We had the most amazing week-end. We stayed with my friend Zarah and her two kids in her charming old wood-floored sparkly-lamp luxuriously-curtained house and the kids were loud and happy and silly and every few hours we pushed them all outside to run off some of the loud silliness. Saturday night we went to the wedding party (pictures to follow) for two amazing people who waited quite a long time and went through quite a bit of strife before they found each other (Zarah introduced them -- I tell you, she is to be praised).
There's something a little different about a wedding for people in their forties. Not to say that I didn't love my own wedding and feel like it was a special night where I was making an important committment in front of a lot of people I loved. Not to say that I didn't feel honoured going to many of my friends' weddings around the same time to see them make that same committment. But a lot less is taken for granted when you marry later, for the first time. You're not just doing things in the approved order. You're not just admirable and adorable because you're young and open and hopeful. You've lived a few more years and realized that love is a wonderful thing, but it often isn't actually enough -- that you have to rely on other qualities in order to maintain a relationship. I felt this when we went to my husband's graduate supervisor's wedding when he was in his fifties, and I felt it on Saturday night. It's something that I think of when I'm writing letters or Christmas cards talking about my family. When you reach this age, this point in life, these things start to feel more and more precarious. And very precious.