A couple of weeks ago, a younger woman wearing a baby (I’m not a baby person, but that was a gorgeous kid) on her front and walking a large, gentle, shepherd-ish dog appeared at my door. She was distributing notes to the neighbors–she and her fiancé were getting married and the reception, at least, was to be at their home down the street. They are actually the newest neighbors, having bought the house maybe two months ago, so this gave me the chance to meet at least her and their child, and dog. The wedding was in a couple of weeks and they wanted the neighbors to know and to know that they would try to keep it down and close up at a reasonable hour. It was kind of them.
Today is the happy day.
This morning, I moved my motorcycle from its usual place in front of the house, to free up parking for the guests. I even swept the sidewalks and the gutter, just to make things look a bit nicer. I included them in my meditation intentions this morning, too. This is a big day for the couple and even if they have no idea about my efforts, the intention is there and hopefully they will get some good juju from it.
To be honest, I have struggled a bit about this event. I’ve wept more than a few times. Oh, it’s never been that I’m worried about the noise or parking or frankly anything about their wedding. I mean, I am super noise sensitive and expect my earplugs will get used later tonight, but if you can’t give a wedding special dispensation, you’re a dick. No, my issues are rather that her announcement put me in mind of my wedding that never was.
I was engaged to my ex. I planned on spending the rest of my life with him and, despite myself (I’m not someone who needs to get married), I was actively looking forward to being his wife. As for the wedding itself, I had spent a lot of time imagining us exchanging vows under our bougainvillea-covered, wonky arbor. I thought we would be the neighbors who threw a wedding.
But we’re not. Life happens.
Instead, here I sit near that arbor, watching their guest arrive while the steak I just cooked cools inside (to be chucked on a salad) and indulging in a rosé vesper martini.
And I am surprisingly not sad.
There is something about watching these people arrive, to celebrate their friends’/family’s love, that is greater than my feelings of loss. I am moved, in a good way.
Except for the clothes. Those mostly move me to cringe. What is it with dressing for a wedding these days?!? The guests today are in various manner of dress–from light sport coats with trousers or summery dresses to men in short-sleeved shirts and khakis or, worse, jeans. Far too many are just…ugh. The worst attired award (so far) goes to the couple in jeans and Hawaiian shirts. At first, I thought maybe that was the suggested attire (they were some of the earliest to arrive); but no, most of the other guests have managed to wear something better than flip-flops, denim and loud short-sleeved shirts.
Yes, I’m being judgy. This is a thing for me. “Casual” for a wedding should still be something better than what you’d wear to a Jimmy Buffet concert.
I had a minor heart attack when a single woman pulled up in front of my house and touched up her makeup before getting out of her car. It looked like she was wearing a white dress! Luckily, when she got out it was a very light lemony yellow or, honestly, I probably would have said something.
A few minutes later, I went to check on the neighbor cat (whom I am watching while the family is out of town) and, on my way back, a single male guest who parked in front of my house (and who was carrying garbage cans because the couple realized at the last minute that was what they forgot) smiled at me and said, “Come on down and join us!” I’m wearing a baseball-type t-shirt (no bra), ripped jeans, no makeup, and flip-flops. There is no way in hell I would show up like that. Besides, I wasn’t invited by the couple and would never crash their wedding.
So, it’s not my wedding, but it is a wedding, and I am joyful for the young family. Also, and not for nothing, I am half-wondering why the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man asked me to join in the celebration…and did so more than once.