Attended a wedding yesterday. Outside in the terrace garden of one of the country’s biggest and loveliest conservatories. The previously long-time single bride was gorgeous—of course she’s my daughter, but you be the judge—in her strapless wedding gown composed of layer upon layer of form-fitting ivory chiffon that slid down into a flare and a small train. I didn’t take many photos. Funny, how trying to be in the moment makes taking pictures too much of a diversion. But one I did take clearly shows the friend-professional-photographer doing his job. Good thing people can hire such services—so they can enjoy their own events.
When I look at the few photos I took myself, I’m glad to have caught some of the beauty and a little of the drama of what was going on.  It wasn’t without trepidation the bride had been pondering the loss of her official status as an independent single working woman. Fortunately, the groom has promised faithfully to let her keep her tool belt and fix the toilet and take the garbage out herself any time she wants. And for the almost-eight-year-old daughter of the bride, knowing that a third (male) person will now be part of the family inner circle is a sea change of unknowable immensity.
The bride’s friend performed the beautiful ceremony. Lovely, heartfelt sentiments, including a pledge between the new couple and the little girl. An emotional time for all.
The handsome couple are off to Cancun today. Yep. My daughter’s married. And guess what? Her birthday is August 4…the same day as the official holiday Single Working Women’s Day.