Keeping up with the Smones'

Everyone is meshing names, says British press, and it's just a matter of time before it reaches the likes of, well, us.

In fact, if you click on the headline, you'll see that Slate has done its research and debunked the trend story as a very selective phenomenon. But I think our names have potential for meshing.

Meshing is
Smith + Jones = Smones, or Jith

Roberts + Danielson =

Robertson
Robson
Roson
And theoritically, Ron
Ronielson
Ranielson
Raniel
Ran

Danielbertson
Danielberts
Danielrob
Danielbob
Danobert
Danbertson
Danbert
Dobert
Dobson
Dosert
Dants
Dert

The polls are open! Nominate your candidates and L and I will do a runoff. If a thousand presidential hopefuls can run, so can a thousand meshed names or "meshames."

Parade of (rejected) dresses 1.6

"The look. Of love. Is in your eyes..."

The Ring of Engagement 2

Dave, my father, didn't buy that ring.

It belonged to Mildred, his mother. His father Ted gave it to her. His aunt (name?) gave it to him, though no one knows how she came to own it. If Ted's aunt was about 30 when she first wore the ring, it may be 100 years old. And for the third time the woman who wore it gave it to a man in the next generation to say "I love you."

My mother always said that when I wanted to get married that I could give the ring. In the last decade or so, she became convinced that she'd go to the grave with it. Laurelyn and I had been together long and happily without marriage. It was the secret to our success, I always said.

When I visited my parents on mother's day weekend and asked my mother for the ring, she handed it over saying only that she wasn't sure she wanted to give it up. I thought I was announcing My Intention to Marry. No one heard it.

A few months later, when Laurelyn and I called to say we were engaged, my parents were shocked. Shocked and amazed, I tell you. I'd convinced them that had no future for me. But I surprised them as much as I'd surprised Laurelyn.

The Ring of Engagement 1

When my father met my mother, she was still in high school. He'd graduated a year before and was working that summer with a roofer in nearby Marietta, NY. The weekend came. The Firemen's Field Days were on. In central New York, that still means barbecue chicken and beer. And girls.

Jean Marie Schenkenberger is the oldest daughter of Carl Martin and Edwina Bantle, who had a camp on Otisco Lake not far from Marietta. But "camp" means a rambling two-story with terrific southwest views. Because if you were the first generation of successful Americans in aGerman family, you didn't mind showing that you were making it. The momentum of your father's business - my great grandfather - and your own restless hard work gave you some spending money.

Schenkenberger's Meat Market at 300 Park Street was doing well in a Fritz and Ed's neighborhood. That's how their friends knew them. If you called across the room, he'd answer to "Fritz," because he was German. Politically incorrect as hell, he'd hold up his can of beer and make his way to you smiling. Ed would spout some foul-mouthed adjective and give you a sloppy kiss. Jean looks shy and excitable in the few photos that capture her as a teenager. She's my mother.

David John Roberts is the oldest son of Edward (Ted) and Mildred Gurney, she a housewife who was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at 30 and he a largely self-taught electrical engineer who ended his career designing diagnostic equipment for Upsate Medical Center. Mildred was told that MS would take her in a few years. She lived at least 45 more. The myth of my father's youth is that he and his buddies worked hard at having a good time but not at school. That's my mother's version. But his parents weren't story tellers either. He was turning out fine, and "Please, kids, the baseball game is on," Mildred would say.

My father and mother don't talk about falling in love. They met, they liked each other, they went on liking each other. He gave her a ring, which turned into a promise to marry someday. Sure they love each other. It's just not how they tell the story.

A couple of facts: the yellow stone is topaz, the band is pink gold.

To be continued...

STD - No not that STD

Why Marriage is Important

In The Departed, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon) meets his FBI superior Ellersby (Alec Baldwin) on a driving range. Colin learn he's assigned to investigate the state police officers investigating Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), the local unindictable crime boss.

Ellersby asks how Colin's wedding preparation is going, which prompts this unbidden advice. Add the sound of Kennedy-meets-Southie accent.

Ellersby

Marriage is an important part of getting ahead. Lets people know you're not a homo. Married guy seems more stable. They see the ring, they think at least someone can stand the son of a bitch. Ladies see the ring, they immediately think you must have some cash and your cock must work.

Colin

Oh, it's workin'! Overtime.

Cupcakes, out

We had an idea that cupcakes would be beautiful and less – I don’t know – obvious (infer “costly”) than a wedding cake.

Digressing slightly, what is that cake cutting all about anyway? The couple double-hands a dull knife and chops the metaphor of their future into hastily eaten, crumbling bits?

Cupcakes cost the same as a cake, whatever they might stand for. But the white expanse of frosting is a palette for the cake maker’s art. So the decision was easy. More frosting and three flavors of filling? Hazelnut cream, chocolate fudge, raspberry, each in different parts of the cake. You’re welcome.

Our Theme is Hope

This is the wedding site last weekend. Rochester winter.

We saw ten-inch accumulation and except for the mild Christmas shopping season that locals had been granted, they looked at it like nothing more unusual than the daily newspaper delivery. And honestly, we were too busy to wish for anything besides a darker pair of sunglasses.

“Go ahead,” said my thirty-year friend Dave – two years married and an exhausted father of twins. When I gave him this Rochester report, “Cake, done. Florists, found and in competitive bid. Photographer, closing in. Caterer, heated proposals coming our way. And we met so many great people, really,” Dave’s all, “Go ahead and seize on that.” You see how he foreshadows an ominous future? This is the guy who’s caterer went bankrupt about six weeks before his wedding. Please! If you see him at the reception, Don’t Ask!

He’s right. Every consultant, artist, dreamer knows that the best part of a project is the beginning – big ideas, hypotheses, hopes, and ambition dominate. Seared tuna in soba noodle cups? An eight-hour movie of seven generations of a family of wood sprites? Tea smoked salmon on filaments of rice cracker? Easy, stand back, give me a couple days! But we await catering proposals hopefully. Hope is our theme. You don’t marry without vast reserves of hope.