Weddings, Haircuts, Elevators and other natural disasters

It is official, my friends have been lawfully wedded to each other in the sight of The Capitol building and their families and friends for more than a week!

One of my favorite things about people that I like&love getting married to each other, is that the reception is filled with other people that I like&love.


And so it was that everything clicked and I got 4 inches cut off my hair by a best friend wielding a pair of dull scissors in her kitchen. It looked fabulous, which is handy, because if you are going to have long hair that hides your face no matter how you wear it, it really ought to flaunt itself, you know?

The reception was held on a top floor, so the only reasonable approach was via elevator. My parents arrived before I did and rode up with a nice woman who started chatting with them only to discover that I've been talking about her for the last 10 years because I used to work for her. And working for her was one of the best things I've ever been involved in (dear heaven I miss field work) and she'd even been at my last wedding. I love that. I love that this is a thing that happened.

Weddings are not a time for the married couple. I know this. We all know this. We all want to believe otherwise, but here's the thing: if you're going to throw a wedding, be as selfish as you possibly can because your happy day is an excuse for other people to get dressed up, see their friends, dance like their hips can take it and get honest. Which is fantastic if you dig your friends and they dig you, but otherwise, well, yeah.

So, it was with pleasure that we rode the elevator up to the 20th floor with the happy couple. Because I love them. And also because I knew I would speak all of 15 words to them (combined) all night, and was happy they got to be pleasant ones before the drinking.

There is a bubble around happy people, even people as open and generous as my friends. It was nice to share for a while.


One of the pictures that did not get taken lives in my memory. It is a table surrounded by my parents and most of my closest friends. They are chatting and laughing and happy. It is the best gift friends can give to each other - the happiness of loved ones. I am glad that people that I like&love keep getting married to each other.

And, oh, how many hugs were there, and how happy was I to get them. And the honesty seemed easy and right, and the elevator became a gentle space-filled hug.

I have only gorgeous memories of the wedding left, because all of the sliding-off-makeup ones floated to the top and blew away in the fierce and demanding autumn winds.And they were fierce. Which is sometimes the way it has to be when the world doesn't quite get what it is supposed to look like.

Seasonal shifts are some of those wonderfully shifting thresholds that can take forever to cross. We've now had two frosts, and the hibiscus and my father's roses are still blooming. Impossibly pink in a red and brown and dying world. I love this time of year. Especially when it takes a while, none of this blink and you've missed it and now it is time to rake nonsense. This has been going on for a month or more.

Every street in this town, and every town that I've driven through has its glowing trees, the ones that changed first and brightest and then the leaves left after a couple of weeks and different trees have changed all to yellow or faded orange, or even dark purple. I drove through Stanberry and saw the road lined with young, trimmed trees gone the color of an orange crayon. But the grass is still green, and there are not enough bare branches to settle my eyes.