Friday night was another wedding for us, as was Saturday.  These two both had a bittersweet element to them.  Each had a family member that died too soon.

Friday’s wedding left me somber and sad.  The death of the bride’s brother some ten years ago still stings us all from time to time.  I couldn’t help but have the ghost of his memory follow me home Friday night and permeate my thoughts.

Then Saturday, the groom’s sole groomsman was not his brother, as it would have been were he still alive.  The  absence of the groom’s twin was poignant.  But unlike the sad memories recalled the night before, the memory of this deceased sibling felt more like a sprite dancing and smiling with the bridal party.

And again, there was that restocking of my own marriage that weddings have the effect of on me.  And again I’ve come to the conclusion that my husband and I just down right have it good.

It’s Sunday now.  And we have a baptism to attend this morning.  And then we need to go out and buy Sun a lunch kit.  She starts daycare on Tuesday.  Damn these long days and short months!

And as I sit in the quiet, as Sun “reads” to herself before falling to sleep for a nap and my husband showers, I have my own ghosts and sprites sitting with me in the room.  Some whisper regret, others undying support.  They may be with me ’til I die, but I AM determined to live Happily Ever After.

It’s wedding season here in New Orleans.  We’ve been invited to not less than six weddings in six weeks.   Some are the traditional New Orleans’ wedding: Cathedral ceremony and country club reception.  And some are less traditional: all-in-one wedding/reception at a room in a local restaurant.  And several in between: home ceremonies, French Quarter brunches, decadent escapades.

Tonight was the least frilly of them all.  After all, it’s on a Wednesday night. Now, I am not a weepy gal.  I didn’t get teary-eyed when I got engaged, when I learned I was pregnant, or at any wedding I have ever attended.

Until tonight.  Ok, I am lying.  I didn’t cry.  But I did get teary-eyed.  And that takes a lot.  So what did it?

Well, the bride was a lot like me.  She swore off marriage and kids just as I did.  Until it was undeniable.  And that raw emotion showed in her eyes.  And her unsteady hands that had to be held by her beloved during the ceremony.

And the minister was superb.  He called on us in attendance not only as witnesses to the marriage but as advocates of their marriage.  So that when one of the spouses called on us in time, as they will as our friends, facing a rough spot, that it was our duty, OUR DUTY, to vie for the marriage.  To rise against their walking out on the marriage as so many do nowadays.

Being married now, I always listen more intently at the exchanging of the vows.

Do you take this person, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and health, and to be true to in good times and in bad, and to seek no other.

Because when you are taking those vows, health and wealth and infidelity are far from your mind.

They should say, “Not if, but when, this person is sick, and you are too, and money is tight, because that day will come, and when it comes, do you still promise to forsake all others and be true to just this one?”

CS has engraved in French on his wedding band, “You and no other” for the days, and I am certain they exist, that he doubts our survival.  It’s there as a reminder to both of us.  We exchanged vows six years ago and I still feel complete devotion and commitment to those vows.

I do.  I will.

Always.

I am a “tight” knitter: my stitches are tight.  I have to remind myself to ease up on the tension of the yarn; relax my fingers and my mind.  I knit a cap for CS years ago, and it was a big hit.  It was a straight knit 4, purl 4 pattern, your typical skull cap.  Several friends wanted me to knit one for them.  I was happy to oblige.

The day I was given the (erroneous) news that I had a severe infertility problem, I boarded a plane for a weekend in New York.  That flight was delayed and we sat on the tarmac for what seemed like hours.  I was working on one of those skull caps for a friend.  My gauge was off.  Way off.  I knit several inches worth then ripped back to nothing at least four times sitting on that miserable tarmac.  All the while, my ears were plugged into my iPod listening to Bob Dylan.  And tears ran down my cheeks.  I couldn’t bother with what the 50-something business man thought sitting next to me of the mess I was.  What could I say to him to excuse my bizarre behavior?  No eye contact was the best bet.

After a few days, months, I would try that cap again and again.  My gauge was never right.  I’d check my gauge before starting, a task I loathe, and still seemed off.  I ripped out this cap another four or so times.

The yarn I had selected for my friend began to show signs of my struggle.  It was fraying, cracking, and in time, breaking.  After a year, I threw the yarn away and decided CS could knit the cap for our friend.  (He’d learned to knit Sun a blanket).

More years have passed and CS still has not knit that cap.  I am now picking that project up again.  I have a new ball of yarn.  Different colors even.

And yet.

My gauge is off again.  The size 8 needles I used so easily the first time are way too big.  Even 7s won’t do the trick.  I will be testing 6s this evening.  And as I knit 4, purl 4, I am reminded of that damn day in the plane.  And the sting of disappointment I’ve endured with this cap.

I am realizing I should have knit this cap years ago.  So now I am determined.  I will knit this cap.  I will exorcise this demon.  I will release that tension.  Once and for all.

With a sprained ankle

and a bruised ego

I turn to my garden

to lick my wounds

and salve my soul.

Relationships change,

friends disappoint,

clay feet are discovered.

So in I go

back to myself,

like a groundhog

seeing his shadow.

Back to my yard,

my own sanctuary,

to tend to my own garden.