february showers
I've been to more bridal shower than I can count. I went to a women's college: I have a lot of girlfriends. But this weekend was different. This weekend, for the first time, I was the bride.
It was strange going to a shower empty-handed; I kept thinking that I was forgetting something--where was my present; shouldn't I bring a present? Then I remembered, again, that I didn't need one: the presents were for me. For some reason, the shower made it real to me--this is it, this is real, I'm really getting married.
The idea of a wedding seems stranger to me than the idea of marriage. Marriage--how different will it really be? There's sex, of course. But mostly, I think, it will just be living: deciding what to eat for dinner, sharing the bathroom, coaxing him out of bad moods and persuading him to put his dishes away. The only different part will be sharing the bathroom.
But weddings--that's something else entirely. Weddings are something that happens to my friends, not to me. Weddings are when I buy an ugly pink dress that I'll never wear again and walk down the aisle with a stranger who happens to be friends with my friend's fiance. Weddings are when I serve the bride, doing everything I can to make her day special, placing myself at her beck and call to pick up flowers or fetch water or instruct the groomsmen on their negligence of duty. Weddings are a time to meet the strangers who are my friend's family, to wear an outfit that I didn't choose but that I spent a lot of money for, and to enjoy myself thoroughly despite it all. Weddings are for someone else.
But this wedding--this one wedding--will be for me. Now all my friends are giving me gifts, telling me I'm beautiful, offering to help with everything from dresses to flowers to food warmers. I'm hesitant to accept their help, puzzled by their delight in serving, even though I remember how it feels to be a friend of the bride. I remember how much fun it is to gaze in delight and wonder at your friend who has transformed before your eyes. She has changed from the ordinary girl you've always known into someone glamorous and mysterious, someone glowing in white, fragrant as flowers, her eyes bright and shining with anticipation and mystery and love. And even if you're jealous of her good fortune, even if you're bitter in the feeling that nothing so romantic will ever happen to you, you can't help but get caught up in her joy. She is in love, and she is perfect, and for one day, the world revolves around her.
But me? I am so plain, so earthy, so utterly suffused with the ordinary. Did I look like that to them, yeterday as I opened presents? Did I glow when his name was mentioned? Did the magic of love touch me, too, changing me without my noticing?
Marriage is about two people. But weddings are about everyone. Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of how the love of two people draws the love of all their friends around them, showering toward them like fireworks in reverse, all the brightness that was scattered across the sky drawing together toward a single point. And I am so grateful for my friends, those bright lights that have lit the path of my life through many years, and I hope that the magic that has touched me will spread to them, too, like mist on the mountains in the morning, and reveal all of them, as they are, beautiful.
It was strange going to a shower empty-handed; I kept thinking that I was forgetting something--where was my present; shouldn't I bring a present? Then I remembered, again, that I didn't need one: the presents were for me. For some reason, the shower made it real to me--this is it, this is real, I'm really getting married.
The idea of a wedding seems stranger to me than the idea of marriage. Marriage--how different will it really be? There's sex, of course. But mostly, I think, it will just be living: deciding what to eat for dinner, sharing the bathroom, coaxing him out of bad moods and persuading him to put his dishes away. The only different part will be sharing the bathroom.
But weddings--that's something else entirely. Weddings are something that happens to my friends, not to me. Weddings are when I buy an ugly pink dress that I'll never wear again and walk down the aisle with a stranger who happens to be friends with my friend's fiance. Weddings are when I serve the bride, doing everything I can to make her day special, placing myself at her beck and call to pick up flowers or fetch water or instruct the groomsmen on their negligence of duty. Weddings are a time to meet the strangers who are my friend's family, to wear an outfit that I didn't choose but that I spent a lot of money for, and to enjoy myself thoroughly despite it all. Weddings are for someone else.
But this wedding--this one wedding--will be for me. Now all my friends are giving me gifts, telling me I'm beautiful, offering to help with everything from dresses to flowers to food warmers. I'm hesitant to accept their help, puzzled by their delight in serving, even though I remember how it feels to be a friend of the bride. I remember how much fun it is to gaze in delight and wonder at your friend who has transformed before your eyes. She has changed from the ordinary girl you've always known into someone glamorous and mysterious, someone glowing in white, fragrant as flowers, her eyes bright and shining with anticipation and mystery and love. And even if you're jealous of her good fortune, even if you're bitter in the feeling that nothing so romantic will ever happen to you, you can't help but get caught up in her joy. She is in love, and she is perfect, and for one day, the world revolves around her.
But me? I am so plain, so earthy, so utterly suffused with the ordinary. Did I look like that to them, yeterday as I opened presents? Did I glow when his name was mentioned? Did the magic of love touch me, too, changing me without my noticing?
Marriage is about two people. But weddings are about everyone. Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of how the love of two people draws the love of all their friends around them, showering toward them like fireworks in reverse, all the brightness that was scattered across the sky drawing together toward a single point. And I am so grateful for my friends, those bright lights that have lit the path of my life through many years, and I hope that the magic that has touched me will spread to them, too, like mist on the mountains in the morning, and reveal all of them, as they are, beautiful.
posted by lisa c. baker at 10:58 PM
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