Love Endures
Even though, as I write this, the lawn is still a grungy shade of brown with but a few sprigs of green poking through where the daffodils are planted, the signs are obvious; spring is upon us with a vengeance.
Robins are congregating for breakfast on the ground under the backyard bird feeder, there are sparrows nesting in the juniper bush and the two stray orange tabbies are busy marking the backyard as their own, throwing huge, noisy hissy fits over who is the Big Man, and howling long, mournful ballads at night in hopes of attracting the ladies.
Consequently, the e-mail I just received from our surrogate son in California comes as no real surprise. Kyle has purchased an engagement ring for his girlfriend Cara, whom we all adore unreservedly, and shortly, he hopes, there will be a wedding in the works.
I have attended/participated in more weddings in my lifetime than almost anyone with the possible exception of clergy. Jay has seventeen nieces and nephews (all married, some more than once), and we are now on the second wave of weddings as some of their children have already tied the knot. If you add to that list friends and relatives from my side of the family, the count is enormous. I have sewed a wedding dress and various bridesmaid dresses, designed wedding bouquets, decorated altars, pews and banquet tables, hand lettered invitations, recited poetry, read scripture and even sung once when the vocalist overbooked and didn’t show up. I have attended weddings at churches, courthouses, outside, inside, in every season and possible circumstance including one where the groom bolted for Mexico leaving the bride literally at the altar (her good fortune), and a ceremony in which the bride carried not a bouquet but her three-week old daughter down the aisle.
One would think I’d be exhausted at the mere prospect of yet another ceremony, but in truth, I couldn’t be more delighted. The closest I have ever come to any sort of familial event of my own is making a trip to the vet to get someone in our household neutered, which is hardly a celebration: you can’t dress up because you will be shed on, there are no flowers, no music, no food, and the best you can hope for is that no one will throw up on your shoes from the anesthetic on the way home. Of course, Jay and I don’t have to worry about unplanned pregnancy or paying for college, but we do miss a lot of the fun stuff.
When Jay and I took the plunge, we decided to have a small, formal dinner for the bridal party and families at a local supper club on the eve of the wedding, and a cake and coffee reception for guests after the ceremony. (I had secretly longed to have a dance, but the mere mention caused Jay to turn a corpse-like shade of pale, so I figured I’d better not push my luck).
Everything went well, with the exception of the wine selection which had been left up to me. Since my experience was limited to Boone’s Farm and Ripple, I relied on the barman’s choice, which turned out to be a bad idea, as his experience was limited to Pabst, Miller and Leinenkugel. Consequently, we were served glasses of wine the color of urine with a vaguely similar bouquet, and a piquant acidity that would have stripped the paint off a car in five minutes. Despite our error in judgment, a fine time was had by everyone, although a couple of the cousins who had lingered in the dining room after we left were suspiciously queasy the next day.
My choice would have been to get married barefoot in a red lace dress, preferably on a beach somewhere in California. Unfortunately, I was the firstborn daughter, and by golly, my mother was going to see me get married properly if it was the last thing she did. So both Jay and I agreed it was not worth the argument, and ours was a very traditional service, right down to the tossing of the bouquet.
Things have changed a lot since then, and getting married doesn’t seem to be so much about tradition. Kyle met Cara on the Internet, where he also purchased her ring, and for all I know, she may want a wildly individual celebration on the beach in vivid colors. All I do know is that whatever happens, I’ll be delighted to be there with them to celebrate.
It lifts my heart to know that no matter what changes in the world, love endures.
