Epiphany, part I

After some wonderful time with my family I'm back to real life, and it seems a wedding is looming before us all. Whose, I'm not sure. Nothing is clear, not yet.

While I know I want the marriage (which is to say, I want it much of the time), the hooplah can just feel so unnecessary sometimes. Like, I do love to throw a good party, but does it really have to be about us? And I suppose the answer is yes, the "us" that encircles my reality anyway, the "us" that is my parents, and dear grandparents and sweet friends of all sizes. But there is something else significant happening here, and I know that also.

Like for one, my sister is having a baby. An event so huge and transformative I feel silly thinking about invitations and outfits at all. But I know also we all love silly and so I've somehow tricked Christy into going wedding dress shopping with me on Wednesday. Once I find some cash.

The point is, life ka-thumps onward- even though you've always been much wiser than this, a small, idiotic part of you still thinks getting married will be this very interesting turning point in your life, but its not. Pat still has school and we still struggle to find time and space in which to connect. I still spend long afternoons looking for a hobby; Christy made it into Oxford, and is making plans to sell our beloved piano and leaving her Gilmore Girls to me (hurrah!). A co-worker of mine has passed away and tomorrow at noon I meet my friends to head to his funeral. Dear friends of mine are engaged. I'm training for the marathon, and have been flirting with going vegan.

Oh, my God, I've never needed a slice of Old Amsterdam more. Thank the powers that beer is made of plants; I'm starving for some comfort.

The hour is too late; the lights keep flickering. I can hear rain and merrymakers on my roof. They're singing in unison, and somewhere a radio blares bass that is so far from here I can only feel it in the pillow that rests between my back and the wall. Tonight everything in my life feels large and close like a dream. I wonder if the doors rattle every night in the witching hour or only if I'm awake to hear it.

I think about our baby, a fuzzy little peach, about my co-worker who has finally finished the race, the contents of my room: the orange scarf, the wicker chair, that Boston cap, a painting of a church, a spoon, a light, a map, a bowl. My friends that line the wall above my bed: Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Luna.