Here comes the bride

Saturday evening, my youngest sister, Debbie, got married. In some ways, it becomes a test run of your own wedding in your mind. There are things like the jelly beans as party favors that scream out, "Good idea!" Then there are things such as white rose petals on a white table cloth that scream out, "Maybe pink is better!" (I hope, for the rest of my human existence, I never feel the urge to put an exclamation point after "maybe pink is better" again.)

Debbie's wedding was different than ours will be, and I hope the people who attend both will hold back on making comparisons. We certainly aren't making them. Debbie and Jeremy wanted a casual ceremony and celebration that united their families into one. Theirs was a successful mission; it was a very friendly, very comfortable gathering that I enjoyed attending greatly.

Ours will be more like the Batton Death March. We're planning on playing the Imperial Death March from Star Wars as I walk into the church. There will be absolutely no joy whatsoever in our celebration. It'll be like a German sitcom.

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. But we'll be enjoying the pomp and circumstance of a traditional Catholic wedding. It isn't better than theirs. It isn't worse than theirs. It's just different, and that's OK.

During Lissie's dance recital Saturday morning (I'm sure you'll be reading about that on MY blog in the not-so-distant future), one of the songs struck me about this idea. It talked about how boring the world would be if everyone had purple skin and rode a pink bike to school. Variety truly is the spice of life, even in weddings.