In my dream I had composed some poignent words about appreciating my friends and family. I don’t remember the words, but I do remember the feeling of sweet creative relief when I had found them. I’m getting married tomorrow at city hall. At the small dinner celebration tomorrow, my father will do a toast honoring both the people who are there, and the people who are central to our lives and yet not there. This second category would be important in any celebration, because of death and other reasons, but it’s especially true for such a small celebration.
I’m flying back now from our honeymoon in Big Bend. We had a beautiful wedding, realizing connections with traditions, how I already had “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue” in my wedding outfit, and how much of our wedding day, including visiting the 9/11 memorial, was reminiscent of Lithuanian wedding festivities my parents had seen. My prayers were answered, beautifully if not perfectly. Our families bonded, and got to know some of our friends. My friend Zenna’s visa, the big one, got approved, if not in time. The toasts rang true, describing qualities I especially love in Joe and value in myself and our relationship, our kindness, curiosity, sense of adventure, and respect for independence. Our families accepted our imperfections, and helped make them beautiful, with practiced pistachio swirl cookies, an only-us “$1” ferry ride beneath the Brooklyn Bridge in the rain, our exit through the copper green pink graffiti scaffolding door, footwear challenges. Not only do I love imperfections, but I’m realizing that accepting imperfections is a sign of love, and I feel very loved. I like wearing our wedding rings, seeing the slanted reflections in different lights, and look forward to inevitable scuffs and imperfections.