Cheryl & Chris's Wedding Blog
Thursday, October 28, 2004
We're getting a new car. The hows and whys are a bit of a long story with some folks who would probably like to remain anonymous. But we pick it up this weekend. We drive to Bowling Green in my beat up, much abused Cavalier, and return in this snazzy new ride.I spent last night ransacking my house looking for the title to my car, and at last unearthed it sort of where it should be. It was in the right file folder, alas the file folder wasn't in the right place. So after about an hour of panic, but lots of paper clean up, we had what we needed to trade my car in. I feel positively decadent, my car is only 5 years old. Compared to Chris's cars (one 15, one is 9), well as Chris says, the Guatemalan pool boy buffs the Cavalier with lambskin every day. Anyway, it will be cool to have a lux new ride!
In honor of the Cardinals, and their 4 game domination by the mighty BoSox, I give you "Casey at the Bat". It was better than the tearful rant I mentally composed on the way to work telling of the joys of Cardinal nation.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day,
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair.
The rest clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast.
They thought, "if only Casey could but get a whack at that.
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake;
and the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake.
So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy sat;
for there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all.
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted,
and men saw what had occurred,
there was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
it rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
it pounded through on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat;
for Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place,
there was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
no stranger in the crowd could doubt t'was Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
and Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey.
"Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand,
and it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity, great Casey's visage shone,
he stilled the rising tumult, he bade the game go on.
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew,
but Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
and they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds, with cruel violence, his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
and now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And, somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout,
but there is no joy in Mudville --
mighty Casey has struck out.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
A friend sent a few wedding jokes:
Whether a man winds up with a nest egg, or a goose egg, depends alot on the kind of chick he marries.
Trouble in marriage often starts when a man gets so busy earnin' his salt, that he forgets his sugar.
Too many couples marry for better, or for worse, but not for good.
When a man marries a woman, they become one; but the trouble starts when they try to decide which one.
If a man has enough horse sense to treat his wife like a thoroughbred, she will never turn into an old nag.
On anniversaries, the wise husband always forgets the past - but never the present.
A foolish husband says to his wife, "Honey, you stick to the washin', ironin', cookin', and scrubbin'. No wife of mine is gonna work."
The bonds of matrimony are a good investment, only when the interest is kept up.
Many girls like to marry a military man - he can cook, sew, make beds, is in good health, and he's already used to taking orders.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
I called the store at which I'm getting my dress, and they said it will ship from Maggie Sottero on Friday. Score! Happy Dance! Well to a certain degree. On the downside, that means in a week or two I'll be going through the whole, tragic measurement process again. If anyone needs me I'll be out running a marathon.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Eeeks….just signed up for the first of the five CPIM tests. So next Tuesday Nov 2 I’ll be sweating up a storm. Send drugs.
So back to the wedding weekend. When last seen, our bridezilla had zipped around on Saturday with curls in her hair talking girly music things with the organist. Sunday AM, I figured out that when I brushed the curls out and tucked them behind my ears, it didn’t look too terribly bad. As a matter of fact, it looked like I would have fit in nicely in Northhampton MA. So off we (that’s Mom & I, not the royal we) went to the shower with my east coast hippy chick look, short hair, chunky glasses, all part of a master disguise, which I couldn’t possibly recreate on my own. It was certainly different, to the point where people didn’t recognize me for a while. I think that it got easier when I finally took the glasses off. What the heck, it was kind of fun. Anyway, it was a fabulous shower. It was so nice to see everyone, some of my relatives I haven’t seen in quite a while. With being out of town, basically if the cousins don’t show up for Christmas and Thanksgiving, I don’t get to see them. And I’ve been terribly remiss in visiting with some of my neighbors on my 48 hour trips to StL. My cousin hosted, and she has a beautiful house. I’m so happy for her that things are going well. If people “deserve” their luck she definitely deserves the good fortune. She and her husband are really sweet. Anyway, to put it bluntly for the shower….we made a haul. I’m not kidding. We’re still trying to figure out how to get all of that stuff back to Pittsburgh. I did manage to get a blanket back, and some new towels. No longer will I hang myself on the unraveled edges of my towels! Although as Mom pointed out, it will cut down on the ability to wear my towels like a superman cape.
The other cool thing that happened was that I handed off the tiara to my Aunt Eileen at my shower. We took some measurements, and she’ll make my veil. That’s really superduper neato wow cool!
And now I’m back in Pittsburgh, sans curls…and back to panicking about certification. It’ll happen! It has to!
