Turn
It's a cliché of the highest order: Life hasn't worked out as planned. I've harbored so many plans and giddy feelings; made so many posts that feel hollow now. It's become more and more difficult to retain my sense of wonder and not allow frustration to best us. I am going to marry this man. That day is an ever fixéd mark, out of sight in the wrong hemisphere. It's a brittle presence. Turn to look for it, break your stride, and it's gone, retreating into darkness and the wrong time once more. The faith and illusion that it walks behind you and will catch up and be made real by stillness and security must be maintained.
We've been talking in cafés, kitchens, cars; stolen moments. Things are the closest to perfect they've been. He has a promising job that starts in about a week and can support me as I continue my education. We'll be living in Ann Arbor. Ann Arbor! I'm getting a little teary-eyed at the prospect. This has been a dream for I don't know how long, even if I don't know how long we will be staying. With luck and perseverance I can achieve the dream I've had since I was 12 to work in one of the libraries there. I think we've reached a happy compromise between the desire to keep it unadorned and to share in the joy and fellowship of friends and family. The wedding itself will be a small affair: Close family, Justice of the Peace, a light dinner afterward. A proper celebration will come later when time is no longer an issue. This arrangement suits our interests nicely for flexibility, accommodation, and expedience. I'll likely be wearing a nice cocktail dress (I like this one, if it can be found), which is rather indicative of the ceremony's informality. The guests are under no obligation to attend both. For years, we've thought of his birthday as our date. Now my birthday on the opposite end of the calendar seems a more likely time.
We turn again to that cliché. My brother is getting married in May. It's almost comical to think that Emily is approximately a year older than I was when Ryan asked me to marry him, a forgone conclusion. That was four years, eight months, and five days ago; longer than they've known each other. Long enough that boyfriend and fiancé mean the same thing to my family. The distinction is irrelevant: my hand is bare; I'm an unpurchased cow, to echo a well-meant but unbelievably offensive paternal observation.
They're going all out: a surprisingly non-floofy floofy white dress, 125 guests, country club with requisite gazebo, etc. I've been asked by my father to wait until theirs is over, out of deference for her and their more inexorable, proper, affair. Is 10 minutes of our family's time and a casual dinner too much to ask? The 'bigger' day comes later. It's a single drumbeat, not rival thunder with the temerity to usurp someone else's special day. The more cynical part of me wonders how far-and to whom precisely-this prohibition extends, but it's irrelevant because I'm his younger sister. This simply isn't done. Etiquette invalidates intent.
I can understand. Certainty has never been certain with us and over time perhaps the luster and indulgence have worn away among our family and friends. I don't want a 'special day.' I want a day that's special to us-two of them because we're greedy like that! It's so tempting to tell everyone: If we're doing this, we're doing it our way. (You're invited to attend, but we understand if you can't.) Concise, prickly, sincere.
Just venting. Thank you.
We've been talking in cafés, kitchens, cars; stolen moments. Things are the closest to perfect they've been. He has a promising job that starts in about a week and can support me as I continue my education. We'll be living in Ann Arbor. Ann Arbor! I'm getting a little teary-eyed at the prospect. This has been a dream for I don't know how long, even if I don't know how long we will be staying. With luck and perseverance I can achieve the dream I've had since I was 12 to work in one of the libraries there. I think we've reached a happy compromise between the desire to keep it unadorned and to share in the joy and fellowship of friends and family. The wedding itself will be a small affair: Close family, Justice of the Peace, a light dinner afterward. A proper celebration will come later when time is no longer an issue. This arrangement suits our interests nicely for flexibility, accommodation, and expedience. I'll likely be wearing a nice cocktail dress (I like this one, if it can be found), which is rather indicative of the ceremony's informality. The guests are under no obligation to attend both. For years, we've thought of his birthday as our date. Now my birthday on the opposite end of the calendar seems a more likely time.
We turn again to that cliché. My brother is getting married in May. It's almost comical to think that Emily is approximately a year older than I was when Ryan asked me to marry him, a forgone conclusion. That was four years, eight months, and five days ago; longer than they've known each other. Long enough that boyfriend and fiancé mean the same thing to my family. The distinction is irrelevant: my hand is bare; I'm an unpurchased cow, to echo a well-meant but unbelievably offensive paternal observation.
They're going all out: a surprisingly non-floofy floofy white dress, 125 guests, country club with requisite gazebo, etc. I've been asked by my father to wait until theirs is over, out of deference for her and their more inexorable, proper, affair. Is 10 minutes of our family's time and a casual dinner too much to ask? The 'bigger' day comes later. It's a single drumbeat, not rival thunder with the temerity to usurp someone else's special day. The more cynical part of me wonders how far-and to whom precisely-this prohibition extends, but it's irrelevant because I'm his younger sister. This simply isn't done. Etiquette invalidates intent.
I can understand. Certainty has never been certain with us and over time perhaps the luster and indulgence have worn away among our family and friends. I don't want a 'special day.' I want a day that's special to us-two of them because we're greedy like that! It's so tempting to tell everyone: If we're doing this, we're doing it our way. (You're invited to attend, but we understand if you can't.) Concise, prickly, sincere.
Just venting. Thank you.