Les gens qui ne rient jamais ne sont pas des gens sérieux

Be who you are and say what you mean, those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind

Saturday, August 29, 2009

five sixes

Marek's 30th was an afternoon off work, floury handprints and broken eggshells on the counter. A busy preparation for a special cake, brightly coloured sugar hearts and big cheery candles.

Marek's 30th was opening the door to a beaming boy, er man, amazed by the pile of pretty packages, thrilled once the paper had been ripped off and contents spilled onto the table. Warm smiles and tight hugs.

Marek's 30th was the short walk to the market, hand in hand, wedding bands clinking. An armful of sunflowers for the vase that had stood empty since it was taken off the wedding table. Oh, the wedding tables.

The wedding was an indescribable rush of emotion that both disappeared in a moment and left behind a long stretch of happy memories and warm feelings: Amazement that so many made the long trip; gratitude for the sweet wishes and generous compliments; bursting love for my new husband and extended group of family and friends.

But then, two weeks later, Marek's 30th was the fizz of leftover wedding champagne and newly baked carrot cake. The carrot cupcakes at the wedding disappeared long before we got to them, but we had the whole birthday cake to ourselves.

Marek's 30th was a restaurant meal, grinning photos taken by a friendly pair at the neighbouring table. A couple married for 50 years. The wife who clapped her hands with delight and wiped tears from her eyes as we told her how long we'd been married and wished us success and happiness and love.

Marek's 30th was a rained off film showing in the park. A grateful turn of the key, tumbling into the flat, sinking into the sofa for a quiet night in. Happy 30th, happy life.

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