I’ve spent the past two days cutting out circles of silver paper.
Well, partially because of Pinterest. I saw this and thought, “That’s cute. And I could totally do that.”
But mainly because cutting circles out of silver paper is surprising therapeutic.
Even though I’ve long since shed my “Single Bridezilla” tendencies and am being pretty Zen about the wedding (as Zen as the dance-obsessed, design-obsessed child of a florist can be), there are still a lot little things that come up.
Like the guest list.
Because it’s not just a guest list. It’s the realization that I’ve led a fairly strange life, that my family isn’t perfect and that the friendships come and go.
But back to the circles.
The circles, unlike the guest list, are perfect.
And so, I sit there watching reality shows as I cut them out, then I cross the room over to my sewing machines, which looks so nice there on the dining room table now that I’ve finally cleared away all that damn glitter from Diner en Blanc, and I sew them together, getting lost in the rhythm of the machine.
Once each garland is complete, I fold it up and paper clip the circles to keep them from getting tangled with one another, then I put them into a Ziploc bag that’s labeled with the length of the garland and number of sheets required to make each length. Because these things are important.
Surely more important than admitting to myself that I don’t have a relationship with the majority of my cousins and never will…
That I’ve fallen out of touch with most of my old flat mates…
That I haven’t been to London in years and that, if I’m being honest here, I’m kind of afraid to go back because I know it won’t be the same— my Quaker friends have all had kids and my tap friends have all moved on. But that’s not all. I’m afraid to go back because I know it’s gonna mess with my head. I’m finally happy (at least most of the time) in Philadelphia; finally over wanting to go back to school; finally settled in a series of fairly-decent part time jobs that leave me with my mornings free to write. And I’m afraid going back to London would f*ck all of that up.
Which isn’t something I like to admit out loud. In fact, it took me writing all of this to finally figure it out. And now that I’ve written it, it feels pretty stupid.
So it’s back to sewing circles.
And quite possibly researching flights…
In the meantime, the requisite hope chests of ages past finally make sense: the hope chests and the quilts and the garlands and the braids and the special outfits.
They keep you calm.
They keep you calm when you’re mind is racing ahead at about two hundred miles an hour thinking, “Oh my God, I’m getting married!”