Fierce and Loving: My Abigail

 We had an empty dog bed and a hole in our hearts. We offered them both to her.

Abigail was a Beagle who needed a home. That was all we knew about her when we agreed to take her in. We drove to the shelter to pick her up and brought her home to our apartment, which was a mess of cardboard boxes. Everything was in a state of change. We were newly married, mid-move, and I was crying, constantly, over the sudden death of our previous dog. I was in pieces.

Abigail, the skinny little stray who'd bounced from one shelter to another, took it in stride. Within minutes of moving in, she crept up beside me, studied my face, and pressed her body against mine. I cried, again. She cuddled in closer.

* * * *

It's funny to think about that day now. What happened to that Beagle, so demure and compliant?

Billy, Abigail, and I moved into a new home together. Before we knew it, Abigail was running the household. She asserted her preferences and we learned her routines. She ruled with an iron paw — conveying her demands with impatient sighs, defiant yips, breathless and happy hops, frustrated barks, stern glares, or a loving and contented gaze.

Abigail had an intellect that was humanlike. She always knew when we were talking about her, even if we tried to do it in secret. She'd lift her head from her pillow and fix us with a narrow-eyed stare, letting us know that she hadn't been sleeping, but rather, listening in the entire time.

Her grasp of vocabulary would put the brightest toddler to shame. Abigail even knew what day of the week and what time it was, as she let us know every Wednesday (her least favorite day of our week) and every night at dinnertime, sharp.

We never bothered to teach her commands, as we understood that pet tricks were beneath her. We were lucky to have a roommate who chose to behave so well most of the time, and she knew it. Abigail respected us and expected the same consideration.

In return, Abigail gave us her whole heart. 

She was my loyal shadow, and insisted that we touch at all times. Wherever I sat, she stayed pressed against me, and permitted herself to doze only lightly so she could get up and follow me to the kitchen or bathroom and back. She slept curled in my arms like a teddy bear at night and woke only when I did.

While any human relationship cools and normalizes over time, Abigail's adoration never faded. She'd wait, desperate and frantic, for my return each day. Then she'd throw herself at my feet, surrendering herself to our joyful reunion. Every single time.

Abigail hated cheap cheeses, bright lights, and women with ponytails and yoga mats. She loved kisses, sleeping in together on Sundays, and she was always proud to wear clothes. She refused to participate in a SnapChat, but was surprisingly fine with wearing a wig.

She was only 19 pounds, but her presence was enormous. She was part of every conversation we had. I spent my days holding her, petting her, doting on her, and basking in the joy it gave her to simply be loved. She would suffer for love — even enduring blinding sun on a hot deck rather than let me suntan without her.

When we passed another dog (or even a big truck) on the street, Abigail had to be restrained from defending us with her life. She would have died for me.

* * * *

I wish you could negotiate with death, for even one day. I would give anything to spend one more afternoon with her.

I miss her so much.

We only got to love Abigail for four years before her bad back lead to a fatal injury. Billy was out of town when I realized I had to let her go. Abigail, as brave and fierce with her love as ever, tried not to leave me. She fought the pain until her final breath. It was devastating to watch. But that was who she was.

I've finally stopped crying every day. But out of nowhere, I'll start missing her, and it will hit me all over again that she's never coming home. And it seems unfathomable. I wish I could have one more afternoon to lay with her. To smell her warm Beagle belly. To give her the one thing she lived for: loyal and unyielding love.

My Love Life in 6 Tom Petty Songs

In memory of Tom Petty, may I present ... my love life in 6 Tom Petty songs.

Free Fallin': I'm 9 years old and Free Fallin' is on the radio every time I get in my parents' car. I'm  entranced from its first airy strums. Scenery rolls by as my little-girl mind paints a music video set in a kingdom called Racida. In my imagination, I'm a good girl who loves horses, and a handsome boy writes my name in the sky. I feel deliciously secret longings about freeways and boys I haven't met yet. 

At school, a popular girl asks me what music I listen to. She is wearing a New Kids on the Block jacket covered with pancake-sized pictures of the band members' faces. I tell her I love "Free Fallin'," and she snorts, "You like Tom Petty?!" in a way that instantly tells me that I have given  the wrong answer.

I listen to "Free Fallin'" the next time it comes on the radio. Again, I'm swept away. Already, the line "The good girls are home with broken hearts" speaks to me in a way that New Kids on the Block never will.

Free Girl Now: I'm 29, and I'm fed up. The boyfriend I've adored with puppy-like devotion has let me down for the last time. I call my buddy James and tell him I've decided to break up with my boyfriend, for real this time. James makes me a celebratory playlist, and "Free Girl Now" is the track I play again and again.

It's hard to stay broken up, especially when my ex keeps trying to come back, but Tom Petty makes me feel like I can -- like I DESERVE --  to "Dazzle, dazzle the moon above." So I try.

Change the Locks: I fail. That same ex and I are on-again-and-off-again for several dramatic months. All the while, my dear friend James listens, rolls his eyes, and offers me the frustrated sympathy I need. Until one day, the break-up sticks. I'm ready to move on. James makes me a new playlist. This is the song I like best. The songs clangs into my apartment, blaring its mix of rage and sheer delight. I changed the name of this town, so you can't follow me down! 




  

Walls: Some days are diamonds. Some days are rocks. I am in my early 30s, and I am devastated. Recently dumped by someone I trusted, I come to the conclusion that I did not get the life I wanted. It seems cruel and unfair because I believe, with every fiber of my being, that I was born to love. 

Sometimes I have dreams at night that I've found true love, and when I wake up and realize the person in my dream wasn't real, I cry. I feel certain that I could love someone with a fire and loyalty no one's ever seen.

Instead, I go numb. I cry some more. I wish I could go to sleep and not wake up. I play this song on repeat. "You got a heart so big/ It could crush this town/ And I can't hold out forever/ Even walls fall down." 

Angel Dream (No. 4): It finally happens. 

"I dreamed you, I saw your face.

Caught my lifeline
When drifting through space
I saw an angel
I saw my fate
I can only thank God it was not too late."

American Girl:  I'm 34. I'm wearing white and sparkles and everyone I love is there. My best friends and I are on the dance floor. My wonderful family has come from far away to be with me. With us. Outside, I see my groom  standing with his friends. 

Billy floods my vision as the DJ pulls up one of the songs I wanted to hear today. Good old Tom Petty. Billy beckons me outside to pose for a wedding photo, and I dance for one more moment before running outside, through the most perfect day I've ever had. 

Make it last all night.

R.I.P. Tom Petty.

Thank you for the music.  

Nothing I Can See But You So Keep Dancing

I have a confession. Every time I hear this song, my imagination provides a music video. It's simple but vivid: just me and my Beagle Porter, dancing in our tiny kitchen without a care in the world.

The video is a scene that happened plenty of times in real life: me grinning and spinning, swinging my arms awkwardly and with happy abandon. Porter is prancing on his feet, ears flapping, his face radiating blissful devotion as he gazes up at me -- the way he always did.

I think the song strikes me this way because of this line:

 

"Nothing I can see but you."

That's how Porter loved. Porter had been abused, rescued, and nursed back to health, and he seemed to give me credit for all of it. He adored me. And judging by his clingy devotion, he didn't think he could live without me. Friends laughed if I asked them to hold Porter's leash as I dashed inside a coffee shop. Porter's whole world would grind to a halt, and he'd stare after me, frozen, panicked, and unable to function until I returned to him.

But the rest of the time, Porter was joyful. That was his gift to me: sunshine and joy at a time when I needed it most.

I will never stop feeling like I was robbed when I lost Porter. His accident was brutal and cruel and it pops back into my mind to remind me of the doom that waits around every corner, ready to take away everyone I love. Some days, it's a lot of work to fend off this feeling.

That's why I'm happy for this silly Justin Timberlake song, and all the memories of my little angel dog. Today I'm working in my yard, playing this song on repeat, crying a little, but letting my heart ache with gratitude and joy.

Can't stop the feeling, so just dance, dance, dance.

The Beagle Who Brought Me Back to Life

 

Four years ago today, this little dog saved me.

I worked for an animal shelter, where I’d met thousands of adoptable dogs. But this dog, Porter, was unlike every one of them.

He came along like an answer to a prayer. I was going through a tough time, and nothing, not even medication, could rescue me from constant sadness. I wanted to give up.

This sick, abused little dog looked even worse than I felt. He was catatonic. He had given up.    

So I took him home with me. Porter recovered from illness. I recovered from loneliness. 

In particular, I found the strength to break away from a relationship that was very, very bad for me.

With Porter by my side, I took long walks. I started a new hobby. I found dog-friendly restaurants and took him out to eat. All the while, Porter's clingy devotion to me was actually funny. He gazed at me like I was an angel. 

But he was my angel. Somehow, having an adoring little dog helped bring me back to life.

I got better. I was free. And just in time. Because just months after Porter came along, I met my husband, and I was ready for him. I was no longer a broken, shell of a person. I was happy, excited, and ready to start a new life. I shed my baggage, and Porter, Billy, and I became a family.

It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

...

Porter left us too soon, in an accident so awful, it sometimes overshadows my memories of our time together. But that little dog and I had an otherworldly bond, and we still do. Sometimes I get an overwhelming feeling that he’s not so far away.

No matter how badly it hurts to think of Porter now, I’ll always be grateful for the gift he gave me. I only knew him for 2 years, but when he healed me, he gave me a whole new life.

xo, my sweet love.

Rich Men, Poor Men, and The Best Kind of Men: How to Choose

This weekend, a lovely lady that I know was set up on a date.

She and the man went to a bar. He ordered several drinks while she sipped one. When their bill came, she offered to chip in. He paid for her drink, and said, “No, you can pick up the next tab.”

Then, at the next bar, the man ordered seven appetizers, including a platter of mussels that my friend was allergic to. Then, as promised, he let my friend pick up the tab.

Dudes, the jig is up on this one.

We know this trick. In my single days, it happened to me too.

Unfortunately, a nice girl will pay for “the next thing.” But that’s going to be your last interaction with her, because you’ve just revealed yourself to be a cheap, lousy date.

While we’re on the subject, let’s address “cheap date.” Why would an enlightened feminist like myself care about a cheap date? After all, some of my favorites dates — like a dog walk in the park with my now-husband — were free or inexpensive. 

Because being cheap with someone you’re supposed to like reveals something about you. I dated rich men and poor men, and learned that income doesn’t matter: the best men are generous men.

Ladies, ditch the man who orders shellfish on your tab.

Marry the man who packs your favorite candy for the movies.

He’ll be the one who gives you his jacket when you’re cold. Who carries a cup of coffee up the stairs to deliver it to you in bed. He will save you the last French fry.

This is the man who will love you best.

 It's worth holding out for!

Friends are the Family We Choose: My Friend Chris

“Today our model is wearing a charming ensemble featuring corduroy overalls. Look how effortlessly she completes the outfit with a lovely white turtleneck! She ties it all together with a pair of casual sneakers. Ooohh la la!”

            I was 5 years old, and this was my go-to game when my mom’s friend Chris came around. I’d make a grand entrance in whatever outfit my mom had put me in that morning, and Chris would describe my little-kid ensemble as though I had stepped onto a catwalk.

           

            When I was a kid, I thought Chris was one of greatest people in the world. I still do.

            Chris and my mom grew up as best friends and neighbors, but to me, Chris has always been family. Birthdays were always more special when she was around. Even being dragged to the grocery store with my mom became fun and exciting if Chris was coming too. I horned in on as many of their outings as I could, and Chris always made me feel like I was just one of the ladies.  

            Chris showed up when times were tough, too. When I was 15, my grandfather died unexpectedly. His death didn’t really hit me until I got to his funeral, and suddenly, I started crying and couldn’t stop. I stood there, helpless and panicking, while sobs took over my body.

            Suddenly, Chris was there. She whisked me into another room, pulled a Kleenex out of her purse for me, and distracted me. I don’t remember what she said, but it was the right thing. Soon, I was smiling, and even laughing. Chris had rescued me. To this day, she is always the first to step up when my family or I need it.

             Over the years, Chris was always there with a funny joke and a big heart. And she always came up with fun things to do. She, my mom, and I went to Atlantic City, a mountain resort, and even just to the DMV — because even the worst errands were fun when we were together.

            I’m in my 30s now, but Chris still tells me “You’re JUST A KID” every time she tries to pay my way when we do something fun. Now, we fight over who gets to treat. But I wasn’t prepared for what she did two years ago.

            I was planning my wedding on a tight budget. I decided try on gowns at a bridal shop, find my favorite dress, and search for something similar — but thousands of dollars cheaper — on eBay. Since the bridal shop was right in Chris’s neighborhood, my mom and I invited her to join us for lunch.

            Chris came to the bridal shop with us.  As the clerk buttoned me in to my favorite gown — the one I loved the moment I walked in — my heart simultaneously soared and sank. This dress was absolutely perfect. I had come so close, but so far, to finding a dress as beautiful as I'd dreamed of.

            That’s when Chris revealed her secret plan. She’d come to pay for my wedding gown: one of the most special parts of our big day. I couldn’t believe it. Just like that, my dream dress was mine. 

 

            Chris has taught me several things.

·      The time is always right to play a little prank on someone.

·      If you get bored, you can always play a game to entertain yourself and your friends, like, “Which of these weird things would you eat if you had to or else someone was going to shoot you?”

·      It’s usually best to be nice. Except for when it’s not.

·      Always spoil the people you love.

            Some people come from big families with lot of aunts, uncles, and cousins. I come from a tiny family, but I got the best deal. I got Chris.

I love you!

I Married an iPod: Marriage and Comfortable Chatter

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We just can't stop talking.

I cannot read a book around my husband. I can hold a book open, and look at it, but every few sentences, Billy will have something new to tell me.  After he interrupts me enough times, I give up and chat with him instead. I don’t mind.

Billy would tell this story the other way around, and that’s fair. I’m usually bursting with things to tell him, too. This is most evident in the morning. I wake up before he does, and somehow, I’m always dying to tell him about my dreams, how I slept, and everything I have to do that day.

I try my hardest not to unload my thoughts on Billy until he’s ready. I wait until he initiates conversation with me. This is what I call “opening the floodgates.”

“Morning,” he’ll mumble from his pillow.

This is my cue to tell him all the thoughts I’ve been holding in since we went to bed.

Even when we’re apart, Billy and I tend to tell each other everything. We text each other — a lot. Friends are used to watching me send him pictures of my food and updates about where I am and what's going on. I try to be discreet about it, but if something funny happens, I can’t resist texting Billy the play-by-play.

To be honest, this is what I love most about him. I love his earnest, undivided attention. And I love being the person who gets an unfiltered gaze into his wondrous brain. I was lucky to marry a man who is smart, funny, creative, and wildly unpredictable. His train of thought blazes like wildfire, moving from topic to topic and veering into unexpected directions. Or maybe he’s more like an iPod on shuffle — constantly streaming new songs and new ideas into my eager ears.

I like to think that I keep him on track. When he careens down a path of self-doubt, I reel him back in. And when I need reassurance, a laugh, a fresh perspective, or just a place to put my wandering thoughts, he never leaves me hanging.

Some couples have comfortable silence. Billy and I have comfortable incessant chatter.

May he never run out of things to tell me.

These are the Things We Fight About

 

Billy's band plays Cleveland tonight. I'm going to miss him!

Cleveland is a 2.5 hour drive, so I told him he should trade cars with me this weekend. My car is newer, can hold more guitars, and is more reliable. He said we'd discuss that idea later.

So, this morning, I kissed him goodbye and started to leave for the day -- in his car.

Billy wouldn't hear of it. His car, he said, wasn't reliable enough for me to drive to work.

I fought back. "But I'd rather have it break down for me, here in Pittsburgh, than for you, far away in Cleveland. You can't put all your guitars and amps on a tow truck!"

But Billy wouldn't budge. He wasn't going to drive my new car.

We fought about it for a while.

Eventually, I gave in. I knew that there was zero chance that my husband would ever, EVER, let me drive away in an unreliable car.

That's just the kind of man he is.

It's the same way he refuses to eat the last serving of food -- ever. We'll fight about how full we are and who should finish dinner, until he finally packs up the leftovers for me to eat for lunch the next day.

Billy is steadfast. He always puts me first.

I dated enough men to know how very, very rare this quality is. And now, I appreciate it with all my heart. Maybe best of all, it makes me take a critical eye to my own actions. Would I do the same for him? I think I would. I hope so.

But just to make sure, I make his coffee every day, and I have his breakfast ready for him, and I do whatever else I can think of in an earnest attempt to even the score.

May neither of us ever win.

Blog for My Cat on the Eve of Her Surgery

My 16-year-old cat is having surgery tomorrow. I'm so nauseous and nervous about it, you would think that I'm the one having the operation.

So tonight, I'm typing this with one hand while the other one strokes Firefly's silky calico fur. I hope she can tell how much I love her, and that I want her to do well.

...

Firefly showed up as a stray kitten when I was a sophomore in college. It seemed like she picked me. I lived in a dorm and didn't have anywhere to keep her, so I stashed her at my then-boyfriend's house.

I didn't even drive yet. I rode a bus to the grocery store and picked out her first dishes, kitten kibble, little balls with jingle bells in them, and other cat stuff. The cashier had to explain to me that my new kitten wouldn't want to walk on the dog leash I'd picked out.

(Never fear. Years later, Firefly and I would hike Frick Park with the aid of a papoose. But more on that later.)

Firefly and I turned into grownups together. After college, she moved home to my parents' house with me. Our dog wanted to eat her, so I kept Firefly locked in my bedroom. She did okay in there, but she was a little starved for attention. When I got home from work at night -- my very first office job -- she'd start howling as soon as she heard me come through the front door.

I'd never had a cat before her, so I raised her like a puppy. We'd wrestle, or play fetch for hours.

She moved into my first -- terrible -- apartment with me. The one that smelled like curry and had mice living in the oven. She came with me every time I upgraded to a bigger, less disgusting place, and she also accompanied me on several beach vacations. She always took the 10-hour car ride to the Outer Banks in stride.

Firefly has been a constant presence. There were boyfriends, most of whom claimed to be allergic to her. Firefly always got first dibs on my bed anyway, and she outlasted all of them. And when I decided to embrace my spinsterhood, she was my most loyal companion -- even going for walks around the neighborhood with me, safely strapped into a papoose.

But when I found my husband, even Firefly knew it was right. She accepted him like a dad.

She was always a part of everything I did. Whether I was cleaning my apartment, lounging in front of the TV, hula hooping in my living room, or curling my hair in the bathroom, Firefly was curiously involved.  

But recently, a couple things seem to have aged poor Firefly.

She hates ... absolutely hates ... our new dog. And, she didn't adapt to our most recent move as well as all the others. We moved into a house last month. I took the bedroom that used to belong to a teenage girl and turned it into a haven for my teenage girl cat. Firefly settled in to her room and doesn't really like to come out of it. It makes me so happy when I see her take tentative steps into the rest of our house.

She also got really feisty. She hisses. A lot.

It's taken almost half my life, but I've watched her change from a kitten to a little old lady.

It's sad that we grew up together, but suddenly, she's aging so much faster than me. It doesn't seem fair.

I know a day will come when we have to say goodbye, and it makes me cry just typing it.

But I can tell that she still loves me.

Firefly, 10 minutes ago, proving that she's still got it.

This is my little prayer for you, Firefly. Please do well during your surgery tomorrow. Please come home to me.

I love you.

When Love Turns into Grief (and Back Again)

It's been six weeks since I lost my tiny soul mate.

Porter

I miss him every day. I miss him so much, I've resorted to magical thinking -- desperately wishing for a way to time travel back to the accident and save him. I've carefully thought through every magical scenario. Would I tell my husband I'd come from a terrible future? Would he believe me? Or would I secretly watch the next six weeks unfold all over again, only happier, because this time, I'd have my little guy by my side?

Sound crazy? I know. This is why I've  grown impatient with myself. No one wants to feel crazy.

But a friend lifted a great burden when she put it this way: Love and grief are completely entwined. When the heart can no longer love -- at least, not the way it's used to -- the feeling turns to grief. But the feeling never dulls.

That made sense to me. Love turns into grief.

Anyone who loves will eventually grieve. 

But recently, I learned that there is another ending to that sad sentence.

It happened because I celebrated my birthday. I love my birthday. I love everyone's birthday, and I like to make a big fuss. But this year, I couldn't imagine how I could possibly have a happy birthday. I knew my only wish (to have Porter back) could never come true, so I wanted to let the day pass by with as little disappointment as possible.

But my loved ones didn't let that happen. Even though I didn't make a big deal out of my birthday, they did. For three days straight, I was showered with love and surprises. My friends took me out, bought me drinks, and pulled me onto the dance floor. My husband presented a cake onstage at a concert, and got the entire audience to sing to me. His band went along with the party and even dedicated my favorite song to me. The next night, I got to be the guest of honor at a decadent birthday dinner party. I even got Facetimed from afar.

Love helps heal a broken heart, and I got so much love.

Love turns to grief. Sad but true.  

But love (and time) turns grief back to love again.

It's such a relief to realize that. That you really can dance and laugh again without loving any less. 

Thank you Billy, Mom, Dad, Madge, Jessica, Christy, Krista, Megan, The Ten Band, Marcy, Chris, Alex, Dale, Line, my co-workers, Winnie, Firefly, and everyone who sent me a present or sweet message for my birthday this year. You made me so happy. I love you.

The Most - Unexpectedly - Perfect Parts of My Wedding

I got married on Saturday. I had the time of my life.  

Of course, the best part was getting to marry my favorite person. But there were so many other awesome surprises that caught me off guard. Whether goofy, sweet, or downright dumb, these are some of the moments that helped make the day an epic event that I will never, ever forget.

(in no particular order…) 

My Bridesmaids and “The Titscrepancy”

Thanks to my amazing friend Chris, I had the wedding dress of my dreams. It was perfect in every way and it fit me like a glove. But I should have taken it off and put it back on again when I realized that my bosom wasn’t exactly lined up with the dress’s bosom. Instead, I didn’t.

When I shimmied into my dress, I was way too excited to notice that anything was wrong. I just wanted to bolt down the aisle and see my groom. It took all of my restraint to stand still for a photo, let alone get undressed and dressed all over again.

So, my bridesmaids spent the rest of the day sweetly hovering around me and squishing my chest into place — a problem that my Maid of Honor hilariously named “The Titscrepancy.” It was a perfect metaphor for my giddiness about the day and the loving attention my girls Madge, Jessica, and Leigh Ann payed me.

And I felt awesome in that dress. 

When My New Husband and I Sang into Each Other’s Faces

My husband Billy and I love each other effortlessly. But, it seemed like the ordeal of the wedding was going to be a bit of an effort for him.

So I was surprised when he told me wanted to have a couple’s dance. The idea of it made me nervous … I couldn’t imagine dancing — on display — while everyone watched us.

But the whole room dissolved when the music started. I didn’t even notice that anyone else was there.

Billy and I danced to Pearl Jam’s “Future Days,” and to my delirious delight, he sang the words to me while we twirled around. And, like I do every time Pearl Jam songs play, I belted out the lyrics right along with him. So we spun, laughed, and sang right into each other’s grinning faces: 

“All my stolen missing parts
I've no need for anymore
I believe
And I believe cause I can see
Our future days
Days of you and me.”

It was exhilarating. And perfect.

No price tags on these vases!

When He Scraped The Price Tags Off All The Vases

But back to the pressure. I didn’t really get many pre-wedding jitters, but Billy did. However, I knew I was marrying the right man when, two days before the wedding, he stayed up late to scrape price tags off the bottoms of at least 50 vases.

Even after he convinced me that no one was going to pick the vases up, turn them over, and see the offending price tags, he kept on scraping. For me.

I love him. 

Watching My Parents Have Fun

My parents are the kindest people you’ll ever meet. They’re thoughtful, gentle, and unassuming people. And they’re not really into weddings, which was nice for me because they never butted into my wedding planning — not once.

I expected my parents to have a nice time at my wedding, but I didn’t expect to see them have a blast. And I think they did. I’ll never forget dancing to The Von Bondies with my mom. She rocks!

When My Maid of Honor Drove My Car

When we left the salon the morning of the wedding, Madge sensed that I was way too hyped up to safely drive my car. So she took the wheel. Then she took me to my wedding, chatting happily about what it’s like to love and live with a creature so wonderfully baffling as a man.

Also, her fabulous coif was so tall, it kept bumping my Camry's ceiling!

When it Smelled Like Teen Spirit

I wanted our wedding to rock. I think it did, thanks to our carefree approach to the day, our awesome DJ Ray, and the fact that our friends let loose and had so much fun with us.

Two of my MOST favorite parts of the wedding were:

When Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” burst out onto the playlist, and our friends flooded the dance floor and bounced up and down to it, mosh-pit style!

And when Pearl Jam’s “Black” started, except it wasn’t Pearl Jam. It was a startlingly authentic rendition by Ten: A Tribute to Pearl Jam, one of my favorite bands long before I married their guitar player. The members of Ten and their beautiful wives joined us on the dance floor, and we swayed and grinned and danced to an utterly perfect moment.

Two people did tell me that our wedding was too loud. 

I replied, “That’s how I wanted it.” 

We Messed Up the Ceremony (a little) 
Okay so we had some minor mistakes. I don't even know why I'm standing on what is traditionally the groom's side.

Actually, I do. It's because I was SO EXCITED, I ran down the stairs and clasped Billy's hands without another thought. I didn't even wait for my dad to catch up! I'd waited my whole life to marry Billy, and I couldn't wait another second.  

And I think the first rule in being a rock & roll bride is not giving a crap about the small stuff. :)

This is no big D!

“This is Not an Issue.”

Our venue, the Hyeholde, was over-the-top perfect. It looks like a castle, nestled into the woods, and the service was amazing. 

This helped when I had my one-and-only bridal meltdown. I woke up in the middle of the night before the wedding, literally trembling, I was so worried about our wedding cookies and making sure no one's contributions would be left out of the spread.

I called and emailed the event manager, worried sick. 

He calmly replied, “Thank you, Jolene. This is not an issue.”

Um. Yup.

It wasn’t.

The Best Compliment I Got All Day

It sure was fun floating around while people told me I was pretty. I got a HUGE kick out of it. (I’m so grateful to my friend Nichole for doing my makeup and making me feel prettier than I’d ever felt in my life!)

But my dear friend Suaz gave me the most meaningful compliment of the day. I only got to spend a moment with her that day. She used our time together to tell me, “You look like you’re really present.” 

It had been my biggest fear that I would glaze over and miss the day in an anxious blur. But I didn’t, and Suaz helped me appreciate that. I can honestly say I relished each and every blissful second of that day. 

All the Love in the Room

This part sounds a little sappy, but it's true.

Our budget  played a part in every single decision we made about the wedding, including the number of guests we could invite. In the end, Billy and I each identified 20 couples, no more, that we could invite.

Although I would have loved to have even more loved ones join us, our number ended up being a pleasantly manageable one. I can honestly say I loved everyone in the room. I never got whisked away to meet my mom's college roommate or other stranger. Every person in that room was special to us, and I swear -- you could feel it.

The Be-All End-All Cookie Table

Okay, so, the first thing you need to know is that cookies are my favorite food. I am madly in love with cookies. The second thing you need to know is that the Cookie Table is a (genius, if you ask me!) Pittsburgh wedding tradition. When a woman gets married in Pittsburgh, her family comes together to make an absurd amount of cookies. The cookies are served at the wedding. It’s also customary to put out bags or boxes so the guests can take home as many cookies as they can carry.

I felt like I’d waited my whole life for a cookie table! But I was worried, because I don’t have a big family and I didn’t know who was going to make enough cookies for 40 couples.

But guess what happened. The wonderful women in my life rallied. Cookies came from far and wide — caramel cups, ladyfingers, peanut butter blossoms, truffles dipped in purple chocolate, little chocolate nests cradling M&M eggs, snowballs, pineapple squares, flaky wafers with lavender icing, mocha cookies, buttery shortbreads, Megan’s mom’s legendary baklava, apricot twists, and so much more. And to my utter shock, our impressive cookie table spilled over, covering an entire baby grand piano, too! Our guests stuffed plates and loaded bags from the most epic cookie table I have ever seen.

My friend Line remarked, “You didn’t have a cookie table. You had a cookie room!”

It was glorious. And to everyone who baked for us, I thank you from my bottom of my heart!

Christy, Kim, Krista, me!, Jessica, and Megan

When it Was Time to Clean Up
I didn’t want the night to end, but I finally agreed that the DJ should play our final song — the same song Pearl Jam closes every show with — “YellowLedbetter.”

As the lights came on and the room emptied out, I looked over and saw my loyal group of girlfriends – the Wolfpack – getting ready to work. Even though their feet ached and they were, let’s face it, plenty drunk, they weren’t about to leave until every last centerpiece was packed up.

Once again, my heart practically burst. I’ll never forget that moment.

I just realized that I could go on and on and on. When my new sister-in-law put my veil in my hair. When my husband and I ate dinner at our sweetheart table, and he had me laughing as usual. When my aunt came into the bridal suite to see my dress. When we kicked off the reception with Joan Jett's "I Love Rock & Roll." I don’t want to forget any of these moments, or any of the people who shared them with me.

My heart bursts. To everyone who made our day so beautiful, thank you.

I love you.

Every Crazy Wish Come True

I wouldn't have dared wish for the fiancé I actually got. I would have sounded like a crazy person.

If I had made out my wish list, it would have read like this:

"I wish for a man who's handsome. And I mean that in an Eddie Vedder sort of way … you know, long, curly brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. He should look strong, and wear a beard very, very well.

Please make him a musician, who likes Pearl Jam. Actually, can you put him in a touring Pearl Jam tribute band, so I can go from city to city with him and sing along to all the songs? That sounds really, really fun. Thanks.

And can he be smart -- smart enough to give me advice, but gentle enough to deliver it the way I need to hear it? Make sure he can call me out when I need it, but not in a way that hurts my feelings. This is tricky but critical.

Can he be funny, too? I'd like to laugh a lot.

And a good kisser. Mmm. Definitely.

This is important: please make him like animals. He has to be compassionate -- with an extra soft spot for Beagles, since I have one who needs lots of love.

Speaking of extra love, please make sure he's affectionate, and extremely attentive, because no man has ever been able to give me as much love as I require.

Can he smell good? Whether fresh from the shower or salty and slick from a night onstage, please make him delicious.

And I hope he likes coffee, and sleeping in on Sundays. I hope he's a good cook, and that he always offers to bring me a glass of water when I'm laying on the couch feeling thirsty. I hope he likes dancing in the kitchen.

I wish for him to be hard-working but also silly.

And I want him to value a really good meal.

I wish for him to understand Seinfeld references, and I wish for him to be nice.

And I wish for him to love me too."

Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, to my utter surprise, it wasn't.

Because I found him.

I will never let him go.

Love is What I Got

Tonight, during a conversation that briefly brought up exes, Billy told me:

"It took me less than a year to realize that I wanted to marry you. Actually, I think it took less than three dates. I knew that quickly that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Whether you wanted me to or not."

My family