The bride--my cousin, best friend and in any way that means anything, my sister--has converted her childhood bedroom into a full out salon. Makeup and hair paraphernalia litter every horizontal space within reach.
So many whispered conversations took place in this room turned beauty parlor. A weekend spent here was the best my little girl mind could imagine. My school friends always knew they came second to my Lancaster cousin--the coveted title of 'best friend' among grade school girls always out of their reach.
As she waits for her cue and the chosen hour approaches, guests fill the living room turned chapel. Family and friends who have lounged here in pajamas and enjoyed easy conversation now gather in Sunday's best.
Grandparents settle into designated chairs, two of whom also exchanged vows in the bride's childhood home. Their lives intersected as a young man and woman and have now run parallel for 68 years. And we gather here to celebrate the parallelism of two more young lives.
The clock strikes four--a grandfather clock fittingly made by the bride's Pap. He is unable to be here in body, yet the work of his hands announce the long-awaited hour! The chimes are echoed by the steps of a frantic bride to retrieve her forgotten bouquet. She returns down the stairs with repeated exuberance. How many times has she raced up those stairs, and down? In excitement? Anger? Disappointment? Giddiness? This time she descends in a hurried anticipation and the ceremony begins.
Inside these four walls we played house, watched homemade videos, told stories, napped away holiday meals and talked for endless hours.
And within these four walls two became one that they may create a new home and write new stories.
Congratulations, Meghan and Jon!