Week from hell coming up.
8:08 p.m.
Twenty-five years ago we got married in my parents’ living room. My mother prepared all the food herself and I sewed my own wedding dress. The only expenses other than raw materials were the Unitarian chaplain and the two serving ladies my mom engaged. For photos we relied on friends and family. The flowers were purchased at a subway station by my maid of honour (my mom had told her where to find the nicest bunches) and an actual florist had been commissioned to produce a nosegay for said maid of honour and a bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses for moi même plus a quantity of baby’s breath which ended up being woven into my hair. It was a very inexpensive affair.
I’m not one of those people who believe in going to an exotic location to renew our vows (my brother-in-law and his wife did so for their 30th last year on some Caribbean island -- very lovely, very expensive). The vows we made 25 years ago are still good. But we thought it would be nice to have a big bash and try to get together as many people as we could from that past celebration. This time, we’re doing it right.
But it’s a lot of anxiety nonetheless. We were supposed to have the guys in this week to do the floors (I’m just as glad they’re not, thank you) and the landscapers are due tomorrow to get rid of the overgrown gardens in front and the hedge that doesn’t want to be. We’re still trying to track down would-be guests who didn’t RSVP or who said “maybe”. The caterers would like to know how many, that’s why. Today I went to the florist and arranged for centrepieces for the tables. Who thinks of these things? Hubby has to meet with the conferences director to try to strike a deal about the booze.
But the thing that is causing me the most anxiety is Buddy Boy leaving home. I am going to miss that guy. A lot. Sigh.
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