|
|
June 10, 2005
A month of wondrous blessings
Planning a wedding isn't as easy as it looks, but it comes with
the love and support of friends and family.
SHULA KLINGER
As I write, it is four weeks before my wedding. I have only recently
got used to the feel of the engagement ring on my left hand. We
haven't finished planning the wedding, but the wagons are definitely
rolling. We still have lots of decisions and arrangements to make.
But what do you do? People don't tell you how to get married any
more. They ask you. They say, "This is your day! It's about
what you want!" You can choose your vows. You can get married
in a post office, a bagel factory or while floating in an inner
tube. We're planning a wedding in the Pacific Northwest and we must
be practical. To the question, "What if it rains?" we
replied, "Of course it will rain!" It doesn't matter if
it's 29 degrees on the days either side of your wedding. Pray for
sun, plan for rain and dig out your strongest shoes. And book an
indoor venue.
It's taking months to sift the wheat (the true gems of self-knowledge,
lurking deep within your psyche) from the chaff (memories of too
many Doris Day movies, stories about other people's weddings). I
learn that, for many people, doing "just what you want"
means "do just what I think you want." This means being
zipped into a dress that would stand up (if not walk off) on its
own. A full suit of armor would be more comfortable. I choose a
dress that I can breathe in, instead. Then I discover that wedding
shoes are not shoes. They are a conspiracy to ruin your feet.
The real challenge, of course, is not in your wardrobe. It is in
your mind: in figuring out what is personal and what is traditional.
What do you follow and where do you lead? We give it some thought
and decide that we are modern. We tell ourselves that we can do
this alone. I could carry my grandmother's beaded purse, wear a
veil, watch my beloved smash a glass and eat Pacific salmon afterwards.
Or we could order sushi! We live in a new province, in a new country.
We purchase treats, we don't make them.
Three weeks before the wedding, I am absorbed by dress alterations,
worries about decor and the guest list. The last RSVP cards are
coming back. None of our friends can just check the right box. They
add witty, eccentric and hilarious comments in the gaps; they write
personal messages on the front, the back and up the sides.
We think about our vows and blessings, which we have decided to
customize – naturally. I have only ever imagined two blessings:
one in my future husband and one delivered by the person whose words
declare us married. But I read and re-read those RSVP cards and
realize that there are many, many blessings – in the words
and gift-wrapped parcels we receive and in our friends themselves.
Simply by declaring our love and letting our friends know that we
will be married, we receive blessings every day.
Two weeks before the wedding, my mother arrives and my fiancé
demonstrates true heroism by spending an entire day cleaning the
house. In the meantime, his car breaks down. We are already organized,
but now we must be military in our precision.
We are nervous. Who said we could do this alone? Asking friends
for help is no longer a matter of choice. It's a necessity. I enlist
two friends to help with shopping. My cousin, who is a chef, helps
us pick the wine. A colleague builds a practice chuppah in my office.
Another colleague drives me to the venue at lunchtime to scope out
the facilities.
We learn that, not only have our friends and family bought gifts
for us, my mother's friends have also sent gifts. This is the most
touching moment for us. It's not the surprise of the material items.
It is the meaning behind them. I have known some of these people
from birth, but there are others that I have met once or not at
all. They are delighted that I am to be married, of course. But
their generosity really shows their deep affection for and loyalty
to my mother. She is an extraordinary woman and their love for her
brings us joy.
Now it's the week before the wedding. Our families are arriving
from Europe, Asia, the United States and eastern Canada. We are
overwhelmed by appointments and phone calls. We are also overwhelmed
by kind gestures and offers of help. Our friends arrange meetings
to rehearse the music they will play for us and we realize that
the ingredients for the wedding cake have been bought and assembled.
The place cards for our reception are neatly stacked in a box.
Three days before the wedding, we are writing out daily schedules.
I see piles of paper on my kitchen table. There's a different list
on every one. I think back to four weeks ago, when each hour seemed
to last for 60 minutes instead of five. I think of all the elements
we've customized, the inventive, personal touches we've added to
our celebration. And I finally have time to think about the meaning
of our day.
A wedding sounds like a single day, but it has 1,000 meanings and
many, many blessings. It is a promise. It is creating a new family.
It is bringing an existing family together. It's an expression of
your ideas and values and a deep articulation of your respect for
tradition that you have assembled these friends and family members
to witness the day.
It is Friday. We are surrounded by the people who have helped us
to become who we are. We may live in the modern world, in a new
province, but we also live at the end of long chains of ancestors.
As we embark on our new journey together, we are still walking with
our beloveds among the lilies.
Shula Klinger is a Vancouver freelance writer.
^TOP
|
|
