I'm sure you've been there. 8:00 am in an airport cafe, watching planes land, wondering how you made it there, luggage in tow, with a hangover that is nothing short of grim. After we sat like this, in silence, for nearly 20 minutes, I knew I had to get out the camera to document the collective head holding.
But believe it or not, this weekend in all it's glory was worth every minute of every painful hour of that morning (and the following two days) of pain. I never used to cry at weddings. And then I got married. When I heard the liturgy again, the very same words that Aaron and I used, the tears were suddenly there. And so I snuck him love notes, written with mini-church pencils on the backs of receipts, tucking them in his pocket as I passed by the groom's line after communion. The church bells rang. Old friends appeared out of nowhere--friends I hadn't seen in years. At the reception, I kicked my heels off and flitted around the lawn with a glass of incredible white wine that our hosts provided. A few hours (and bottles) later, I was waltzing around like Zelda Fitzgerald, suggesting to everyone to please have another glass, and a dance, and have a look at the moon with me. A friend and I even drunkenly planned a trip to Sweden, if only 'for fika and textiles and the wood.' Um...of course. And if you're wondering where the rest of the photos of the evening went...Well, as is usually the case when your cup, literally, runneth over, with amazing people and conversation and happiness (and wine)...the camera was forgotten in the purse, and I let myself live fully in a night that ended too soon. And I am totally okay with that.
So yes, it is much more interesting to recount events full of all the irony and sarcasm and social foibles of a Jane Austen novel, but tonight, I can't muster up anything but pure joy and gratefulness for an incredible two days. I hope your weekend was equally marvelous. Back tomorrow (with sarcasm in tow)...