You must kiss her and embrace her till she causes your heart to yield

greyselke was married today, so in her honor and her husband's I am putting off until tomorrow the post I planned for today. It was a really lovely wedding. And a communal one: the bride and the groom's families had together cut and quilted the seven stars of the wedding canopy, the four poles turned by the groom's father; the bride's lace veil one of the bridesmaids had knitted herself. The groomsmen—accidentally referred to as the "best maids" and called so thereafter—had put together a brilliant, improvisatory toast in tandem, narrated in the first person singular, clinking glasses to switch off, often to sweet and hilarious effect, as when the best friend set the older brother up to apologize for a childhood stunt. When the rabbi called on the Ruach Elohim, a wind rose hissing in the trees. The new couple's first dance was to "Goodnight, Irene," to which everyone sang the chorus and not the verses; I refrained because the only verses I could remember were from Leadbelly's version, about nudity and jumping in the river, and it occurred to me after a few instrumental rounds that perhaps everyone else in the audience had the same problem. They shone, both of them. When the ringing of glasses started up, they didn't kiss like it was a token.

Between her and kraada (who was in attendance with norimbrie; I last saw them at their own wedding), both of my oldest uninterrupted friends are now married. I don't think they are going to run out of blessings. But they have mine anyway.