So what do you do with The Dress?

Yesterday the dry cleaners called to say that The Dress was ready for pick up. I have become quite fond of The Dress for the last seven months. It was bought almost on a whim last October while we were visiting in California with Justin, Farr, Jackson and brand new baby brother, Cooper. We had done what we do as often as possible-- gather the family for a spontaneous time together. Chris and I flew in on Thursday; Melanie and Ben followed Saturday morning.

For three days, there was much passing around Cooper along side serious playtime with his two and a half year old brother, Jackson. But on top of that, we would be there to participate in the Manhattan Beach Great Pumpkin Race. To Jackson, his Dad, Papa and Uncle Ben Ben, this rivaled the excitement of having a new baby in the house. The male contingent had been prepping for months to design an entry for the event.  The rules are simple: one pumpkin, two axels that must go though the pumpkin and four wheels. It had already been decided that it would be a kid friendly pirate ship (despite Papa’s lobbying for one called the Tea Party—a pumpkin covered in wing nuts). Most of Saturday was spent on the patio with hacksaws, knives, drills and not a few beers.

In the living room, Farracy, Melanie and I were perusing wedding websites, Cooper cradled and passed between us. Engaged since May, Melanie wanted to go just at least “look” at wedding dresses (kind of like “looking” at a puppy I think); Farr and I would be her wing ladies. Now here is what you have to understand. For Melanie, most important purchases—say a backpack or snow board—require research, touching, testing, talking and after narrowing it down to two—days of deciding. She weighs the pros and cons until those around her are ready to throw up their hands and just buy her both of whatever she is contemplating if she would just decide. While excited to go with her, Farracy and I decided to take Cooper along so that if things got too prolonged we would have an easy way out. Plus neither of us was crazy about leaving the little guy in the hands of men so consumed in their creative project requiring dangerous tools.

Figuring that this was simply a scouting trip, we headed to the nearest David’s Bridal Shop to look at dresses Melanie had already found online. We were a bit of a motely crew--Melanie in flip-flops and her hair up in two nubbins and amazed to find scattered groups of threes and fours stylish women gathered around the banks of mirrors outside the dressing rooms. Asked the time of our appointment, we blankly explained we were just “looking.”  New to this whole bridal business, I was already starting to feel out of place, but taking charge, Farracy asked if it was possible to just see a few dresses. Ten minutes later an “appointment” was arranged.

The immaculately attired young woman assigned us was handed a slip of paper with the dress numbers. Disappearing for a few moments she returned carrying all three in Melanie’s size. (Apparently this was a stroke of luck on our part.) While Melanie vanished behind the curtained dressing room, Farracy and I settled into chairs, Cooper happily slumbering in his seat on the floor by our feet, preparing ourselves for the long ordeal to begin. From behind the curtain Melanie yelled, “Ok, ready? Here I come!” Stepping out with a huge grin on her face, Farracy and I started laughing and high fiving. It was The Dress; we all knew it the minute she walked out. Melanie did ask me if maybe I wasn’t supposed to be shedding a tear, which I actually did a few moments later, but first I was too busy taking pictures from every angle. The dress was simple, and elegant, and she looked beautiful, but to be sure, we all agreed she should try on the other two, a process that took longer than the decision to rule them out. In a matter of minutes, my pro and con weighing daughter had just made a choice most women spend weeks or even month deciding.

The dress would have to be ordered and then some minor alterations made, but the saleswoman said that could happen when we all came back to California for Christmas. Less than an hour had gone by, the baby had not even stirred and Melanie had a wedding dress. Done, done and done. When we got home, the men still cutting and drilling, were shocked to see us back so soon and even more surprised to hear mission accomplished.  (They, too, were successful with a racer that was not only great looking but also came in second in its heat.)

December 26 the four of us were back again at David’s for the fitting and alterations which cost almost as much as the dress. When finished it was air shipped Boston to wait the big day. Arriving in March, it hung in a doorway of a closet until riding to Maine atop piles of suitcases and boxes filled with programs and bubbles. (How perfect that my wandering daughter would wear a dress that had traveled so many miles to get to her.)

 On May 28, The Dress was worn with joy for eight hours; it was as perfect as we knew it would be. Then somehow it was left in Boston to be cleaned. Dropping it off, I pointed out that along the hem there was about an inch of dirt. This wasn’t just your normal floor dirt along the edge because this was Melanie’s dress. After the ceremony, she and Ben climbed up on rocks and walked out on docks by the water’s edge, kissed by the cool ocean breezes. They stood under trees receiving blessings of the oaks. She picked up nephews, and blew bubbles, and danced her heart out with her new husband. She lived in it the way she lives her life; and some of that dirt just would not come out. There is still a faded line, but that is fine with me. Somehow that line embodies a life already well lived.

So for now it hangs next to another wedding dress –this from 1972 --with it’s long sleeves and empire waist sewn by a woman who lived “out in the country”, as we called it in N.C.  A bit faded from its thirty-nine years and many moves but a relic from the 60s. Worn only two hours for the church wedding and reception following in the parish hall it is still pristine—no signs of wear and tear. Beginning life together with Chris, my still immaculate dress seems a reflection of a 23 year-olds innocence. At thirty-one, Melanie’s life of adventure, joys and heartaches has already been so different from anything I might have imagined as a newly wed. But now, at least for the time being, they hang together keeping each other company, mirrors of the innocence and wisdom of two young women beginning their married lives blessed with such hope and love.