I knew this wedding planning thing was going to be a project, but there are some odd things that are catching me flat-footed. Outside of the expected Charlie Foxtrots of guest lists (aka "Uncle WHO!?") and how to decorate a late 70's chapel into something that isn't so hopelessly retro without just draping the entire thing in tulle until it looks like we're trying to make sure no one catches malaria at the ceremony, I've run into something new.

It shouldn't have been a big deal.  Now that the color scheme and a some other details are firmly established I started thinking about my dress. I have to be in the wedding pictures and I'm not good at that without a lot of prep. I went to several bridal sites to get an idea of what they thought was an appropriate getup for a December afternoon wedding.

This may turn out to be a mistake on the level of Napolean calling a rain delay on his third advance at Waterloo.

Please understand I'm not the kind of girl who dresses up a lot. I can do it - I have a couple of those perfect little black dresses and a couple pairs of killer shoes. I even have purses to match. I just don't wear them while stringing CAT5 under people's desks and that's sort of my natural habitat. But you would not believe what I these people call a dress for the mother of the bride!

First off, my daughter chose some great colors that really fit her theme and the season: two shades of cool blue accented with silver. It's totally accidental, but I look awesome in them. I am not going to show up in any shade of "champaigne" (misspelling solely on the dressmaker) or chocolate or rose or "petal vermillion". Seriously ran into that color name. It was an unfortunate shade of pallid Pepto Bismol that would have been better termed "Pink Pearl" (as in the eraser). Someone obviously isn't too clear on what vermillion is. It is red, but it's tint is a reddish orange.

I've repressed the horror of the mass of tortured shantung that color was gracing/cursing entirely. The style of the dresses themselves are where things really get ugly. I mean uglier than grudging forgiveness. Judging by what's displayed in these bridal sites, my options seem to run between a sleek number from the Baroness von Schräder's Satin Cougar collection, the back rack of Cruella DeVille's closet, a castoff from Jackie-O's garage sale, or something dripping organdy flounces that would make you look like a pink, lacy Ringwraith. And they're bringing back JUMPSUITS, if you can believe it. Tony Tennille style with huge elephant leg bottoms. Straight off the Love Boat. Uh... no. Just no.

The best site I ran into is a company that sells women's suits of all descriptions, but has a section particularly designed for wearing to church. Think full-on Southern Baptist belle. There were some gorgeous clothes in there, and some even better hats. I wonder if Michelle Obama knows about it, because there is some stuff in there that would really do well for her. Unfortunately, I don't think we have a physical feature in common outside of our plumbing. I didn't see much there that would work for me off the rack. But I am keeping that one bookmarked and using it as inspiration for idea shopping as I start looking around.

I want something classic.  Something tasteful.  In a color you're not likely to find involved in a freak chemical plant accident or a compost heap.  I'm thinking more along the lines of Lauren Bacall instead of an extra from "Golden Girls."  We'll see how this turns out.

Now that I think about it, the rosy ringwraith is a mental image I have to loose before the wedding. If my prospective inlaw or my monster-in-law walks in wearing something like that I CANNOT even think it or I will end up saying it and I'm going to offend someone. And since I don't want my son giggling and referring to me as the Witch Queen of Angmar or Cruella theDev, I'm going to have to come up with another source for clothes advice than wedding sites.

We had chickens when I was growing up.  We had two flocks - one for meat and
one for eggs.  The meat ones came and went in a couple months.  They were a
mass of white feathers and hard work that was all destined for the freezer
and that was about it.  Our egg-layers were a different story.

There were a dozen half-Araucana/half some sort of Bantam hens, and one
rooster.  Araucanas are known for giving colored eggs, and also for their
incredible variety and color of plumage.  With the Bantam, they were quite a
bit smaller than the average chicken which was nice for keeping them over
the winter.  In Alaska you can't just have them in a coop during the
winter - you have to have an actual heated house for them.  They didn't take
up nearly so much room.

The rooster was particularly Bantam, and particularly beautiful.  He was
smaller than all of his ladies.  He looked like an illustration out of a
book but done in Napoleon's proportions.  He had a fine bush of iridescent
black tail feathers that were much sought after by the neighborhood's fly
fishermen.  And like Napoleon, he had a major size complex.  You did not
mess with him.  He was six feet tall and bullet-proof, and he had the
armament to prove it.  Even though the rest of him was small, his spurs were
about an inch and a half long and he had no qualms about testing their
sharpness on you.