In search of a warm reception
By LENNIE BENNETT
Published March 17, 2006
The Art Newspaper arrived in the mail today. It joined recent issues of ArtNews, Art in America, the New Yorker and several museum catalogs in a growing stack. They wait to be read. They need to be read.
Instead, I flip through InStyle and memorize the details of Christina Aguilera's wedding. I move on to Brides. Then Modern Bride.
This shift in priorities began Dec. 30 with two ecstatically framed words whispered over the phone by my daughter, Sarah.
"I'm engaged," she says.
I have a big flash, what in literature is called an epiphany. Oprah calls it the Light Bulb Moment.
For one day, for the first and I believe last time in my life, I will be Mother of the Bride.
I'm planning a wedding.
I couldn't be happier.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
No problem!
I learn that in addition to the periodicals I already have, at least a dozen more are available. And each promises to guide me to Wedding Nirvana. So do several dozen books. The books have lots of gorgeous photos of the food, flowers, dresses and ideas for those refinements that "make your wedding day special and perfect."
Never mind that I could buy several cases of good champagne for what I spend on these indispensable, mostly interchangeable guides. Special and perfect is what we want.
In one of the books, I get the scoop on Tori Spelling's perfect Beverly Hills wedding. I think her enormous diamond hair clip is maybe too special. Also, I think she got a divorce not long after the wedding.
The first thing we have to do, all authorities agree, is set a date.
Forget summer, season of hurricanes. Spring 2007? Sarah and her fiance, Hilt, don't want to wait that long.
They decide on Dec. 16, the anniversary, plus one day, of his parents' wedding 26 years ago.
"That is so sweet," I say.
"That is a terrible day," a caterer tells me. "Too close to Christmas."
"We booked that date a long time ago," the hospitality manager of a local hotel says. I detect a smirk. Or maybe it's sympathy.
"I don't think we're available that day," another tells me.
I am feeling the same unpleasant passive-aggressiveness I felt years ago during the holidays when I would show up at a store along with several hundred other parents to score one of the five remaining toys-of-the-moment, never coming close.
Sarah has a brain wave.
"The Ringling mansion!" she practically shouts, referring to Ca d'Zan, the historic waterfront house on the grounds of the Ringling Museum complex in Sarasota.
Oh, I say.
I'm supposed to say, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
Sarah sees a 1920s theme, with a vintage wood-hulled boat carrying the bride and groom across Sarasota Bay.
I'm seeing arctic blasts or torrential rains on that terrace where you have the reception. (Food and beverages aren't allowed inside.) And a fleet of buses to transport guests, who may have had a few drinks, across the Sunshine Skyway bridge.
If this were Tori Spelling's wedding, I think, her mom and dad would just buy a hotel so everyone could have a lavish weekend sleepover. And they would hire Christo, the famous artist, to make one of his big, multimillion-dollar fabric projects to tent the terrace. Then again, Tori is divorced.
"We have boats in St. Petersburg," I say.
"Mouuuuuuuuuuuuum," Sarah says, making one syllable last for about 10 seconds.
I call the Ringling, hoping it's booked.
"It's open,'' says the events manager.
Well of course it is, because everyone knows it will rain or freeze.
I prepare to deliver a crushing remark about the lunacy of her idea.
I look at Sarah, my Sarah, and feel pure joy for her.
I have another epiphany. (Does Oprah allow more than one Light Bulb Moment per episode?)
I have been the general for most of Sarah's 21 years, in charge of her life. I am not the general anymore. I am a foot soldier now. My job is to help her. And to fight like hell for something she really wants. Sometimes to be the cavalry riding to the rescue. And most of all to bring peace.
I hate the Sarasota idea.
I say, "The Ringling's rose garden will be beautiful in December."
Two days later, Sarah changes her mind. She likes the Museum of Fine Arts in St. Petersburg for the reception.
It's available.
Lennie Bennett can be reached at (727) 893-8293 or lennie@sptimes.com.