A Bittersweet Trip

 

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My husband and I traveled to Connecticut for a wedding last Wednesday. The ceremony (held outside with a breathtaking view of trees and mountains) was lovely and the words spoken were meaningful. My cousin (father of the bride) read from “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran. While the words themselves were meaningful, the book itself holds a special place in my life. The book was given to family members by my cousin’s mother (my mother’s sister) many, many years ago. My mother treasured the book and in turn gave copies to her children over the years.

It was nice, as always, to see my cousins from Madison and Israel (and of course New Jersey). As children, the family was close; as adults we are spread far apart.

As side notes, the ground was saturated and my silver shoes fell apart right after the ceremony. There I am, walking around in stockinged feet for six hours (the shoes literally fell apart and ended up in the trash in Connecticut).

My husband and I aren’t dancers. In fact, the last time we actually danced (it was sort of dancing) was in New York six years ago when the same cousin invited us to his older daughter’s wedding. But when the DJ played “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, we couldn’t resist. At that moment it didn’t matter to me that I had no shoes and hadn’t taken the dance lessons seriously that my mother sent me for all of those years ago. If you haven’t heard the song, listen to the words carefully. We’ll be celebrating our 48th anniversary in a few months and you’ll understand what prompted us to dance.

 

 

 

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