On Saturday I attended the most lovely wedding I've been at. It was even nicer than my own, alas. My little brother, Dorian, the one I used to dress up as a princess so I could be the witch and Gareth could be the baddie, got married to his long-time-love Laura. It was a gentle, arty, thoughtful day.
It was brilliant to meet some bloggers there--I felt like two of my worlds had collided, not just the virtual and the real (which I don't see as separate anyway), but the familiar (as in family) and the bloggy, the artful-creative and the lived-history.
And how things change in that lived history...a favourite auntie who I still think of as slim and blonde and super-glamorous is now a rounded middle-aged brunette. One of my 89 year old grannies--I am hugely lucky to have two of them--who looked close to death a few months ago is now almost sprightly, and definitely back to her canny observant self. A wayward teenager who hasn't been able to face his own father since before Christmas was obliged to attend, and the two of them got on like a house on fire because they were both just so HAPPY. Therapy? forget it, you just need a good wedding.
Not everyone chooses to marry, and not everyone who wants to can do so (yet). Dorian and Laura had a rare opportunity to create a day when things and people, generations and worlds, could come together, and they carried it off beautifully. It was magical.