If I’m counting right, this past weekend marked the 22nd wedding I’ve been to, since I’ve been going to weddings.
I still love them.
Weddings were a huge mystery to me for most of my youth. I didn’t have a large extended family with lots of cousins nearby, and anyway, I was at the older end of the cousin age range. From, say, 1987 to 2007, I only went to one: at age 11, I stood up and then promptly sat down in my aunt’s wedding. I basically fainted in the middle of the ceremony, and was shocked–shocked!–that people at the reception kept coming up to me to ask if I was OK. I thought I’d been so subtle!
Oh, make that one and a half: I also went to my fifth grade teacher’s wedding ceremony.
My senior year of college, Sam’s friends, a whopping one year older, started to get married. And six years later the pace is just starting to let up. Kind of. In that time I’ve been thrice a a bridesmaid, twice re-worn the dresses, and once a bride. We went to a wedding on our honeymoon. I gather this is normal for our stage in life. (Well, maybe not the honeymoon part).
I still love weddings, but I find that over time, what that means has changed. Continue reading