I keep forgetting. I promised myself I would write at least once a week, get back to something I loved, and I haven’t kept that promise to myself. I don’t even have a good excuse, like I was out of town, or I overslept. In the past several months, if I sleep any later than 8, it’s unusual. Neither here nor there.
As the summer goes on, it’s going to get even more difficult to write every week. There will be Saturdays when I have to work. I like to get that over with as early as possible. But if I wait too late, well, I lose my train of thought. Tragic.
Last weekend was busy. On Saturday, I did a shoot for a very good friend whom I love, and her husband, who deserves her. Going through the pictures was difficult – I kept tearing up. Well, when you love someone, you want them to be happy, right? She’s happy. I couldn’t ask for anything more. They did ask for more, and they got it; before too much longer, they will be three.
I met him not long ago. I’d been in Colorado for a decade, and my friend came to visit me. She was single at the time. I was so excited to see her, a random stranger in the airport actually commented. He said he was glad to see someone so happy, and he wished us a good visit. And that, we had. Even summited Pikes Peak. We drove. Okay, I drove. That was the third time for me since I’d moved there. Real women don’t need guardrails. Besides, all they would do is delay the inevitable. A guardrail is supposed to slow you down, so it’s easier to stop. When there’s a 1,000 foot (or more) drop-off, the guardrail is just decoration.
A year later, I moved back home. Broke, broken, and lost. But that’s another story. Short version, started rough, improved. It’s not perfect, I have a few unexpected expenses, but I can buy my own groceries and gas, and pay my insurance and housing and utilities. I couldn’t do that for a couple years, there.
Once I moved back home, all the folks I reconnected with on Facebook – no, seriously, it does work like that – came out of the woodwork. I was limited by funds, but when I could, I did spend time with them. This friend, the only one who visited me in Colorado (well, she wasn’t the only one who wanted to, she was just the only one who did), introduced me to her boyfriend. We had sushi together. I saw the way she was around him, and I liked him from the beginning because of it.
Then they got engaged. He was a little gun-shy – after a certain point in life, most of the single men are ‘previously-owned,’ and life with the previous owner isn’t always a positive experience – but she made him happy, too, so he took the risk. She asked me to shop for dresses with her. What, I’m going to say no? I tried not to, I really did, but that first afternoon, I cried. What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart.
Of course, first we had to have a bridal shower…a surprise bridal shower, organized by her then-fiance. How do you not love a person like that? The service in the restaurant was horrible; apparently, parties greater than 4 confused them. But that didn’t really matter. What mattered is a bunch of friends gathered together to celebrate a beautiful moment.
Then the big day came. It was soooo hot. Thank goodness for air conditioning. We bridesmaids were in charge of finding a dress we wanted to wear. She provided parameters, but within those parameters, it was our choice. I paid retail for her. I don’t pay retail for just anyone. I was glad I could do it, pay for my own dress. Only three months before that, I couldn’t have.
First, there was the signing of the ketubah. They did this with only a select portion of the wedding party. There wasn’t a whole lot of room where they were doing it. Fascinating, really, if you’re not familiar, look it up. Then began the procession. First, the wedding party – my escort was a person I hadn’t seen in decades; he looked fantastic, and happy with his partner – walking forward, arm-in-arm, into a really warm, but also sunny and bright, room full of the couple’s friends and family. We took our places, and we waited for the star attraction – the bride.
She carried herself with dignity, her father escorting her halfway, her walking the rest of the way herself, giving herself to her new life. By the time she was at the chuppah, it was over for me. Well, to be honest, I made it right up until she started her procession; then I lost it. I was pretty dehydrated by the end of the service. I don’t actually remember much of the ceremony.
She wore a tiara, and she took his name. Both were very unexpected, and neither decision did she make lightly.
After several more pictures with the wedding party, the reception began. A lively, wonderful time, it was over too soon. Well, my feet didn’t think it was over too soon, but the rest of me did.
In February,* special news. Something I had hoped for, but didn’t really expect, happened. She told me over dinner, letting me guess, dropping REALLY big hints. I think I squealed. And cried. I swear, I don’t remember ever crying so much in such a short period of time. Eight months is a short time, okay? Hush.
So. Not much longer now, before they are three. I think I’m nearly as excited as they are.
It hasn’t changed, the way she is around him. She’s beautiful when she’s with him. She is anyway, but she’s even moreso.
*Actually, December. The months have blurred together.