Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Some wedding photos

Consider this my formal wedding post, starting with this adorable (at least to a mother's very biased eyes) picture of my two daughters with their hair freshly up-do-ed for the big event (don't you love how I created a verb of that word?).  They had a very early day Saturday, but were bright-eyed and excited to be bridesmaids (well, SK--on the left--was maid-of-honor).


JESK in their wedding finery.  They do clean up well.  J wore the traditional kilt of our family.  The men were asked repeatedly about the kilts, and admitted that no, we aren't actually anymore Scottish than we are other pieces of our British Isles heritage, but it's tradition, and a good one.  Started by Uncle D (BB, to me) who used to wear them to all kinds of events, from weddings to volley-ball games, just because he had a kilt to wear.  He's missed the last two weddings but the kilts have shown up, and we're all glad to see them!  They help us identify ourselves, remind us who we are, especially when we're surrounded by farmers and ranchers in giant cowboy hats and boots.


My very tall, beautiful niece and her new husband, dancing their first dance together, which they'd practiced long and hard.  L has always been a dancer, and she was determined.  P was happy to make her happy.  I hope he always feels that way.  L is as tall as my Beve's family.  There have been times--more than once--when we've been out all together and folks think she's Beve's daughter.  She has the heighth, the leanness, carries herself a whole lot like him. But she's not.  She belongs to a different pool altogether, owes her heighth to..well, we never have figured that out.  Not her heighth nor her brother's either.  But there they are.  L's first dance with her husband was a lovely dance, made me tear up a little.  Then she danced with her dad, and the tears really streamed.  There are reasons it's hard to let go of a child, reasons a little girl, even one taller than her father, needs to dance with her daddy on her wedding day.  Saying goodbye.  Saying a whole lot of things in that dance that needed saying at least one more time before she drives off into her life.


Here I am with the three siblings who were at this wedding.  We're seated, oddly enough, youngest to oldest here, left to right.  RE is the mother of the bride, and put on one beautiful wedding.  She made that wedding dress, by the way.  Fashioned it not only out of satin and lace, but love and hope and dreams for her daughter.  A prayer in every stitch.  It was a pattern they made up between them, out of L's vision, and RE's ability, and a magnificent creation it was.  I've already told my daughters not to expect such a thing from me, even if I do love them as much.  The Dump, or the original L (who the Bride was named after) sits next to RE.  She and her boys flew up from So. CA the night before.  Like the rest of us, they wouldn't have missed this family wedding, even though her sons were only in town about 36 hours.  I'm next, in the red.  I apparently didn't get the memo that it was a blue wedding. Seriously, I was the only person in our family who didn't wear blue, and stick out like a bright red thumb in the large family photo, which I'm NOT posting here.  And our older brother, R, is next to me.  If you've ever wondered what my father looks like, wonder no more.  He's right there in my brother, especially around the eyes.  Also in RE.  Not so much in the Dump and me.  I look like my mother's mother, and in my father's sister, in the way of genetics.


All my parents' grandchildren, and the four spouses.  See what I mean about the blue?
I won't bother to try to identify everyone, it's too difficult, but you can tell how tall L is, there in the back row with her husband, brother and J.  What I love about these young people and the people they've married is that they all like each other.  It's amazingly cool to see them still choose to hang out together.  Thrills me no end.

Tomorrow--some thoughts about seeing my mother.  So a little more serious...

No comments: