The Breakdown

"SOMETHING is going to go wrong," they all said. "You just have to accept that and move on when it does. No wedding is ever perfect."
This was repeated to me countless numbers of times, and after a while, I began to regurgitate it like a practiced schoolgirl. "I know something is going to go wrong, and I'm going to be fine," I would say proudly, touting my laid-back personality as though it would protect me from stress and emotions. "I can handle ANYTHING!"
All these thoughts were far from my mind as I neared the rental house we had reserved as our reception site. After all, nothing had gone wrong yet, and problems were the last thing on my mind. My groom and I awoke from our power nap when we were 20 miles away; we had dropped him off with his groomsmen since. Now my driving bridesmaid and I were three miles from the house. We were running a little late; but not to worry. It was only by a few minutes, which felt like nothing compared to the hour I had run behind for the ceremony.
And then the car in front of us hit their brakes. He must be turning, I thought almost unconsciously. There was no other reason to brake there. The only problem was there were no roads to turn onto, and as I looked, I quickly realized that there was a dead stop for all traffic traveling on that road. The very road the reception site was on; three miles ahead of us. At least ten cars lined up before us, immobilized. Cop cars flashed red and blue to warn drivers not to pass through.
We waited for about five minutes and witnessed as several vehicles in front of us spoke to the officer and promptly U-turned out of there. A pedestrian passed by, saying that there had been a terrible car accident and that a woman was being resuscitated on the side of the road. My stomach did flips. This was the road all of my friends, family, and wedding guests would be driving down at this particular moment. My heart raced. I tried very, very hard not to panic.
So we decided that the police officer holding up traffic may have mercy on a bride driving down the wrong side of the two-lane road in order to find out what was going on; and we were right.
We merged onto the oncoming traffic lane and crept towards the front of the line. I got out and approached the very surprised-looking policeman to ask what was going on, veil, high heels, and all.
"We had a fatality," he said almost too casually, not quite meeting my eyes. So the resuscitation had failed. I freaked and asked him to tell me who it was. I told him my guests would be coming down this road and I had to know if it was somebody I knew. "I can't tell ye that," he said firmly. I asked if I could walk down the road to see. The accident was around a curve, and I couldn't see the car, ambulance, or any other details. Not that it would have helped; everyone was in a rental car anyway. "Do you really want to see that on your wedding day, sweetie?" Asked a good samaritan woman nearby. God damnit. She was right. "No," I huffed, frustrated. The officer looked me in the eye for the first time, the pity plain on his face. He told us the quickest detour and with a last longing glance toward the direction of the accident, I got back in the car, and we were on our way. My mind raced and I felt sick. For some reason, I couldn't get it out of my head that maybe it was my mom. I played through my head what the implications of that would be; the guilt I would carry. I had a hard time breathing and my bridesmaid and I spent many tense, silent moments. She tried to reassure me. I spoke only to direct her around the detour in an attempt to keep my cool. Cell phones did not work here. The location was too remote, so it was impossible to call anybody. Not knowing was excruciating.

I realized at this point that my car was low on gas, and seeing as how I would be driving six hours South to Los Angeles with my groom just hours later, I needed to fill up now. Mercifully, we found a small gas station, and my bridesmaid pumped it for me.
When she was outside of the car, I had my first moment alone since I had gotten up at 5 AM. Even as my stomach turned itself over repeatedly, I practiced my yoga breathing. I told myself I had no reason to kill myself with stress unless I knew beyond a shadow of doubt who had been killed in the accident. I told myself it was needless worry and that I didn't want to destroy the entire mood of my wedding day. I stretched. I relaxed slightly, but my stomach was still in knots.

We finally reached the house and I rushed from the car. I let out an enormous sigh of relief upon seeing my sister-in-law; a few friends and especially my mom. Not everyone was there yet, but only a few people were unaccounted for. Two bridesmaids, and several family members had not shown up yet, but nobody had received a distressed phone call. And that was very welcome news. In the end, that unfortunate accident victim was just a stranger traveling down the wrong road at the wrong time.
I took a deep breath and told myself it was fine. I felt immensely better; but now it was five o'clock, and the reception had "officially" started. Half the guests were missing due to the traffic jam; I had been late for the same reason. My parents had saintly put out the tablecloths, napkins, and any other components they could without my input. They didn't know the whereabouts of my centerpieces (under the bed in the bridal suite) or how to set them up. So the reception had begun with half the guests present, and nothing was done to the site yet. Blessedly, the traffic jam which caused the delay also gave us a grace period to catch up.

And then problem number two came along.

I can't remember the exact wording, but my dad cautiously approached. He sounded remorseful even having to pass along the news. "Jodi, the caterer didn't bring any dishes." Wow. Shockingly, it packed almost no punch after the car accident. Dishes? Who cared? At least my guests were alive. "....but we found enough dishes in the house. There were a few places where we had to put down plastic silverware, but we had plenty." I could have kissed him. They had immediately resolved it without my input; and thank god it was a five-bedroom house with enough dishes for forty people. That was a small miracle, because otherwise my tri-tip, chicken picatta and garden pasta were about to become Indian food.

That crisis over, I began to send out my orders to the multitudes of helping hands. I showed my dad how to recreate my centerpieces to put on all the tables. I handed off the bottles of distilled water (to prevent bubbles,) floating candles, pink rose petals and river rocks. He listened intently, and this stoic man of common sense and practicality went so far as to ask me how many of the silk rose petals he should float in the water with the candles. That, my friends, is love.


My chauffer/photographer/bridesmaid put on her decorator hat. Nosing my sister-in-law out of the way to ensure it was done right, she strung up photos of myself and my now-husband in our many travels along the paremeter of the wraparound porch. Just the night before we had hung a multitude of paper stars from the ceiling along the porch, leading to the end where we had set up white curtains for a photo booth. The effect all together was better than I could have hoped for.
As this was happening the caterers set up the buffet line, guests began to arrive with increasing numbers, and my groom had shown up. He reminded me we needed to set up the PA system, one of the few remaining components. I handed him the ipod that I had laboriously loaded with meticulously chosen songs in a very particular order. I also gave him the component cable, and he went straight to work to put it all together for me with the help of my dad.

Then problem number three came along. My husband hurried toward me with that same reluctant look on his face that my dad had worn minutes ago. "Jodi.....this isn't the right cable," he said plainly. The iPod would not connect to the sound system we had paid so much for. It was now a really expensive microphone.
My dad had passed by at this moment and stopped to discuss the problem with me. I steeled myself. The blasting beats of Flo Rida, Beyonce, and the softer Sinatra and Norah Jones tunes would just have to be quieter. So be it. "Wait here," I commanded, and returned shortly after a quick scavenger hunt. "Use this. I'm going to roll with the punches." My dad could not have looked prouder. He beamed. "That's right," he said, happy to see that I wasn't going to melt down over a cable. It was my wireless ipod dock that we had used for the ceremony. The speakers were smaller by a factor of probably ten. Although the music would whisper through my reception rather than shout, I was fine. There was no booze anyway, so it wasn't like it was spoiling the wild party of a lifetime. It was taking a low-key reception, and making it more low-key. Big deal.
Except, it did, and still does, bother me more than it should. I suppose it was a result of the many, many days I spent on that stupid playlist; arranging and rearranging the songs, editing the final cuts. My inner perfectionist really agonized over this aspect of my wedding. And in the end, few even heard the songs I played. Many people danced; but the ones that did, did so fleetingly. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I retreated to my bridal suite feeling overwhelmed. Bridesmaids and family swarmed around me, endlessly asking questions, needing input, or accomplishing some goal. My husband came in. God bless him, he took one look at my face, wrapped his arms around me, and after asking me if I needed a minute, ordered everyone out; including a lingering bridesmaid after the others had gone.
Almost as soon as they were all gone, I unexpectedly burst into tears. It was official; I had arrived at my meltdown. It was the first time I cried all day. Mostly, it was leftover anxiety from the car accident. But the extreme social pressures and time crunches were also taking their toll.

I buried my face into my groom's chest, sniffling uncontrollably. He ran his hands through my hair soothingly. He kissed me on the forehead, and told me everything was fine. He said that I had thrown him a more beautiful and perfect wedding than he could have imagined, and that I should be proud. He massaged my shoulders until the tears stopped. I asked him if I looked okay. "You look beautiful," he said. I knew I had married the right person. I think I loved him more in this moment than I ever had before.

Somehow, magically, my makeup hadn't been ruined. I guess the painful $200+ I had spent on it at Sephora was finally proving itself worthwhile. It had miraculously stayed put the entire wedding day; through waterfall downpours, wind gusts, and summer heat. Now it had passed the cry test. Pretty impressive, actually.

So, after releasing every iota of stress like water through a broken dam, I allowed the chaos to return to the bridal suite - and my day. The family and bridal party were ushered back in to complete whatever tasks they meant to accomplish. I took my husband's hand and we walked out to the dance floor. In the past hour, the place had transformed. Dishes, centerpieces, candles, stately bottles of sparkling cider, and an entire delicious buffet spread had appeared. The wedding cake had been lovingly decorated with white roses, piped, and topped with the topper I had impulse-bought at Michael's on sale for two dollars. (At Michael's it was a placeholder at best; on the cake it was actually quite nice looking.)

Nearly every guest had arrived.

An hour after the reception officially began, I asked my maid of honor to play the song for our first dance; Norah Jones' "Come Away With Me."

We sweetly prom-danced our way through the almost excruciatingly slow song. What seemed slow and romantic at home now felt endless and nerve-wracking. My dancing ineptitude was on display for all to see and it was hard not to care. It helped to lock eyes with my partner and enjoy the moment. I am immensely glad I did that instead of rushing through the motions to get it over with, for this was a moment I will not get to relive. There was no room for insecurity. The song gradually ebbed and ended. I hugged my husband and traded him out for my father.

The intensity was almost too much to bear while I danced to "Cinderella" with my dad. I had been a tomboy, sure. But I had also been a girl. My dad had gone outside of his comfort zones over and over again for me throughout my life. A perfect example of this was that one birthday when I was a little girl, he baked me a birthday cake and meticulously formed it into a standing castle. Another year, he had hung a net of balloons from the beams in our ceiling, and released them all at once to rain down on my slumber party. I was his only daughter: a daughter that they had never expected but always wanted. A daughter that showed up long after they believed they wouldn't get one; born nine years after my youngest brother. He had always treated me like his own princess. So this song was pretty intense for both of us.

He was a shade of red I had never even seen before. I inherited this from him. When I get embarrassed, or overwhelmed, I become a shade of red that borders on purple; the same color he was now. I had a hard time meeting his eyes for any length of time for fear of crying as we swung around. We chatted a little, joking about our inability to dance. He brought my attention to his feet to tell me that he had forgotten and put on his sneakers before the dance, and we both laughed about it. I didn't mind at all. The train on my dress had long been made filthy from our outdoor adventure wedding, my hair had lost all its curl, and I was just happy to be there. We'd had more than our fair share of differences in the past, and this was therapeutic, like starting a whole new relationship with him. Another chance. It was a beautiful thing. I spun around once or twice for good measure, to entertain those watching. Cameras clicked.
And just like that, the song and dance were over.
I gave him a long hug. I turned to the guests that had crowded around us. "Dinner is served!" I announced. Chatter resumed, and the wave of loved ones started towards the buffet line. This was my chance. I could eat!
I headed the line to the buffet with my husband and we made our own plates. Somebody carried mine back for me so I could hold up my train. I got a few bites of tri-tip before the chaos started. Because now, the formalities were over. I was fair game for all the guests to approach.

When are we doing toasts? Who is going to return Abe's tux? Can you pose with us for a picture? Why did you choose this song for dinner music? Did you see that they're setting up the photo booth? Jodi? Jodi?
The questions came like lightning bolts, punctuating each bite as my food grew colder and colder. Loved ones pummeled me with kindness and good intentions.
As I managed to get a grand total of four bites of my dinner, I arranged tux returns, appointed my comedian brother the MC for the evening, snapped at a beloved friend for lightheartedly criticizing a song choice (sorry Misty, I was hungry) and dealt with several other issues I can't remember. Somehow everyone had already finished eating, and I was still dealing with details and not my stomach.

Toasting began. Some of them shocked me in their sincerity. A few were unforgettable. Guests laughed and cried. I was surprised at the high number of toasts compared to the number of guests. Thankfully, the dry reception was good insurance against drunk or inappropriate speeches. Some of my favorite moments were when my husband's only sibling, his sister, said that I was so perfect for him that "it was like she summoned me."
A bridesmaid and close friend said among many other amazing things that seeing us was "watching love in real time." Originally she had said she wanted to yell "penis" at the end of her speech. I had to nix that after realizing I had kids and sensitive conservatives present. Even my brother, the indelicate comedian, kept his speech clean and sincere for me. I know that was hard to do for both of them. That's why I love them so much.

So after the well-wishes it was time to cut the cake. My brother made the announcement in his booming entertainer voice to capture everyone's attention. I gave up entirely on the cake-cutting song. Who needs it? And brought my groom over to the cake table. We gripped the knife in the usual awkward dualistic fashion and brought it down through the soft layers of buttercream-covered german chocolate with pecan ganache. We attempted to cut through straight down to the second tier for probably a full thirty seconds before realizing there was a plastic separator hindering our efforts. Laughing it off, we sliced out a chunk from the top tier. Static energy rose while people began to snicker about whether we would smash it in each others' faces. Of course, we didn't. We are waaay too low-key for all that.

The cake was delicious and I looked forward very much to having a piece to myself. I figured that most of the smaller issues had been dealt with, so I could enjoy a hearty slice of cake to make up for the lacking dinner.
Wrong.
I got three bites in, and that was it. Conversations and the demands of the day were just too many. I was sad about this. I was really, really looking forward to that cake. Probably more than I can express here. I mean, seriously. It's the most expensive cake I would ever buy. And it's German chocolate. I want some now, just thinking about it...

But now it was time for the bouquet toss. One bridesmaid smacked it out of the air with a vengeance. We did a re-do. She got it again.

Then the garter toss. After I had told all of my friends that my husband wouldn't know to climb under my dress, much less do it, he did. And he got the reaction he was hoping for.


I had dance music quietly playing on the ipod, as loud as the dock would go. Nobody touched the dance floor until I went out and got on it. Then they tentatively would come out, sway around, dance with one of my nephews, or act silly for a song or two and leave. But mostly they did it for me, I think. Now that I think back to it, I think most people got up onto the floor for a fleeting moment or two. Never did the number of people on the floor exceed six or seven. My big brother did his best to drum up enthusiasm. I couldn't help but crack up at his insistence that "the dance floor is STILL open...." I didn't take it personally. People were tired. I dragged them all over the place that day.
But the mood was calm and joyful. It perfectly reflected my desires for my wedding day. Who am I kidding? I am not a partier. I get drunk MAYBE a few times a year. I crave peace and contentment. And my reception was ruled by those sentiments. It was beautifully calm and happy. To see everyone you love gathered together, so far out of their way, just for you is a dream realized. It was humbling. I felt immense gratitude for my life and the people in it.

The energy diminished slowly. People found their way to the photo booth that a friend had planned on the other side of the country before the wedding, and meticulously set up herself during the reception. She had sacrificed her boyfriend's laptop for it; setting it up on a tripod, placing a mouse strategically on a railing as a remote trigger. The software she had sought out took classic four-frame photos with a slight delay to mimic the real deal, and showed you the entire strip before commiting them to memory for later publication. It was pretty damn cool.

The curtains, borrowed from our bedroom, had made a perfect backdrop. And happily, my box of silly props were noticed and heavily utulized. Thanks to my nephew for unknowingly providing many of those props; and thanks to the dollar store for the remainder. Which reminds me...I need to return those to my brother...and get those photobooth pictures...but I digress.

The photo booth seemed to be kind of the last stop for most guests before they started their rounds of goodbye hugs and honeymoon wishes. It was a nicely interactive way to end things. Bittersweet emotions began to flow. Car doors thudded, and the sound of engines crept down the road and away from me and my wedding. It was getting dark.
Although a few guests remained, I had to take leave. Family and the wedding party helpfully took down decorations without my knowledge. It was a great relief to go outside with a list of to-dos, and find them all done. I transferred, arranged, and doled out items to be taken to my brother's house while I was away. I ransacked the house in search of overlooked items, gave instructions for disposal or arrangements for centerpiece components, and removed items from the car that couldn't stay in the trunk for a week. Somewhere along the line, I had changed out of my dress and body shaper. It felt like ages until I was ready, my belongings were properly arranged, and I was satisfied that nothing had been forgotten.
It was now pitch-black outside and rather late. Only family and friends staying at the rental house remained. My wedding was over. Oh my God, what a relief!

I was exhausted and hungry. My day had begun 17 hours ago. I had been in the car for nearly five hours that day. I had just experienced the most emotionally and physically exhausting day of my life. I had vowed my life to another person. So had my husband.

The only problem was, we still had a six-hour drive ahead of us that night. So we mustered all of the energy we could. We peeled ourselves from our family, some of them crying. We parted from people we knew we would not see for at least another year, if not more.
And we sat down in the car and closed the doors. A flurry of double-checks for items and suitcases ensued. We turned on our GPS, loaded the Los Angeles hotel address into it, and plugged in our Ipod to the most energetic music we could find. Then, in a stunned silence, we began to drive.

I don't remember if he drove first or if I did. It was more of a blur than anything else that happened that day. We were out of Mariposa; then we were out of central California. Then we were on a long, endless highway.
Somewhere in the middle we stopped at one of the few open gas stations. I bought a Coke and some chips (I still hadn't really eaten!) and Abe picked out some sustenance for himself.
I remember talking to keep each other awake, but not the waterfall of exuberance you might expect. We shared bits and pieces of the day with each other that the other had missed. Mostly, we just sat in disbelief at all that had just happened.

Fast forward to one hour outside of LA. I'm driving, and I start noticing funny things happening. Like seeing giant hallucinations of spiders on the road. And seeing cars in the corner of my eyes that did not exist. Headlights flashed that weren't there. Whether it was emotional overload, malnutrition, or just sheer exhaustion, I was losing it. My eyes drooped uncontrollably. I felt like a schizophrenic zombie.
I had to pull over. The immediacy of the situation was frightening. I felt I was putting us in very real danger by continuing to drive. So I found the nearest exit, pulled over to a gas station, used the opportunity to fuel up, and then I made Abe get behind the wheel.
I miraculously stayed awake to keep him awake. We made it traffic-free into Los Angeles. It was three o'clock in the morning.
Then we drove through the darkened city until we found our exit. A short time later, we could see the waterfront. I leaned forward in my seat.
Three stop signs, and we saw the most beautiful sight possible: A shining, glinting backlit sign that read, "Crowne Plaza Harbor Hotel." It glowed like a beckoning spectre.
Oh my God. We had made it. Alive.

My stomach rumbled. My head drooped. But my groom drove his bride into the dropoff area of the hotel, and I went in to check in. It was now 3:30 AM.
I found out that our park & sail package entitled us to free valet service, so he didn't have to park. We sluggishly unloaded our belongings from the trunk. We were so ready to be in our room.
I was told that there was a problem with the key card machine, and we would not be immediately provided with a key to our room. Fine. Just get me the damn room. We had to wait on a security guard, who seemed to be taking his sweet time, to escort us to an elevator, down a hallway, and finally, blessedly, into our honeymoon suite.
We dragged our luggage partially into the room, enough to shut the door. We sighed loudly.

Twenty-three hours after my day had begun, I could rest.
We somehow managed to not let our night end right then and there. We took our wedding day out with a bang rather than a whimper. And with that, the death of a McClain was complete, replaced by the birth of a new Mrs. Hudepohl. We fell into a near coma holding hands. Everything faded to black.

And, as the old song goes, the best was yet to come. For the next seven days we would be drinking, dancing, and wandering the decks of an enormous luxury cruise liner alone in Mexico. Life was good.

Only Halfway Through

My guests were slowly dissolving into the abyss of the park, and my husband of one hour and I were still reeling with the contents of a brown-bag lunch settling into our stomachs.
Unthinkable multitudes of vehicles were pouring into the Glacier Point parking lot and it was our cue to get the hell out of there.
We are a down-to-earth couple; there was no stretch limo, horse-drawn carriage, Hummer, tank, or fighter jet waiting to transport us in attention-grabbing style. Me, my groom, and two bridesmaids piled into my unassuming, sub-compact Toyota Yaris and headed back down the dead-end road in a strange sense of normalcy. I remember almost none of what was said; some discussion about where the missing bridesmaid was (avoiding my chauffering bridesmaid's aggressive driving tactics,) and perhaps some recap of the events that had just unfolded. We may as well have been driving to the mall. I was drunk on joy.


I cherish this about my friends. Can I say here, that I am no social butterfly. I strike toxic friends from my life like poisoned stingers from a bee, and over the years this amounts to many people, leaving few. It takes a special kind of person to befriend an egotistical, antisocial writer type with a dark sense of humor. Harder yet is to maintain said friendship without feeling offended at the months-long stretches without contact, the overly-sensitive defensiveness, and forgotten birthdays and events due to my memory span of a goldfish. The ones that stick with me, as a result, are cool and calm. They take jokes in stride, do not get bent out of shape, and do not attempt to take over the collective agenda. They do not take my sarcasm personally and they keep me in check. They are, in a word, awesome. I was engulfed by appreciation for this throughout my wedding day; and this quiet, collected car ride was no exception. They kept me grounded and even neglected their own needs (mostly minor ones, like eating) to act as my posse until long after the sun had gone down on my wedding day.

In keeping with this awesomeness, they agreed not to split off to enjoy the park on their own, but to stick with us and pose for endless photos in as many locations.
Our first stop was Tunnel View; probably the most iconic and surreal views of Yosemite valley.


To our great surprise, we found a parking spot and my family there.
We went through the various assortments of friends and family through what was now becoming a familiar set of poses. Again I was picked up, put down, arranged, and groomed. Fleetingly, I noticed my father had changed into casual hiking clothes. After another round of congratulations from strangers and attempting to peel away from my guests, we made it to the car and headed down to the next stop: the aptly named Bridalveil falls.
The parking lot overflowed with a surplus of humanity one might expect at the Matterhorn line at Disneyland in July. We circled three times looking for a parking spot; so did our trailing groomsmen in the car behind us. We narrowly avoided several accidents and pedestrians, finally somehow finding two parking spaces.
A few slams of the car doors and we were on our way up the trail toward the falls, passing through the most concentrated round of congratulations I'd heard all day. We almost had to be rude to escape the endless small talk that would have resulted in anything more than a hurried "thanks."
At this point I began to notice the pavement had a dark streak of wetness that began to grow in width the nearer we got to the falls.
I should mention here that Yosemite had experienced the longest winter in nearly a decade; and that snow melt was significantly more bountiful than I had ever seen. Waterfalls appeared that did not usually exist; and the existing iconic ones overflowed with ground-shaking and deafening force.
We passed by some of our guests, an entire family of old friends from the groom's side. Their mother sweetly handed me a sweatshirt with concern in her eyes. "You might want this," she explained. "It's pretty wet up there." Sure, I thought. It's usually pretty misty at the base of these waterfalls. It was nice of her to warn me, in case I hadn't known.
Turns out, I didn't know. We walked further, and a literal stream of water began to run over my toes. Flooding icy streams of runoff inescapably covered the asphalt and my feet. My three-inch heels became soaked. Holding up my dress became difficult, and my gown became a miniskirt as I hiked it up almost around my waist to protect the dirt-browning train. The air was heavy and thick with moisture; large water drops turned from mist to near rain around our heads. Finally understanding the purpose of the sweatshirt, I gingerly put it over my head to keep what few curls I had left in my hair.
We were at the base now, and shouting to hear each other. The 600-foot waterfall thundered; the tourists made jokes about the bride at bridalveil falls. We posed twice, and nearly jogged back down the path towards dry land. Wow. My dress had unpredictably become a bathing suit.



Thankfully, traffic was heavy. So as we drove into the mass of cars we had plenty of time to dry. We missed a few stops thanks to traffic merging impossibilities, but finally made our way into a parking lot near a beautiful meadow in the center of the valley. Bright green grass laid the foreground to Yosemite Falls. We exited and headed toward the grass.

Some of my favorite and most stunning wedding photos came from this part; and it was an outstandingly bright moment in a blur of beauty throughout that day. Relaxed and too tired to feel anything but happy, we held onto each other while our last real photo session transpired. Insects fluttered nearby and hikers pointed. The sun shone on us warmly and a slight breeze rustled through the tall grass. It was a very zen kind of moment.



Until, that is, my bridesmaid/photographer told me to stand still, and approached, calmly saying "there's a bug in your dress." I knew she was doing her best not to freak me out. But as I looked down at the lace overlay resting on top of the heavy ivory fabric, I saw what appeared to be eight black legs squirming for freedom between the two layers. Oh, god! A spider is trapped in my dress!
She grabbed my arm, thankfully stopping my automatic reaction to swat (and splat) the thing forever into the fabric of my dress. "It's just a fly," she reassured me. Oh. Yeah, I guess I haven't seen many spiders with wings.
She gingerly lifted the lace overlay from the dress, releasing our winged companion from his Jessica McClintock prison. He (she?) gratefully buzzed away.

Now, I was still a little bit wet from the waterfall. My train was quickly becoming a brownish-gray and my hair had lost nearly all its curl. My earrings had readjusted themselves, dangling from awkward angles on my ears. My "body shaper" (girdle) was bunching beneath the fabric of my dress. And I had flies spawning from my finery. Three hours had already passed since our ceremony. I was feeling about as garish as a bride could feel when my favorite stranger of the day, standing with a shy young daughter, congratulated us from afar. "She wanted to say hi to the princess," said her mother of the little girl.
If I'd had any iota of presence of mind, I would have approached the bugger and introduced myself, and said something sweet and inspirational, like "you're a princess too," or "someday you can get married here, and be a princess just like me." But regrettably, I have always been terribly awkward with interactions with kids - my nephews included. All I could think of was to flash a thousand-watt smile towards her, and mutter something like "thanks," or "that's sweet." I really can't remember what I said; but I know it paled in comparison to the mile-high compliment she had just given me. It will be forever one of my favorite wedding memories. I may go against the social grain, but I would be lying if I said I, like every other little girl, wanted to be a princess on my wedding day. To realize that feeling was a surreal and fantastical moment.
Not much could top that, and we were running low on time; after all, we stil had to drive two hours back to the reception site. We needed to get there early to set up decorations, centerpieces, and direct the caterers. We had yet to set up the sound system, photo booth, guest books and wish bowl. I was even naiive enough to think I would have time for some portrait shots of myself in the dress, or maybe even a snack. So, contentedly, I took the drive back as an opportunity for a desperately-needed nap. It was the first chance in at least 9 hours to rest.
My groom beat me to the punch and used my lap as a pillow. I collapsed over him, and my robo-bridesmaid-photographer-driver-coordinator unimaginably drove us for two hours in silence and considerately let us sleep. Even while upholding her photographer job and capturing the moment perfectly from the driver's seat.


Up next: trouble brews and the inevitable "something" goes wrong. Stay tuned.

Crunch time

I am in a surreal black hole, and time has stopped.
For some strange reason, my friends are standing around me in dresses and tuxes, and my family is seated in an ampitheater facing me. The wind is strong but I feel none of it. I am holding some silk flowers from Michael's and standing in 3 inch heels.
On top of a mountain.
I'm in a long white dress and a veil, and the man I live, fight, cook, sleep, bitch, drive, and do everything else with is in front of me.
And I'm about to say my vows.
For some reason, I feel no hesitation. I'm not terrified, nervous, reluctant or regretful. I am euphoric and peaceful, with the energy level of Hammy from Over the Hedge. I have never felt such a foreign mix of emotions before.
Now my dad is letting go of my hand, and placing it in Abe's. The reverend is grinning and nodding in slow motion. I imagine there are whispers behind me, but I hear nothing. All of Yosemite is unfolded before me, but all I can see are the three people next to me. I am weightless; suspended in my own world.

"....give her away?" the reverend trailed. "Her mother and I do," said my father decisively, with a solemn note in his voice. I am snapped back into reality, and suddenly everything begins to move very, very fast.
A John Muir quote that seemed long when we organized the ceremony flew past my ears, and we were into the rehearsed vows. What felt like 30 seconds later, it was time for me to say my personal ones.
Now I was nervous. I did my best to not rush through them, to raise my voice so my guests could hear me. I stumbled over a word or two and remembered on the last sentence to stop reading and make eye contact with my groom. He gave me a smile that betrayed his own emotions, and they seemed to mirror mine. Once again, we were communicating without words. It gave me a sense of determination; that this was right.

His eyes searched mine intensely before he began to read his own. Did he write that? No, it sounded too old and proverbial.....that sounded like his wording.... Thoughts raced through my brain pointlessly. The vows were far beyond my expectations. I could only wrinkle my forehead in loving appreciation as I listened.

The reverend was back in front of us, and the best man was holding a heart-shaped box with the wooden ring I had purchased for Abe that was three sizes too large, and my own. Fingers slid against palms and promises were made while spheres of commitment found their homes on our hands. Abe kissed my hand; a surprising move that was incredibly sweet.


Then an Apache blessing:
Now you will feel no rain
For each of you will be shelter to the other.
Now each of you will feel no cold
For each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there is no loneliness for you
For each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two persons
But there is one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling place to enter into the days of your togetherness
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.

"In My Life" began to fill the air, and I realized it was over. My groom was kissing his bride, and suddenly I could hear the sound of endless shutters clicking behind us. My new husband grabbed my hand with an iron grip, and we walked behind a nearby boulder.

We embraced wordlessly for what felt like an hour, but I could not tell you how long. Static energy coursed between us. What was there to say? I could find no words. Eventually we parted slightly, sliding our arms against each other to find each others' hands without losing eye contat. We laughed maniacally, and one of us finally mustered the vocals to say, "we did it!" Our voices found, we began a rush of awe; "Isn't this place amazing?" We finally had a spare second to notice the breathtaking vistas before us. We laughed some more; stared into each others' eyes more. We embraced again. Had it been possible, we probably would have absorbed each other out of existence right then and there.
But, there was a reverend next to us, ushering us back to the ceremony site, telling us it was time for pictures. Thus the moment had been punctuated; so we reluctantly walked back in to a standing, beaming crowd of loved ones.

We posed, mingled, and posed. A much-loved latecomer approached, upset that she had missed the ceremony. As I could only feel joy at that moment, I hugged her and told her the truth: that she was there, and that was what mattered. The reality was that I was shocked anyone had come; all but one family had to endure a plane ride from various destinations (from as far as Switzerland), only to have to rent a car from the airport and drive four hours to their hotel at the destination. On the wedding day, they had to drive two hours to be at the ceremony at 10:30 AM, and then they had to drive two hours back to get to our reception in the evening. To have five guests willing to endure this for a wedding would have been impressive; to have over twenty was amazing.




What ensued felt like a three-stooges scramble. Dozens of cameras clicked away. Which one do we look at? Get in this pose. Get in that pose. Go over by this group of people. Now, that group of people. McClain family only; Hudepohls only. The siblings, the nephews, the third generation. Grandparents and uncles. Groupings were formed and parted, formed and parted, like fluid waves washing around us. My veil was adjusted; my dress straightened; my hair carefully arranged. I was picked up and put down; hoisted and tugged; leaned and posed. I was instructed, called, greeted, and hugged. Kissed, cried on, and handed papers. In the midst of the whirlwind, I even wrote a check out to the reverend, because the pre-written one had been lost. I was in happy chaos.
Now, at this point, the family was dispersing for their own photos once they got their camera's fill of the bride and groom; and this left openings for the multitudes of tourist onlookers to make their moves. I was aware from the moment of the ceremony that I was being photographed by strangers; and I dawned on the realization that I was being videotaped by strangers, too. At this point, I am told a foreign couple (my guess is Japanese) made their way down the stone ampitheater steps and directly in front of us. Immediately upon securing their prominent front-and-center position, they boldly went the straightforward route and asked us to pose for them. We were so high on the moment that we actually obliged. I think I would have posed for a chipmunk with a camera at that point. To their credit, they took their one photo and had no more requests; although whether they proceeded to take more pictures, I'll never know.
The photographers eventually ebbed and we had a chance to make our way up to the Geology Hut for - my favorite - more photos! This time solely with our officially-unofficial photographer, one of my best friends. It was more relaxed, and we had a chance to really gaze out and take in the views for more than one continuous minute.
I made my way down to a boulder, leaned against a dead tree, and gave my groom a heart attack wanting a photo op of myself "on the edge." I told him he always had to respect me from now on; I was doing this in 3-inch heels. And that made me kind of a badass.

After this, we were both done. It was well past time for a break. My thoughtful parents had premade brown-bagged lunches. It was time to claim ours. As we walked toward the car, we were entangled in a net of "congratulations" and small-talk with unknown well-wishers, putting distance between myself and that revered sandwich.
We finally made it. My mom presented me with one of the most beautiful sights that day: a brown bag with "Jodi & Abe" written on it. They had even thought to put ours together.
We snatched it and practically ran, looking for a picnic area. After about five minutes of looking, we realized we were not the type to bother with such niceties. So we headed into the woods in our wedding gear, and found a large, flat rock. My groom cleared it of pine needles and debris with the utmost care to preserve my dress, and I sat down. We shared a bottle of water and talked happily as we ate sandwiches and apples together. Had we been wearing anything else, it could have been a picnic lunch like any other, on any other day.


This moment of peace and tranquility was utterly priceless to me. Only our photographer knew where we were, and that's only because she has a keen eye and a good sense of where we would go. Also, she had been following us all day...
Soon, we would be in a car and heading to the valley for more wedding-clad adventures, but that will have to wait until next time....

Hudepohl territory

It's about time I updated this damn thing that i so loftily started at the busiest time in my life.
Well, I took the leap, and landed safely at the pinnacle of my existence thus far.
I'm shakily reading my vows to my now-husband in the photo above. As one of my best friends in the world said in her toast to us; "Here's to getting married on a mountaintop!"
I woke up at 5 AM on the wedding day and spent the next three hours applying makeup, curling irons, and various bedazzlements to what had become a mannequinn's body that I no longer owned. Three layers of face paint, over two hours of hair curling, and one body shaper later, we were well on our way to the ceremony.

It was a mountain drive and my maid of honor nearly shit herself as we whizzed by logging trucks and roving RV's on the two-lane road to reach our destination "in time." We were an hour behind. Apparently, I have more hair to curl than I gave myself credit for.
We finally reached the park entrance and asked for the "bridal discount," to attempt to weasel out of the $20 entrance fee. The masculinely-clad, grayish old park ranger woman gave me one look up and down. Here I was, made up as a bride all the way down to the veil, but wearing a shabby tank top and sweats so that I could change into the dress at the last minute without wrinkling it. Her eyes flicked toward the backseat where my dress was hanging.
She raised one eyebrow. "Are you coming back through this way?" We nodded eagerly. She jerked her head to one side, indicating us to go through, and us passenger peasants rejoiced.
There was some panic on my part. Okay, a lot of panic, but I tried to keep it internal so as not to utterly destroy my bridesmaids' nerves. Are we on the right road? Which way are we headed? North? Northeast? Oh god, we're on the wrong road.
Of course, we never were. I stared at my GPS obsessively, as though it would sprout arms and legs and scream, "FIFTEEN POINT SEVEN MINUTES LEFT, MILADY!" In an manner exacting enough to please a flustered bridezilla.
It didn't, but it did hold my attention until we arrived. Along the way I vaguely remember "Alejandro" playing on the radio, and my bridesmaids squealing with surprise at the sight of Yosemite which pleased me to no end - even the less outdoorsy of my friends could appreciate why I wanted to come here.
After what felt like an eternity, we were in the Glacier Point parking lot. I would later realize this was my calm before the storm. I grabbed a basket full of wedding shit and passed it off to my maid of honor, giving her instructions for each item. She ran off to do my bidding complaint-free, bless her, and we all found the "restroom" we would be changing in.
It was a port-a-potty. Not the kind in a tall blue stall standing alone, but even worse. The kind that is there permanently, and so are its contents. To put it bluntly, I had to lie my clothes onto the floor to stand on to spare my dress, and the entire time it smelled like shit. No less than thirty seconds later, there is angry pounding on the door. "HURRY UP, JACKASS!" I peered my head out, IN A WEDDING DRESS, and told them it would be one moment, and we were just changing. To which they all responded with groans, curses, and general mutiny.

Now, for a brief moment here I seriously considered walking out in my full regalia, sporting three-and-a-half inch heels, and telling them exactly what I thought. "I have been planning this for a year. A YEAR! What have you done? I bet you just decided to mosey on up here today! And guess what? Over half of you have dicks! You're outside! Go piss on a fucking tree and leave me the hell alone, because God knows you don't want to see the wrath that can become a bride on her wedding day! God help you if you so much as utter a rude word to me! I will drive these heels through your fucking eye socket until your bladder is the last thing you're worried about! Would you like that? Huh? Well, would you? Keep talking if you would. Please, really. I would LOVE to show you I'm not kidding."
But instead, I took a deep breath, and asked myself if I wanted to remember myself on my wedding day as a crazed, combative redneck or a graceful woman with an iota of decorum. God damnit. Decorum it is. I don't need to be a viral internet video example of Brides Gone Wild.
But, I must admit, I relished in taking a little longer than was necessary after that. It was worth smelling the festering pool of human waste that much longer. It was worth every second. As we walked out, my bridesmaids looking beautiful with their matching ribbons around their waists and pink rose bouquets, and myself as good as I was ever going to look, I sashayed a bit, and gave them all a warm, happy grin as they all kinda just stared, not sure what to say. Most of them were campers. In hiking boots. Their expressions betrayed their surprise at seeing anything remotely involving a wedding in that kind of place.
Fuck 'em.
I saw my dad walking down the path towards us and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god THAT was over with. He broke into what can only be described as a proud grin and gave me a hug. "You have a lot of people waiting for you!" He declared, ushering me in the right direction. He was right; we were nearly an hour late, and my sweetly patient guests were already sunburning.
As we walked toward my "altar," the reverend intercepted us. "Now, you're going to want to walk around this side. It's more dramatic and you won't have to navigate those steps over there. Your dad is going to walk you in, and when I say the word he's going to literally give your hand to Abraham. After that...." He trailed on with a litany of instructions that whirled around in my brain like a fog that wouldn't settle.
To make it worse, the entire time we were walking toward the viewpoint, and his words were nothing but vapor to me once I saw the view before which we would be tying the knot. I had never seen it in person before. It awed me. Was it even real? I had no time to be sure, because now I was approaching the groomsmen, and they were all hugging, congratulating, and hitting on me. "Last chance! We can get in my car and go right now," said one. Another one fake-kissed me. The third made a similar proposition to run away with me. They all looked incredible. I told them I could eat them up, and was incredibly proud when they didn't turn it into a sexual joke right in front of my dad. They grow up so fast.
Suddenly, everyone was in pairs and my hand-picked piano instrumental of "Here Comes the Sun" was playing. They began their march. My heart began to pound like the port-a-potty door just moments ago. If it hadn't been so windy, I would have been sweating.
I held my dad's hand, took a deep breath, and looked at him. For my entire life I had wondered what this moment would feel like. Calm and serenity was the last thing I expected. But it's what I felt. It felt right. Somehow, I didn't cry, and neither did he. It was simply too happy a moment.
Canon in D was playing now. Shit. I put one foot in front of the other, and my guests watched as I appeared from behind a twenty-foot boulder in front of the view of all of Yosemite valley. Oh god. I just realized that they aren't the only ones watching. I ducked my head, as if I were going to somehow magically hide. This was one hell of a choice for a wedding venue for a pair of introverts.

Up until now I had been too busy to notice the dozens of tourists videotaping and photographing me, as though I were a bear in my natural habitat, or a mule deer munching on vegetation. I had expected this, but had somehow forgotten about it. But when I looked up at my guests sitting on the stone ampitheater steps, my eyes kept moving upward to confirm that my event was a bit of a spectacle. More on this later...
I blinked, and I was in front of the reverend, staring into my fiancee's eyes. I felt like I had consumed no less than eighteen cups of coffee, and I had the shakes to prove it. This wedding business was intense.
To be continued...

22 days....

and the pressure is on. Bigtime.

I still have playlists, decorations, vendor payments and guest lists to contend with. There are so many details, I feel like my spinning head is about to pop off and go rattling around like an out-of-control top.

Not helping is the fact that I am a major perfectionist (it took my own wedding for me to figure this out) and I am planning the entire thing by myself. There is no planner to direct people to. People are directed to me.

On the big day we'll be waking up with the sun, and we won't be at our hotel at the end of the night until at least 1 AM. In the meantime I will be:
Doing my own hair and makeup at the ass-crack of dawn.
driving myself to the ceremony, probably in my dress.
Saying intensely personal vows in front of many people I love and respect, and many onlooking hikers and tourists.
Posing for more pictures than I will be able to even look at.
Drinking with friends at a hotel for a moment of respite, in the eye of the storm.
Returning to the reception site in time to direct the timeline of events, playlists, and catering an hour before the reception.
Decorating the reception site myself, within the window of an hour.
Starting off the reception by being the center of attention during our first dance as a married couple.
Crying in front of my friends who will tease me relentlessly afterwards, as I go through my father/daughter dance to an unforgivingly sappy song.
Making a toast.
Eating the food I've been discussing for a year.
Slicing into my supremely overpriced cake.
Having my new husband reach up into my dress in front of the universe so he can toss my garter to some embarrassed groomsman.
Throwing my bouquet to unwilling, happily single bridesmaids.
Attempting to dance gracefully to Justin Timberlake in a wedding gown, high heels, and less-than-rhythmic genetics.
Greeting, talking, kissing, hugging, posing, thanking, and satiating forty people.
Dealing with luggage in the getaway car.
Driving five hours from Mariposa to Los Angeles without a nap.
Prepping the car to be parked for ten days. Checking in to our hotel room. Finally taking a shower, drinking some champagne, and taking a breath.

That's not even taking into account the absolute madness that will precede these events for several days before it builds to that point. If I can pull this off, I can do anything. Yesterday, I finished three projects on my lunch break alone. I told Abe I felt like Superwoman. He said, "You are." I hope he's right. Otherwise I might end up like this woman.

43 days.....

Has it truly been almost a month since I last posted? Unbelievable. I'm terrible at this.

My mood is all over the place lately. I have the elation of getting married coupled with the misery and dread of having more bills than income. This is probably true for all marrying couples. The problem is, this is true for us even before wedding expenses come into play. I can feel my life shifting and aligning; but to what?

Oy, what have I gotten myself into? It seems these days I am filled with nothing but conflict (what's new?) Am I stupid for throwing my finances under the bus for this celebration? I so rarely seek attention that I have a hard time accepting than I deserve it. A short channel surfing session reminds me that even though I am finding my event to be opulent and overly spendy, it is still a mere fourth of the average wedding price tag.

But comparisons do not matter when other peoples' experiences do not change your situation. I am fully confident that we will be saving, spending, and repaying our many debts in time. For now it is simply painful. Planning the happiest day of your life on a shoestring can be taxing, especially with other brides calling your dream day names like "tacky" because your budget is not as impressive or grandiose as theirs. It is as if all meaning of the day has been lost in our culture. It saddens me, but my heart is lit back up by the appreciation that I am blessed enough to see what is truly important. Generally speaking centerpieces and linen quality do not fall into that category.

I have tried incredibly hard to keep the true spirit of my wedding day in mind. Myself, my groom, and the connection we share should be all that matters; so I invite only those who love us deeply enough to follow us into the mountains. This is where we go to be renewed in our love and in our own individual spirits. This is where we go to find peace. What better place to make eternal vows of love to each other? But then come the snags, which are many. A destination wedding should not be taken as lightly as I did when the process began, when I found I could marry in the park for an impressively reasonable $150. A million things can and do go wrong, and usually they stem from the very people you are trying to include in your special day.

The truth is, though, that my guests have all been incredible. I know there must be some raised eyebrows. I am forcing these loved ones to, after a long flight, drive four hours into wilderness to their hotel. I am then asking them to drive two hours each way between the ceremony and reception on the wedding day. I am asking them to shed their inhibitions and spend an afternoon in a state park to truly absorb what Abe and I hold dear. Perhaps worst of all, I am asking them to dance at an alcohol-free reception.

You would think with such inconveniences, I would have a torch-weilding mob on my hands; but no. Instead I am getting kind inquiries: What can I do to help? Is there anything you need me to do for you on the wedding day? What kind of gifts would you like? As if I need a gift, after they have trekked across the world for me!

Most appreciated is the sincere sentiment I am getting. I can't wait! This is going to be so much fun! I can't believe it's you in a wedding dress! This trip is going to kick ass, I get to make a vacation of it!
I feel I must repay their love with a night to remember. Only through them am I making this possible. Thank god I have artistic, creative, and amazingly smart friends! And ones with the generosity to share those talents with me. And of course there is the not-so-small matter of the generous financial contributions from our parents. They are a true blessing, since many many people are unlucky enough to not have parents at all; and many still have parents unwilling or unable to contribute.

OUR finances are the only source of my frustration, but as many can attest, they have a way of overshadowing all else. Debt clouds as black as night hover over me and cause me to lose sleep. Turbulent number-juggling warps in my brain, bending, never quite making sense. Oh, the joys of marrying in a recession! It will surely be a cautionary tale for my future children to ignore.

I began this entry feeling beaten, worn, and tired. I am leaving it feeling rejuvinated and hopeful. As I have learned personally, financial problems will come and go, and focusing on them is a bottomless pit of energy waste. Much like trying to predict the future. What a lesson to bring into a marriage!

71 days...The good, the bad, and the ugly.

So much has happened today!

First, I booked the caterer for the wedding, which was an enormous relief, since my wedding is a measly 2 1/2 months away.

Then, my mood was crushed like roadkill when my manager came to my cubicle and solemnly asked me what my career plans were. At first glance that could be a good thing or a bad thing; but then he kept going.
There's an HR job he said, one that I should give a try. Could this be when I finally get badged, and moved out of contractor status? The strange thing was, the job was for another company entirely. Then he proceeded: with all the changes that are coming, he can't guarantee anything outside of a year, unless I want to move to Arkansas, where my job will now certainly be going. This was NOT a relief, since my wedding is a measly 2 1/2 months away.

Now, I can't act too surprised by this. Our staff has dwindled from the moment i began this job three years ago; from seventy, to a measly ten or so. And all of those positions have moved to either Mexico or Arkansas. Last week, we sent off three more employees who left voluntarily; the writing is clearly written on the wall, in large Sharpie marker, and circled with neon paint. But still, just to hear it out loud - it got my heart pumping. The conversation went on; I should begin taking practice interviews to hone my skills. I should find out what makes me marketable and play on those strengths. I should work on my resume. Yikes. Is "a year" code for a few months? I almost expect that it is.

Not three hours later, my resume was up to date. I had applied to the job he recommended. And now, I suppose, I finally have something to take my mind off the wedding.

I don't know how many of my friends and family are reading this. I will be able to take care of myself. But our finances certainly do not need another blow. Between a wedding and being screwed out of CA unemployment when my hard-working Abe was let go months ago, the coffers are low.

To top it all off, Abe has enrolled in trade school to be a massage therapist. He begins in two weeks; it's a six-week class. We'll have another income in two months; he will receive his diploma just two weeks before the wedding.

I don't know that I've ever felt this much stress in my life!

I'm a little too drained to write much more, except to say: Wish me luck, universe.