Friday, June 23, 2006
Remembrance
Twenty-two years ago today, gauche and goofy in a dove-grey, double-breasted suit, the trousers of which were marginally too short, I was wedded to Gracie at the Warrington Register Office. We stepped out together and it was breezy; light and shade in the sky and steam from the soap powder works down the far end of Museum Street and across the railway. Confetti and into a ribbon-decked funeral limo with the in-laws. A reception followed at which we were rushed off our feet glad-handing people with never a moment for each other. I forget some of the detail now but finally we got away to a little cottage by the river in York. Too young we were, too young. But a moment of wistfulness when I thought of it just. These things never leave you, do they?
5 comments:
I don't think how things turn out ought to take away from the moments that were. To even had a point in your life where you believed you'd stumbled on magic is lovely. Best not to let hindsight ruin it.
Quite right. And those few lines were written while savouring that magic. It was an exciting and lovely time.
I suppose it's just the law of possibility that prevents endless beginnings. I've always thought it would be nice to find a way to break that law.
You don't need to find a way to break it because no such law exists. There are endless beginnings. How could life be otherwise? Possibility and chance are surely the cause of them and I think they happen all the time but, being shackled to the world of work and home and family and friends - happily shackled, mostly - we don't follow through on every one that happens by. That's my twopennyworth, anyway.
Of course three are endless beginnings - in different things. But any one thing can only begin once. Most things then slowly decline into something worlds less exciting. Like the first day of school or at a new job, and of course, in this post's case, the first day of marriage.
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