Wedding Photos

So I put together an album of wedding photos and wanted to show my three readers that Landon and I are really good at taking pictures. Here they are!

Ok, so a few of these pictures may have tipped you off that they were not of us (though that freaky one of the woman looking at the little girl kinda resembles six-year-old Robyn). These are actually the property of Awkwardfamilyphotos.com. I am just kind of obsessed with wedding pictures right now and kinda wish that Landon and I had a few awkward ones.

My Trip to the De Young

Sometimes I really just miss discussing art. I loved do that in high school, and then when I took humanities classes during college. I love visiting really any exhibit (except Native American art. Does that make me racist? I just do not like it). The most amazing exhibit I had ever seen was this last January when my then-boyfriend (now-husband) Landon surprised me with a trip home and tickets to an Impressionism and Post-Impressionism exhibit. The main attraction? A series of Van Gogh paintings. I know it is super cliche to say, "My favorite artist? Who is the guy who was such a tormented artist that he cut off his ear? Van Gogh, that's right. He is legit." But seriously, he is an amazing artist that there is so much reason why he is famous. And I got to see his paintings.

Being in a room with such exquisite artwork is indescribable. Its like, you know you are going to leave and it will still be there, but you want it to disappear all together because you know other people are going to be looking at it. It needs to disappear or come with you. But it doesn't. So you move on and get to look at other beautiful paintings, but you know you just have to come back to that painting again and again so you can savor every inch of it.

I was like that with a few paintings. I just loved the way I felt when I came back and interpreted it so different every time. I loved hearing Landon's insights on the paintings and feeling his passion for it as I expressed my thoughts on them. I especially enjoyed looking at Van Gogh's, "Starry Night Over the Rhone," as seen above. Do not get this mixed up with the super famous, "Starry Night."

As Landon and I just stood there, we took turns just taking note of different details and perhaps what the artist was telling us. I liked to think that the couple in the foreground were so in love they didn't want to be within the bustling city behind them. We also talked about how the light man created from the city was similar to the light coming from the sky. Perhaps Van Gogh wanted to show the aliveness from both heaven and Earth and the power that mankind has in its participation of creation. I love how the lights in the sky and the lights in the city serve to put emphasis on the couple, that despite the beauty from those sources, nothing is as beautiful as the simple couple walking away from their homes.

Bus Rides

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe things really do happen for a reason. I couldn't tell you why because I realize it defies all reason. But again this week, I missed my bus and then another freaking crazy thing happened.

First off, I will confess the lame reason as to why I missed my bus. I take one bus to Orem and then transfer over to another. I had been using my old roommate Trang Doan's bus pass until I saw her in August (at my wedding) where she told me she needed the pass because she was returning to Utah. Luckily, the bus drivers from Provo to Orem didn't make me buy the passes as they trusted that I would buy one in Orem.

Anywho, I am getting off the 832 in Orem when I see my driver in the 850. I run to him and with a pathetically desperate look, tell him to wait one minute while I buy my bus pass. So I go and buy it and have to deal with this 60-year-old big shot who, after viewing my hurried signature, asks, "is that really your signature?" Woman, have you met me? (The answer is presumably no, but still) Do you think, now, of all times, when I am going to be late to work, I am going to choose to have a clear signature? I shoot her some sarcastic remark as I run to get on the 832.

The 832. As we got in the left-turn lane, I realized that I got back on to the bus that I had just gotten off of. I was with the same people who saw me desperately peer out of the windows in hopes that I wasn't going to miss the 850. The bus driver dropped me off at the first stop, just as I saw the 850 turn left and away from me. Sigh. The life of the bus people.

So I call my boss and explain and luckily it was a pretty slow morning so she was not too worried about my tardiness. So a half hour later, I take the next 850. It is running a bit late and continues to increase its tardiness after about 15 people with disabilities get on the bus. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am not one to make light of people with disabilities. Lets get that out of the way. But they do naturally take a longer time, especially the man in the wheel chair.

Finally we are on our way. Things are going fine and then it is time for this group to get off the bus at their after high school learning program. And they get off. All except one. She is enjoying the bus ride and as an adult it would be disrespectful to just remove her from the bus. So the bus driver finally gets all of the remaining passengers (me and a guy who just stood a little bit too close for my liking) to get off of the bus, in hopes of convincing her that all the fun is off the bus. So we get off and she stays on. The director of the school comes on to talk to her. Nothing. Its been 15 minutes. I am now contemplating just walking and hoping that it was not too far. Finally, just as I had moved about 30 yards from the bus, the young woman is pulled off. I get back on the bust, after 25 minutes of waiting and realize that I am really going to be late. Luckily the rest of the trip was fine. I was 59 minutes late to work.

The thing is, none of this would have happened if I had just taken the first bus. I wonder, was it karma for hating on that stupid woman or for sneaking on the bus the day before because it was leaving right when I got to the station and I didn't have time to buy a pass? As a person of faith, was it a test to see how I would treat others? I think the answer to this isn't really a yes or no. I thought about all of these things during those 25 minutes and realized that I was getting frustrated with this woman, but in reality I was just frustrated with being late. One of the girl's supervisors told me that she had gotten that girl to get out of bed by telling her that they were going to take a bus ride. And their bus ride was so short, I would have felt ripped off too. I also was humbled when I realized that I had left my credit card at the bus station and had to look that lame lady in the face.

I still don't think things happen for a reason. I was running late. I made a foolish choice. Still, I wonder why it is that whenever I miss the bus, something crazy happens to me. Perhaps, crazy things happen when I do not miss it, but I don't give those stories any validation because I don't need to. Maybe I just validate these ones because I need some good stories to rationalize all the lameness associated with missing the bus.

Things Don't Happen For a Reason

I was going to title this post, "Things Don't Happen For a Reason, but Reason Can be Found in Things That Happen." but I figured that not only was that too long, but it was getting too philosophical with no explanation that it would just be a turn off to my two readers. And those two readers are vital to my success, so I don't dare say anything that might turn them off.

Yeah, I really don't believe that things happen for a reason. And I know this is totally controversial to all the people who believe that so many things happen for a reason, but it really just does not make sense to me. Do not get me wrong here. I am not saying that we should not try to make sense of our worlds. Rather, I am saying that so many things happen that are outside our control, and that so many things we choose could have turned out differently had we chosen the alternative, that it just doesn't make sense that things would happen for a reason, like it is our fate.

For example, there have been two times where I was leaving work and missed the bus and had to take the later bus. Both of those bus rides amounted to some of the most memorable bus rides. One, I basically helped a woman on drugs take care of her daughters, since she seemed to be completely confused on how to entertain them for a bus ride. The second time, I got talking with a Native American man who had been an alcoholic for 10 years and was soon homeless, wifeless and daughter-less. After being involved with Alcoholic Anonymous and changing a whole lot of things in his life, he is now currently working to save his second marriage.

Most likely neither of these experiences had a huge impact on any of the parties involved. But to me, I treasure them simply because they remind me of how lucky I have been and because they interrupted the mundane tasks of the day. Perhaps, these encounters did change the people involved. Maybe the mother felt motivated to get some help so she could be more involved in her daughter's life, or maybe the man, knowing of my impending marriage, felt even more motivated to take care of his wife. Either way, I don't believe it was destiny. I missed a bus because the cross walks from work to the bus stops were the orange hand, instead of the walking man. They did not all just realign for me because they knew I had to meet these people. But I am not cynical. I am grateful that I missed those buses because I will have the memories of those rides. I couldn't tell you what I missed back at home because of my half hour delay. But I could tell you that I had the chance to help someone, and learn and experience an interesting conversation from someone else.

Kindness

Lately I have been overwhelmed by how kind people have been to my husband and me. Honestly, in the last few weeks, I have realized how good of friends I have.

Two days prior to my getting married, my friends threw me a bridal shower. It was beautiful. They invited all of my friends, even ones they did not know or care for much, and put so much thought into everything. It was decorated beautifully with streamers and balloons, and there was so much food I thought I was going to explode. They bought prizes for winners of games and just made everyone, especially me, so comfortable. I was touched by not only the thought put into the party, but the thought and generosity put into the gifts from all of the guests. One of the hostesses actually just came by and gave me a beautiful cross stitching with the words, "Orr Family" on it and a beautiful picture of a flower.

At my shower, I was blessed to have my friends closest to me, and my friends not so close to me come. That later group touched me especially, as they were so much fun and I could just tell how happy they were for me. It was so special. I love it when I can feel closeness from people whom I usually don't feel it from. For example, one of the guests at our reception was my best friend from elementary school, and aside from an occasional hello on Facebook, we really haven't talked much in the last six years or so. But she and her mom came to my reception, stayed the whole time and just seemed genuinely happy for me. I absolutely loved that.

My mom made my wedding dress in less than two weeks and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Two weeks before the wedding, I was going to buy my dress, but I changed my mind after a really cool experience. I love my mom; she is one of the kindest, good, and hard working people I have ever met. But she has never really been the emotional/passionate type like my dad and I are. But when she found out that I was going to buy the dress, it really hurt her. And it surprised me that it hurt her. And it surprised her that it hurt her. And I realized that there have been only a few times in my life where I can really emotionally connect with my mom, and sometimes I realize how much I want that. So I had her make my dress because it meant so much to me to have something mean so much to her. And it was gorgeous and I am so happy that she was willing to give me that gift.

While moving into our apartment, random strangers have just offered to carry stuff for us up our three-story apartment. When we first got home from our honeymoon, we were greeted with a cooler full of food: pizzas, milk, muffins, drinks, candy, sunflower seeds. Turns out my sister and her husband left it there for us. It was small, but we were stressed with trying to figure out some food at midnight in Provo. Just this evening, our friends in our apartment made us dinner just because they knew we were missing a bunch of stuff from our apartment.

I feel so blessed with friends, family and strangers who have helped Landon and me over the last few weeks. It has been so overwhelming and so great, that I have barely touched on the different acts of service. From throwing Landon a surprise birthday party, to hosting and planning two gorgeous receptions, to designing cakes and power points, to giving us very generous gifts, the people in our lives have been very kind.

Wedding Crasher

Weddings are beautiful. Weddings are romantic. Weddings are one of the most awkward social gatherings known to mankind. And what makes a typical wedding even more awkward? Being the uninvited guest that nobody knows and few care to get to know.

I spent the last weekend accompanying my sister, Brooke, in a trip to Idaho. One of her best friends was getting married and since I rarely get to spend time with her, we figured I should join her for the ride and catch up.

But from the time the wedding festivities started, and until the end, I just felt like a disfigured animorph sitting in a crowd of a Utopian society. Before dinner at the bride's parents' home was ready, I took a nap in the guest room. I did not sleep long because kids kept coming in thinking I was there mom (I wasn't. That would make me a momimorph. Small joke). Then at dinner all of these kids kept staring at me, and I kept staring at them because they were funny and entertaining and I could divert myself from forcing conversation with the adults. I wanted to tell them that I wasn't a creep, but that I work at a day care and that I find prepubescent culture fascinating. Somehow I knew that would make things worse, so I just sat there and tried not to stare.

Brooke introduced us to the wedding party and for the rest of the evening, she said things like "she is my sister" or "she loves frog eye salad." I swear, people thought "she" was a mute. A mute eating all of their food.

The next day I was babysitting two infants whom I can confidentally declare did not find me the least bit creepy. But in the same room were the eight kids from the day before. There was no way to avoid feeling like a creep. I obviously looked like an adult and should thus be at the wedding. Since I am not, I must be an an adult reject. Which kids know is the one thing worse than a child reject. But we were stuck in a room no bigger than the size of the average college student's kitchen, and I was just looking at babies. They are boring. So I watched the kids. And at one point I was trying to help an older sister keep her younger brother quiet, but she completely ignored me. Reject adult? You bet.

Finally the wedding festivities were coming to an end. I was eating at the luncheon when I felt a little tap on my shoulder so I looked back. I caught the eye of one of the little girls who immediately looked away and ran. I glanced over and a group of little kids were just staring atme. Something was going on. I stood up to leave and a few kids were walking back and forth behind me. I gave one of them a slightly annoyed "what are you doing" look. They giggled and walked away.

By now I am just frustrated. If there is one thing I hate more than secrets, it is little girls thinking they are hilarious for their secrets. I know it is pathetic, but I guess it just reminds me of my won catty elementary school days.

Brooke and I were about to leave and were packing food for the road. An elderly lady says to me, "I don't know if you know this, but there is a piece of tape on your back. Let me help you."

That was it. Some bad-a child dared another bad-a to put a piece of tape on my back. It was kinda funny. It kinda hurt. I mean, I didn't ask to me the creepy weirdo adult/child (childimorph?). But then again, I can not blame them. I probably would have done the same thing. Just more bad-a, like a 'kick me' sign.