wedding

I was at a wedding yesterday. My grandmother's brother had seven children, one of whom died in an accident as a teenager. My second cousin Piccola had seven children, too, and the oldest girl got married yesterday. She walked down the aisle in a dress with a four foot train and a veil sweeping behind her - dark haired and dark eyed and perfect, looking for all the world like a Seoige sister, or possibly a Corr... and her  sisters were bridesmaids, two Titian beauties in immaculate makeup with flowing dark red  hair and perfect eyebrows, in flowing burgundy dresses. And beautiful flowers. And the groom was dark haired as well, a midlands young politician, all confidence and emotion and flirty winks to the old ladies of the gathering.

It was all very Irish. The best thing: the priest, the bride's uncle, had a sort of iron-on Virgin Mary on the front of his shiny white cassock. I've never seen anything like it before. And he told a story of how a couple he'd married invited him to their house to watch their wedding video after they got back from honeymoon (can you imagine? I simply can't envisage living that culture. My mind boggles at the thought). The punchline was 'and when it got to my homily, the husband leaned past me, and fastforwarded through it!'

That is actually very funny, though I'm not sure quite why.

The beef was tough, the aubergine tougher. And the speeches were protracted and emotional. The bride didn't make one. But her father's was great. He's a drinker, Tom, but he did great. Said Caroline was his first child to marry and wondered if she'd started a trend. Then told the story of the time he was meant to meet her after a hurling match, and she was late. When she finally turned up, he said, what's going on, this isn't like you at all. And she said, ah, I was with Joe. And there was this smile.

Aw.

I felt sad and affectionate looking at all my cousins, grown up and handsome, some with children. I'm not part of them, they're sweet and friendly, but I didn't grow up with them, not since I was little. My father was too removed, different, difficult, wealthy? I don't know. He moved away from them, one way or another. And I can't seem to find my way back in. I could work at it, but it's sort of too late. I'll try, a little, this summer, but it's slightly artificial at this stage. Not the same as history.

A friend texted me during the wedding. She's about to get divorced. When I said I was at one, she replied, 'Enjoy the wedding. I can't anymore'. I confess, though I find it inappropriately self absorbed and bitter to send that message to someone at a wedding, I had trouble with a lot of it too. It doesn't always last, even if you mean it fervently at the time. People change. Love doesn't always endure. What do you do then, with your unbreakable Catholic bond? But mostly, I was just sad. Because of my own, because of my mother etc etc. As well as touched and happy. You know the way. But, you know, in life, I suspect it's better not to dump your pain on people at cynical random intervals. No matter what happens in the future, it was a happy event.

I'm rambling. What did I want to say? I love being in a gathering with all my relations, and wish I did it more. Resolution! Iwill see more of them... I will, I will. And all the other people on my list that I never get round to seeing.

On the plus side, I got up and did some tidying this morning, because the kids won't stay downstairs and let me snooze and blog. And Axel deserves to sleep after looking after the kids yesterday and then playing a gig. I see that. Though, I don't quite understand how he also needs to sleep after his nights out and I've been looking after the kids all day... how does that work? Bah. Tidying makes me angry, I don't know why. I resent it. It's no fun. Perhaps when I have better storage, it will become more of a joy.

Excuse the rambling length of this post. Still tired. I wish I had photos, but the camera remains unreplaced.