The future and the past...

Yesterday I went to a wedding. A garden wedding, in the grounds of an historic homestead on Victoria's Mornington peninsula.  The forecast was a little gloomy, confused even—Melbourne is famous for it. The previous day saw temps in the high 30's—scorching, harsh, with winds that remind Australians that they are at the mercy of nature in all its destructive glory. Earlier in the week we had hour after hour of rain and 13 degrees, so anything was possible.
     But I digress, yesterday was perfect. A day, a moment in time that seemed designed to bless the young couple, in their mid 20s, and all that they were commiting to.  A halcyon day—romance novelesque. The ceremony simple and sweet, the bridal party young and pretty, no matching outfits or colours, just attractive young people wearing their Sunday best. It made me, single at 50 odd, as I listened to readings from C.S. Lewis and Shakespeare, believe, at least for a little while, that love can conquer all. Maybe that was just the setting or the shiny beautiful— inside and out— bride, or maybe it wasn't.
    I'm not sure why this is my first blog. I've considered airing some of my thoughts over the past couple of months, but for some reason, this day with all its promise and possiblity is the thing that's put fingers to keyboard. Perhaps because it's less about me and my headspace and more about being in the world. Or maybe it's because before I headed down to the wedding I went to the shops and ran into my 95 year-old former neighbour, who is visiting from Canberra for a few days. I'd organised to have dinner with her and her daughter tonight, but here I was wandering through Eastland and there they were—faces I'd seen for over forty years, but see less often now. Sitting, waiting for coffee as we had done so often before. We hugged and smiled, and her daughter, my friend, and I went off to get coffee of our own, leaving her mother (my surrogate parent in many ways as I lost my mother when I was 22) to spend time with her friend.
  Mrs Mac, as she is affectionately known, is amazing.  She lost her husband almost forty years ago and after that, as sometimes happens, stepped out into the world. Travelling to Europe with her friend, trekking to Canada to visit her other daughter—strong and resilient. But yesterday, I saw for the first time frailty. Obvious, inevitable, and just a little heartbreaking.
   So yesterday with its promise of the future and its glimpse of the past, gently slipping away, is the day I'm writing about. And I'm just glad that yesterday I was me.