Home

Mark sometimes jokes that he doesn't know how he even met me, given how often I leave the house. We concede the point to fate. But it's true. I am a person little bothered by long stretches of solitude and dearly fond of tugging 'home' around the sharp shoulders of a room. I am a homebody.

When Mark moved into this apartment, I took down all my pictures, unshelved all my books, and moved every piece of furniture to allow our home to grow naturally into the space that was once mine alone. But even then, I grew anxious waiting to return the rooms to a state of homeyness. The effects of living in a car for a year are still apparent in Mark's life. Many of his photos are unframed, and some of his dearest belongings are stored in the basements of relatives from here to California. When he set out on his journey, it was on a track faster and freer than the remnants of interior decorating could keep up with.

I found I couldn't wait for his material possessions to catch up. One framed print and a family photo are all that Mark has to represent him on our walls. My library has vacated a single shelf for his stereo. We carried in a few new cabinets to accommodate his arrival, and wedding gifts have begun to add heft to our common life, but I still have a niggling sense that my over-abundance of nesting impulses unbalance the character of our home. I do not want to dominate any sphere of our life, domestic or otherwise.

Perhaps some of these apparent imbalances will resolve themselves when we eventually move out of this apartment into a home that is truly joint space. Maybe time alone will help obscure the memory that this was my apartment before it was his also. Of course, the conscious effort to seek balance is fundamental. I hope to demonstrate my love, respect, and interest in my husband by celebrating his full entrance into the sacred creation of our home. In fact, I refuse to define home without him, although my impulses may urge me to move faster or more thoroughly than he is able to.

It is not, despite what it sounds, a sacrifice. This kind partnership is as beneficial to me as to him or anyone else--it is less fragile, more complex, more sustainable than building alone. I am not surrendering control, really. I offer my talents for homemaking and welcome his with my will fully intact. I choose this new means of staying at home.

And here, there remains an imbalance that I will never try to correct--I choose this new making of home with far more joy than regret, a greater swell of love than defensiveness, a tidal wave of eagerness that dilutes the trickle of worry to utter insignificance.

Wedding Photos are Online!

We've finally uploaded a whole lot of photos from our wedding. Feel free to browse through them when you have a half hour or so, and you're welcome to order prints, etc., from the site.

 Click here to view photos

Many thanks to Bernie Yoo, Julie Evans, and Dianne Carroll for so generously providing so many beautiful photos!

The Wedding Sermon

Thanks to the efforts of a variety of technically-minded friends and family at the wedding, we're delighted to share with you an MP3 of Valerie Dixon's sermon at our wedding. To listen, just click the play button on the player below:



Mom highlighted some life wisdom for us from one of the Hafiz poems we selected for the event: We Have Not Come To Take Prisoners. It was a joy and an honor to be blessed with a sermon presented by my mother at our wedding. I know that this sermon will continue to guide us long after the words were spoken on that magical wedding day. I look forward to the unfolding.

With love,
Mark

Married Life

One of these days, we'll get Mark to post something here, but, in the meantime, it seemed best to post an update on the past almost-two-months of marriage.

Married life is lovely. There's a deep truth to that phrase, "married life"--it's as if our individual lives, although threading along in closer and closer proximity to each other for the past number of months, have now begun to weave together and anchor in each other. And there's a simplicity in it. Almost daily, I find myself gushing to Mark about how perfectly easy it is to break from our work (we both work from home), sit down at our kitchen table, and eat a meal together . . . no matter how unpredictable our schedules are.

Furthermore, the balance of caregiving and need for care is easier to maintain with substantive bonds that bind us to each other. We have laid out for each other our needs and our stores of wealth and match them up, one to the other. This sounds like a solemn and meticulous process, but it is often in gleeful and giddy moments that we find we have sketched the blueprints of our habits and family traditions. (My favorite new "tradition" is a fall-specific game which involves long stretches of staring at a single oak tree interspersed with bursts of frantic hilarity as we both chase the same falling leaf. Whoever catches it gets a point. Mark won by one leaf.) These are the kinds of pleasures that I barely knew how to anticipate. They are delicate, nuanced, and sweetly mundane.

Now, I recognize that I tend to write in terms that tend towards the grandiose and metaphysical, and I also recognize that we've only been married for almost-two-months. I fully anticipate--hope, even--that our experiences will reveal to us facets of life we don't yet have the words to describe. But today is a part of our marriage as much as a day twenty years from now will be. It just happens to be the early part. So, we are thankful for the joy, and we carefully prepare for whatever else might be ours. And, to sum up, we are having a wonderful time of it.

Bid the Mob Good Day

I feel like I've jumped off a cliff on the back of a mountain-bred horse. If you've ever seen a movie called "The Man From Snowy River"--a jewel and a treasure, I assure you--you'll know what I'm talking about. It's about an Australian horseman named Jim who comes from the rough-and-tumble high country seeking love and employment in the civilized flatlands. (I must now openly confess to a girlish adoration of all things equine and/or desperately romantic.) When his employer/prospective father-in-law loses a prized colt to a band of wild horses (called the Brumbies by the locals), Jim must ride side-by-side with trained huntsmen on the trail of the horses.

After a series of shots of thundering hooves and hallooing riders, it seems that the low-landers have wrangled the mob, and the day is won. But at the crack of a whip, the horde is off again, this time heading for the mountains. In the end, they careen off the edge of an incredibly steep slope, and the riders pull up short. Except for Jim. Born for mountain riding, he and his horse follow without hesitation. Gravity and shining confidence pull them in a dramatic slow-motion descent to their ultimate glory.

And that's me. I'm on the back of that horse, plunging over the edge that would seem insane if I didn't know that I was born to race down its slopes. I've spent much of the past months trying to be like the civilized horsemen, keeping my wild eagerness and excitement in the even plains. I've trotted nervously around the edges of the mob with the restrained aplomb of a civilized adult. But the Brumbies were just biding their time until they could bolt for the highlands. With ten days left until the wedding, I feel no hesitation; I thrill to the chase and cast a hasty farewell to the level ground.

When the chase comes to an end, the power and majesty of the runaway pack will be mine to harness and train for the long, sweet work of marriage. In the meantime, let the low-landers shake their careful heads. I am gone.

(Here's a link to the scene in question: The Descent)

Ride Sharing

Are you traveling to Pennsburg from Philly on Friday? New York City on Saturday? Timbuktu on Tuesday? Are you interested in sharing a ride or a rental car with someone else? You're not the only one!

We are asking anyone who has interest in doubling up on rides to and/or from the wedding to post in the comments on the Directions page. There are others like you, so don't be shy. While we don't vouch for the traffic, we assure you that all of our wedding guests are lovely people, so plan on having good company!

Happy travels!

**Only 36 days until the wedding!**

Hotel Reservations

Negotiations on hotel rooms have come to a close!

Check out the lodging page to find information about our block of rooms at Comfort Inn in Quakertown (located about 10 minutes down the road from the wedding location). You can reserve a room or suite--if you have a larger group or would like to share a room with friends to save money--by calling the number on that page. Be sure that you call the 215 number we have listed, not a generic 800 number for Comfort Inn. Mention that you are a part of the Benner/Dixon group.

If you are a member of a travel club or would prefer a different hotel, there are a few different hotels within sight of each other. The websites are posted on our lodging page. Again, if you are interested in tenting on the Benner property, let Christie know as soon as possible (215-527-7742).

They are asking that reservations be made by September 10, but we recommend that you reserve as soon as possible. That way, if they need to expand the block beyond what we've tentatively asked for, they know to do so as soon as possible

See you soon!

Accoutrements

The wedding draws ever nearer! Tomorrow morning I am taking the train from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia to attend my bridal shower. Admittedly, it's a bit bizarre. Suddenly, things that are mine, that are specifically about me (at least in relation to this wedding) are "bridal." I have a title and a role. I am a Bride. My new identity (or so imply the Google ads that quickly adapted to my searches for dresses and rings) is that of King Midas; the things I touch magically transform into gleaming, glittering versions of their former selves. My shoes, my hair, my bouquet are breathlessly, sacredly "bridal."

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this sudden acquisition of all things bridal. Now, I am quite certain of my feelings about marrying Mark. They are unequivocal. Having Mark as my life partner, my family--I do not remember and cannot imagine a choice more beautiful or ennobling. My decision to marry Mark is anchored by the deep roots of goodness that are not easily moved. It just seems, in light of this profound love, that ads for "bridal handbags" seem absurd.

I have to admit, some of the accoutrements of getting married are great. The bridal shower, for instance. We'll have a grand old time! We will gather with joy, eat cake, and love every minute of it. I happen to think people should celebrate together more often. And for more reasons. Why wait for someone to get married?

Maybe marriage has accumulated all of these add-ons because it is designed to create family, and family thrives on ritual and tradition. Mark and I have brainstormed about creating our own holidays, a series of family rituals that allow us to sculpt our life together. We are picking and choosing the things that are meaningful to us--good food, good friends, good conversation, good loving--and putting those at the center of our self-made traditions.

And we are doing the same (as much as we can) with the wedding accoutrements offered us. I am not buying a bridal handbag. We are not hiring a professional wedding planner. No one will be getting drunk to bemoan the end of single life. These things are not for us. No thank you. You may turn back into regular clutter now; I don't want you.

I am trying to choose only those things that reflect the full joy of our union. If, for now, they must be labeled "bridal"--I'll be okay. But I don't think I'll miss my title (or the ads) when I turn it in this September.

P.S. The picture above is from my parents' 30th wedding anniversary, I believe. I was playing the part of my mother for the reenactment. My grandparents accompany me.

Simple

There are plenty of things that I am eager to do, things that I adorn with heaping measures of nurture and enthusiasm. My schoolwork has (almost) always been one of them, but there are others: music, the garden, baking, poetry, and the paradoxically energizing/energy-draining quest of teaching. For the time being, wedding plans have staked out a place on that list.

I find that I take quite naturally to the assembling of details, the scheming and dreaming, the tender creating of and for a union between my beloved and myself. It feels as if the energy that I put into this work comes back to me in waves, amplified. With such a yield, I am inclined to be extravagant with my energy.

But I'm on the lookout for black holes--the places where energy goes but does not return. What are the things, I ask myself, that I feel "required" to do but would not care if they turned out or flopped? What are the items that hang on my to-do list from week to week, trickling their way to the shameful and conspicuous top? What are the bills that seem a travesty to pay? These are the footholds of clutter, I think.


Simplicity is something that Mark and I both value. Simple living. But in my mind, simplicity does not exclude extravagance; it enables it. Creative simplicity allows me to pour my being into the projects, plans, and peaceful moments as I will. My aim is to stop up the black holes with the broad, smooth stones of sacrifice and temperance.

And then--oh, then!--let the walls tremble with the resounding, echoing, amplifying waves of golden energy given in joy! Let it be ebullient, lavish, and intricate! This is the gift of simplicity: the freedom to spend without reserve on the things that constitute life itself.

There will be days, of course, when such exuberance will not be appropriate; there will be days when I have more black holes than stones to fill them. But for the sake of this day, our wedding day, I am pulling out all the stops . . . by conserving. Listen up, little tasks, you will have to prove yourselves worthy. You will be stripped to your simplest form. But if you prove worthwhile, I will clothe you anew from the gold that I've spun out of straw.

Welcome to our blog!

That's right. Another "happily ever after" blog. Couple cuteness. We know. It can be disgusting. But bear with us. Christie is an English professional, and Mark has no shame--this is bound to get interesting.

Now that we've started, we'll be posting news and reflections about our upcoming wedding. Once that's under our belts, brace yourself for whatever else we decide to throw your way.

In the meantime, there is plenty for new visitors to do on this site:
1. RSVP to our wedding here.
2. Check out our registry information here.

Great to have you here!

Love,
Mark (and Christie)