We had a long drive ahead of us that Friday and I can’t think of a better way to start the day than with a yummy breakfast. As we had wandered about the town in the few days we’d been there I had seen a number of signs with a hand pointing one way or another that read “Cafe This Way.” Turns out that was the name of the cafe.

It was already raining steadily outside as we parked downtown and walked into the restaurant. Thus far, every day of our trip that we spent traveling from one place to another we had been met with rain. This day was no different.

First of all, I have to tell you that the food was out of this world. I ordered an omelet, “The Smokey,” but made a few substitutions. Have you ever had lox and bagel? Bagel and lox? No? You haven’t lived, my friend. I challenge you to present me with a combination more perfect, more palate satisfying than a bagel, a generous helping of cream cheese, smoked salmon (lox), and (depending on where you get it) sliced tomato, onion, and capers. Oi. Anyways, I made my omelet a little like that. The Smokey already came with the smoked trout (no salmon, but this was just as great…and fresh and local!), tomatoes, onions, basil, etc., but I removed the parmesan and added cream cheese and capers. Win win win win win.

Does my husband always look like he’s up to something? Yes. And was our table decorated in a Superwoman motif? You’d better believe it.

It looked like the cast of friends was running this place.

Only they were younger and hipstery.

Once we’d finished our yummy breakfast back out the door we went, now out into the pouring rain. Serious rain. I enjoy the rain more than the next person. A lot more. When I hear people complain about rain it hurts me down to my core, but I won’t talk about that now. It was raining and we were in it, heading out of Maine, into New Brunswick, with our final destination in front of us — Prince Edward Island.

Only here’s the deal. Maine? Bigger than you think. It takes a while to get out especially when there is a ridiculous amount of road construction going on. And that rain? Still with us. One. Two. FIVE hours down the road.

You see that sign? NEW BRUNSWICK CANADA. It is in caps and they are serious, folks. For the first time in my life (and not the first time in my mission tripping husband’s) I was crossing an international border. You heard me right, I’ve never even been to Mexico. This trip was my first time through customs and my first time to show someone my passport.

And that’s where it got interesting.

We had nothing to declare going in (though I have NO DOUBT that we could have made it back out of Canada with any number of weapons — they barely glanced at us), so when we parked the car and went inside to get stamped we figured that we’d be back outside and on the road in no time. Wrong. The man in front of us in line “forgot” to declare a large bottle of alcohol and that had to be dealt with. Then it was our turn. My passport was fine. I haven’t had so much as a speeding ticket in my life. Next, Kevin handed his passport over. The agent at the desk paused, went back to the computer, tinkered around for a bit, came back and asked for Kevin’s social security number, went back and tinkered around more (this actually took quite a bit of time), and finally joined us with a worried look on his face.

Then I found out I’d married a felon.

Seriously, folks, this was the way to do it. Keep up the facade all during the dating relationship, snag the girl, get her married and then take off across the Canadian border with her while she and everyone else remains under the assumption that you’re “honeymooning.”

And I’m kidding. But brilliant plan, right? What the agent revealed to us was that someone who was wanted for a number of crimes in Utah and Oklahoma (umm…we live here! what’s going on folks?!) has been using my husband’s name (they may not know him personally or even know that someone with the name exists) as an alias. Grrreat. And here we are trying to cross the border. Into Canada. Probably to get Canadian papers. Because you can do anything with Canadian papers, right? That’s what I’ve heard.

The social security number cleared us for entry (thankfully this person hasn’t stolen my husband’s identity, just using the name) and we were back on the road.

It. was. still. raining.

Here, in pictures…the next 7 and 1/2 hours of our lives:

Mmhmm. Yup. Rain.

Now, here are a few things that occurred on our trip into Canada and a few observations that I made. (I’m trying not to make a lot of sweeping generalizations here.)

1. The rest stops off the Canadian highway in New Brunswick are a little off the beaten path. Instead of finding a gas station right on the side of the highway like you would in the US, you have to get into a town a little. Or something. The one we found was hard to find. And it took a while driving down the highway before we even reached it. Someone please explain so we know for next time.
2. Who am I kidding. We will NEVER drive to PEI again. It’s a ferry or a boat for this girl.
3. Once you put more than one language on a sign, I stop reading it. Ask Kevin. We were getting deep into New Brunswick, almost to the coast whenever he asked me about a sign we’d just passed. “I didn’t read it,” I said. “What?” he replied. “Nope, I haven’t read a sign in about 100 miles. I stopped once the French started.” This isn’t political or nationalist or whatever, I just can’t deal with the clutter. This proved a little bit troublesome. What with the rain and the pouring and the needing to read the signs and drive and miss the potholes in the New Brunswick highway that were BIGGER THAN A HUMAN HEAD.

And then, finally, the vision we’d been waiting for (and at this point, praying for) all day:

The bridge that would bring us into the loving arms of dear, old PEI.

Part 2 of our arrival on PEI will be posted tomorrow. And remember, once we crossed that bridge it was only 7pm. There are still hours to go before we get to sleep. But at this point in the trip our only concern was sustenance. It only gets better. And if you ever plan on traveling to PEI you do NOT want to miss tomorrow’s continuation.

Later that afternoon, when we were done walking around downtown Portland, we drove to South Portland and visited Cape Elizabeth and the beautiful lighthouse there. Along with lines, signs, brick, and cobblestones, I love me some lighthouses. And covered bridges. But there were no covered bridges on this trip. Saving that for spring break.

I took this one while perched on a rooftop.

Kidding. But Kevin did have to stop me from walking on the grass to get a better shot a couple of times because if anything I am oblivious to signage. I know. I love it, but if it is imperative in any way I will ignore it. Just one of my quirks. It also got very interesting on our trek from Maine to PEI later in the week, but I’ll get to that.

At this point in the trip, this was as close as I had been to the Atlantic Ocean. Or the ocean, period, if you believe the same way my husband and I do. You see, before this trip the only “ocean” I’d ever touched was the Gulf of Mexico on the coast of Texas. Which looks remarkably similar to a muddy lake. No offense, Texas. Actually, wait. Every offense, Texas.

Cape Elizabeth is the site of a very famous shipwreck. Lots of postcards and prints in the gift shop are reprints of photographs of the shipwreck. Old, old photographs. Very neat.

There is just something so violent and cold and awesome about the Atlantic and the way it crashes into the rocky coasts of Maine. I love it and can’t wait to go back.

Like that? Ring any bells? No? Thought not. And we can just call it “The Honeymoon” from this point on if that works for you.

Yes, Day 2. I know, you’re probably wondering where Day 1 went. Did someone spike the punch at the reception? Thank goodness, no. Day 1 is lost somewhere in the ether, high above the clouds. Day 1 was spent on a plane between Oklahoma City and Manchester, New Hampshire.

Day 2 began just outside of Portland, Maine. We drove into the city and spent the day walking around the town and enjoying the seaside fare.

The first place we stopped in town was Gilbert’s Chowder House because we were hungry and I’m not sure what sounds better than a chowder house.

Our first stop was a very good decision. Kevin had his very first lobster roll and I had the seafood chowder. Mine was good, but his looks better than mine because it was better than mine.

During this trip, I harassed a lot of seagulls. This is just the beginning.

Portland has a lot of lines. And signs. And brick. And cobblestones. Oh, the cobblestones. I love all those things.

NEXT UP: The seaside and Cape Elizabeth. But first, this photo I took just for Heather…

The day of our wedding I woke up with the June sun shining through the curtains of my room at my mom and dad’s house. Every bedroom I have slept in up to this point has had at least one east facing window and because of this I am a naturally early riser. This morning was no different, with me up hours before I needed to be. Leave it to me to not take advantage of extra sleep on my wedding day.

I had played it through my head over and over how I thought my last night in my parents’ house would be and what it would be like to wake up the next morning, knowing it wouldn’t ever really be the same. Unlike I’d expected, I did not cry myself to sleep the night before. I was too tired. And I know you may be thinking, “Really? Cry?” Yes, really. I have always been a mama’s girl and no matter how excited I was to be getting married it pained me to think that I could really never go home again in the same way. We were going to start a new household. No longer would I be under my parents. It all seemed so new and frightening.

But what did I do? I went to sleep the moment my head hit the pillow and like I said, I was up with the sun the next morning and into the kitchen to make my coffee. My mom was awake, my dad already off to work (he has a 24/7 job in the oilfield), and at least one of my brothers was conscious already. Made myself some breakfast, took a long bath, packed up the rest of my stuff, and headed down to Granny and PawPaw’s to pick up my matron-of-honor and one of my bridesmaids (Heather & Aaryn). Together we drove over to Duncan and went to the nail salon to get all gussied up.

The only decent place to get your toes done (that anyone knew of) in Duncan was the salon in Wal-mart, so there we were. I made a coffee run at McDonald’s (Umm, yes. Again.) then settled into one of those comfy chairs to wait my tootsies’ turn. I think the massage chair did wonders to keep the knots from forming in my back. That’s where I tend to direct all my stress (there and my brain and intestines, but you don’t care about that). Eventually it was my turn and that, my dear readers, was The Best pedicure I have ever had. It lasted longer than any other pedicure and NEVER chipped. Bless their hearts at the Duncan Wal-mart. They know what they are doing.

Excuse me if I have to come back and edit some of this, because I realized that I lost quite a bit of my memory from the middle part of the day.

After we were done there, we went to the church to drop some things off and then grabbed a quick lunch. Next up were our hair appointments. Aaryn had one right before mine and we went to my cousin-in-law Cortney’s to have it done. Elizabeth Diefenderfer, a former co-worker, was doing the photography and she arrived to take photos while we were at the salon. It was right at this point that I started to get antsy. I couldn’t sit down. I was pacing in the shop. I knew what was going on though. Adrenaline was starting to fill my veins and I had that constant “I-need-to-take-a-tinkle” feeling that I used to get before a basketball game. You know, like right before you get on a roller coaster? THAT. At least I wasn’t having a panic attack.

After our hair was all done we went back to the church and started getting ready to take a few photos before the wedding. Just the ones without Kevin and I together though. Yes, we’re traditional. I hate being griped at for it. And I’ll be honest, I totally judge people who go ahead and see each other before the wedding. Sorry. I think my mom and my bridesmaids helped me to get the dress on. It’s a heavy sucker. Before I really knew what had happened, we were all completely dressed and ready to go take some pictures. Those went fairly quick, since I’d made a list beforehand of everything I wanted and I didn’t have any ridiculous bridesmaids. Thank you, ladies.

While all this was going on, Dad kept approaching me with his phone to show me pictures of Kevin (who was back in the choir room) and all of his groomsmen playing Phase 10 (whatever that is). I guess that’s a bit of a cheat, but whatever. Blame Dad.

When we were done the four of us (me, Heather, Aaryn, and Delisa) were ushered back into the lounge outside of the ladies’ restroom to wait for everything to begin. Oh boy. My tummy is turning just thinking about it. We had about an hour left to go and this time went by more quickly than anything else. There were a few people in and out of the room; Lindsay, the wife of one of the groomsmen, to deliver a letter from Kevin to me (I sent her back with one for him); a few aunts who couldn’t quite contain their tears; my grandmother who brought by the hair pin that I secured my veil with (belonged to her mother, my Nannie) and the handkerchief that I carried (belonged to PawPaw’s mother, my “Granny Christ” [pronounced KRISS] or Grandma Maggie Johnson to the rest of the family) and left quickly because she wasn’t going to be able to hold her tears in; and a few random people to say “hello.” (If you were there and you remember more of this, please share in the comments. I have lost a lot of it!)

I don’t know how it all went by so quickly, but suddenly my dad was peeking through the door to tell us that the video presentation was almost over and that they’d be seating the families within minutes. That meant it was almost time. Oh. My. Lands.

(Since you all haven’t seen it, unless you were there, here’s the slideshow we played. YouTube quality is AWFUL, but the DVD version is great.)

There were a couple of small snafus with the timing and people knowing when to be queued in (blame me for being the wedding coordinator at the rehearsal), but it all worked out without me knowing.

I was standing there, the music was playing, and my girlie friends were walking down the aisle. The doors closed and then there were violins. Without any warning, I was on my dad’s arm and he said, “It’s all going to be fine.” The doors opened and there we were. And there, at the end of the aisle…was him.

Tomorrow – Reflections on the Ceremony WITH *tada* The Wedding Video!

Wedding planning truths continued…

8. You’ll need your security blanket more than ever. Embrace her. She’s been your faithful friend for over 24 years now and though she’s nearly in shreds and people give you funny looks and call you Linus, she’s definitely someone you can lean on right now.

I was blipping this morning and decided to share. In second grade (1992) we did this awesome musical. In it we sang this song.

And around that time, this was the look I was rockin’.

Today I was featured in Bossy’s Virtual Peek. That means there are scads of first time visitors roaming around my blog today. Gah! If my blog were my house I would be rushing about right now, picking up laundry, trying not to break dishes as I cram them into the cabinets, kicking magazines underneath the couch, smoothing out my skirt and checking my hair one last time before I greet my guests at the door.

Or maybe I’ll just stick with my normal “after regular business hours” attire–yoga pants and a sweatshirt I’ve had since my sophomore year at OU.

I must say, you picked a pretty great day to visit, because I posted one of the funnest videos I’ve made last night (which brings my total to…4). Go. Watch. Delight. Wonder along with me how I ever managed to escape those four large front teeth that insisted on being the stars of the show in 1992.

And if you’d like to know a little more about where you’ve landed, I’ve provided a few links to memorable posts. And a few links to posts featuring memorable links. Thanks for stopping by! (For all my faithful readers *cough*Mom*cough*, here’s a little look back for you )

Thirteen Things About My Faith
23 Things That Happened in My 23rd Year
Two words: WHIPPED. CREAM.
No More First Days
Thursday Thirteen #42 – Engagement Edition
Like a jam jar. (Graduating from college)
Back when I was the face of online dating…
a short lesson on Elizabeth.
Thirteen Things About My Weight Loss Journey

I’m dedicating this one to my brother Kyle, because he was obsessed with watching Captain Bucky O’Hare for a period of time. It came on Sunday mornings and he had this coloring book that he would carry around…a lot of places. This was also around the time that he was always wearing the yellow (I think? Correct me if I’m wrong on that one) ball cap, olive green quilted vest, and either black or red cowboy boots. He was like 4 or 5. Man. There’s video of that ensemble somewhere.

Or any craft show, really. These are just a few observations I made while fighting may way through the crowds of mostly 40+ women who flock to this biannual event at Oklahoma City’s State Fair Park (back in the fall). And get excited! It’s happening again this weekend! Head out to the fair grounds on February 6, 7, and 8 for this fantastic display of things rich women with nothing better to do bought at Market and marked up by 300% crafty talent. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy AAotH, but gracious me–every crazy, countrified craft you can think of ends up in this place. And then the most annoying of all are the booths that look the same–the ones where you can tell they all went to Market on the same weekend and came home with all the same goods (ridiculous shirts that have a shot of Paris in the background with the word “Chocolat” emblazoned across the bosom in faux rhinestones…give me a break). But here you go vendors! A consumer’s (tongue-in-cheek) list of ways to succeed at An Affair of the Heart.

1. Food. You’ll block an entire aisle’s worth of booths if you offer a free sample of any edible item. Shoot, it doesn’t even have to be edible. You could probably stir some hot tar in with a little cream cheese and dill, slap a label on it (“Black Gold Bean Dip” would be a winner with this crowd), set out some tortilla chips and wait.

2. OU/OSU. Tote bags are usually the best way to go with this, though I can see a lot of potential in throw pillows made out of trash bags (white with the red ties for OU, black with the orange ties for OSU). Why has no one tried this?!

3. Pet apparel. If you can personalize this stuff–even better. And collars with charms to spell out names are especially great. They can double as bracelets or you could even use them to jazz up your child’s leash once they are big enough to walk and no longer ride in the stroller you are using as a shopping cart to block the way of the 100 people walking behind you. Sorry. Lost my train of thought… Arrange your booth in such a way that everyone has to file through in a line and once they’re inside there’s no turning back. They are forced to look at every item because of that one Tri Delt with her mom who can’t decide if Abigail Persephone, her Min Pin, would prefer purple or pink. Get with the program honey, you’re a Tri Delt. Cerulean blue.

4. Things painted on saws. I cannot see the appeal and there is very little I can comment on here. Sorry. Yeah, I know, this is a blog and I’m supposed to write things to entertain you. I’ll leave you with a picture in case you haven’t seen one of these things…

5. Faith, Hope, Love OR Live, Laugh, Love OR Sing like no one’s listening…yada yada. SIGNAGE. My hatred for this stuff is something that I am incapable of expressing. If I were to try to verbalize it, it would be some guttural death growl. And that Mark Twain quote? I challenge you to find more than a dozen booths that DON’T feature it in some way. I will give you cookies if you do. Here’s a thought on this one–go against the grain. Don’t use the most tuckered out quote that half the females on the internet put in their “favorite quotes” section on whatever social network they’re using, thinking they are original and livelaughloving life like no one’s done before. Or go ahead and do it and make money. Wow, this makes me seem angsty. Other signs that are ridiculous and garner close to the same amount of hatred: Paris, Chocolat, It’s All About Me, If Mama Ain’t Happy Ain’t Nobody Happy…I can’t go on.

6. Crosses. You can’t go wrong. Especially not in Oklahoma. I’m not sure that I ever had a conversation with a person who didn’t at least claim to be a Christian until I came to OU. Popular materials to construct crosses with: fence posts, barbed wire, sheet metal. For some women, crosses seem to be to them what very big trucks are to their husbands. I’m not going to elaborate on that, but if you know what I mean, feel free to give me a wink. I’d like to know that I’m not alone in thinking this.

7. Random photographs with shapes that might be construed as letters of the alphabet and placed in a frame to spell out your last name or first name or SOONERS. The first year these things were at AAotH the booth didn’t even bother to have any on hand other than display pieces. It looked like that was a smart idea because it forced people to make a decision: do I place an order or do I attempt to live my life without this work of art in my very Southern Living, Country Sampler-fied home? And I can tell you that year people were placing orders right and left. The booth was crazy busy and the ladies working it barely had a moment to breath the few times I passed them. But the second year? There were no fewer than 5 booths selling the same thing. I don’t know whose original idea it was, but the moral of the story is that you MUST be one of two things at this show. A complete sell-out (Market goods crowd) or so original you aren’t going to be able to take care of all the people who want to buy your product.

I’ll take the latter of those two any day, but if you do fall into that spot at a show one thing you have to accept is that next year someone else is going to be cashing in on what you created that year before and they may even be better. I grew up in the craft show circuit (it’s not much different from being a Ren Faire kid–free craft fair food, your run of the place, and all the wooden swords and popguns you could want) and sometimes I feel that urge to create something kitschy and fantastic and sure to suck in a certain portion of the female population. Then I remember what it was like to unload tables from a trailer and set them up in a fair barn that smelled like pigs until enough cinnamon scented candles had been lit and orange spice potpurri was lining the aisles. Hanging crafts from hooks on pegboards before we’d even had breakfast. I remember how Mom would be up until all hours of the night to get one last doll sewn or just a few more pinecone Christmas trees flocked. And I think I’m content (for now, because who knows how I’ll feel when I have slave labor children) to roam the aisles without the added burden of thieving people’s ideas.

(So glad Chad over at The Lost Ogle didn’t forget this was happening. And for those of you who aren’t interested in wreaths and raffia he’s got a few other ideas for the weekend.)