Remember, I wasn’t the photographer for the wedding and made a conscious decision to put my camera away so I could truly be in the moment. That being said, this was probably a dream to photograph because everything was really beautiful and the lighting was perfect for the entire day. So, here’s just a few of the pictures I have…if you want more, you’ll have to wait for Natalie Baumgardner to finish up.
Notes From Home Plate
Putting the "Big" in Big Fun: Part I
I am the sole creator of the nickname BIG FUN, aka the Kelly Borchers/Tim Norris wedding that just took place this weekend. September 20, 2008 will go down as BIG FUN: The Night to Remember.
Nick and I left Cleveland Wednesday night after work and didn’t arrive until after midnight. Although tired from the long drive, we still couldn’t help but make comments. “Why is the road closed?”
“Looks like they’re doing road construction.”
Mhm, that doesn’t sound like a good start for a wedding weekend with lots of out of towners.
As the car bumped along and we passed my favorite street – marveling, once again, at Borchers Road – we turned to find most of the Russian roads ripped up along one side and enormous bulldozers and machinery scattered rather obviously around town.
First thought: Ouch. That doesn’t make a pretty wedding picture. I bet Ron and Kay are pissed. Don’t the construction people know it’s Big Fun weekend?
Wednesday Night
Hugs all around as we enter the house and Russia’s long lost one-time seminarian son has returned. It’s always nice to see Nick light up when we enter Raider-ville. No matter how tired he is in the car, once he walks through the garage that connects to the kitchen, he’s completely reenergized to be near his family.
So, the first night, Kelly, the lovely bride to be, Nick, Ron, Kay and I just talk about the impending nuptuals and all the craziness that goes on the few days prior to the wedding. The next day we would be decorating St. Remy Hall, home of Big Fun dinner and dancing (commonly known as a reception). We hit the hay and I wondered what exactly the Borchers house would look like under such a big event. The questions were endless:
Would Kelly survive all the questions? (It’s a researched fact that brides answer approximately 1,000,000 -yes one million – questions in the timeframe of the engagement.)
Is there enough Crown Royal?
Will the bulldozers get out of the way?
Should I refrigerate the Red Bull now or Friday night?
Will it really be 80 degrees on Saturday?
Thursday
The next morning, I went for a long run around town. My new goal is to run a road race before I turn 30 (ahem, 2.27.09) and the lovely slightly manure-ed air of the countryside provided a nice backdrop to my jog. When I returned, I found Kay and Kelly – already having conquered the florist appointment – ready to head up to the hall. I quickly changed and followed suit, running two minutes behind.
I walked two feet into the hall, hoping I wasn’t too late and found about 20 excited family members and friends generously volunteering to help decorate the tables. Nick spotted me and whispered into my ear, “Totally predictable, Kelly and Aunt Jan are already crying. Watch out…”
A quick laugh was needed as we all went to work with ribbon, linens, dishware, caramel popcorn (par-tay favors!) and votive candles. The highlight was definitely flicking up the wick of over a couple hundred votive candles with a tack. Ahhh, the manual labor of wedding prep. As we folded the napkins, i laughed and caught up with friends and family. It NEVER ceases to amaze me how generous Nick’s family and friends are with their time and resources. All these folks here to set up chairs, tables, cover them, plan routes, hang clothes, wipe something until it shines – for free – is truly remarkable. Nick often says, “Yep, that’s Russia.”
As the hours pass and more questions surface, I begin having memories (traumatic ones) of my own wedding planning and remember the anxiety of wondering whether the food will satisfy everyone, if the plates look right, if the flowers are the right color. Weddings are unbelievably stressful, but in Borchers-style, they handled it unbelievably smoothly. Ron has lists, Kay has tears, Kelly is direct, Nick is sweating, Jay is still at work, Keith is leaving voicemail messages that he’s on his way, and I am smiling with candle wax debris on my face.
The hall is done by 3pm-ish. Not bad.
The Cordonnier Tears
Getting to know Nick’s family has been a blessing from the start. They’ve always welcomed me and made me feel so loved at every gathering, party, and celebration. After getting to know the two sides – Borchers and Cordonniers – I can now clearly see the differences in each and see how they influence Nick to be the man he has grown to be.
I thought that since they are his side of the family, the influence would stop with Nick. I am beginning to think I am wrong.
The Cordonniers, Nick’s maternal side, shed some serious tears at emotional times. The first time Nick cried in front of me was back in 1998 when we were just good friends and hanging out. This was before I fell in love with him and thought he was a normal guy. We went to go see The Sixth Sense at the movie theater and while I was definitely emotional at the end, I couldn’t believe Nick’s reaction.
After you find out that Bruce Willis is really a ghost and departs from the love of his life, I got a bit choked up but it was contained. I sighed and grabbed my purse to get ready to head out. I looked to my right and saw Nick staring at the credits rolling, completely still. “Uh, are you alright?”
“I’m just really shocked by that movie.”
I agreed, “I know, it was intense.”
It took me a while to see through the dim lighting, but there he was – crying in a Norwood theater over a M. Night Shyamalan movie. I didn’t say anything, but the shock of this guy crying next to me was more shocking than the Bruce Willis/ghost revelation.
We were quiet until I brought it up in the car. Remember, this was before we were dating, I couldn’t really insult him by asking what in the world was wrong with him crying manly tears while I was completely dry eyed.
“Were you crying?” Nice subtle question.
“Yeah, it just runs in my family. My mom’s side of the family cries at everything. It doesn’t even have to be a big event. One time, Grandpa even cried during a basketball game in the Russia gym.”
“Why?” I was incredulous.
“Because, it was an emotional moment!”
“Oh, I see.”
But, that’s the thing – I didn’t see. Not until now anyway.
A few months ago, I told Kelly, Nick’s sister, that I would be happy to do a slideshow for the wedding – aka BIG FUN – because I’ve been asked to do so many that it’s not really difficult for me to create one now that I have the software and the right formula to put it together. Over the past few weeks, since I got back from the Philippines, I was pushing Kelly to move forward with it because it’s a nice small momento to watch in the years ahead as Nick and I watch our slideshow the morning of our wedding anniversary. She conceded and sent me several envelopes full of pictures. I asked for photos of Tim and his family and friends and soon began sorting through hundreds of photos that folks had sent me.
Putting a slideshow together is really about detail – detail of getting the pictures in a sensible order, balance of each person, the right music, putting the transitions to tempo, beginning and end fades – so in the end a lovely story is told.
Kelly is the younger sister I always wanted so imagine my surprise when I find myself – not once, not twice, not thrice – but in MULTIPLE crying episodes as I have put the slideshow together. As the final touches are layered on this week, Nick has walked in as I hastily dry my tears and am rolling my eyes at myself. He smiles, “The Cordonniers are starting to rub off of ya, huh?”
Appreciating the Amish Life for 36 Hours
The remnants of Hurricane Ike swept through Ohio and left us without power for two days. The streets are a mess, and according to the rumors in Shaker Heights, herds of electrical workers were down south helping the more torn up areas and so less resources were available in NE Ohio.
No power for 36 hours. While you could hear a collective Cleveland moan when televisions went out at 8:15pm on Sunday night because you couldn’t watch the Browns/Steelers war, I was more concerned about all my produce and poultry in the fridge. (Aren’t our concerns mighty?)
Living by flashlight is certainly not the way of the Amish, but it did encourage a simplistic kind of living for a little while and it was fun to just sit in the dark and talk without the distraction of the computer, music, television, or even the hum of the kitchen appliances in the background. It gave way to a gentle quiet that we actually liked.
Monday morning we had all kinds of work done on the house – chimney inspection, shower head fixed, toilet worked on (poor guy) and then our car revved up for impending travels to Russia, Cincinnati, New Jersey, and New York – all in the next 6 weekends. Throw in Nick’s 5 day trip to El Salvador with St. Dominic and you have a very busy couple who are determined to live life as a one car family. An oil change, air filter, serpentine belt (that just sounds cool to say), and four new tires got the Corolla ready for Big Fun (aka Kelly and Tim’s wedding) and More Big Fun (the rest of the weddings in October) in faraway places.
I write this post from the inside of a car shop as I wait for the Corolla to be fixed. All I can say is, it is quite the happy family here in Shaker Heights, Ohio. Center Heights Service may be the most friendly car shop I’ve ever been. That’s not really hard to say coming from Boston where most mechanics stare at your chest if you’re a woman and coerce you into dropping several hundos for fixes and twixes you definitely do not need. But the folks here are wonderful. Bill and Tom are actually brainstorming places for me to send my resume and introduced me to Ann, another customer who works at a agency looking for psychotherapists. You don’t come across that kind of service very often. They smile and are more than friendly. Most importantly, they’re honest, don’t treat you like an idiot, and even offer me a lift home so I don’t have to wait around for the car.
Yes, this is a body shop.
Viva La Shaker!
Command…Or a Warning…Or a Suggestion
Never speak of USC again.
"Just Don’t Wait Until Winter"
One of the things that Nick and I have noticed about life in surburbia, Cleveland surburbia to be precise, is how often winter is referenced. We went for a long walk last night after dinner to breathe in the Autumn-like air, and I got to thinking of all the things I’ve noticed about our new life and the people in it. When you don’t have a job, your mind tends to wander into topics like that at night.
It’s a funny observation that so many marketing strategies in Cleveland include a foreboding, “Don’t wait until winter..” Winter has been brought up at least once a day since I moved here. Whether it’s house insulation, window replacements, or firewood, everything comes with a reminder to GIT ‘ER DONE before the snow comes. You don’t want a faulty windshield wiper during a snowstorm now do you? You can’t go without snow tires this season can you? Winter-proof your house now and replace your carpet floors!
Granted, safety is always best and it’s always good to be prepared, but for how often people ask if our winter boots are ready for the lake effect, I have to ask: Do we live in the western frontier? Do we not have Triple A, cell phones, and emergency lanes in the highway? What is UP with all the winter fear?
AND
It’s not like Nick and I just moved here from the Little Miss Sunshine state – we lived in BOSTON. A city where I bore three brutal winters and countless Nor’easters – snow that stopped trains, cold that ripped to the bone marrow of one’s existence, ice that didn’t melt until April – and still survived.
So, what is UP with Clevelanders asking us, “Are you ready for a Cleveland winter? It’s something else…”
One eyebrow lifts, unimpressed. There are bigger things to be concerned with in this city than the winter months. First, let’s deal with the Tribe or the Brownies. Now THERE’S something to worry about.
The Adrenaline of Moving and Goodbye
So, Keith was the good brother and flew out to Boston a few days before our move to help us drive back to Ohio. I admire family sacrifice like that – Bravo Keith!
Our last days in Boston were busy, naturally, and overwhelming to me. As excited I was for the new house, Nick’s new job, and my upcoming trip, the sadness began it’s descent into my urban loving heart. A highrise apartment across the street from Boston Common is not exactly something that is easy to say goodbye to…the city is always exciting and the summertime is the most Awesome (yes, with a capital ‘A’) time of year there. The festivals, beach, concerts, and outdoor events are countless each week.
The last few days we were there, it was like the city was showing off. Boston was spilling with political and awareness marches, block parties, and warm weather. While I enjoyed one last night at my favorite bar, Flash’s, with friends, I spent the majority of the time finishing up work and packing things that I no longer want but can’t bring myself to give away or throw out.
It’s always a marvel when a person moves to see how much stuff you think is necessary to exist; how much you surround yourself with. Every time I move (which is every year), I try and simplify my life and keep only the clothes I regulary use, pack only what I will reasonably want to physically carry, and throw out anything I haven’t used in a year.
The only thing in that pile was a turquoise turtleneck and a striped bedsheet.
I need less strict criteria.
“If I haven’t thought about using this for two years, it’s going to the Donate pile.”
By the end of packing, there was only a handful of clothes and one pair of socks. Pathetic.
Sunday morning, Boston cried big fat rain drops because it knew Nick and I were leaving and wanted to make it difficult. We persevered with Nick’s organization and planned strategies. Anytime we have big projects like moving that require much activity and energy, I swear there’s a wild look in Nick’s eyes where he becomes so focused and determined I feel like I should just flatten myself against a wall and stay out of his way. It’s admirable, but a bit scary. He picks up boxes and furniture items that are too heavy for one person to carry and takes fast strides toward the door like we only have 10 more minutes before we have to leave. Not surprisingly, I am much more relaxed with the schedule and sip my purple Gatorade.
I comment to him, “You have that wild look in your eyes.”
“I just want to get things done,” he smiles while he looks around the room like he wants to wrestle everything.
“You always get like this when we move.”
“The focus is a Borchers specialty,” he explains as if I’ve never met his family.
“Ya think?”
Now THAT Was an Intense Trip: Part II
After a horrendous decision to eat a slider from White Castle at 4am, I fall into an exhausted sleep in Keith’s room.
In the morning, I felt worse. Part of what made it psychologically overwhelming was the fact that Keith’s room was bathed in red light. Since he had just moved into that space that the previous day, he didn’t have much in way of decorations. There is one window in Keith’s room and he had covered it, naturally, to prevent morning light from streaming in. In lieu of curtains, Keith had draped an OSU flag over the light and the red shading felt like I was seeing the world in anger. Everything was red.
Sparing you the details, I felt like my stomach hated me and anything I tried to offer it, including water, was rejected. (I’m sure the slider was not appreciated last night.)
But, we manage to get dressed and get on the road. We stop at a gas station so I can pick up Gatorade and Nick picks up the most disgusting cheeseburger inside the gas station. He drives while I unwrap it for him. The bread is stuck to the paper wrapping. One tug later, nearly half the bun was stuck to the covering. I almost puked just smelling it. The meat was a nauseating beige.
We get to Bellarmine and take a seat. We sit by the Creasons and I’m excited to be next to them so we can chat. I take one look at Nick’s face as he is now 4 people removed from the aisle and I can sense anxiety in the air. Nick was going to be a server for the mass and we were going to be eucharistic ministers as well. He wanted easy access to the aisle.
“Do you want to move?” As if he would say no.
“Yeah, I just don’t like -” He started explaining.
“No need to explain, I get it.” I get up, apologize to the Creasons and we move to the very end of another pew. The relief is pouring out of Nick and he smiles like a 10 year old who just got his second serving of ice cream as we park ourselves in our new space in Bellarmine Chapel.
The mass goes smoothly and we help out with the Eucharist without any problems, except for the fact i felt like I needed to lie down the entire time. Afterward, he headed off to my friends’ place, Mary Kay and Heather, to drop off wedding photos that I had taken of them in their ceremony we had attended in Florida.
About two months ago, Heather and Mary Kay asked Nick and I to join them in Florida for their big day and I, of course, couldn’t resist being the photographer. Being the procrastinating photographer that I am, I was just giving them the CDs of their day two months later. We begin to drive up to the Kenwood mall area.
As we cruise through 71 North, Nick looks over at me, “Is there something wrong with our car?” Our rental is a black Mazda 3. The sound filling our car sounded like the airy noise of an axel problem, but I knew better.
I am unenthused with my knowledge, “Actually, we are now in Cicada Nation. Those horrific things, Goatee said, are everywhere, but especially prominent in the Kenwood area.”
“No…are they really?”
“YES. I hate them.” I slink in my seat because the thought of a cicada hitting me in the face made me even more nauseous. Our windshield is splattered like a Cicada memorial and I try not to look straight ahead. The obstinate heat of Cincinnati bakes the remnants on the car.
We make it to Heather and Mary Kay’s even though I run from the car to the house as if there is a war going on with bombs and grenades everywhere.
After we drop off the CDs, we head to Colerain’s BW3s where folks were passing time before the reception. As we slow at the exit off of the Ronald Reagan highway onto Colerain Avenue, I shake my head in wonder, “As we pull up to this area, there is not one inch of doubt in my head that I do NOT miss living in Colerain, or my commute to Miami…” Colerain is straight out a West Side textbook and we should have heeded the warnings not to live there three years ago. Oh well, no regrets. We’ll just say that we learned a lot from Colerain about what we don’t want in a future neighborhood.
BW3s is fun and uneventful with beer, oversized TVs, and UFC fights. We see some Xavier faces that we haven’t seen in years. Books has taken off his sports coat to reveal his suspenders. The fun part of the wedding is beginning.
The toasts to Matt and Bella are hilarious and the evening unfolded without problems. Nick and his buds sang, “For the Longest Time,” to Bella. The dancing begins and the reception goes flawlessly.
Of course we head to Dana’s where I sleep in the car parked in the parking lot for the first 20 minutes. I’m so lame.
The next day we head out in separate directions, Nick to his friend Josh’ birthday party and I go to the Ryans’ new pad in Loveland for a lovely afternoon BBQ. Julie and Goatee’s gorgeous new house looks like they are real adults; it’s some serious space. I think about the college days of renting fixer uppers and eating macaroni and cheese. Life has definitely changed since 2001.
After a few hours Nick is there as well and we’re all gathered to meet babies, eat BBQ, and talk. I’m so lame and fall asleep on the couch, fatigued.
We head back to Massillon and do closing paperwork on our house with a nice man named Norm. I have never had anything but love and devotion for my entire full name Ana Lisa Fernandez Factora-Borchers, that is, until you close on a house and you sign your name for 1 hour straight. Things definitely took longer because of my signature. Oh whale, that’s life….
We had a great dinner at my brother’s house because waking up Tuesday morning to head to Akron/Canton airport to fly back to Boston ONE LAST TIME.
This trip was jam packed with all kinds of events, but our adventures in moving were just beginning….
Now THAT was an Intense Trip: Part I
I didn’t sleep last night and now I am wandering, unblinking, in the Boston heat wondering how my body is functioning on no sleep and a few sips of Raspberry Lipton tea.
Nick and I just got back from the airport. We walked into our apartment and I had temporarily forgotten that our life here is almost over and is waiting to be shipped in brown boxes. Ugh…why bother unpacking?
So this is what happened…
On Thursday, June 5, we took an uneventful train ride to the airport with our bags so heavy, our arms were ready to fall off. Awesome – our flight is delayed three hours. I love American Airlines.
So, Nick is flustered because our gate has changed and while I am crooning to Whitney Houston’s old school ballads, he is pacing the terminal, looking nervous. As he sits down, he’s muttering, “I have a feeling we should be at the other gate and we’re going to miss our flight.”
I counter, “Didn’t they just announce that we need to be at C42?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t we at C42?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem, man?” It’s odd being the logical one.
“I don’t know. I’m going to check it out.” He’s off, taking long strides before he’s even done talking.
I go back to my iPod.
Sometimes I think Nick would prefer for the world to be full of oversized signs and arrows, written in the sky so there are no questions when it comes to traveling and itineraries. Whenever we are in Dayon and there are enormous painted white arrows on the highway that point forward with huge 75 N above it, he grabs my hand, “I LOVE these things! So easy to read!”
I just shake my head.
Anyhoo — we get on the plane and land in Akron without any other major obstacles.
We head to my brother’s house where we need to pick up the key to my parents’ house, where Nick and I are staying. It’s late, after midnight, and Fran asks if Nick wants a homemade enchilada, “They’re still warm, ” he tempts Nick. Through the dark, I can see the hungry blue in his eyes. He smiles, “Well, if you make me….” and saunters off toward the kitchen.
As we chatter and catch up, we watch clips of one of my favorite movies, Rocky Balboa, while Nick passes out from his enchilada on the couch. Fran grumbles that the Celtics clinched Game 2 and that it should have been the Cavs, we leave for my parents’ place.
An empty split level house, we make it through the door, thoroughly fatigued. We fall asleep pretty quickly, not even bothering to cover ourselves with blankets. Exhausted.
Friday, June 6
We wake up at the same time and immediately start talking.
“Do you hear that?” Nick smiles.
“Yes – it’s been awhile since I’ve heard that.”
“Birds singing. When was the last time we heard birds sing in the morning?” He stretches like a cheetah, taking up 90% of the bed.
“I’m used to the bus screeching, people yelling, a police siren – the usual.”
Nick pauses, “I’m just used to this,” he contorts his face into a hell ball and lets out a scream that sounds something like a cross between a lamb being slaughtered and a ten fingernails on a blackboard.
I laugh deliriously and know we are on a good path to moving to a place where we appreciate the quiet and simplicity of the morning wind.
We quickly shower and head back to my brother’s house, Fran, to finally meet my newest nephew, Joseph Gaetano Factora, who was born last month. He is baby boy #3 and child #4 for Fran. It’s getting to be a full house. After a few hours, we head up to Cleveland to finally see our house.
I have not yet seen our future home and entrusted Nick to see it several weeks prior. With nothing but online pictures to go on, I was more than eager to finally set my eyes on it. We pulled in and I gasped, I loved it.
A 1928, 4 bedroom, 2.5 bathrooms, and new kitchen home will be ours on Thursday. I adore it. End of story. We stop by St. Dominic (Nick’s workplace) to drop off paperwork. We run into Nick’s staff, who are more than warm, welcoming, and generous with tips, suggestions, and furniture.
We get on the road and I am deep in thought about our house and keep reassuring Nick my silence is more contemplative, not disappointment. I think he just wanted to make sure that I loved the house and he didn’t want to hear anything else for the next 55 years of our life together about how I should never have trusted him to make the decision.
We change clothes at a gas station (classy) to get ready for Bella and Anderson’s wedding rehearsal. We make it in time and it’s fantastic to see everyone. The Ohio temperature is unreal. When we left Boston it was in the mid 60s and Cincinnati was dangerously close to triple digits.
I feel like a wilting flower.
My reminders to Nick that we need to purchase a GPS is confirmed as we take nearly 30minutes to get to Montgomery Inn. “Pete Rose Way is down this way…I think…”
What a debacle. A quick call to Keith helps us navigate to Sawyer Point and eventually to the Boathouse, aka Montgomery Inn; home of the best ribs and Saratoga chip uptopia.
It’s the small things that throw Nick and I off. Things like valet. Why is there mandatory valet parking? I hate the awkwardness of the tip, exchange ticket, bleh…But, we get through it with our usual side jokes and laugh at our awkwardness and move into Rib heaven.
The rehearsal dinner was lovely and I felt that if I tried to stuff one more bite of anything, I would burst into million little BBQed Filipino pieces. At around 9:30pm, my teeth began to chatter and my head began to pound. Thinking I had one too many glasses of vino, I kept ordering more water, but the achiness began to spread throughout my body. Within a few hours, my head felt like it weighed 90lbs and loud noises hurt my eardrums. Not even the site of black raspberry chip ice cream from Graeters (dessert) cheered me up. When Nick spotted my forlorn appearance, he knew it was time to go.
We headed back to Keith’s place where he had just moved in with Jay. The Borchers brothers were all under one roof. Kelly and Tim drove down from Columbus to spend time with us. Kelly hugged the stuffing out of me even though I was lame and immediately laid down on Keith’s bed. They hit Dana’s while I sadly wrapped myself in a blanket and waved goodbye from the couches. Curse whatever bug just invaded me.
At least there’s good movies. As I watch Halloween 5 and Cinderella Man (I adore underdog/boxing movies) and try to hydrate myself with plenty of water, I grow increasingly frustrated at my health. I wanted to go out and drink watered down beer from Dana’s and take an incredibly expensive taxi ride home and then wake up in fog and hear about what ridiculous comments I made to Nick in private that he would eventually blast to everyone else to further humiliate me. I couldn’t sleep and felt my stomach begin to turn sour. Ugh.
Hours past.
As I began watching A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila, I heard the door rattle open and see a suitcase plop down on the coffee table. I sat up to read the words, “What You Crave.”
“What’s this?”
Nick kisses my forehead as greeting, “Kelly’s treat!”
I watch a sea of hands reach eagerly for the suitecase as I squint to see an uncountable number of White Castle sliders on the coffee table. Ignoring the most advanced parts of my brain that were schooled by fine teachers and philosophers, brushing aside my digestive misery, I reach for a mysterious soft square of bread, cheese, and something that resembled meat. I take a small bite.
How is it that I don’t even have to chew before it goes down my throat?
That was a critical decision.
The clock now reads 4am.
3 Down, 97 More to Go
Today is our 3rd year anniversary!
We woke up and did what we always do the morning of our anniversary — watch our wedding slideshow and footage of the big day.
Of course we cried like big fat babies, as we do every year, but it’s wonderful to relieve the greatest day of our lives.
Speaking of big days, we’re heading home to Ohio tomorrow evening for another great wedding — Catie Bella and Matt Anderson. We’re pumped for them and to see everyone, too. It’s been a good six months since we’ve been to Cincinnati and it’ll be great to throw a few back.
On Monday, we’ll do our final walk-through of our house before we close next Friday! We fly back to Boston Tuesday morning, Keith flies in Friday, and then we’re all driving back to Ohio on Sunday, June 15th. This time, for good.
It’s been a twisty and unpredictable 3 years and we can’t wait to see what the next 97 have in store for us.