to change into my green medieval gown and to let Deva braid my hair.
Love,
Janet
Dear Aunt Audrey,
For new clothes, Spence chose a white peasant shirt and brown vest like Wat Tyler who led the 1381 Peasant's Revolt in England. I selected a green peasant dress with embroidery down the front. Why? We wanted to support our daughter Ellen and her husband Chris at their wedding celebration. Because Ellen remembered many weddings where guests complained, she planned something different. She created a medieval event complete with meatilicious feast and encouraged guests to dress in
appropriate attire. Most did. Men came as knights, monks, crusaders, pirates, peasants, and assassins. Women wore long gowns with bell shaped sleeves or skirts and blouses. Clothes tied or laced–no zippers or buttons back then. The Pittsburgh Wells family came in costumes. Little Addy wore a Red Riding Hood outfit, but she didn't want to wear the hood. Making the effort to find costumes invested all guests in the event–no complaints–and made conversations with strangers easy. One guest said, “I wouldn't have missed this for the world.”
Love,
Janet
Dear Nancy,
Since a Lafayette, Indiana judge had married Ellen and Chris in January, their ceremony for family and friends this October didn't need to be legal. They planned a medieval wedding with a handfasting ceremony. After guests sat at long tables in the great hall and nibbled on salads, Ellen and Chris followed by her friend Deva and Chris' friend Jeff, entered and climbed to the dais. Using a hand mike, Ellen thanked the guests for coming, explained that handfasting was a common law marriage or betrothal in medieval
times, and concluded that's where we get the expression “tying the knot.” Jeff, who'd carried in the blue cord, wrapped it around Ellen and Chris' hands. Deva tied the knot. Chris raised his arm, and so Ellen's too, to a cheering crowd. I'd imagined the couple eating with one hand, but the tying didn't last long. As the applause dwindled, Chris pulled his hand out of the cord and fastened it to his belt for the rest of the celebration.
Love,
Janet
Dear Robert,
When guests arrived for Ellen and Chris' celebration at The Sanctuary on Penn, a whole pig was roasting in a smoker in the back yard. The pig was the inspiration of Chef Rosie, who had jumped up and down upon learning that Ellen and Chris were planning a medieval wedding. The pig sweltered through welcoming conversations, salad consumption, and the handfasting ceremony. Then four cooks rolled him around the sanctuary to the front door. The disc jockey announced "King Swine Vale" and played a trumpet
voluntary. Revelers, dressed as pirate, peasant, woodsman, and monk, carried the pig into the great hall. They set the pig on the table to the applause of hungry guests. Rosie waved her knife, poured flaming spirits on the pig's back, and arranged fronds at his side. To keep his top in tact throughout the feast, Rosie dug meat from the underside. I asked for a bite of the apple. She cut one from the platter rather than the one in the pig's mouth. It was crisp. None of the apples had roasted in the smoker.
Love,
Janet
Dear Jim and Julie,
Ellen and Chris' medieval wedding celebration included a meatilicious feast. The great hall had two long tables covered in black. Forty-two chairs were tucked under each. Forks, knives, and napkins framed the plates. Salads were served before the handfasting ceremony, but dinner was spread on a mid-length table in the middle. The disc jokey called revelers to fill their plates and warned everyone, “Don't eat the roasted turkey or the whole salmon.”They were decorations -- not food. Trays of Cornish hens, slices of
salmon, racks of sausages, and cuttings from the whole roasted pig gave guests plenty of choices. Potatoes, the size of the small ones that I sort out of our potato harvest to use after others are consumed, were roasted in their skins. Squash and mushrooms dominated the vegetable plates. People washed their food down with drinks from the bar and chased it with a slice of vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry wedding cake. Everyone wore a satisfied smile, especially the person who said, “I'm glad we didn't have to eat with our fingers.”
Love,
Janet
Dear Reid and Claire,
The disc jockey for Ellen and Chris' medieval wedding flowed with the action. He announced the the bride and groom for the handfasting and cued a trumpet voluntary for the entrance of the whole roasted pig. While guests feasted, he played Bulgarian music, tracts from movies set in medieval times like Lord of the Rings, and “A Day in the Life” because Beetle music was as close as the groom's father got to religion. But the DJ really hit his groove with the dance music. He started slow and invited guests to
dance with the ones they loved most–motivating Spence to ask me.For fast songs, the DJ watched what my friend Darlene and her daughter Deva were dancing to and played similar tunes to keep them on their feet. He also played a moderately paced put-your-foot-here-and-there piece that enticed half the guests including our nine month old great niece Addy. While an aunt held Addy up, she stomped, waved her arms, and glowed with an open mouth grin. The DJ was such a success that he blasted music an hour longer than planned.
Love,
Janet
Dear Phil, Erin, Griffin, and Frances,
Ellen bought toys and games for the children at her medieval wedding–plastic swords and shields, crayons and castle coloring book, fairy tale mad libs, and cards. Boys played with the swords a bit but mostly entertained themselves. After the feast, the two that had dressed as archers, with bows and suction-cup-tipped arrows, shot at the paneling below the chair rail. Other boys asked for turns. Two preschool children clutched fists full of wedding wands, shook the bells, and swirled the blue ribbons. The younger archer ducked into the photo booth each time it was empty–leaving five strips of himself for the wedding album. The older archer led children in lap running. They hugged sanctuary walls, climbed steps, dashed across the dais, jumped off the other side, and circled the sanctuary again. Nine month old great niece Addy shrieked, clutched shoulders of walking relatives, and sat in Spencer Charles' lap to chew her
book. As the festivities wound down, adults played cards, and Spencer Charles and I colored a horse trotting through vines.
Love,
Janet
Dear Jeanette,
When Ellen and Chris planned their medieval wedding celebration, selecting a cake wasn't easy. They didn't want a traditional newly wed cake, and castle cakes were too expensive. After looking at numerous samples, they chose a sun and moon design. Ellen and Chris requested vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry for the three cake layers, white frosting for the sun side, and dark blue for the moon. But, the baker said the dark blue frosting was
not a good idea. The frosting would require so much blue dye, it would turn guests' teeth blue. After the third “not a good idea” response, Ellen asked what the baker would recommend. The baker suggested spraying a thin coat of dark blue frosting on top of light blue frosting. That worked. Decorated with yellow suns, blue moons, and blue and white stars, the cake got oohs and aahs from revelers. Like a traditional wedding, Ellen and Chris cut the first piece and fed each other. Then the staff cut the cake for the guests. According to those who could eat it, the cake was tasty.
Love,
Janet
Dear Mom Dot,
After airport crowds, welcome dinner chatter, and medieval wedding excitement, our visit with Marlee was calming. We started with a leisurely walk in her garden. Several years ago, she and her husband Norm transformed their too-steep-to-comfortably-mow front yard into terraced beds. Marlee spent hours in her garden and said, “I like to weed.” Cock's comb was the brightest flower. Home grown pumpkins with squirrel dental impressions sat on stone steps. A bed of rich black soil waited for transplants from her sister Ann's two hundred something day lilies. Two
cats pranced through the plants. Deer fence surrounded the yard with a take-down, put-up section across the driveway. Norm and Ann had helped Mar prepare a huge spread for lunch. After filling plates with chicken and sides, we sat on the sunny front porch. We talked about old friends, past and future trips, and the Class of '66 Mt. Lebanon fiftieth high school reunion next September. Norm wants Mar to go so they'll visit us then and take a leisurely walk through Wells Wood gardens.
Love,
Janet
Dear Phil and Jane,
The second Saturday of October, Spence and I traveled to Indianapolis for Ellen and Chris' wedding celebrations. First, as we drove to Pittsburgh through mists, we gazed at Jupiter and Venus glowing over the crescent moon and watched night fade into day. Our US Airways flights to Philadelphia then to Indianapolis were bumpy but on-time. I was set to embrace US Air as our favorite airline. But, coming home Monday, an
overzealous Indianapolis gate agent took my small backpack saying it wouldn't fit in the bins. When we boarded the plane, there was lots of empty space in the bins. The stewardess sighed, “I wish they wouldn't do that, but I can't do anything about it now.” After a three hour lay over in Philadelphia, we flew to Pittsburgh through a rainstorm that bumped, jerked, and tossed the airplane like a rag doll. Worse, my backpack was still in Philly. We stood in line to fill in forms with the lost baggage agent. Her easiest question was–“If the tag got lost, and we have to open your bag, what's distinctive inside?” My green medieval peasant dress.
Love,
Janet
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