Billy and I are closer to making definitive plans while Amy and I are still in the early stages of the Web site design. I think we could whip it up in no time if we were both in the same place, but instead she does something on her end, loads it on a test page and then I make comments from my end. That's time consuming!
We packed up Javi and Daphne Saturday afternoon and headed over to Depot Park. I was going to bring my camera, but we weren't dressed for pictures. We had to pick Javi up from Mimi's house -- and he looked like a crazy rag-a-muffin, complete with big poofy hair and Spider-Man socks pulled up to his knees.
Billy decided he likes the Pavillion area better than the Fountain area because it's more secluded, has more space and allows for more creativity. I'm still not sold, but I could see his point when at least six people came and went from the fountain area while we were there. One of those people was a homeless guy bumming money. I'd hate to have to cut somebody for begging from my wedding guests.
We let Javi strip down to his shorts and run through the public fountain with some other kids his age. He thought that was the coolest thing ever.
Fun kid news: Javi learned to snap this weekend. He's been trying for years, but he finally got it. In fact, he snapped so much, he blistered his snapping fingers! One blister popped, but the other is stubbornly protruding from his thumb. He's so proud of himself!
I plan to load pictures of the park by the end of the week, so stay tuned.
--Kelly
19.9.05
9.9.05
Depot Park
We ordered lunch to go from Fresh Choice and explored Depot Park in full sun.
I really like the wrought iron and brick work in fountain area. Of course, it's a bit crowded inside the fence, the old train is on display (i'm not a train fan) and there's not much foliage to block out Carthage St, but if our guests' backs were to the street it might not be so bad. I also think downtown Sanford is much more bustling during lunch hour on a weekday than it would be at brunch time on a weekend.
The other option is a spacious greenway called the Pavilion. It is flanked on one side by the stage where jazz bands and orchestras frequently perform for Thursday In The Park. The other side hosts benches and lacquered picnic tables.
I think I've decided that Depot Park is the best option for our plans, so now I have to decide how it's going to work. If we used the fountain side, we would only have to set up chairs because the fountain provides a great backdrop. If we go with the Pavillion, we'll need to set up some type of altar or arch to stand in front of -- otherwise we'd seem lost in the space.
Good news: Our friend Angela has offered to play her violin on the big day. She suggested the wedding march, but I don't know that I want something that traditional. I may work with her to find something that a) she can play and b) is wedding-ish.
My next step is to go back to Depot Park tomorrow to gauge how trafficked that area is between 11 am and noon. This time Billy will have to tag along. He's a typical man (so don't expect regular updates from him), which means he wants to be included in the decision making - but only after I've narrowed down the playing field to two options.
I'll let you know how it goes.
--Kelly
I really like the wrought iron and brick work in fountain area. Of course, it's a bit crowded inside the fence, the old train is on display (i'm not a train fan) and there's not much foliage to block out Carthage St, but if our guests' backs were to the street it might not be so bad. I also think downtown Sanford is much more bustling during lunch hour on a weekday than it would be at brunch time on a weekend.
The other option is a spacious greenway called the Pavilion. It is flanked on one side by the stage where jazz bands and orchestras frequently perform for Thursday In The Park. The other side hosts benches and lacquered picnic tables.
I think I've decided that Depot Park is the best option for our plans, so now I have to decide how it's going to work. If we used the fountain side, we would only have to set up chairs because the fountain provides a great backdrop. If we go with the Pavillion, we'll need to set up some type of altar or arch to stand in front of -- otherwise we'd seem lost in the space.
Good news: Our friend Angela has offered to play her violin on the big day. She suggested the wedding march, but I don't know that I want something that traditional. I may work with her to find something that a) she can play and b) is wedding-ish.
My next step is to go back to Depot Park tomorrow to gauge how trafficked that area is between 11 am and noon. This time Billy will have to tag along. He's a typical man (so don't expect regular updates from him), which means he wants to be included in the decision making - but only after I've narrowed down the playing field to two options.
I'll let you know how it goes.
--Kelly
8.9.05
Wedding site dilemma
I am debating between two wedding sites: Depot Park (DP) and Holly Hill Daylily Farm (HH).
DP is definitely cheaper, more convenient to possible guests, can accomodate our date and I like downtown Sanford. HH may wind up costing more, but we won't know until they decide if they'd even allow us to have the wedding. Also, we'd have to do it in June or July - which would make our honeymoon rental much more expensive.
Of course, HH would be much prettier, but Amy and I have discussed different ways we could frou-frou up DP. I suppose I won't be able to make a firm decision until a) Mr. Massey calls me from HH to let me know if they'd accomodate a May wedding or b) I decide to suck it up and make DP work.
Tonight is the glorious season premiere of the O.C. - and I've been anticipating it all week. Finally something non-wedding to obsess over!
--Kelly
DP is definitely cheaper, more convenient to possible guests, can accomodate our date and I like downtown Sanford. HH may wind up costing more, but we won't know until they decide if they'd even allow us to have the wedding. Also, we'd have to do it in June or July - which would make our honeymoon rental much more expensive.
Of course, HH would be much prettier, but Amy and I have discussed different ways we could frou-frou up DP. I suppose I won't be able to make a firm decision until a) Mr. Massey calls me from HH to let me know if they'd accomodate a May wedding or b) I decide to suck it up and make DP work.
Tonight is the glorious season premiere of the O.C. - and I've been anticipating it all week. Finally something non-wedding to obsess over!
--Kelly
7.9.05
Our first post
We've settled on a day: Saturday, May 20 at 11 a.m. in downtown Sanford's Depot Park (click on the link over there to see more about the park). Stay tuned for more information!
29.3.04
Cycles
In bad mama news: I let Javi play outside this weekend with no sun block and no bug repellant. I thought the whole windy, sunny, mild weather thing would be fine.
Nope. He's sporting a pink nose, cheeks & forehead along with pink forearms and shoulders. Poor child. The biting bugs are out in full force, so he's also bumpy.
But, I reconnected with an old friend this weekend who I've been out of touch with for almost two years. She came over with her daughters and we grilled and ate and cried and promised to not let the little things sway our dedication to each other. We were raised together, more like sisters than friends, so it feels good to be at peace with her.
Spring is most decidedly here. Growth and sun and bluest skies and friends. And spring food, of course: pineapple salsa, fresh fruit, and a crisp salad.
These are the days I dream of all winter!
Nope. He's sporting a pink nose, cheeks & forehead along with pink forearms and shoulders. Poor child. The biting bugs are out in full force, so he's also bumpy.
But, I reconnected with an old friend this weekend who I've been out of touch with for almost two years. She came over with her daughters and we grilled and ate and cried and promised to not let the little things sway our dedication to each other. We were raised together, more like sisters than friends, so it feels good to be at peace with her.
Spring is most decidedly here. Growth and sun and bluest skies and friends. And spring food, of course: pineapple salsa, fresh fruit, and a crisp salad.
These are the days I dream of all winter!
25.3.04
The walls
Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the hate and ignorance this country breeds - the Ashcroft subpoenas, the gay marriage bans, the governmental reprioritizing of life from what we make it to what makes the rich richer.
The food industry, the pharmaceutical industry, the political industry...
It just makes me want to burrow until the walls of this country come tumbling down.
The food industry, the pharmaceutical industry, the political industry...
It just makes me want to burrow until the walls of this country come tumbling down.
15.3.04
The last brick
When we were young, my father asked my sisters and I what we thought we'd wind up with in life. He pointed out that we were poor and disrespectful and irresponsible and that we had a 'basketcase' for a mother and that no one had ever wanted to play daddy to us because we were embarrassing.
This confrontation came when he was shacked up in our mother's house after yet another crack binge left him homeless, jobless and friendless. He was angry and violent. My older sister had been going through his things - disrespectful, yet, average behavior? Yes - And found a pipe. Not just any pipe, either. It was THE pipe through which he was smoking rock in my mother's basement and with the tattoo people across the street.
So, she told my mother. And my mother told him to get out. And he came down on the three of us like an avalanche. He condemned us to lives without love and without happiness. He told us we would die bitter old women. He invoked his God on us and blasphemed us into hell.
And then my mother took him to the Greyhound station and bought him a ticket to San Francisco where our grandmother lived. But my sisters and I - 14, 13 and 9 at the time - stayed behind. Shell shocked, we each retreated to our corners: Erin to her room and the telephone, Ashley to the stereo, and me to the kitchen.
We never really talked about it again. We'd seen the fits of anger and violence from him so many times and each time we left him quiet, inwardly seething, but also questioning whether he had it right. How could we turn on him? How dare we question his behavior or motivation?
He blew a staple through a coworkers cheek over a drug deal gone wrong; he attacked my mother and choked her unconscious in front of us because she went on a date while he was in prison; he beat his ex-boss with a baseball bat when she turned over his employment records to authorities.
The list is long and complicated. It includes his years spent hiding in Saudi Arabia to avoid prison time and our days spent in the dark with curtains shut - crawling on all fours because he thought the police were looking for him and my mother couldn't scrape together the money to get him out of the state.
I spent years blaming my mother for enabling him, but I've come to an understanding with that anger. She's human and he came to her for help. He didn't live with us, but when he hit bottom it was us he turned to. And I think, silently, we all felt powerful in that. We knew he'd return to us when he had to. So even if we didn't hear from him for months or years, we knew one day he'd be back.
And now. It's been 14 years since he cursed my sisters and me to eternal unhappiness. 14 years. In that time, one sister has birthed three babies and dealt with her own drug addictions and now she is working on a nursing degree and attending her oldest son's church plays. I have attended and graduated from both an undergraduate and graduate program. I have a loving companion and a wonderful son who both loves us and is surrounded by love.
And then there's my other sister. The one who battled Cystic Fibrosis for 20 years and had to have both lungs replaced in order to survive. The one who consumes fistfuls of drugs every day to keep her body from attacking itself. The one who remembers most vividly how our father turned on her - remembers the way he punched her in the chest when she complained about pain from a hospital bed at 17, the way he spit in disgust after she asked to go back to our mother's house when she visited him, the way he called her a whore after her first date.
That one? She confessed to me once, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die like this and prove him right." So what's she doing instead? She's living and loving in a way she never has before. She - who had the hardest fight of all of us - just got the payoff. As of Friday she became the newest student of London's East 15 Acting School. With her acceptance came crashing down the last brick of fear my father built around us.
I want to say fuck him and relegate him to a life of regret, but I can't. He's still my father. In the past few years, he's cleaned up his act, had some more kids and tried to get his head straight. We'll never know him out of addict mode, but at least we're adult enough to figure out that his mind knows no other way of thinking.
But us? My sisters and I? We went to hell and bounced back - most likely because he convinced us we were nothing and deserved nothing. We fought as if our lives were on the line and maybe in a way they were. We could have laid down and accepted that we were meant from nothing in this life.
Or we could have approached it the way we did. We fought our demons and we're learning to reap the rewards. There's no way you could have told me that it'd come to this when I was sitting at the kitchen table after my father left that day. If you had said to me, "one day you will be so happy it hurts," I'd have looked at you with all the hate I could muster for mocking me, for teasing me and making another false promise.
Thinking back like this opens so many wounds - wounds with scars that reopen when I am left alone with lifetime tv or movies like Antoine Fisher that hit too close to home. But perhaps now that we can all release that last pent up breath, we'll be able to move fully forward with no hesitation and no fearful glances back.
Congratulations, little sister.
This confrontation came when he was shacked up in our mother's house after yet another crack binge left him homeless, jobless and friendless. He was angry and violent. My older sister had been going through his things - disrespectful, yet, average behavior? Yes - And found a pipe. Not just any pipe, either. It was THE pipe through which he was smoking rock in my mother's basement and with the tattoo people across the street.
So, she told my mother. And my mother told him to get out. And he came down on the three of us like an avalanche. He condemned us to lives without love and without happiness. He told us we would die bitter old women. He invoked his God on us and blasphemed us into hell.
And then my mother took him to the Greyhound station and bought him a ticket to San Francisco where our grandmother lived. But my sisters and I - 14, 13 and 9 at the time - stayed behind. Shell shocked, we each retreated to our corners: Erin to her room and the telephone, Ashley to the stereo, and me to the kitchen.
We never really talked about it again. We'd seen the fits of anger and violence from him so many times and each time we left him quiet, inwardly seething, but also questioning whether he had it right. How could we turn on him? How dare we question his behavior or motivation?
He blew a staple through a coworkers cheek over a drug deal gone wrong; he attacked my mother and choked her unconscious in front of us because she went on a date while he was in prison; he beat his ex-boss with a baseball bat when she turned over his employment records to authorities.
The list is long and complicated. It includes his years spent hiding in Saudi Arabia to avoid prison time and our days spent in the dark with curtains shut - crawling on all fours because he thought the police were looking for him and my mother couldn't scrape together the money to get him out of the state.
I spent years blaming my mother for enabling him, but I've come to an understanding with that anger. She's human and he came to her for help. He didn't live with us, but when he hit bottom it was us he turned to. And I think, silently, we all felt powerful in that. We knew he'd return to us when he had to. So even if we didn't hear from him for months or years, we knew one day he'd be back.
And now. It's been 14 years since he cursed my sisters and me to eternal unhappiness. 14 years. In that time, one sister has birthed three babies and dealt with her own drug addictions and now she is working on a nursing degree and attending her oldest son's church plays. I have attended and graduated from both an undergraduate and graduate program. I have a loving companion and a wonderful son who both loves us and is surrounded by love.
And then there's my other sister. The one who battled Cystic Fibrosis for 20 years and had to have both lungs replaced in order to survive. The one who consumes fistfuls of drugs every day to keep her body from attacking itself. The one who remembers most vividly how our father turned on her - remembers the way he punched her in the chest when she complained about pain from a hospital bed at 17, the way he spit in disgust after she asked to go back to our mother's house when she visited him, the way he called her a whore after her first date.
That one? She confessed to me once, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die like this and prove him right." So what's she doing instead? She's living and loving in a way she never has before. She - who had the hardest fight of all of us - just got the payoff. As of Friday she became the newest student of London's East 15 Acting School. With her acceptance came crashing down the last brick of fear my father built around us.
I want to say fuck him and relegate him to a life of regret, but I can't. He's still my father. In the past few years, he's cleaned up his act, had some more kids and tried to get his head straight. We'll never know him out of addict mode, but at least we're adult enough to figure out that his mind knows no other way of thinking.
But us? My sisters and I? We went to hell and bounced back - most likely because he convinced us we were nothing and deserved nothing. We fought as if our lives were on the line and maybe in a way they were. We could have laid down and accepted that we were meant from nothing in this life.
Or we could have approached it the way we did. We fought our demons and we're learning to reap the rewards. There's no way you could have told me that it'd come to this when I was sitting at the kitchen table after my father left that day. If you had said to me, "one day you will be so happy it hurts," I'd have looked at you with all the hate I could muster for mocking me, for teasing me and making another false promise.
Thinking back like this opens so many wounds - wounds with scars that reopen when I am left alone with lifetime tv or movies like Antoine Fisher that hit too close to home. But perhaps now that we can all release that last pent up breath, we'll be able to move fully forward with no hesitation and no fearful glances back.
Congratulations, little sister.
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