Terminally cheerful, in spite of myself, I made some changes in the way it looks around here, just little things, a lighter background and new header, trying to find some inspiration. I might as well have something to look at even if I don't have something to say, and I chose a special picture, one I took from a bluff overlooking the Pacific just north of La Jolla, California, last August at a sister's son's wedding, a wedding done right, one filled with love so deep and strong and complex that it felt like magic, exactly twenty-eight years, to the hour, after ours.
Isn't that what weddings are supposed to be, the physical manifestation of the community, the webs of affection that surround the couple through time, providing cushion from the universe and at least some of life's difficulties, sustained by its joys? We gather to honor our parts in their pasts and mark our places in their futures, so the love we celebrate when we gather for weddings isn't just the bride's and the groom's, but that of all who love them, each embracing the other, celebrating their increase, celebrating the couple, greater than the sum of its parts.
It's hard to describe how much it moved me, these two beautiful young people, how comfortable it felt for us, his family, to be among her family, how welcoming they were. It was perfect, simple, elegant and genuine, family as sustenance, represented, micro and macro, and the poignant juxtaposition of our attempt so long ago, to the hour, redeemed, at least for me, by the presence of three beautiful adult sons. We gathered finally, on that Saturday, the first of August, after days and nights of celebration, as the sun began to slip behind the ocean, and the bride and groom were married. Then, still outside by the sea, we had drinks and dinner, and there were toasts, and with the light of day just gone, the couple took their first dance.
| It was perfect, and at the end of the first dance, when the disc jockey invited any other "loving couples" among us to join the newlyweds for the next dance, almost every person there exploded onto the dance floor. Those amazed observers who were still taking it all in, didn't last long, and for two hours almost every person at the wedding, danced. We danced wildly and with abandon, independently and together, and sometimes we sang too, ending circled around the bride and groom, belting out the profanity-laced version of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" made famous in the movie Old School. It was sweaty, jubilant, expansive, mad, communal joy, like I'd never before experienced. It took three weeks for the blisters on my feet to heal. I was sad when they did. |
Then it stopped. The lights went up. The DJ started packing, and the guests began their good-byes, but the last-last song, played without the benefit of the sound system, explained the bags of lemon drops that served as our dinner table seat markers and was one of my all-time favorites, one my readers already know, one that sent The Yongest rushing to my side, and we stood and swayed and savored together, Izzy's Classic medley of "Over The Rainbow" and "Wonderful World". I cried.
The guests, including our large, exhausted, extended family, headed out the next day, by air and by road, tired and happy, filled and fueled by genuine, loving interaction, lifted forward by, well, each other. That's what we do, isn't it? We lift each other forward, nourish each other, take each others' sides, because that's what it means to love. Not everyone can do it, some don't even want to, never try, they're so badly broken, and nobody gets it right all the time, but for that one weekend last summer we celebrated the possibilities of choosing love, and it was very, very good.
Peace, y'all.
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