A Wedding Story, Part 2: Sunset Sail Rehearsal Dinner
My parents hosted our rehearsal dinner on the Bay Lady II. Shawn & Jay suggested doing a sunset sail to see the beauty of Provincetown from the water and it really was gorgeous.
For dinner we had a picnic-style menu with things like fried chicken, lobster rolls, deviled eggs, cold cuts, and finger pastries.
Now that our one-year wedding anniversary is approaching, I figure it’s time to tell you about the wedding. Rather than blame procrastination I’m going to use moving as an excuse (and it really was exhausting!). Though, to be honest, it’s intimidating to think about putting it all into words because it was such a special thing to me. The way it unfolded was unexpected and wonderful because of everyone in our lives. You, reader, are likely one of them and we thank you for your love, support, and for making it such a blast!
Many of these photos come from you. Special thanks to our best friends/planners Shawn Nightingale & Jay Jackabowski & best friends/photographers Lani Trock, Larry Kraines, Ron Burton, and Debbie Sargent
Kevin proposed in January 2013 after five years together.
We set the date for September 27, 2014.
I found a dress I kind of liked. Then my mom sent her dress from her wedding (March 18, 1978) in case I wanted to alter it--which I liked the idea of, but how on earth do you find a seamstress to trust something like that with? And then! By a stroke of luck I found designer Carlyn Nuyda Calloway of Thumbelina Atelier right in my own neighborhood.
Carlyn glows with warmth and enthusiasm. When I showed her my mom’s gown she pretty much lost it, gushing over the vintage French lace and geeking out over the sleeve design. She was so perceptive toward my personality and energy that I felt it was meant to be.
I wanted to use as much of the original dress as possible, but I also wanted it to be my own. Carlyn was enamored and inspired enough by my mom’s dress to dream up seven stunning sketches overnight. It was tough to pick. The winner:
The best part of all this was how shocked and elated my mom was! Her dress, which I believe cost around $150 in the ‘70s, was being adored and appreciated by a (celebrity!) fashion designer and would live on as my own heirloom--and who knows, perhaps passed on to my daughter. My dad was pretty excited, too :)
The transformation was magical.
Trying on belts
It’s mine and my mother’s and I felt unforgettably timeless in it.
Carlyn was gracious enough to design the most adorable couture flower girl gown for my darling niece, Sophia.
Next to come--sunset sail rehearsal dinner photos!
It feels like Christmas when you peel back two layers of carpet to reveal the original oak floors. Our smiles faded a bit, though, when we unwrapped the rest and discovered a lot of damage. Whole sections of the floor need to be replaced. We’re being stubborn about keeping as much of the original house as possible, so here we go! The big question is--what will it look like after a good sanding and staining? Fingers and toes are crossed.
The home is a Spanish style built in 1929. This wood is less popular now so it took a few calls to find it. I suppose nobody wants to spend time putting in such thin boards.
The boys also did some work on the wall in the master bedroom. There was wood rot near an old wall A/C unit so they tore it all out and replaced the wood.
Floor sanding happens this week!
Have you had experience with a project like this? Please share below!
Artists are intuitive. They wait for inspiration. That's what art is about, the intuitive, not the intellectual. Art about ideas stimulates ideas, but art that comes from inspiration stimulates feelings of happiness, innocence, and beauty.
The Makelys finally closed escrow on our first income property! (July 10, 2015 to be exact).
We were feeling discouraged after searching for well over a year. Emotions battle with practicality when house-hunting and everything’s dampened when it hits that you have a laughably inadequate budget (welcome to Los Angeles).
At one point we had a whirlwind love affair with a secluded cabin in the woods of Idyllwild and I think it stemmed from a subconscious desire to run away from it all. We nearly proposed to her, but fate jumped in at the last minute and we found The One, complete with a white sapote tree.
To ice the cake, we had the most challenging seller in real estate history. The obstacles would have defeated us if it weren’t for our real estate dream team: Peter DiVito, Larry Iest, and Eli Karon. They went above and beyond to protect us and make it happen.
The actual move was a disaster. I was determined to have a stress-free move after the countless challenges we had with the seller. After sifting through reviews of moving companies on Yelp and carefully selecting the winner, they sent three small child-boys. It was hard to watch. After wincing for hours we asked them to please drop everything and go away.
Kevin and Matt muscled up to complete the move. The hardest part--transporting the aquaponic system of produce and hundreds of tilapia was an epic accomplishment.
We capped off this endeavor with many, many drinks involving beer bongs--something I have not witnessed since college but felt perfectly fitting now.
There are two 2-bedroom houses on the lot in North Hollywood near the NoHo Arts District and train station. This front house shown was built in 1929. It’s a fixer upper with a lot of character. The back house is newly built with zero landscaping. We’re equal parts terrified and ecstatic. No, more terrified. It’s going to be a big transformation (fingers crossed) and neither of us have done this before.
Living in a jungle of cardboard boxes has not hindered our excitement to start renovating! We fueled up on HGTV so we’re overconfident with high expectations & many reality checks ahead.
We’re squatting in the back house until the front house is habitable. The front house smelled worse than the L.A. Zoo. After removing two layers of carpet and all baseboards the scent morphed from decades of pet urine into plain old house smell. Still bad, but I’ll take it.
The original wood floor lives on! But it needs some love. Ok, a lot of love.
These guys are amazing.
Kevin’s been gone the past two weeks to star in an off-Broadway production so work has been on hold until his return. Now that we’re more settled in I’ve had time to digest some. I’m feeling less scared of our own home and more fascinated with the neighborhood.
The Noho Arts District (a play off the SoHo Arts District of NYC) has more than twenty professional theaters, art galleries, and dance studios. The district also features the largest concentration of music recording venues west of the Mississippi.
photo courtesy of iheartnoho.com
There are big plans for more development and growing pains are evident. Trash, tagging, and an occasional stray shopping cart are sprinkled among freshly flipped modern homes, trendy new restaurants, and apartment complexes where the cool kids moved in.
photo courtesy of losangeleswalks.org
We’re already friendly with two neighborhood spots. Kevin’s film meetings happen at Bow and Truss while I go next door to Republic of Pie to write over coffee and cherry pie.
A few of my favorite things located within a mile:
North Hollywood Park. It’s huge with towering old trees and a library in the middle!
NoHo Arts District
Dance classes at Evolution Dance Studios, Movement Lifestyle, and Debbie Reynolds Dance Studios
North Hollywood Station. Forget sitting in traffic.
Ok, I may be falling in love with our new hood. I can’t help it. It’s rough around the edges with a vibrant energy. The place has character and I’m surprised to say, it’s already feeling like home.
What he loved in horses was what he loved in men, the blood and the heat of the blood that ran them. All his reverence and all his fondness and all the leanings of his life were for the ardenhearted and they would always be so and never be otherwise.
You danced to “Thriller” on vinyl when you were 5 and even if you haven’t danced since, it’s time to get back into it.
Do it because it’s good for your body and brain.
Do it because whoever you are trying to impress will be impressed. Being able to move well is a universally attractive thing.
Do it because you can let out all that pent up anger, sadness, aggression, joy, sexiness, or loneliness at the studio.
Do it because it’s fun and you need more of that in your week.
When I tell people I dance they say, “I’ve been wanting to try a dance class, but I need a beginner level.”
We are in the Entertainment Capital of the World so there are tons of professional level classes. When you’re a beginner (and EVERYONE starts that way) dropping into an advanced class can pretty much annihilate your self esteem. Don’t do it to yourself.
These classes were made for adult beginners and they’re not scary. The students are people you can make friends with and the instructors are great.
Go and chat with the other students so you’ll know somebody next time. Above all, know that nobody is looking at you. Everybody’s looking at themselves so relax and enjoy.
If you need to let loose: Groov3 Hip Hop
If you want pure technique: Catherine Round’s Ballet
If you want some real jazz: Hama’s Dance Center
There are plenty more out there so please comment below with your recommendations!
Women were second class citizens who could not vote until 1920
Interracial marriage was illegal in some states until 1967
Friday June 26, 2015 the Supreme Court declared same-sex marriage legal in all 50 states. This was a big day.
Same-sex marriage was illegal until 2015
People take photos of the White House lit in rainbow colors in Washington, June 26. 2015, following the Supreme Court ruling that gay marriage is a nationwide right. (MLADEN ANTONOV/AFP/Getty Images)
You and I just witnessed a change towards freedom and expansion of the heart.
Never be afraid to change your mind. Be brave. Let the more loving voice inside of you speak loudest.
It is our responsibility to question what is and choose what should be.
A persuasive number of solid sources insist that Los Angeles is not a desert and they demand we stop calling it one. Based on rainfall the climate is classified as Mediterranean.
Excuse me?
I’ve been slow roasted each summer in the pit of the San Fernando Valley for years now. We run the A/C without mercy and still find it necessary to sprawl on the couch with a fan to the face. The L.A. river is unrecognizable on the rare occasion more than a trickle snakes down the concrete bed. Everyone here knows the river has nothing to do with water and is meant for drag racing or photo shoots.
A Mediterranean climate brings to mind a considerable level of greenery and actual bodies of water.
If climatologists spent a few days in the valley I’m sure they would announce calculations are off, rain has been mismeasured, it’s back to the drawing board--or, so I thought...
In search of a great local hike we discovered Hermit Falls (yes, waterfalls!) in the Angeles National Forest. Upon arrival we were transported to a sort of Mediterranean oasis--with the occasional piece of trash dotting the trail like Easter eggs. (You can always rely on people to litter.) Even so, it felt decidedly non-desert. We felt far from the city and adventurous.
After parking at the trailhead we heard a scream-howl echoing through the trees. Exchanging puzzled looks, we soon realized it was a donkey’s bray--the trail begins at Adams’ Pack Station whose slogan is “Haulin’ Ass Since 1936.” It’s said to be the last pack station of its kind in the United States.
Home to donkeys, horses, chickens, and goats, the pack station delivers supplies year-round to the surrounding cabin community accessible only by footpath. A small general store provides soft drinks and ice cream.
We also noticed a mysterious copper wire that followed the trail and I learned it is the last magneto-type crank phone system in the U.S. (You know, those phones in black and white movies where the caller has to crank the handle first.)
I found these bits of history fascinating and had to investigate. Turns out, this area of the Angeles National Forest was home to the Great Hiking Era (1880-1930). Sounds glorious, doesn’t it?
Prior to this, few turned to the mountains for recreation. Transcendentalists like Thoreau and Emerson paved the way for writers like John Muir to further extoll the magnificence of the wilderness. It sparked a rush to the mountains for picnicking, camping, fishing, and hiking.
Mountain resorts sprouted here and according to the L.A. Times, in a typical year such as 1935, "2 million people flocked to the San Gabriels and 140,000 hiked 10 miles or more."
A century ago the mountain resorts featured honeymoon cottages and tennis courts where ladies played in long dresses. Men wore white shirts and string ties at dinner and everyone danced to the fiddle under the stars. Things could get pretty rowdy, so I’ve read.
Never before had I stopped to think about the history behind hiking, but here we were on a piece of it! The Great Hiking Era inspired the Pacific Crest Trail.
Fires and flood have left 81 of the original 350 cabins.
How exciting it must have been to be the first to explore an uncultivated frontier.
I’m thankful to enjoy it today.
The cool forest floor is carpeted in ivy and canopied by oak and alder trees. The hike is about three miles round trip. Sturtevant Falls trail is another good hike in the area.
So maybe it’s not a desert.
This little fellow came out to say hello as we crossed the Santa Anita Creek.
Sometimes I wonder, am I living life for my own heart? Am I proud of myself according to my own eyes? Are there contradictions to resolve? The years are passing fast.
Hikes are good for times like these.
A steady pace on the trail opens your chest and softly pounds out the tightness, the distractions. Nothing in the forest is in a rush.
The stream moves just as it should. Time doesn’t pass, it’s not to be mourned, it is a wise caretaker who feeds countless births with deaths every day in the woods and all is well.
A century of hikers have passed here. Maybe I’m on the right path.
Remedy Quarterly is an independent food journal featuring stories with recipes at the heart of them. I can’t get enough of food writing so I pick up a copy whenever I’m browsing a local stockist.
“Remedy Quarterly gives people, whether professional food writers or top-notch grandmas, a place to share their stories and recipes.” -- Kelly Carambula, founder of Remedy Quarterly
I was excited to have a story published in their latest issue themed Change. It’s a story about a change of place and pace and how, for the first time, I'm glad to wake early:
When spring arrives my husband and I trade our cramped Los Angeles apartment kitchen for a lakeside fire pit under the open sky. Weekend backpacking in the Sierras has become a new tradition and my favorite meal is our first breakfast in the woods. Dehydrated meals are a staple for packing light, but we refuse to skimp on our beloved Cowboy Breakfast. There's something about cooking over an open fire wearing long johns as the sun starts to warm the morning air--it's the best breakfast you'll have.
Recipes included: herb-marinated steak and sweet corn cakes
I was delighted to see the illustrations by Daniel Haskett.
Additional recipes from contributors in issue 16:
brie-crusted mushroom & challah bread pudding
heirloom tomato & shishito pepper panzanella
apple strudel
chocolate chip cookies
maple pear brandy hot toddy
Delicious stuff just in time for the holidays. Visit remedyquarterly.com
After a few weekend backpacking trips Kevin and I considered ourselves pretty darn rugged and boldly decided the next trip would be wherever the pin dropped on a map of the Sequoia National Forest.
(I’d like to point out that the map does a poor job of reminding you it’s 1,193,315 acres of forest and elevation spanning 1,000 feet to over 12,000 feet.)
Anyway, we did have the foresight to nudge our pin closer to the Kern river so water wouldn’t be a problem. The spot seemed so remote the chances of seeing another human would be slim to none, which is a top priority because it makes us feel more adventurous.
Another top priority for this trip was good food. Based on the dehydrated meals we tried last trip I wondered--are you allowed to enjoy backpacking and eating at the same time? Real food is so heavy and bulky. Imagine bringing your grocery bags up a mountain.
I read that when John Muir would pack for a trip to the wild he would toss a stale loaf of bread and tea leaves into a sack and go. Just add stream water. True, it’s lightweight, but really I question some of his priorities.
Determined to eat well, I researched best tasting dehydrated meals and found Packit Gourmet well-reviewed, some saying that they would actually make these meals at home. I ordered a bunch, Kevin packed everything else, Lucky the pup jumped into the car, and we hit the road.
The first surprise was one of the most striking rock formations I have ever seen: Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. Vivid brown, rust, red, orange, peach, tan, cream and every color in between was layered in neat sheets and appeared to have been pressed up through the earth.
I learned that the tracks of small bipedal (two-footed) therapod (meat-eating) dinosaurs have been found in the Aztec Sandstone at Red Rock Canyon in three different places. Paleontologists are still researching these sites.
The weather was hot for May and the car’s AC was broken so the drive through Mojave felt like Mojave. We passed Joshua trees, real gold-mining ghost towns, and lone dilapidated shacks with handmade signs that read Ghost Town: Take a Tour, Eat. I tried to imagine what they would feed us if we dared stop. One staticky radio station came in; a preacher warning that the devil was everywhere.
Reaching the base of the mountains we gained elevation and the temperature dropped within minutes; a welcome exit from hellfire.
We parked at Lion Meadow trailhead and began the hike. The trail was an easy downward slope, a little too downward at times, and then it stayed permanently downward.
I’ve never seen so many different tracks on one path. There were bear, deer, coyote, mountain lion, and bobcat. No humans!
We sped along, but our high spirits lowered with the sun. The Kern river was nowhere in sight and it was getting dark. I despise setting up camp after sunset. It’s not like dim Los Angeles at night, it’s pitch black in the wilderness and I’d like to be able to see if something’s about to eat me.
We hadn’t found a single stream and our water was running low. It grew cold and windy, and I got panicked and snippety (which at the time I referred to as my survival mode) ordering that we turn right around and head back to the car.
According to the GPS we were only two to three miles from the Kern river. There had to be streams nearby. Kevin calmed me down and we conceded to stay and set up camp. Dinner was apples, energy bars, and small disciplined sips of our remaining water.
The wind died down by morning and we woke to birds chatting and the faint sound of rushing wa--water! Yes, we could hear it! Oh, thank goodness. But wait--if you can hear rushing water, how close is it? How do you know if it’s loud white water several miles away or a smaller stream close by? Oh, the paradox that is my intense love for nature and complete lack of survival skills. I am no survivor. I would perish admiring the view.
Void of options and tantalized by the sound of water, we packed up and continued forward on the trail which wandered and crossed other trails so we lost and found it again. Parched from heat and water bottles nearly drained, I cringed at how hard Lucky was panting through the dry dust when there it was--the glint of sun on water! We screamed with joy, never was there a more beautiful sight. We ran down the hill to discover a fine oasis of a stream; narrow, ice cold, and swift with little eddies and pools. The stream banks were covered with a dense luxurious blanket of meadow grass, Sweet-bay, horsetail, rush, and ferns so young and fresh that their green seemed to glow.
Lucky dove in and I wished I was small enough to do the same. With sweet relief we splashed cool water on face, neck, arms, and quickly pumped the stream water through the purifier and drank as though we had been wandering the desert for weeks. Lucky continued celebrating by rolling in the silky leaves along the bank and we all felt refreshed and victorious. I pulled from my pack tortillas, salami, and cheddar and enjoyed a celebratory lunch, feeling rich and astonished at how grateful I could be for a stream.
One afternoon I had been thinking about a soba noodle recipe and decided to make it. Focused and excited, I spent a good two hours chopping vegetables and carefully following the recipe. It was going to be great. An extra cucumber and avocado were lying around so I threw together a side salad.
I thought the noodles turned out pretty good. Without question the boys would want seconds so I offered a second bowl and they replied, “The noodles were good, but do you have any more salad?”
Really? The afterthought salad thrown together in under five minutes?
Ok, I admit, it was surprisingly good. Tangy, creamy, and crunchy. Here it is:
"During his years in the Yosemite Muir used to view with sadness the distinguished visitors who were so 'time-poor' that they could spend only one day among the glories of the mountains. He chose to be time-rich first of all. 'I might have become a millionaire,' he once said, 'but I chose to become a tramp.' To his sister Sarah, he wrote: 'I have not yet in all my wanderings found a single person so free as myself. When in the woods I sit at times for hours watching birds or squirrels or looking down into the faces of flowers without suffering any feelings of haste.'"
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