WANING GIBBOUS MOON
I donʹt know how I would have made it that day if it were not for my daughter-in-law, Susannah, who is not only the mother of my two oldest granddaughters, but also a fabulously talented photographer of people and who was the official photographer for the wedding. I keep telling her she is an artist. That she has a gift. Under her guidance, cajoling, and effervescence, we all looked like celebrities.
See Also5 No-cook Recipes You Can Make In A Hotel Room | Postcards From HawaiiBitchin’ Sauce Original RecipeDairy Free Strawberry Smoothie Recipe - Vegan in the FreezerSimple Recipe for Homemade Weed Killer That WorksAnd then my other daughter-in-law, Kelsey, radiant, generous, and infinitely caring, gracefully moved through the day with my first grandson just starting to produce a visible round in her profile, doing errand after errand the morning of the wedding, when I called for rescue at eight a.m. because no one in the household, save Phil and I, was out of bed. She also spent the day serving admirably as Susannah'ʹs assistant.
Despite all the amazing help I had that day, I also have to give a dab of credit to my dress. Every woman reading this knows how much confidence can come from the right dress, no matter what the situation.
It was a skirt and blouse, actually. Beaded buttermilk chiffon over a silk jersey tank top lining, with cutwork sleeves and hem and a draping, almost-off-the-shoulder neckline. The bead- and cutwork, in the shape of lilies, echoed the lilies carved into the polished silver of our rings, and those gracing the podium, the serving tables, the dinner tables, Phil'ʹs sisters’ corsages, the bouquet I carried, and the single-stem calla lily each of the women of the bridal court held. The black chiffon gored skirt flowed and swirled just right, and my colleague from Seattle who had helped me find my dress had surprised me with a gift she crafted herself—onyx and freshwater pearl earrings and bracelet that perfectly tied the two pieces together. "You get to be a princess, too, G-ma?" my granddaughter Malory said.
The day, even still, does not come as one linear memory, but a foggy pastiche. I was sick on the day of my third wedding, and that pretty much says it all. I'm not the first bride to go through it, I'm certain, but I wish it had been otherwise. I wanted so to enjoy that day with Phil. My other two weddings had been special in their own way, but I married those two people for ridiculous reasons. I was marrying Phil because I enjoyed him. I enjoyed living with him, and he seemed to reciprocate. We were a reflection of each other, and that is what we romantic humans all wish for. I'm not so naïve as to believe that "one true love" exists for each and every one of us nearly seven billion people on this planet, but for almost seven years of coupledom now, I have consistently marveled at how much we have in common, just the same as I was marveling then.
Occasional moments do stand out, however. For example, seeing my two strong, capable, handsome sons, Sean and Jacob, in suits and ties and having them tell me how beautiful I looked as they took their places on either side of me for the ceremony, our arms linked. Jacob had called my parents and lent his cell phone so that Mom and Dad, too frail to travel, could be witness to the ceremony. How I loved in that moment the feeling of being cared for and supported by those two wonderful people. In one way or another itʹs always been Sean and Jacob shoring me up, giving me reason to be.
Phil's two great-nieces Tara and Nathalie served alongside Malory as the most adorable flower girls in history. I had sent snippets of strawberry, lemon, and aqua ribbon and just asked their mothers to pick dresses that matched and that the girls might wear later, so they were each in dresses of different design and color, yet their little flower crowns with ribbon veils were the same. Nothing inspires more joy or is more memorable than a flower girl at a wedding.
One of the funnier moments came when my good friend Jill Nugent was referred to as "some strange woman in the driveway." She and I still laugh about it. We should all be brave enough to wear dreadlocks at fifty-something, and we should all be brave enough to do the work she does in Haiti, teaching people to plant community gardens, teaching them how to improve their meager lives, bringing back the grace and wisdom that permeates their most difficult of situations.
