By: Tosha Woronov
It rains so infrequently in L.A. that it can be almost devastating when it does happen. We simply don’t prepare for it. Ten years ago, with the lyrics “it seems it never rains in…southern…California” running through my head, I neglected to make a satisfying back-up plan for our garden wedding at the Bel- Air Hotel. The professionals there of course had a plan B; it’s their job and I’m not insane. But because it did not factor in to my daydreams and up-all-night visions of that day going just how I fucking intended it would, rain on my wedding day was an unconscionable possibility.
Well it did rain and somehow…I did not freak out. With the hairdresser and the makeup chick doing their thing, I sat in my pjs and sipped champagne and let it all go.
But the day before, at the rehearsal dinner, when I heard it might rain, I cried and cried and basically lost my shit.
Yesterday was our big easter egg hunt and brunch. Twice as many kids as last year, three times as many kids as the year before that. 629 toy-filled eggs. Too much plastic, and tiny trinkets that no one needs, but also a pretty garden setting, lots of giddy children, a decent prosecco and pomegranate cocktail, and intelligent, interesting, fun friends to make the day special. I think I can safely say a good time was had by all. And the weather –despite threats of rain for Wednesday, then Thursday, then dangerously-close-to-the-party-Friday –held up beautifully. Breezy, sunny, and warm.
Hours after the party ended, with clean-up winding to a close, my parents and I had a nasty argument, leaving the rest of last night and all of today heavy and sad. Nothing I would have planned for. And now outside, as I write this, the rain comes down.