A new start for the new year

While I generally focus on the lighter side of things, especially when it comes to the professional, work hasn't been so cheery over the past six months. I encountered a number of pretty serious issues when it came to the company I'd chosen, so Nicolas and I have decided to make a clean break for the new year, in a stronger and more dynamic market where my skillset will be properly remunerated. So, after spending all but a few months abroad since June '08—I can hardly believe I'm writing this—guess who's moving back Stateside? Yes, we've gone home for the holidays, and this time it's to stay.

Bye bye, Brighton!

Moving is hard work for kitties. Our little monsters have been camped out with Nicolas's mom since our highly adventurous overnight trip to France in mid-December—a story in itself. They're both booked to fly with me to the US on Jan. 5.

We rather blindly leapt into this decision to move Stateside only to be horrified by our eye-opening discoveries of the rights of US citizens to bring their foreign spouses into the US (or rather, the lack thereof). You see, Nicolas can't follow me. Since he has no means of obtaining a non-tourist visa to wait out the first 90+ days in the US before initiating his green card application, he has the complete the full procedure from abroad. Read: the full 9-12+ month procedure. And, for the cherry on top, he cannot even enter the US to visit me during this time. This means that I'll be working with an American-style vacation schedule (what, maybe 10 days per year??) and I somehow have to find a way to squeeze in as many trips to France as possible just to see my husband in 2018. (TransAtlantic weekends, anyone?) 2018's not looking so shiny from this side of the new year.

For now we've been trying to make the most of our holidays. First, we powered our way across the Northeast US, where we hit up Boston, NYC, and the suburbs of Philly/NJ in all of a week's time.

Nicolas's first trip to Boston, complete with a wild turkey siting in Harvard Square and a trip down my old dormitory hall, 5W, which is now sporting an awesome new cat Lego mural!

Nicolas not only survived but thrived at his first Repak/Aloia family Christmas. He was even this year's champion of the Cousins' Campout Cards Against Humanity showdown.

NY round two: somehow Nicolas and managed two trips to NYC in just one week, but we didn't really photograph the first.

We're in the midst of a very hectic week or so in Paris before we say our final pre-green-card-application goodbyes, hoping it won't be too long until we can start planning our next visit. (I swear, if we ever get around to going on that honeymoon we'd planned, it will be more than well-deserved!) At least you can't say our life is boring. Although these days, we often wish it would be!

And as for where I'll land, there are a few exciting leads to follow up on during the first week of January, but for now I'll keep that up my sleeve. As we've wrapped up our lives Left of the Rabbit Hole, stay tuned for future adventures at my latest blog: An Expat Homecoming.

Happy New Year!

Burn, baby, burn!

While most towns have their fireworks on the 5th of November, Rye waits another week. But that’s not because Rye was late to the game. In fact, historians believe the bonfire tradition in Sussex well pre-dates the 1605 attempted coup by Catholic conspirator Guy Fawkes. Some suspect it may have its roots back in the pagan winter festival of samhain. A friendly local bonfire society representative claimed it dated back to the Hundred Years' War, when the citizens of Rye burned their boats rather than allow the rapidly advancing French to seize them. (Because, that's right, Rye's Bonfire Night ends in the burning of an effigy atop a massive stack of furniture and building materials including a boat.) Whatever the origins may be, today, dozens of bonfire societies across Sussex prepare throughout the year for the night that the population of this town swells to easily double its normal population of 9000. Each society prepares its costumes, equips itself with medieval-style torches and a possible assortment of instruments and/or explosives, and parades across the village before convening in a field to light the pyre. Each year, an effigy is burned atop the fire. You can imagine my delight to discover that this year's theme was "Melt Down," featuring side-by-side likenesses of Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un. I'd like to note that the Donald's face melted off well before Little Rocket Man was devoured by flames.

Burning it all down: Rye Bonfire Night

The event is unlike anything Stateside, especially when we found ourselves asking if fires could give sunburns as we roasted in front of the pyre, despite being safely behind what the locals had determined to be the "safe distance." This town definitely takes their Throwback Thursday to another level. (Okay, okay, on a Saturday.) I loved it.

A new set of wheels

Having accepted the fact that I will never be comfortable driving a manual (after several months of trying to convince myself otherwise), and not being willing to commit to a winter full of cold and dark bus stations for public transport that literally runs hours behind schedule, it was high time to bite the bullet, shake every last penny out of the piggy bank, and find myself a more suitable vehicle for the daily commute. And did I ever! After being inspired by a painfully cute Little Tikes themed car parked just aside the Uckfield bus station, I narrowed my car shopping targets.

How adorable is this Little Tikes Smart Car?

Sadly, the Little Tikes Smart Car was not to be. But look what a cutie I've landed! I am back on the left side of the road and terrified for my life going strong.

Now we just have to sort out how to get that silly manual Ford Fiesta off our hands, and hopefully a bit of something back into the bank account...

All butter-beer'ed up

No Harry Potter fan can truly say they've lived in England until they've done the Warner Brothers Studio Tour London. So, with a fellow Harry-Potter-obsessed cousin in the UK for the moment, we scheduled our trip, but things didn't quite go as planned. After she and her friends arrived an hour ahead of schedule, and traffic put us an hour behind, Nicolas and I didn't exactly see the people we'd planned the trip around. Nonetheless, we did get to take a peek behind the curtain of the Harry Potter films. To say this tickled one of us much more than the other is a massive understatement.

A bit of Cupboard Under the Stairs action to whet your appetite while awaiting the tour.

Having barely made it into the second-to-last tour of the day, we shuffled along the snaking queue that led us into a mini cinema. The guides worked (some of) us up over a promotional film featuring many of the films' stars and then, finally, they raised the screen and pushed open a set of double doors to reveal the Great Hall, home of the sorting hat's fateful sortings and countless Hogwarts feasts. So began the tour of the making of Harry Potter.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts! Admittedly somewhat less magical sans Enchanted Ceiling. Still, I wouldn't turn down my owl if it brought my admissions letter tomorrow.

Winding past scenery, props, and costumes, we got to learn about the real-world wizardry behind the big screen magic.

And the behind-the-scenes studio tour begins! You've got your Gryffindor Common Room, Snape's Potions Classroom, Dumbledore's Office, the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball costumes, and more.

One of my favorite tidbits were the feature on the animals of Harry Potter-- who knew there'd been so many for each animal character? Apparently owls are dreadfully hard to train, nothing like the corvids who'll happily get behind any new tricks the training crew had up their sleeve. And all those Fangs and Mrs. Norrises were to die for! Each with their own skill sets and personalities. I wish I had the patience to be an animal handler!

A wall of Animal Actors of Harry Potter 💕

And then there was the bit on making Hagrid. When it came to creating a half giant on the big screen, the crew had an idea or two. They started with a 6'6"? rugby man and built from there. He was put in a costume with stilts and an entire interior ventilation system. Seriously.

Any tour through the magical wizarding world of Harry Potter has to be washed down with a sip of butter beer. And despite warnings to the contrary, it wasn't horrible. And I just couldn't wrap my head around the drink's head-- a frothy, ice-creamy set of bubbles perched atop of a caramel-flavored cream soda.

So. Excited. For. Butterbeer. Can you tell?

Of course, Nicolas was not in luck: the tour did not end after the cafe stop. No, we were only getting started. (Or really, half way there.)

Dragged my husband down Diagon Alley, and got the photo to prove it! Life achievement unlocked.

4 Privet Drive inundated with Hogwarts letters, Olivander's shelves stacked with boxed wands, the Weasleys' Burrow, Dolores Umbridge's office, the Ministry of Magic, a hippogriff, and more. My high-school-nerd heaven.

Successfully dragging me through the gift shop without my picking up a single wand or magical set of earrings was probably Nicolas's greatest victory of the day. After one last admiring look upon the statues of the wizards from a world where I'd much rather belong, we tucked ourselves back into our decidedly unenchanted Ford Fiesta and made the long ride home.

Farewell, my Harry Potter Wizarding World.

Loud and proud

June may be Pride Month, but the UK saves its biggest celebration for the start of August. And this year, the rainbow flags came out in full force to celebrate fifty years since the partial decriminalization of homosexuality in England and Wales. Pride began bright and early on Saturday morning, with grannies in their wheelchairs draped in flags out for their morning stroll (roll?) through town by 9am. (The fact that I too was convinced to be up that early, en route to my spin studio's 10am "Pride Ride," is still beyond me.) The Parade floats and drag queens were also out and about, mulling along the Hove Lawns awaiting the start of the big parade. The detour through the Lawns en route to my "Pride Ride" thrilled me, since we'd made the mistake to accept an invitation in London on the Saturday of Brighton's Pride, meaning this was about the closest I'd make it to most of this year's parade.

Snippets of Brighton's Pride 2017

The LGBT community first paraded in Brighton in 1973, though the Pride Parade didn't become an annual tradition until 1991, when it returned as a mostly political march. My how times have changed. Today, Brighton Pride a massive city-wide party, drawing crowds of 300,000, according to the BBC, and leaving the city looking like an abandoned war zone by 1 in the morning, when we returned from our day in the capitol.

You've got to credit to the party planners, who ensured that by 10 this morning, the city was sparkling (and not just from the tiny shards of broken bottles that couldn't be swept away). Having purchased Sunday Pride tickets, we hit the streets mid-afternoon to see what the Pride village party was all about. Answer: for the most part, one massive, afternoon, outdoor clubbing scene. Not exactly us. But you can't live in Brighton and never try Pride. So now we've been there, done that.

Next year I think we'll just catch the parade, admissions-free, and then wind our way down to the beach with some blankets and drinks. And how amazing to be able plan for next year! It's only been a year since I picked up our keys to our first flat in Brighton, during Pride weekend 2016, but after the uncertainty this past year has brought, it's an exquisite luxury to think about the sitting under the sunshine on the Brighton beach a year from now, and know that we can (probably) count on it. Well, except perhaps for the sun part. This is England, after all.

Saint Paul's

Saint Paul's Cathedral of London: the site, for over 1400 years, of Christian worship. And now, one less to-do on my London touristing list. While I've never been terribly enamoured by the city, when living so close to the capitol, it seems almost criminal to not properly explore. So this weekend, having been drawn into the city to bid farewell to one of my closest friends, it seemed a fine occasion to say hello to a few others. And what better way than by getting out and enjoying the city together?

Exploring a rainy London, en route from afternoon tea to evensong at Saint Paul's

At Emily's suggestion, we cashed in on the admission-free way to explore the first cathedral built for the Anglican Church—attending evensong. Evensong is an evening choral religious service of which the Brits (more specifically, the Anglican Church) are particularly fond. We walked in anticipating the ornate walls echoing the hauntingly beautiful voices of choir boys for perhaps a half hour or so. What we hadn't bargained on was a proper service, complete with a series of readings and even an entrance and exit processional. And as for the choir, they hailed all the way from Philadelphia.

So I found myself five time zones and a continent away from the homes where I'd grown up, only to be seated a few hundred feet away from performers who'd lived around the corner from me. It seemed like a raw deal, if you ask me. Luckily, the backdrop did a fair bit to compensate for it.

A sneak peek inside Saint Paul's, where photography during evensong is strictly prohibited

And the company wasn't half bad either. For a couple of hours before venturing into a Christian service, I enjoyed the company of friends from MIT/Paris, Denmark, and a childhood penpal's twin sister, a random assortment who've all since landed in London.

Outside Saint Paul's, in good company

They reminded me of the wide net of friends that I've been able to cast through a life constantly on the move, a welcome thought at a time when such a lifestyle's been leaving me feeling particularly lonely. It seems that making friends in each new place you land gets progressively trickier with age. And that coming from someone who's only just hit 30. Hopefully Brighton will offer up a few more friendships in the months to come. And for now, at least I know I've got some good ones waiting for me on the other end of an hour's train journey.

A regal day out

Each year, when the sun stays out to play and day stretch into bed time, while the Danes burn their witches, Brits of a certain social inclination flock to the Royal Ascot. And while the royal bit is not a requisite for entry, you can bet the queen will be on hand. (Heck, you can even bet on the color she'll be sporting.)

Place your bet on the queen's fashion choice!

So my friends and I shelled out for a top-notch day of people watching, with some horses on the side.

A day rubbing shoulders at the races

My eyes just could not get enough. Every turn of my head brought on an even more cleverly, creatively composed get-up, literally from head to toe. That's because at Ascot, as tradition dictates that all the ladies are to wear a hat or fascinator. And do they ever. The ambience Ascot achieves is completely unlike anything I could imagine Stateside: so many hundreds (thousands?) of people come together, all in on the classy unironic get-ups, men in tailcoats and top hats, ladies decked brightly colored works of art, and—the icing on the cake—a queen in a royal carriage. And I even achieved a life goal I never knew I had: Took a photo with the queen! (Just a fuchsia speck in the background, but still, that speck is the queen!!)

Just your regular afternoon with me and the queen (in fuchsia, on the green) 

 Now to see if I can't bring along some arm candy in the form of my husband in a top hat next year. 😁

Day 2

That's right, yesterday was a big one: I finally ended my nearly half-year stretch of being a kept woman. Last week, a certain letter from the Home Office was warmly welcomed into our lives, and work papers were rapidly assembled. Now I've got my 9-5, and I certainly can't complain about the first twenty minutes of my daily commute.

The first twenty minutes of my commute, biking along the sea front and then waiting at the bus stop at Old Steine, just outside the Royal Pavilion

The next three and a half hours of commuting, on the other hand, I could do without. Let's just say that car ownership is very much in the works.

A Fringe-worthy performance or two

The Brighton Fringe: England's largest annual arts festival, and the reason that the Old Steine has been teeming with life for the past month, from pop-up bars to circus tents to cage dancers. With more than 970 events over the course of 4 weeks, it didn't seem right to only see one. A friend from circus class and I had gone to (what else?) a circus performance mid-May. Freshly returned from Italy, it was only right to make sure Michelle got a bit more of a proper introduction to Brighton before sending her back to the States. And with Brighton proudly strutting it's stuff for the final few days of the Fringe, the timing could hardly be better. In a half week, with a very complaisant Nicolas, we managed to squeeze in both the Bad Luck Cabaret and a Friday night performance of Circus'cision: the Ones that Made the Cut. As someone who's been studying circus for the past year, can I just saw, wow and wow. Also, a thank you to Nicolas, who sat with us in the front row and was singled out for a beating from a clown. (That's not the sort of stuff I learn in circus class.)

Snippets of Circus'cision 😉

We've seen better days

In all the hubbub of our first few months in Brighton, I never took the time to share our new home. I was planning to finally post some collages of our lovingly decorated home in the space between our wedding and the arrival of my UK visa. Little did I know how packed that space of time would become. Before I dive in to the latest chapter in the saga of our first year in Britain, let me show you the place we've loved calling home since last September.

You already saw glimpses of it in our wedding photos, but here is the street we've called home.

And the views to the sea from our front door.

Now, take a step inside. Welcome to the world's most glorious living room, just to your left as you walk in the front door. Notice how the ten-seater dining table is dwarfed under these ceilings. For the first time in our adult lives, last November's Thanksgiving, with 18 guests, didn't feel overcrowded. (Well, okay, maybe just a little.) But just check out all those shelves. So much storage space, we hardly knew what to do with it! (But we figured out fast.)

Wander down our delightful front hallway, whose walls are not quite parallel, and an image of the very modest bathroom (top right).

Off the front hallway, here's the master bedroom, with its high ceilings that never ceased to impress me. I love how the light from the Turkish lamp on my bedside dances up its walls.

Turn down the back hallway, past the bathroom and hallway closet, to reach the guest room and, finally, the kitchen.

We (okay, I) designed the Alice in Wonderland themed guest room/office in homage to the tunnel that may have inspired Alice's rabbit hole, right in our private gardens. The construction of the horizontal Murphy bed-desk, on the other hand, was a two-person effort and a real labor of love at that.

And at last, welcome to the deliciously retro-style kitchen, which opens to yet a third hallway/bike storage area. We had to buy a special tray to shuttle our dinners back and forth from this kitchen all the way to our living room.

Lucky you!, you might say. Oh, lucky indeed.

As you may remember, we had to plan our wedding in just 3 months' time since I lost my job and thus my right to live (with Nicolas) in the UK. We only moved to the UK last September when I landed a consulting gig, but after just 9 days on the job, the company let me go— they've since fired almost 50% of their staff, but it's rough to move to a new country for only 9 days of work!! Especially considering I'd left a stable job in Denmark, and my firing meant not only no salary, but no visa to live in the same country as my partner. (Hence the wedding bells.)

As luck would have it, I got a new job the week before our wedding— right near Brighton! Yay! After flying all over Europe and the US for job interviews, we were so happy to get the good news that we'd be staying in this town we love. I've signed the contract, but I need my spouse visa before I can begin working. To that end, the week after the wedding, we filled out a several hundred page application with all sorts of weirdly invasive questions about our relationship. No sooner had we finished filling out and assembling all the application (and paying immigration lawyers!), but we got a notice of eviction— for no reason!! The landlord has decided to repossess the property, likely so he can sell. That's right, the lovely home I just paraded before you, it's gone, now all in piles scattered across a new flat with overwhelmingly blank walls.

We faced the seemingly insurmountable task of finding a new home without having any written proof of my right to live in the UK, nor any payslips from 2017. (Nicolas's earnings are all in cash.) Who would ever rent to us?? Luckily, our realtors agreed to vouch for us if we stuck with them, but they only had a single flat available that was in our budget and would accept our cats— and this flat was uglier and more expensive than our actual home. Our realtors were also able to offer us (with only light begging) a bigger flat, if we "had an interested friend."

Along the waterfront, a few blocks closer to town center, this flat was tucked away behind a teensy private garden. With full sea views and ceilings, believe it or not, even higher than our previous flat, it has incredible potential. Plus, the two separate hallways leading to double bedrooms each with their own en suite make the ideal layout for flatshare among more mature renters who appreciate their own space.

A very hectic 24 hours ensued, but we found a nice person online who was also in a pinch, and was willing to pretend to be our long-time friend looking to move in with us. (This new place is pretty fabulous, actually, if you get past the idea of moving into a flatshare during the first month of marriage.)

We're now in the process of disassembling out lives and rebuilding them a few blocks away. It seems like if it's not one thing, it's another. And since 2017 seems to be going this way for us, we got another surprise: our electricity and gas company, who we contacted to close up our account, discovered that they completely forgot to charge us the electricity-half of our electricity-and-gas bills for the past year, so now we've got an extra year of electricity bills thrown at us! It seems we really can't get a break.

There is still a slight chance that I won't be able to get my passport back from the UK Home Office (the people processing my UK spouse visa application), so I may end up missing my own wedding, and skyping it in... but Nicolas will be there for sure. It will actually be the first time he even meets my extended family. I'm hoping I get to introduce him in person!

Happy one month anniversary to us.

Saying yes to the dress (yet again)

Wait, didn't she just get married?? I know, right, this is totally how I feel. It was amazing, getting married, but can't the wedding be over already? Nope. I woke up Tuesday morning, after all our family had finally left town, to a sinking feeling in my stomach as I realized this roller coaster was about to begin its second lap. Well, if that's the case, best dive right in. I loved my dresses- I mean, adored them- getting to be a Disney Cinderella princess and then a '50s glamour queen? Um, yes, please. But neither or these dresses would work for the US. The Ian Stuart was far too big for international travel (not to mention that I'd already done my time in a corset), and I might just sweat myself to death in the lace dress with sleeves in Philly in July. I thought about chopping off the sleeves, but it would still be too heavy. No, it was time to sort out dress #3, and as this was the biggest item remaining in wedding #2's to-do list, I figured it was best to tackle this first. And boy did I do just that.

After scouring gumtree and eBay, I thought I'd found the one, in the suburbs of London. And since I had a day pass for the London metro area anyway, checking it out was free. Little did I know that *the one* would be waiting on the very next hanger.

The seller, Timothy O'Sullivan, is a pattern cutter and product developer for the luxury market. He has worked for some major fashion brands including Jenny Peckham, a dress designer whose works I'd been eyeing up, but whose prices were way out of reach, even second hand. Timothy's bridal collection, while very much in the Jenny Peckham style, was based off of historical fashions that he studied in his spare time. He had only sewn a single example of each of his designs and, miraculously, all were just my size! (Click here to check out more of Tim's portfolio— don't worry, no spoilers!) Slipping on his original creations, knowing no one else had ever worn any of these dresses, felt like being let in on a delightfully silky secret. And, well, it turns out the flapper style can work better than I'd ever thought it could on someone with my figure.

Tim really showed his hand when he told me how hard it is to sell dresses on eBay. Armed with this information and the knowledge that eBay skims 10% off the sale price (having recently become an eBay seller myself!), I offered him £5 over his asking price, in cash, to let me walk away with the dress in hand. I may have paid more for this dress than my other two combined (a testament to what bargains those other dresses were), but I've paid about a tenth of a Jenny Peckham price tag for something even more original and just as elegant.

For once, I won't spoil the surprise. You'll just have to wait until summer to see this what this whimsical, one-of-a-kind gown can do. It is sure to make me feel like a princess all over again come July.

And with that victory, I returned to London to enjoy the company of a very special out-of-town guest from wedding #1.

Thank you, Melissa, for a lovely evening at the Oxford and Cambridge Club!

Being swanky at the Oxcam club, as you do.

Our sunset on the beach

Our rings are carefully tucked away, my make-up and hair are washed clean, and my family and I are all happily crashing at home. We made it! The whole evening just went from good to better. My biggest regret is that we didn't pay our photographer to stay and capture the whole extravaganza! After our ceremony, the guests were treated to a bi-lingual after-hours guided tour of the Royal Pavilion while Nicolas and I had our newlyweds photo shoot, whose highlight was unquestionably the moment a little girl came up to me to ask if I was a real princess, since I'd just emerged from a palace wearing a Disney princess gown and a tiara. *Dying just thinking about it. *

Inside the Royal Pavilion (mostly the Music Room)

Touring the Royal Pavilion grounds (and meeting another little princess)

We met our guests in the Music Room, where we ran through a few family shots before taking it outside.

Family of the bride

Family of the groom

Nicolas and I finally got our grand bubble entrance as the full wedding party, all of those who'd been in the ceremony and those who'd live-streamed it from the bar next door, welcomed the newlyweds out of the Royal Pavilion. It turns out that bubbles are even cuter and much less corny than I'd feared.

Introducing, ladies and gentlemen, your newlyweds!

Next came the photographer's to-do list:

Group shot: check

Ladies of MIT: check

Sorority sisters: check

All the beauties rocking English hair accessories: check

Before I knew it, I was ready to get my my fur on for a stroll through town. Esin guided most of our guests to our waterfront reception using our custom-made lantern designed from our unused Burning the Clocks kit. Who'd have imagined this fate for our lantern kit when we ran out of time for crafting last December? Tagging along a few minutes later (dresses don't bustle themselves!), we enjoyed a barrage of compliments and congratulations as we walked through the Lanes and across the waterfront.

A celebratory stroll through the Lanes and across the waterfront to our reception

And those awful clouds that darkened the backdrop of the Royal Pavilion? They cleared just in time for us and all our guests to bask in a glorious sunset as the evening festivities began.

A quick shot in front of Brighton's iconic West Pier, just before slipping into Alfresco, our reception venue

Check out that sunset in the works! Our photographer had warned me not to hold my breath for this. Ha!

The table of honor, awaiting us

But before we took those sunset snaps, I enjoyed one of my best wedding decisions: the second dress. Slipping out of the gorgeous but lung-defying corseted Ian Stuart gown just in time to start eating and dancing absolutely made my night. In a 50's inspired tea-length lace dress, I breathed deeply for the first time in hours, and skipped my way back onto our pebble beaches for those last few professional photos. (Did I mention I also wore flats? Count that in as the other best decision of the day.)

And there you have it, our sunset on the beach. Brighton did us proud.

Then came the food, the dancing, and the toasts. And, unlike what everyone told us, we definitely got the chance to eat, and eat well. There was just so much fabulous food to choose from. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend Alfresco for anyone looking for a waterfront wedding reception in Brighton.

Our fathers both charmed with their lovely toasts, but it was Nicolas's eldest sister's family who stole the show with their personalized rendition of the YMCA song, set to our initials, NKER. And with that, the dance floor was open. We threw our months of dance lessons to the wind with our first dance to Hall and Oates's You Make My Dreams Come True, which our families kindly agreed to storm us on, half way through. Soon enough, the dance floor was packed and the night was flying. The most brilliant moment was Nicolas and my impromptu pole dance, video of which I have yet to acquire after more than a little asking around. (I haven't given up yet.)

What a party! 💖 💞

As cliché as it sounds, there just wasn't enough time to greet to all our guests. I found myself hugging people and saying my farewells before I'd hardly had a chance to thank them for even showing up! But one thing's for sure: neither Nicolas nor I forgot to enjoy our wedding. What a fabulous, pull-out-the-stops way to celebrate our first evening as husband and wife.