Nola’s Wedding Dress & Miscellany

Of Wedding Dresses And Other Things

“As a writing man, I have always felt charged with the safekeeping of all unexpected items of worldly or unworldly enchantment, as though I might be held personally responsible if even a small one were to be lost.”
–E.B. White (who penned perfectly the conundrum behind my writer’s block conflict).

I’m dithering as I attempt writing about my sister’s wedding, and all the miscellaniousness surrounding it. I haven’t found an angle. A wedding is an ineffable marker along the ever changing path of endless possibilities. Heights, depths, sweetness, not-so-sweetness, tragedy, comedy, mystery. Especially mystery. Who knows how the story will go from here? Also. There are human beings in wedding stories. Significant to me, not only because I embrace the preciousness and ageless eternalness of souls (which I believe every human being has), but especially because I have so much regard for the humans that could be featured in this wedding story. Particularly my sister. She is dear to me. What could I possibly write that would begin to explain her…Nola-ness?

So, even as I’m writing this, I’m deciding. It would be best to at least share random notes, rather than continue to stall in the hopes of attaining profundity. Dither no longer. Cough up the Rest of The Story (not the first time I’ve done this, probably not the last), lest it disappear in a vacuum.

First. The wedding dress.

Compared to the bigness of such an event, the dress really is just a detail. Theoretically, a bride and groom could find themselves thoroughly hitched and happy without it (and could afford to buy a bedroom set). But the dress was my responsibility, so it was a big deal to me. And I will be honest, the responsibility is a scary one. Potentially, a wedding dress seamstress could cast at least a small shadow over a bride’s wedding day. Picture this: An otherwise innocent seamstress, caught in a mis-stitch, is horrified to find herself morphing into an antagonist of only slightly less looming proportions than Cruella DeVille, Jezebel, Malificent (the fact that run-of-the-mill seamstresses object to cruelty to people and animals may be our only saving grace).

Thankfully, thankfully, any error on my part was compensated for by Nola’s loveliness. Which isn’t just surface loveliness…it bubbles up from her ebullient depths. Her laugh is infectious. Her curls are disarming. She flirts endearingly. Is inclusive in her charm, sincere in her sentiments. So even though the wedding dress ensemble might have looked tidiest if she’d held very still (the dress was actually in three parts: a long skirt, a chemise/blouse, and a gauzy cropped jacket), we all delighted in Nola’s antics, and no one cared that the jacket slipped up in the back.

Bride and Groom:

I think the pictures speak for themselves. Easy to see Nola’s personality, and as her sister, I am happy that it is just as easy to see how the groom adores her. My slanted focus on the bride may not be fair to the groom…I’m confident he’s just as loveable as Nola. But he’s only recently my brother-in-law; I like him well enough, but I am first of all my sister’s sister. And am sincerely grateful that he appears to love her so well.

Gathering

I love how distinguished my dad looks (pictured here walking with my daughter).

I think it is hard for him to relinquish his daddy protectorship, especially of his baby, but he is gracious about it. Hard for my mom too to watch her last daughter leave the nest, with a man whose second passion (to Nola) is windsurfing (my mother is nothing if not politely conservative in her views of risk taking). She also is gracious.

The bridesmaids were lovely. My eight year old daughter, wistfully remembering a long ago stint as a flower girl,  asked me what bridesmaids are. Maurya explained for me: they are like ladies-in-waiting to a queen; existing mostly to set off the queen’s beauty and power. Tuck THAT away in your hat, little Nora darling—who IS the fairest one of all?.  Meanwhile, Nola’s bridesmaids really are good friends to her.

We all helped decorate my parents’ yard for the reception later that evening. (Some had been at it all week, mowing grass, watering, planting flowers, pulling weeds, cleaning up, arranging pots, helping Nana pick berries). Kind of hectic. No, super hectic. Plans were vague. Supplies a bit scattered. There was last minute gathering of gauzy filmy stuff, and of sapling weed-willows (from my parent’s acreage). Last minute designing and installing of bowers and cake table. A wonderful converging of feminine/masculine: “whole picture” scheming, focused fix-it-ness.

Community support was staggering. One friend made a cake, another arranged flowers. A friend loaned a vintage truck for a Bonnie and Clyde backdrop. Friends brought treats and snacks to share, many stayed to help in the kitchen. Most of Nola’s siblings (and their families) were there. My dad’s brother Barry and his wife Marlene traveled to support the family. Sweet.

And later, everyone danced. Traditional at Wilson weddings. Gopher holes and wasp traps notwithstanding.

(Other details: Dress assembled from three patterns: skirt:  Butterick 5917,  dress A or B, with a lace overlay .  Chemise: New Look 6035 view C, plus lotsa lace.  Jacket:  Vogue 8885 view A.  Photos taken mostly by David Stark. Some may have been taken by Frank, and a few by me.)