Friday, June 15, 2012

loose ends

I've wrapped up what promises to be my only wedding for the summer.  (I am not terribly sad about this.  Pregnancy is not kind to me.)  And I'm bracing myself for a few more bouts of intense craziness before June is over.  My brain is mush.  But the wedding turned out well, and the bride loved her bouquet (always the clincher.)  I hope I get to see the photographer's shots, because I was too busy running around being ridiculous to take any decent ones myself.



And here's what I mean by ridiculous.  I had a bouquet delivered to the temple around 10:30 am, and my plan was to then zip over to the reception center and unload and set up before and during the wedding luncheon.  The entire production was an hour north of my house, so when I left in the morning I had my minivan stuffed to the gills with flowers ($$$) that needed to be kept reasonably cool, if not downright cold.  I arrived at the reception center and was told they wouldn't be ready for me until 4pm.  My fuzzy, passive maternity brain just said "ok" and I drove to my parent's house trying to formulate a plan to keep the flowers cool without spending 3 hours unloading and reloading them by myself.  I figured I'd park in my parent's garage, and take their spare vehicle to buy a dozen blocks of ice in an attempt to turn my van into a cooler.  It was a faulty plan, but it was all I had.

I arrived at my parents' and my dad's 1 ton motorcycle was parked in the middle of the garage, and their spare vehicle was hooked up to the horse trailer.  I couldn't move the motorcycle by myself.  (And I tried, and it was a bad idea)  and I started panicking; making SOS phone calls and crying so hard nobody could understand me.  I ended up leaving my van running in my parent's driveway (to keep the A/C on) and taking the truck AND horse trailer to the grocery store to buy copious amounts of ice.  Finally I touched base with the wedding party, and they smoothed things over with the reception center so that I could come sooner, and from there on out things were looking much brighter.



I shall be having nightmares about keeping hydrangeas happy for months to come.  Thankfully I was thorough enough with my conditioning that all but one stem cooperated.  (At $6/stem wholesale the stakes were high).  Hydrangeas hate Utah, friends.  Almost as much as I hate being a blubbering, mushy-brained, bloodshot-eyed mess.

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