What's up with the bicycle wedding?

It's an old-timey bicycle wedding!

Why bicycles?

Well, first off Lyle loves bicycles. Secondly, we both love to bike in the park, weave back and forth, and sing "The Rainbow Connection" while batting eyes at each other. That's not a joke. We actually do that. Frequently.

Thirdly. (Lyle's gonna totally want to correct that. Obvious terrible grammar. I do it to spite him, just 'cause I love to see him get all riled up over grammar! Naughty, naughty me...tee, hee, hee!)

(*ahem*)

Thirdly, it is very hard not to smile and have a good time on a bicycle. It is a known fact that bicycling naturally brings about a samadhi-like state of blissful transcendence in even the densest and most serious of human beings. 

Therefore by having a bicycle wedding procession and post-ceremony bike victory lap of the park, we intend to affect Santa Monica and the surrounding areas with a 357% increase of joy and fulfillment with the help of our happy peddling guests. Em...that's you, dear reader.

:D

•••••••••••

Always the florist. FINALLY, the bride!

At the plucky young age of 21, I began my foray into the world of 

high end floral design. And for about 15 years, I designed the flower arrangements for hundreds of other peoples weddings. 

Well, the day of reckoning has finally arrived.

I am the bride!

And will probably also be the florist. 

Again.

;)

•••••••••••

Save the date!

.

August 22, 2009

It's going to be great!

•••••••••••

Finding a cohesive wedding theme that pleases two very picky people

Happy Steampunk/Psychedelic Victorian it is!

We both love Monty Python artwork, as well as, the Beatles take on all things old-timey when they produced Sgt. Pepper's. So we decided to make that the artistic theme for the wedding—Happy Steampunk meets Psychedelic Victorian.

It's hard to feel stuffy and solemn with a lot of bright colors and poofey 19th century fashions. Not to mention the large pointy hands-of-God, clocks, parasols, zepplins, top hats, goggles, and time machines.

We hope everyone gets into it and dresses for fun. 

Lyle wants a tailcoat and I want a bustle. He's going to be so dapper, and I am going to make lots of swishing sounds when I walk!

LOL!

:D

•••••••••••

What have we gotten ourselves into?

.

Man, I’m getting overwhelmed by this wedding stuff already. Delia’s right, I had no idea how much work or money goes into one of these deals.

At first we give ourselves a year. Inspired by our trip last year up to the Russian River, Delia comes up with a plan so rustic and idyllic. She instantly scopes out am amazing forested venue in Sonoma County for the wedding and is well on the way to arranging a ceremony in canoes on the river. Sounds great to me—I can really get behind a big camping trip. Couldn’t think of a better idea if I tried.

Then due to certain biological (certainly not economic) reasons, the time is cut in half and a reluctant expert gives me a crash course in making a wedding. She keeps reminding me that I have no idea what it takes. I just smile and try to keep up.

We decide that a celebration closer to home would be more practical. Before I can blink, Delia comes up with another brilliant idea of getting everyone on bicycles, having a ceremony over looking the ocean as the sun sets in the West. With a few phone calls she secures a historic local venue for the reception and we are on our way to an equally wonderful Plan B.

Thus began the most intense treasure hunt two partners can embark on. Places to go, things to do in a certain order: Shopping for fabric, fittings, venues, bike rentals, hotels, making the list (oy, the list!), getting the invitations out in time to get the RSVPs in time, catering, permits, insurance, cake, wine, beers, music etc. I’m so glad Delia knows what she’s doing. Even when she vetoes my vetoes—it’s for the best.

Yes, there is a baby pushing all this frantic activity from the spirit world (or so we’ve been told by an expert in such matters). Before baby though, Delia wants a marriage, and I want a big wedding so we can assemble nearly every one we love in one place and celebrate life. We decide we can have it all. I’ll get us health insurance through my corporate gig. We’ll have a grand wedding and take a four-week trip to India as our honeymoon. Then D will get preggers, graduate with her second graduate degree and, as soon as he’s ready, we manifest Baby Quetzalcoatl: the bringer of the age of transformation—who will catalyze a higher level of consciousness for humanity, banish the alien reptilian-hybrid scourge secretly living as humans among us, and teach us how to heal this awesome planetary being of which we are mere cells: our mother Gaia.

OK, wedding blog—check. What’s next?

•••••••••••

Lyle Wins

I told Lyle that we ought to have a simple little ceremony, then a fabulous honeymoon, and call it a day on wedding festivities.

Lyle's lower lip started to grow immediately.

He said he really wanted a wedding with a "big party, music and dancing." Lyle said he wanted to create a great excuse to get all his favorite people together in one place at one time.

Getting immediately seduced by his sparkly blue eyes and sucker-punched by his naughty coercive grin...how could I possibly say no?!

So I told Lyle I'd throw him the best wedding ever.

Lyle wins.




•••••••••••

Delia, estrogen, and the emotionally charged insistence on setting a wedding date

About two months after our official engagement on December 5th, I became restless. Verrrrry restless.

Lyle and I had agreed it was probably best to wait to have a wedding until after I had graduated from acupuncture college. After all, doing nursing work and being in grad school simultaneously is a pretty full plate.

But I became restless.

One night my Lyle came home from work in a pleasant and calm demeanor (Thank the gods!), because I became hell on wheels.

"We must set a wedding date! We must get married soon! I do not want to be a 40 year old bride (I'm currently 38) in a big wedding. And we must have a baby!" I stated vehemently with animated fervor.

"I...I thought you wanted to wait...until after graduation." Lyle stammered trying to regain his peaceful state.

"No. No, we must set a date. We must marry sooner! We must have a baby!" I insisted.

Lyle asked what had come over me, and I told him I was not sure. All I knew is we had to set a date.

Lyle paused for a moment, and then said, "Yes. Okay. Let's set a date. When?"

"This summer."

"This summer?!"

"Yes, this summer."

"Yes. Okay."

We both took a deep breath. 

The next day I got my period.

•••••••••••

The official "here's-the-ring-will-you-marry-me?" proposal

.

December 5th, 2008.

I had just worked a 12 at the hospital, and came home in quite the good mood. By lucky-happenstance that day, the workload had been light, and the patients pleasant.

Upon arrival home, I said my usually, "Hello, Lyle!" And gave a smile to my honey, who was busying himself in the kitchen. 

Lyle looked especially mellow and happy behind the stove. And as I took off my stethoscope and emptied my pockets of bandages and tape, he stood in the dining area with a chilled bottle of Spanish bubbly, and declared, "How 'bout some champagne tonight?"

I raised a brow. "What for?"

"To celebrate our togetherness!"

Lyle looked so...ebullient. Yes, he embodied that S.A.T. word to the hilt.

I sure didn't want to be the one to harsh his happy vibe, and his joy was so infectious. I said, "Sure, let me just get out of my scrubs and into my p.j.'s."

We sat down for an awesome vegetarian meal. Quinoa, spinach and collard greens (my fave). It was nothing hoity-toity, but it's just what I like after a day at the hospital. Light, green and simple.

Oh, yeah. And we popped the champagne.

Well, sippin' champagne with a light vegetarian meal soon turns to a giggly buzz, and I was all laughs. Everything Lyle did was crackin' me up. Not too unusual with my Lyle...just a lot more pronounced. 

Soon we were sitting on the couch, lights dimmed, listening to good music. Me asking questions. Lyle providing answers. 

Lyle is a veritable plethora of music and music history information. When it comes to music, he's my Encyclopedia Beers-tanica.

At one point, Lyle got up and said he had to get something. I continued to chill on the sofa with the Spanish fizzing drink and my happy thoughts.

Lyle returned to the living room, then stood over me, and held up a perfectly square box with a bow, and said, "I got you some chocolate."

"Some chocolate, eh?" I replied with a questioning look.

Then he opened it.

Now, try to recall the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark when the ark is opened and all this magnificent glimmering light is emitted. That is exactly what happened next.

Literally.

The little square box contained a tiny (but powerful) LED light in the top lid, that brightly shone upon opening the box. And inside the box? A beautiful diamond engagement ring.

I laughed SO much!

Lyle was delighted. He would shut the box. Then open it again. I would roll around and laugh some more. Then beg him to "Do it again! Do it again!"

Finally I said, "Is there something you want to ask me?"

Lyle looked quizzical. "You want me to ask you?!"

I gave a frown and a pout. "Yes, I want you to ask me!"

He feigned a sigh. Then smiled, "Will you marry me, Delia?"

"Yes. Yes, I will, Lyle Beers."

We kissed a bunch. Snuggled some more. Finished the bubbly. Then snapped a few pics on my laptop to commemorate the occasion. 

Now let me speak plainly—I love—love, love my sparkly engagement ring—

—but I still love my Lyle Beers more! :D

••••••••••

Life with Delia

.

This is a subject too large for this practice in co-self-obsession—um, I mean wedding blog. I doubt you have time enough, dear reader, to read how amazingly wonderfully complex and beautifully puzzling life with Delia can be—on a daily basis. She is a true superstar. She can and does it all: graphic design, web programming, oriental and occidental medicine, spiritual counseling, acting, writing in any form, amazing flower arrangements, cleaning spas and visionary painting. I love that she leaves nothing unfinished and packs every minute with the passionate zeal of a soldier sent out on a life-or-death mission. She demonstrates for the rest of us mere mortals how it is done—even if it means being late for nearly all engagements—which OK because we live in L.A.

I love that Delia stops to smell the roses and every single other flower she passes. Even more, she will tell you the name of the plant, the Chinese herb it produces, and quiz you later.

There is no resisting this beautiful, charming, mercurial force of nature. She has at least two personalities along for the ride. One is greatly serious about a surprising range of subjects and the other whimsically sees the wacky predicament we humans are in. Delia is more loving than the most affectionate pet you ever had. She is wiser than your average guru and twisted enough to get my humor or, at least, be pleasantly offended by it. I never paid much attention to stereotypes of actors but I do know this: the staggering amount of love and attention she requires is the best practice for having children I could ever have.

But all this is just the packaging. Inside, right below the surface, is a glowing being of love and light here to make the world a better place.

We share a love of food, art, nature and South Park. We’re damn good looking and in love. That’s all you really need to know.

•••••••••••

Life with Lyle

Life with Lyle is awesome.

Who knew it could be so much fun to live with someone?

Lyle's great at sharing. Sharing space, sharing chores, sharing meals. And sharing his opinion!

LOL!

Lyle has some pretty strong opinions and does not mind sharing them. Many of them I agree with, yet it was really something getting acclimated to all the "candid-ness." I'd mention something about food or the environment or music, and Lyle would start to orate with passion on the subject. After a while, I'd just start waving my hands in the air—calling out, "Preach it, Lyle! Preach it!" ;)

Lyle's good at cleaning the kitchen and keeping it neat. He prioritizes the kitchen a lot.

I'm better with the bathroom. Bathroom cleaning duties seem to just naturally get delegated to me.

We both agreed to no shoes in the house. So we set up a bench and shoe rack near the front door.

I have consumed the vast majority of closet and storage space. While poor Lyle gets one tiny closet and several cabinets in the kitchen. We laugh about this all the time. I need help getting rid of stuff from time to time. I accepted this about myself a looooong time ago. LOL!

I really like that Lyle likes to cook and will prepare meals with me. I also really like that he'll grocery shop with me. Lyle has pretty much forbidden frozen vegetables in the house. We are now only eating/cooking fresh veggies.

Lyle also really likes to bicycle. I tried to tell Lyle that L.A. is a "car town." But he insisted that after years of living in NYC and SF, he did not want to drive. So we agreed to share my vehicle for long distances and split the cost of insurance with Lyle mostly riding his bike everywhere and sometimes taking the bus.

I can usually ride my bike to acupuncture school and for local errands, so sharing one vehicle really seems to work for us.

One of the things I really love about Lyle is that he's cool with us not having a tv. I love tv and anyone who's known me for a while, knows that I love tv. Let's just put it this way: I love tv too much. It's best that a tv not be in the house where I'm concerned. So every now and then, I catch a show on Hulu, and we watch DVD's or download flicks from iTunes on the laptop and hook up the speakers. Lyle's a big fan of art books, and Santa Monica has one of the best libraries around. He'll often hang at the library and bring back these enormous coffee table books for us to sit on the couch are peruse for fun.

Lyle is also a creative/obsessive like me. He coined the term, however. I may stay up until 4am working on a Flash program or photographing Chinese herbs, but Lyle is just as nutty. In a good way, of course. Lyle is passionate about music and composing. About 8 months ago, Lyle finally got a new keyboard to replace the one he gave away in Brooklyn before the cross-country move. And it was like a 50 watt lightbulb got replaced by a 100 watt lightbulb. SO much enthusiasm! Once Lyle puts on his headphones and pulls up a chair to the keyboard, he pretty much goes in to a composing trance that may take anywhere from 10 to 12 to 14 hours to come out of. And that's just for the day. On weekends, he'll go the distance both days sometimes. Occasionally, he'll let me hear a piece he's working on, and ask for my thoughts. I don't know why. The last time I did anything musical was on the French Horn in 8th grade. Regardless, he wants to hear my thoughts. Actually, Lyle likes to get feedback from all his friends. We recently put up a music blog for him at LyleBeers.com, and his friends leave him comments that he often integrates into what he's working on at the time. I love the music he creates. It's so catchy and fun. He writes amazing melodies. 

Okay, time to wrap it up on the Lyle worship for now...

Here's the essential skinny on life with Lyle.

Lyle's a really caring person with a lot of heartfelt convictions. He's also got a great sense integrity and an awesome sense of humor. I love how he lives in the moment, and is open to life. It's an honor to get to live with Lyle Beers. 

Let's face it...clearly, I have amazing karma—I get to wrestle Lyle Beers on the couch or snuggle him in the hallway whenever I want. 

And have I mentioned his amazing (and I mean a-m-a-z-i-n-g) morning bedhead?



••••••••••

The Text Messsage

>

Back and forth, from SFO to LAX, I flew Delia and myself every other weekend for three months. In the 10 or so days between our visits we video called, IMed, tested and, I think, even wrote a letter or two. Many laughs, tears of longing were shed and intentions set and boundaries laid down. And then, late one night, after seeing her bounce around my laptop screen and I climbed up the stars to the loft bed in the hippy bungalow behind a row of Victorians on Potrero, in a fit of hormones, I wrote those four words—that fateful text message:

“Let’s make a family.”

Although I had been practicing minimal-delivery-for-maximum-impact for years, I had never changed two lives with so few words. I paused before I sent it knowing this was the biggest leap of my life. Love overcame doubt and reason and, once I hit send, my body filled with all the positive chemicals it could release. Excitement & relief. Finally, I had made a decision to see a relationship through and hang on no matter how crazy I may think it all is. After a while, I came down enough to fall asleep in bliss.

That was my proposal: a phrase that we would both use over then next year in various discussions. A phrase that would save my ass during the rough times when doubt would creep in or when I seemed to be taking way to0 long to “pop the question.” In my mind I already had, we’re already married. The rest is just the blessing and the party.

•••••••••••

Going the Distance

Lyle already had a gig up in San Francisco lined up before we met. It was a project management job for a large ad agency. So of course, I understood that he had to be on his way.

Regardless, I was pretty adamant that over time I wasn't going to be able to maintain a long distance relationship. Lyle agreed.

In the meantime, we flew. A lot!

Every 2-3 weeks one us would hop a plane to see the other (usually Virgin America with the super-cool starship trooper plastic white seat backs and happy rave interior lighting effects). Then we'd do a weekend in San Francisco or a weekend in Santa Monica. Then back to our respective residences to pine away some more.

Lyle's not a phone person. I'm used to that. I have certain family members, whose names I will not mention here (LOL!), who are also not "phone people."

However, thanks to fantastic new technology, we're both "iChat with video people."

Nightly iChatting with much gazing into computer screens...er...each others eyes. Walking tours of each others apartments through the convenience of portable laptops. And silently typing one another naughty iChat messages, while waiting to watch the other's hilarious reaction. Good times!

One of my favorite visits to Lyle in SF was the very first one. It included his homemade veggie curry. Lyle loves curry, and well...anything with coconut in it. Veggie curry is apparently his standby dish, and he does it well. Also, he (very romantically) had chocolate almond milk (my fave) waiting for me in the fridge. Yum!

We're both foodies, so San Francisco was a great place to frequent. Fabulous restaurants with good eatin'!

We also went hiking up in Sausalito, which was beautiful. Visted the Twin Peaks, Modern Art Museum, and strolled down by the SF Bay. We'd meet up with Lyle's various friends for dinners and gatherings at local pubs.

It was great to see Lyle so beloved by all his peeps.

Lyle's take on Chinatown is that it's mostly for tourists. Well I didn't care. I had never been, and I wanted to go. I was impertinent and insisted. What's the point in going to San Francisco, and not going to Chinatown?! That was my perspective.

Lyle obliged, and off we went. After peeking in and out of various shops, we went to a local acupuncturist for treatments and herbs. Lyle hadn't ever been to an acupuncturist from China, so it turned out to be a lot of fun. And then I spent the next few days cooking herbs and smelling up the kitchen. Chinese herbs can be very...em..."aromatic," so it took Lyle a bit of time to acclimate. ;)

In Santa Monica, we'd walk to the beach a lot. Or hike in a canyon. Stay at home and cook a bunch. Run around visiting friends.

Oh yeah, and in our first summer of love...Lyle and I also did a bunch of cuddling and hand-holding.

Good non-location-specific activities that travel well.

:)



•••••••••••

How We Met

Here's a little snippet from my summer 2007 travel blog. Delia and I met during the final lap of my 2 1/2 month trip across the country from Brooklyn to San Francisco.

Read on carefully. This happens fast.

While staying in Redondo Beach with good friends Eva, Preet and their little boy, Soren, I was invited to a gathering up in Santa Monica. It was going to be at Eva’s sister, Thea and fiancé-in-law Duane’s condo. Conveniently, they’re using their house-guest’s birthday as an excuse for a dinner party. Thea and Duane love a good party. The birthday girl, Delia, is fresh from nursing school at the University of Texas in Houston and has returned to the area to finish a degree in acupuncture/Chinese medicine.

Duane’s books cover an entire wall. Smart healthy people fill the room and tree covered deck eating delicious vegan food. I meet a chap campaigning for a Republican candidate named Ron Paul—if I was a Republican I would certainly vote for Mr. Paul. I meet a couple who know good friends of mine in New York City and who belong to the Burning Man tribe. Liz, a friend from New York in LA for work, cabs it from the airport to join the party. A fiery Latina named Tita gets the cake lit with Thea, brings out the presents, and announces that she’s taking Delia out dancing for her birthday. Liz and I decide to join them and say goodbye to Preet, Eva and Soren who are off in Eva’s Saab Station wagon. We follow Tita and Delia in Preet’s Saab Convertible I’ve borrowed knowing we’d be out later than our host family.

We go to King King in Hollywood to dance. Fat Buddhas look down from their perches at the care-free people. Chinese blessings are printed on the walls. This is positive house music at its best. As the night moves towards morning b-boys and b-girls show off taking turns pop’n and lock’n in the middle of circles. A kiss on Delia’s cheek gives me away and inspires Liz to come up with a change of plans with Tita while I’m distracted dancing with the birthday girl. We dance until the club closes. As we say goodbye, with Tita and Liz’s permission, I steal Delia and before she knows it she’s sitting next to me in a convertible turbo Saab as we climb up through the fog to Mulholland Drive, into Laurel Canyon, talking our way back down through Los Angeles, Hollywood, Beverly Hills out to Santa Monica to look at her new apartment and then back to Thea and Duane’s where we talk and laugh until the sun comes up. Before she retires, she tucks me in on the couch. As I fall asleep I realize that I’m in no hurry to get to San Francisco.

The next day the two of us walk around the neighborhood. The vegetation explodes with color in the bright daylight. Delia names each of the different flowers in countless gardens. She tells tales of making flower arrangements for the rich and famous of New York City. She mentions being a comedic actor who’s done skits on TV, acted in movies and produced guerrilla films on the streets of Los Angeles. She has a degree in spiritual psychology (or something like that) from the University of Santa Monica where she met Thea. She’s super cute, direct, funny, smart and gets my humor like no one else. We were born in the same year and she’s just the right height. If nothing else happens I’ve made a great new friend.

Later that day I drive Preet’s Saab (thanks Preet!) to meet Liz and Tita at an outdoor restaurant in Los Felis where I keep over hearing the word “screenplay.” They’ve bonded over Kate Bush and agree to meet up at Burning Man. We say goodbye to Tita and are off to meet our new Santa Monica friends for Thea’s improv comedy class’s performance at the Upright Citizen Brigade theater in Hollywood. Duane is in great spirits and buys our tickets for his fiancé’s gig. In the front row we all laugh hard. Thea is brilliant, a natural outstanding performer. Afterward, in the bar next door where we salute Thea and trade talk of celebrity encounters. Duane is a couple’s counselor and says we would be floored by his client list if he were allowed to name names.

Afterward Delia agrees to show Liz and me Hollywood Boulevard. We become tourists snapping pictures of our heroes’ stars on the sidewalks and shoe and hand imprints of our heroes. Liz is amazed—she didn’t think LA would as cheesy and plastic as Times Square. Later we drop Delia back off in Santa Monica and head to back to Redondo to Preet and Eva’s. The next day we brunch and Preet drops me off at the bus station on the 110 and I blissfully ride to Union station where I get a cab to Silverlake to stay with Chris and Sarah friends I’ve met at various weddings in SF and New York.

The weather remains utterly perfect.

My new hosts live in the hills of Silverlake on a street lined with towering palms. Their front yard is a sloping garden dense with trees, bushes and succulents. The house is charmingly filled with antiques and the back porch has a hot tub that needs fixing. In the back yard is Chris’ Man Shack where he writes novels, plays, screenplays and magazine articles. I nap while he finishes up his day job, done at the kitchen table to separate it from his preferred vocation. That night he is off to work at the Staple Center documenting a pro-basketball game by taking notes on the action and capturing video for the league. While I wait for Delia to arrive for our first official date, I watch violent movies with Sarah who claims that this is not the only kind of movie she watches but that these just came up in the Netflix queue. Sure.

Sarah, who is just as welcoming and chill as Chris, works as a set designer. Currently she’s working on the set of a reality TV show and is close to having enough hours to join the union.

Delia and I explore Silverlake, the 99 cent store (where everything is actually 99 cents), eat fish tacos, look at exotic furniture and spy on a dance class. I drive her back to Duane and Thea’s and she lends me her truck so, over the next few days, I can pick her up in Santa Monica after she gets back from her job where she develops marketing materials for her friend’s spa store.

I bring her back to Silverlake so we can go out with my friends there. Chris and I are both friends with Reuben who is in town working on a story about being a studio audience member for a San Francisco TV news show. He and his wife, Alicia, come over and we all go out as a group to a hip tiny nightclub with huge chandeliers over the bar and book cases filled with volumes of legal books for a variety show that Reuben’s crazy screen-writing uncle’s girlfriend produces. I ask Chris later what he thinks of my new lady friend. “Good job,” he says impressed as I am at my good fortune.

The next night Chris brings me to a launch party in Hollywood for the new Reno 911 movie hosted by Rock Star magazine for which he writes articles occasionally. This is the industry side of Los Angeles that I remember from my West Coast rock band days. The magazine was founded as a vehicle to promote the owner’s sex chat lines which number in the hundreds in the back pages of the mag. Chris’ editor arrives just as we do and we are whisked passed the velvet rope without having to pay. People are dressed to be seen. Young, outspoken adults working in magazine world network their way to the top of their professions. I have relaxed conversations in the VIP area about Amy Sedaris and ask people what they like about living in Los Angeles. Chris and I head back to Silverlake when the music gets too loud to hold a decent conversation.

The next day I show up in Santa Monica with all of my bags in Delia’s truck and help her move into her new place. I hand her truck keys over to her glad to be done commuting hours a day from her place through downtown to Silverlake and back to Santa Monica by the Pacific Ocean. Delia takes a couple days off of work and we explore the ultra-post-modern Cathedral downtown and the boldly-designed Disney Symphony Hall. We laugh at everything and each other. Time passes.

She shows me the mini-mansions on the canals of Venice, we dance at the huge Sunday drum circle on the beach, meet one her musician friends, watch a juggler endanger the lives of people with large knives and eat at my new favorite: Real Food Daily. The restaurant seats us next to a friend of Delia’s that couldn’t make her party. Minutes later other friends of hers are seated on the other side of us. The food makes me even happier than I am—to the point of ridiculousness. She goes back to work and I explore Santa Monica and read a book at the beach. We cook meals, move boxes and three days in a row I post-pone my trip up to San Francisco until beyond the last possible minute. I schedule a morning flight the day I’m supposed to start work as a free-lance project manager at a fancy ad agency in San Francisco.

We sit under the moon and stars on perfectly clear night on a jetty surrounded by waves.

More time passes. Somehow I miss my flight and have to take a later one.