(Or, Why Daddy Bruschetta Could Be Mayor of Philadelphia)
You’re counting down to the wedding. Finishing up some projects, ditching others and trying to find the time to jot down a proper honeymoon packing list. The last thing you need right now is a curve ball. But that’s precisely what we got one week before our much-anticipated day.
In early 2008, when Mr. Bruschetta and I had secured our venue—the erstwhile F.U.E.L. House (which has since been rebranded “TRUST”)—we learned we’d be able to peruse the gallery as the wedding approached to see if we wanted to substitute any of the “stock” art stored on the building’s third (administrative) floor.
We adored the F.U.E.L. House (yeah, name change be damned! At least for the purposes of my posts, it just feels wrong to call the place where we celebrated so jubilantly something unfamiliar, to which we have absolutely no connection), for many reasons, including its eccentric art displays. We loved the idea of splashes of color—whether from abstract, three-dimensional pieces or paint-adorned canvases—infusing the beautiful, neutral-hued space.
Know what we saw lining the walls on August 21, 2009?
Nearly 100 small, square, frames, each holding its own black-on-beige sketch. Colorless to the extreme. The very definition of bland. Vanilla without the deliciousness. (Sorry for the lack of pictures, hive! Shock definitely got the best of me, and I forgot to capture the monochromatic display.)
Okay, fine. No problem, I thought. Let’s take a look at the stock art, and go from there.
Turns out, though, the gallery had recently returned all these once-readily-available paintings to their rightful owners. The storage space on the third floor held nary a piece of artwork. And with our original contact out of the area for a family emergency, we weren’t offered *any* alternatives to add much-needed vibrancy to the walls.
Let me stop to acknowledge that really, in the grand scheme, this pallid palette would not in any way have dampened our wedding day. But (as I’m sure many of you would agree) with the finish line relentlessly nearing, sometimes smaller details are magnified. An issue you might have simply brushed off six months earlier becomes impossible to ignore, demanding attention—nay, resolution—so it’s no longer an indelible nag taking up valuable sanity. (Am I right? Anyone else feel like this? Or was alone in placing so much pressure for perfection upon myself as our wedding neared?)
Enter Daddy Bruschetta. Without any complaints or balking at the absurdity of the situation, this “Act Two” FOB—having cut his teeth on Sister and BIL Bruschettas’ November 2007 nuptials—took control of the situation. After several phone calls, my people-person father realized he had knew someone closely connected to the person who *owns* the F.U.E.L. House. Was our wedding significant enough to warrant any attention to this gripe?
Daddy Bru forwarded each of the messages to me as they were sent and received. Even now, one year later, I can’t skim the emails without getting choked up. Not at all the conventional wedding scrapbook materials, they’re nonetheless moments in time conveying the panic I was feeling, and the extent to which my dad was going to try to make his little girl happy.
Excerpts from the initial plea for assistance:
Bert has what may appear as a small problem, but to a bride and bride’s mother, small problems during a marriage weekend, I am sure, become bigger than life.
Could you please look into this, and have someone speak directly to Bert? He’s a good guy trying hard to manage all the excitement of a daughter getting married.
And as the clouds parted, with the promise of new installations the day before the wedding:
I assure you that you are making an exhausted father very happy because of your efforts.
Sure, the replacement art really did add something special to the space. But the exchanges Daddy Bruschetta had on our behalf—seriously, at times I still can’t believe how many people he seems to know in the city—were the real treasure that came out of this bridal bump in the road.
Did any challenges trip you up the week before your wedding? Or, for any to-be-marrieds buzzing around the hive, d’ya just wanna commiserate about trying to be a calm, cool and collected bride—but not doing the greatest job?