Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Stamp of Approval

I like to follow threads. See how things are connected. So I’m wondering what George Washington has to do with our wedding.

The Bohemian and I took days creating and constructing each of our wedding invitations. Stamping, cutting, hole punching, tying. With each invitee, we took a moment, said their name, sent good wishes, then sealed and stamped their envelope.

I chose the bright bloom of the cherry tree blossom stamp to adorn our announcements. The image is mostly sprigs of pink with Washington DC’s National Mall in the background. Nothing against the monuments, but as I stamped our invitations I was hoping eyes would rest upon the nature not the edifices.

With care, we stacked each envelope and I went to hand-deliver to our neighborhood postal worker. She looked at our invites “You made your own wedding invitations?!” and saw that we had square envelopes.

“You know that size envelope costs twenty cents more to send?”

“Ok, well, can I get the additional stamp and I’ll just put them on right here?”

She had to go into the back room to find a sheet of twenty cent stamps. When she emerged, in her hand was a big square of repeated images of George Washington’s face.

“This is all we have for twenty cent stamps.”

There was George. First American president. His face, serious, almost sour. The background colors of his portrait, dark.

As I peeled and applied his face next to my fluffy, pink cherry trees, I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous contrast. With all due respect, how had this old relic of a man with the heavy face, ended up on my wedding invitation?

It began to dawn on me that he was being placed exactly next to the Washington Monument depicted in my…cherry tree(!)…stamp.

What was the story forever associated with George Washington in grade school? That as a boy he chopped down the cherry tree and his father came to him and asked him if he had, indeed, committed the act. And his infamous confession, that, yes, he had done it. “I cannot tell a lie.”

It’s probably a good thing the discerning eye of the Bohemian never saw our perfect invitations tainted with the contrasting presence of a founding father. When I get home I explain to him what happened. He wonders about the essence of the man. Not having been privy to much US history in the Czech Republic, I give him my generic George Washington 101.

He was the first president. He cut down a cherry tree but couldn’t lie about it. He had a sprawling estate called Mount Vernon. Yes, he owned slaves just like all of the gentry of his time. Ugh…

The Bohemian tries to focus on the positive. After listening to me, he summarizes the associations: leadership and honesty. We agree to just leave it at that.

I can’t help but reflect on wedding lesson number one. Go with the flow.

Not everything will be exactly like you imagine. So, the dour face George Washington is sitting on your invitation to celebrate love and marriage. Whatever. Next.

I’m on to tent rentals and getting my wedding dress altered.

I don’t fully follow this thread, but I’ll rest with the theme of honesty (one of my most cherished qualities in life).

Let’s just say we got the stamp of approval, the Bohemian and I. That our love is real. True.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 1 Comment

The Pruning

I’m not going to start the day getting down on myself. But I am inspired to do better.

This is what happens, living with the Bohemian. I just watch his modus operandi and simply wish I could conjure such relaxed grace.

Take yesterday, for instance. He was on his bike and riding to the trees before 7am. Where, upon arriving in the grove of beauties, all stretching limbs beyond 20 feet, he spent eight hours pruning them down to less than half that size.

At the end of the day, for the first time in a month, he’s home before dark. As usual, he’s sun-baked, sweaty and smiling. With this extra daylight, he’s ready to venture with Jeb and I on an hour-long drive into town. The mission: I’m purchasing ribbon for our wedding invitations. Jeb’s hopeful for a new pair of shoes I don’t want to buy. And we have some food supplies to pick up at the big box store I hate to love; Costco.

Without skipping a beat, the Bohemian showers, gets dressed and asks “When are we going?”

I’m guessing he’s inspired to check out a new pair of loppers at Sears.

The reality is, he comes to town, but never looks at landscaping tools. Though he does spend twenty minutes in the ribbon aisle choosing the color and texture of the three-inch tie that will adorn our invites. When I’m stuck between two colors he suggests, “Jess, just get both.”

Jeb tries to be patient but is wiggley with anticipation in the potential of new shoes. We still have a grocery shop and the Bohemian wonders how late “Famous Footwear” will be open. He offers to take Jeb on the shoe mission while I get food.

All chores complete, by the time we’re driving home it’s eight o’clock on a school night and we’ve passed Jeb’s bedtime. He’s hoping he can wear his new shoes in the house and he’d probably wear them to bed if I let him.

I’m edgy from a long day and we still have groceries to put away. Jeb’s bouncing around the house, juiced up on his new shoes. I’m the task master in the kitchen, ushering Jeb into the shower, consolidating oatmeal into jars and making space in the cupboards.

I feel the tension in my body. The race with the post-bedtime clock, pressuring me to get my child to bed. I try to remind myself to be grateful for all of the food I’m putting away, rather than making it a chore that’s tiring me.

But I feel my grumpiness. I am even annoying my own self. And the Bohemian? He’s just drying dishes, unloading groceries, whistling some tune – like a Christmas carol, or “When the Saints Go Marching In” or humming some Czech tune with the only word I recognize being “krásný”, meaning “beautiful.”

In the shadow of this man so full of ease, I feel like a fool. It’s not his judgement, it’s my own. I can see him looking sideways at me, dish towel in his hand. He’s smirking just a bit and giving me those eyes. Those reminders, gentle and loving, watching me in my little tension bubble.

Ugh! God, I love him for this. And the reflection is all too painful. I just feel stuck in my funk. He wants me to laugh – it’s all absurdly silly. But I get caught, searching for my humor.

I am ridiculous in my version of “tired”, knowing the Bohemian pruned 20 foot trees in the tropical heat all day, then embarked on a shopping trip for moss-green ribbon and skate shoes. By 9:30pm, he’ll still be going, sitting down with me, fully present, sampling color schemes for our wedding invitations.

Eventually we’ll both be in bed, putting our heads on the pillow and sighing a few big sighs in the low light.

I am being pruned. Humbled. Cut down to size.

I’ll say I’m sorry. That I’m doing my best.  That I want to do better.

And he’ll say, “You’re doing a lot, Jess.”

And there we are. Two people, in love, in life, in the twenty-first century.

Two freedom-lovers who have both lived on the fringe at times, owning virtually nothing, exploring the world in earnest. And now, here we are on the householder’s path seeking the way to enjoy while upholding all of our obligations.

It seems like the key to life. Enjoying, no matter what it is you’re doing. I want this. I am learning.

You could say I’m being self-depreciating. Or that maybe all this Bohemian admiration is simply because I’m smitten. Draw your own conclusions. But from my point of view it’s pretty simple.

I want to be cool. Like the Bohemian.

courtesy of Laurel Fan

 

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Simple Invitation

You know, I looked into it. Found a few wedding checklists just to see if I was forgetting something.

I sensed what I’d be getting into with these lists. Not really meant for us.

There will be no limo driver, no corsages. But I did want to make sure there was no major wedding party basic we’d simply overlooked.

To my surprise, Martha Stewart says we’re right on track. Looks like we’ve covered the essentials, or at least considered them. So now, we’re all lined up, cued to send the invitations.

Right…the invitations. Hmmm… Paper. Money. Trees. We discussed this, the Bohemian and I.

“Is it crazy just to send a bulk email and ask everyone to reply with an RSVP? We could save paper, money, time…”

This is me, the bride, going ever-practical. Trying to question every wedding event assumption and break out of all bridal boxes.

“Well, it is kind of nice to have something in your hand. It’s a special day, you make something special for it…”

This is the Bohemian, the man of simplicity, who only owns four pairs of socks. If he’s suggesting we have paper invites, maybe I should mellow on my box demolition.

So I soften to the invitation idea. Run into the Artist by the kale start table at the farmer’s market. She asks me if I’m up for hand stamping cards. By golly, I think I am, and I set out on the quest to create a design.

I spend 48 hours sketching flowers, mandalas, feathers and borders. I offer them up to the Bohemian one at a time but he keeps sending me back to the drawing board. Finally, after showing him my tenth intricate spiral of vines and mosaic patterns, he makes a small suggestion.

“Jess, just keep it simple.”

Oh, right. Like this whole wedding thing. Simple. Of course.

So I drop all the doodles, pick up the foam and decide to experiment. No pressure, just see what I can cut and paste to a piece of wood to make my hand stamp.

And then, just like that, there it was. Stamp fashioned. Done.

Well, the invites aren’t done. But close. They’ve actually been fun. There are layers of stories just in the creation of these announcements. Each one, touched, cut, pressed, punched, tied, sealed, stacked.

Our own little crafty creation will soon be shuffling around in the sacks of postal carriers, far and wide.

And the RSVP? Email, please.