(Dresser at the Wainwright the morning after our wedding)
After Our Wedding, from the Writer's Almanac
When you forgot the address of our hotel
in your suitcase,
the driver had to pull over
in front of the restaurant.
Men and women dining beneath the August sun
looked up from their salads
to clap for you,
a young, slender woman
in a wedding dress and tiara,
retrieving a slip of paper
from the trunk of a cab
in the middle of the street.
And since that day,
many of the guests at our wedding have divorced
or are gone,
and the restaurant has closed
to become a tattoo parlor.
And we have misplaced and found
many more papers,
but no one was clapping.
And the motion of the lives around us
has been like a great bus
slowly turning onto a crowded street.
And some of the passengers
have fallen asleep in their seats,
while others anxiously search
their jacket pockets
for the notes that might wed
their ordinary lives
to something lofty and astonishing.
by Yehoshua Nobember
* * * * *
Earlier this week, Peter and I hit our six-month-married mark.
I was home for the New Year holiday, so I braised short ribs and made almond cake. Peter brought me a fantastic bouquet of flowers, just like he did for our six month dating anniversary back in 2006. It was a great night, truly.
But odd, too, to think of the completely different course these days took. One was filled with light and sunshine and family and nerves and this insane, over the top feeling of joy. On Monday, I went to the library. I bleached the bathroom and made a massive donation trip to Goodwill. Of course, I know it's completely unfair to compare this January day with our July wedding. Of course!
It just served as a good reminder that we have to constantly work to not fall asleep in our seats and celebrate whenever we can. Bake cakes, arrange flowers, have a toast with the good gin, talk about the big things. Keep trying to wed our ordinary lives to something lofty and astonishing.