Ten days...

"Journeys end in lovers meeting.” - Twelfth Night

“I can’t wait to put that ring on your finger,” the D.E.B. said, waking me with a kiss in the soft light of morning. After days and days of rain, the sun has finally deemed to shine in these parts, and the birds outside our bedroom window twittered joyously in their dawn chorus.

Ten days from today I will be Mrs. D.E.B., and what an amazing journey it has been. I have surprised myself with the level of calm I seem to have found in these past few days. I have no doubt that all of that will change drastically next week, but at least for now, there is peace of mind.

Things are coming together beautifully. I had a very successful meeting with the Vicar (He is lovely.) about the flowergirls, and he has even taken on board the possibility of me entering last during the bridal procession.

Monday of last week, I turned up at the rectory with flower girl baskets in hand, to show the Vicar what we intended. Just the Vicar and I made our way across the churchyard for our trial run with the flower petals – PLOP! I got splattered by a low flying pigeon. “Well, that’s good luck!” the Vicar laughed. He has a great sense of humo(u)r.

Good omen it was indeed. Our meeting went very well. The Vicar himself sprinkled bits of lavender and rosebuds from the baskets during the test run. Most importantly, he tested how easily the bits could be swept up.  Looking up at me, as he knelt down with broom and dustpan in hand, he declared: “Yes, I think we can manage this.” Without restraint, I threw my arms about him in a shower of thanks.

I left that meeting with a very strong sense that all would indeed be well, that everything would be fine. And so it seems. The “Jam Making Maven of Barford” stepped in and saved my sanity and the wedding favour project (Blueberry and Lavender Jam); and all in less time that it would take me to make a cup of tea.

The quilt saga has yet to be fully addressed, but will receive my full attention this weekend. (I’m learning to focus on what I can control, and on one thing at a time.)

There is a turn of phrase I hear a great deal around here: “Well, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?” This bit of British truism is advice to which I am trying to adhere. I had a true test of this last Friday.

Last Friday was my “Day of  Reckoning” – my final fitting at Eternal Bride in Warwick. This was the moment for which I have been running, swimming and sweating for nearly five months.

Of course, I arrived late. I wanted to achieve the “full effect,” so I booked a last-minute appointment beforehand at my wonderful, newly discovered hairdressers (Pardeep at Toni & Guy in Leamington Spa) and got a haircut. Dashing back to the car, I grabbed some flowers from a street vendor on The Parade, a spur of the moment “thank you” gesture for Morag, the alterations/seamstress at Eternal Bride.

Little did I know, these flowers would be so well deserved. I zipped carefully from Leamington to Warwick (becoming ever so confident driving the Tank these days!), and sprinted into the shop.

Poor Karima had been sat waiting for me for twenty minutes (I should have got flowers for her, too!). Morag’s next client had already arrived so I took Karima for a coffee until Morag was free again.

I envied the lemon cheesecake Karima had ordered with her coffee, but I was good and resisted. “Think of the dress,” I thought to myself. Finally, we went back to Eternal Bride and climbed the stairs to Morag’s loft. I was ready for my Cinderella moment.

I skipped behind the curtain, and slipped into the bottom half of the dress with ease. Then leapt out of the changing area, giddy with expectation, holding my ivory, silk bodice in front me. All smiles, I stood before the mirror awaiting further assistance.

Morag moved swiftly and came to stand behind me, taking the ends of the bodice in her hands. I watched in the mirror as Morag and Karima’s smiling faces slowly turned from gleeful delight to shock and dismay.

“What have you done?” Morag said softly to my perplexed reflection in the mirror. I looked to Karima. “It won’t close,” Karima said with tears in her voice. “That’s impossible,” I squealed. “There is no way I have put on weight,” I said, trying not to cry.

“No, my dear. You haven’t put on weight. You’re not fatter. You’re bigger. Broader.” Morag said, completely confounded. She grabbed her measuring tape to confirm the fact. “Well,” she sighed, “You’ve taken two inches off your hips, one off your waist, and you’ve added inch to your torso. In short, my dear, you have reshaped your body type.”

I was stunned. “I told you you were working too hard!” Karima insisted. “What have you been doing?” Morag demanded.

“Running, lifting weights and swimming. Two and a half hours a day. Five days a week, plus Pilates on Tuesday afternoons...” I said meekly.

Morag needed to sit down.

With the wedding roughly two weeks away, I stood before her, a bride in an altered dress that did not fit. A dress, once several sizes too big, now a size too small. A bride who had come to her as a pudgy, but shapely petite, who had rebuilt herself unwittingly in a blind fitness frenzy. 

I stood before her now, looking like Michael Phelps in a dress.

 “What are we going to do!!?” Karima panicked. 

Morag stayed silent and thought. I could see the designing wheels turning in her head. This woman has designed her way around the world, costume dramas for the BBC and countless other stage and screen productions. This was surely, hopefully, just a minor blip on her landscape.

“It’s going to be a long weekend.” Morag said finally.

She then shared her strategy for rescuing and essentially re-designing the dress. She’s a genius. I am so sorry that she will need to go to so much trouble, but I think her interventions will not only save the dress, but will even improve upon it.

This was an utterly harrowing experience, but I think even this, too, will be one of those “It worked out even better than I expected” moments, when all is said and done. 

Well, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?

 

Bridal breakdown #4-6

Ending a relationship is never easy, so I decided to let Eva down gently.

"I quit!" I declared as I walked into the Leisure Club gym this morning. "What? What are you saying to me?" Eva's impeccable comprehension of English seemingly had failed her at this pivotal moment in our discourse. 

"Eva, I can't do this anymore. I can't take it. I can't run another mile, swim another stroke, or lift another weight. None of this is working anyway!!!" I stammered, on the brink of tears. "How do you mean? Look at you. You are so much better." said Eva, refusing to let me break up with her. 

"Eva," I said flatly, trying to remain calm in order that she too would see the solid reason behind my decision, "at this point the only thing I am losing is my sense of humour, and my will to live. Please let me go." 

"You are being so silly," she said, a twinkle in her bright, blue Polish eyes. "Chodz tu," ("Come here.") she said, leading me across the gym towards the dreaded, evil, evil treadmills. "We both have weddings, so, we work together."

Eva is getting married in October, so she understands--albeit from a distance--a measure of the terror that I am feeling. We ran side-by-side on the twin treadmills, with Eva pushing the controls of both machines higher and higher, faster and faster. 

My will to live evaporated completely, and it was all I could do to hang on and not fly off the menacing machine. "Think of dress!" Eva shouted 8 minutes in, as I panted and sweated. "Think of Darling English Boy!" she said as she increased the speed on my machine, and hers. "Think of shun-high!" "Shun-high?" I panted, confused. "Yes, Shun-high! Keep going!" Eva encouraged.

Twenty-five minutes later, I wobbled off the treadmill, and collapsed on the exercise mat, more sure than ever of Eva's determination to kill me. As I lay there, eyes closed, Eva went and switched the music on the gym sound system. Suddenly, '90s techno-pop gave way to the sound of a soft, melodic love song: "From this Moment On."

Suddenly, I sat up. "Shun-high?" I asked in Eva's direction. "Yes," Eva replied, "Shun-high Twang. Would be beautiful love song for 'First Dance,' no?" 

I was utterly exhausted, but couldn't help but smile as I watched Eva waltzing around the gym. My sense of humour may just be on the mend. 

My way

Yesterday was my day of reckoning: my official “first fitting” at Eternal Bride in Warwick. It was the end point of a journey that began a little over 10 weeks ago.

Expectations were high, and not just mine. Oh, no, this has been a group, nay, village effort from the beginning. I’m not kidding when I say that everyone I know—and even a few people I don’t know—helped me in this. Yes, it does indeed “take a village” to achieve some goals.

From Sonya, the Barford “Lollipop Lady” shouting: “C’mon, get joggin’, then!” across the road at me, as I walked (or crawled some days) to the gym every morning, to “the Monday-Wednesday Swim Club” (Beryl, Judy, Julia, Jackie 1 and Jackie 2) keeping me honest in the pool, I have had a dedicated team of supporters.

I’ve had overwhelming support and encouragement from people I didn’t even think were paying attention. One morning, as I dashed to the gym between cloud blasts, I ran into a very stately Barford resident who I refer to as “The Gentle Gent” – because he is. In his mid to late 60s, he is absolutely lovely. I adore the way that whenever I encounter him around the village, he dips his head ever so slightly, and touches the brim of his hat as he says, “Good Morning” or “Good afternoon.” (That’s from a different time and place, isn’t it? Someone should start a campaign to bring back some gracious manners.)

“How are the fitness efforts coming along?” the Gentle Gent inquired, softly puffing on his pipe. “Very well, thank you.” I said politely, more than a little surprised that he had had any notion of my “Dress Quest.” (Clearly, news travels fast in Barford.)

“Well, keep up the good work. I have no doubt that you shall be even more beautiful and radiant on your special day than you already are every day.” A smile, a slight nod, and another touch of his hat brim as he walked away. I smiled to myself all the way to the gym.

Of course, I have already mentioned my wonderful gym mates who have been there quite literally, all the way. Eva wasn’t letting me off easy on “Fitting Day,” no way. This was our last stand, and she wasn’t joking.

“Did you come in on Tuesday?” she said, meeting me at the gym door. Eva has Tuesdays off, and I think she fears that I might slack off when she’s not around. I reminded her that on Tuesday I go to Pilates at the Village Hall, do a bit of work on my arms in the gym, and then go for a swim.

“And besides,” I explained, “Mireck gave me some exercises to do as well.” “Mireck?!” Eva said with surprise.  I closed my eyes and nodded. Mireck is one of Eva’s compatriots, a brick wall of a man who covers the gym when Eva’s off duty.

Mireck is another “I-had-no-idea-he-was-even-paying-attention” person in the Dress Quest. I went in on Tuesday, after getting my butt kicked at Pilates, only to have Mireck stop me as I grabbed a towel and headed for the changing room: “Wait, you want to work arms for dress?” he said. I was speechless. Mireck is towering, Polish body-builder. His muscular arms are roughly the size of my legs. I was hesitant at first—I don’t have any body-building ambitions—but then I thought, if anybody knows about arms, it would be him. So, I let Mireck put me through my paces with free weights in preparation for Fitting Day.

On the day, Eva had me huffing, puffing and sweating like never before in our last ditch effort before my afternoon fitting.

“Today’s the day!” the “Monday-Wednesday Swim Club” chimed in unison as I sank into the nicely heated pool. “And haven’t you done well? I think you’ve lost a bit of weight, haven’t ya?” Judy said in a kindly mothering voice. “Just be careful, lovey, I reckon you’re not going to have any energy left for your honeymoon if you keep up at this rate!” cheeky old Beryl said slyly, giving us all the giggles. I just blushed and dove under the water… 

So, D-Day had finally come. I rushed home from the gym to get ready for my trip over to Warwick. I was gleeful because I knew I’d worked hard. And besides, I had a back-up plan for extra support: Trinny & Susannah’s “Magic Knickers.”

But, like so many things I have assumed throughout this Bridal Quest, my best laid plan, came to nothing. I ripped open the box of my T&S magic pants, and tried them on excitedly. I caught sight of myself in mirror, and it struck me. I had huffed, puffed, panted, sweated and cried my way to today.

My victory was going to utterly sweet, and I deserved for it to be utterly mine. I looked myself in the eye and I realized, that there was no way I was going to give this victory to (or even share it with) Trinny and Susannah. I did this.

Okay, I hadn’t lost as much weight as I’d hoped (5lbs in total lost), but I am leaner, meaner, stronger and fitter than I was 10 weeks ago, and maybe that’s all that really matters. I’ve also dropped a full dress size, on my own, and without a latex body suit.

I did it my way.

A mirror, or a friend

Two kilograms.

That’s roughly 4.4 pounds.  Or, as I prefer to see it: That is two, whole bags of caster sugar!! That is how much weight I have lost in precisely seven (7) days.  Yes, I have succumbed to the “I’m-a-bride-and-I-must-get-fit” mindset. But, thankfully, I’m not obsessing about it.  I have started a new fitness regime, and I love every minute of it! I’m actually having fun (so far).

Last week, I joined the Gym/Leisure Club at The Glebe Hotel. I’m not a huge fan of gyms and clubs, but this one is different. It is very small, and very friendly. With a lovely Hobbit-sized swimming pool that looks “crowded” with more than three people in it. There is a sauna (my favorite post-workout reward!) and a steam-room. The female trainer is a really sweet, Polish girl called Eva.  (Interesting point: There is a growing Polish population in the UK. Stratford-upon-Avon now has a Polish market on its high street. Fascinating, for a small market town in the Midlands.)

Eva is awesome. The first day I went in she asked me what my goals were, and I told her: “I’m getting married this summer, and I need to look less like the world’s shortest sumo wrestler.”

“No problem.” said Eva. “We work together. We make it happen. You believe in you, whatever it takes. Dreams are free.” I walked away from my first grueling weigh-in with high hopes. Eva’s words propelled me forward, so earnest, so simple, so inspired.

It was only later, after I’d showered, that I noticed the motivational posters on the women’s dressing walls. More tasteful and mature than the now legendary kitty-cat on a washing line-“Hang in there, baby” posters, these depict healthy, active people pursuing daring and challenging pursuits, complete with pithy catch phrases, such as: “Believe in yourself.” “Make it happen,” and, yes, even “Dreams are Free.”

Okay, so Eva gets no points for originality, but she scores big in her training prowess. She’s incredible. No shouting, no bullying, no showing off. She’s calm and soft-spoken, and takes a “gently, gently” approach to training. She has managed to create a fitness plan that I can actually follow. She has kept everything simple and user-friendly for me. My workout is a mix of running, light strength training and swimming.  This works for me, as I’m the sort of person who gets bored with monotonous routines. And, I’m in and out of the gym in an hour and a half each day. Brilliant! And that includes a post-swim snooze in the sauna. As with monotony, I’m not a: “3 hours in the gym” kind o’ gal.  I just won’t go. I want to walk in, do it, get it done, and move on to the rest of my day. I think I may just manage to stick to this one.

There is method to this bridal madness, you see, as of yesterday, I have found (and purchased) The Dress. As with so much in my life, this major occurrence happened purely by chance.

I decided to treat myself to a day out in Warwick yesterday. Stratford-upon-Avon will have to forgive my infidelity, but I have fallen madly in love with Warwick, the county town of Warwickshire. Anyway, I have decided—as if I have time—to start a wedding quilt.  So, a trip to “The Quilter’s Den” in Warwick was a must. I have meant to start this quilt project for several days, but kept getting distracted by the dress saga.

Short note on dress saga: I had placed myself on another “thrift challenge” to see if I could find a gorgeous dress without breaking the bank, i.e., "Vera Wang on a Budget". So, as noted previously, I have been wasting hours upon hours of my life trolling the depths of eBay, preownedweddingdress.com, myrecycledwedding.com, among other sites to try and bargain hunt for the dress. 

This is frustrating process to say the least. Frustrating, and in my case, pointless. Until someone actually invents Hobbit-Brides.com, I’m wasting my time.  I’m petite and curvy, and so unlike an average slim-Jim Jane, ordering a dress online and expecting a perfect fit is a pipe dream.

But, I’m a clever girl, and I had a cunning plan. I would take myself a proper Bridal shop, have a gander at styles, figure out what works on me, and what doesn’t, then proceed with the quest armed with the requisite knowledge.

Then, the unexpected. And, perfection.

The shop I’d chosen was “Eternal Bride” in the Old Square in Warwick. I will confess I was completely overwhelmed and nervous as I walked in. Would they be nice? Would I feel trapped by “a hard sell”? Would I be conned into buying something I didn’t actually like, or want, just for the seek of freedom and escape?? And goodness, I was doing this all alone!

My expectations could not have been more far from the truth. The staff at Eternal Bride: Debbie, Morag and Peter were incredibly kind and friendly. They gave very good advice, but more importantly, they listened to me. After an initial chat with the wonderfully effervescent Debbie (she has a great job, and she knows/loves it), I was handed a pair of white archivist’s gloves (much to the glee of my librarian heart) and was let loose on my own in a beautiful sea of wedding gowns.

To some, this may sound like an incredibly lonely experience, but I truly enjoyed it.  It had a similar and warmly familiar feeling to me, like when I am doing historical research in an archive or special collection. Handling precious things with care, taking your time to peruse and access the details.

So, it was just my opinion, and the dresses. And without any sort of high-pressure “suggestions” from shop assistants pushing a particular line. I took my time and made about a dozen selections, which I indicated by putting a bright blue tag on the hanger.  I went back and reported my findings to Debbie, who then had her colleague, take the dresses down for me and placed in a dressing room.

Looking back on it, I have no doubt, given her keen eye; Debbie knew which dress was going to work for me from the beginning. But she let me come to that conclusion myself. Her instructions to me had been incredibly simple and helpful: “Pick out whichever dresses you like for whatever reasons: the color, the bodice, its personality, etc.”

Of course, the dress that I had chosen purely for an example of a color/shade I like, turned out to be the And all, I mean ALL the dresses I had assumed would be solid choices for reasons of style, cut and design never even made it out of the gates! I had envisioned billowy organza, with a deep v-neck, and off the shoulder straps. Each and every one of the dresses of that type made me look like a smurf drowning in a giant pavlova.

I want the D.E.B. to recognize me when I walk down the aisle. I want to look like myself, I want to be comfortable. I also want to be elegant, sexy and fun. That’s a tall order for one dress. But, I think I found it. Made of scrumptious ivory, Thai silk, the dress --fitted strapless bodice, sheath skirt, with detachable train--was designed by award-winning, British designer Helen Marina, and part of her “Vintage Collection”: Helen Marina Bridal Wear UK

As for “sticker shock” – there was sticker shock, indeed! This couture creation was actually ON SALE, so I came in UNDER, yes UNDER, my target budget. Yea, Team! Now, if only everything else could work out so beautifully and economically.

Back to Eternal Bride…it was an incredible, incredible experience. And sure, there are loads of people in my life whom I would have loved to have been there to share that moment with me, but there was also a real sense of accomplishment in my doing this very major thing on my own. I felt very, very grown-up.

But, that is not to suggest that I didn’t misbehave. Debbie is a real sweetie, she put me at ease and we giggled and howled all afternoon as we waded through the virtual mountain of dresses. Ah, what fun it is to be a girl! And the staff at “Eternal Bride” made me feel just like a princess…

I will admit that I did get a little teary when I saw myself in “the dress.” It finally, finally dawned on me that I’m going to be a bride. That I’m actually going to marry my D.E.B. at last.

So, the quest now is to tone up—and turn my “hams” back into “arms”—as much as I can before my first fitting in March. It’s good to have a firm deadline. And it’s even better to have a team of helpful and gregarious supporters in my corner, to be the mirrors and friends I need.

p.s. The DEB and I have a catering/reception meeting tonight, with one of our top choice venues!!

A very British statistic?

Sunday Morning reflective mood has me thinking about “the dress” I've planned to wear for New Year's Eve, and how I hope it will still fit by the time the holidays roll around. I tried it on the other day, and phew! I was in. But this got me thinking...

When I lived in NYC, running was routine feature of my life. I didn’t go fast and I didn’t go far, but at least I went. I lived less than 5 minutes from Washington Square Park, and each day, come rain or shine, began with a daily gallop.

The distance around Washington Square Park is .53 mile. At my best, I was doing 3-4 miles before breakfast at least 3 days a week. I loved that gallop, though I hated dodging traffic, inhaling limitless exhaust fumes, and the general lack of spatial awareness amongst NYC pedestrians.

I cannot describe the feeling of sheer exhilaration each time I whizzed (or wheezed) past the Washington Arch. It always felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I miss that Arch.

“Superstar Writer Friend” (author of Professors' Wives' Club) is working on a new book called Crossing Washington Square. Seeing the Arch on her webpage nearly made me weep. I miss that Park, it inspired me and challenged me.

I don’t know why I find it so hard to get motivated to run here. I live in one of the most idyllic spots on God’s green earth, and yet I just can’t be bothered. A recent survey in the UK showed that twenty-one (21%) percent of British women who do not take any form of exercise during the week; and yet fifty (50%) percent of British women are either “very happy” or “fairly happy” with their bodies. I’m in danger of becoming a very British statistic.