So there we were, in all our finery, about sixty of us, waiting, watching the door, anticipatory, supping on our champagne, all sophisticated-like. I wore sequins. Lots and lots of them. And sweet little diamante earings. And eye shadow. It was An Occassion you see. Deserving of everybody's finest. My love looked amazing. And how lovely to go to our first wedding together.
We were squashed into a smallish room because The Weatherman blessed the happy couple with some beautiful rain, necessitating a move in from the courtyard outside. Lucky the bride it rains on and all that, except we need to modernise it slightly, and get it up to speed... Lucky the grooms it rains on. The room was full. Of people. And love.
And then, the music changed and there they were - fabulously gorgeous, blue-silk-tied and black-suited, looking more handsome (both) than any childhood prince I'd ever imagined. And glowing, with love, that coursed its way through the already love-filled room. Incredible. A beautiful ceremony, my one tissue not nearly enough. I always cry at weddings and never remember to bring tissues. Thank goodness for C remembering. Poor thing had to make do with one, being kind enough to give the other to me, thus allowing me to keep my dignity and not have to wipe snot on my sleeves.
The reception was gorgeous - delicious food, lovely people, incredible speeches. All of them. It is seldom that you find every speech at a wedding is good. There is normally (at least) one that drags on, or has cringeworthy inappropriateness. Not this wedding. They were all carefully thought out, funny, short enough and, again, so filled with love.
We sat at a table with a fantastic set of people. A gay couple to my left - gentle, sweet boys, the kind I'd like to invite over for dinner (if they didn't live so far away). They seemed to have a wiseness about them. Next to them, the youngster, checking his phone every five minutes (at a wedding!). He was aghast with horror at my challenge for him to try not having his phone for a week. Next to him a wonderful Fag Hag and her Fag - beautiful cleavage in a fantastic lace dress, foreheads as smooth as a baby's, both of them. Botox parties - they have Botox parties in The Big Smoke. Seriously. They all get together at somebody's house and the doctor comes and injects them all. My turn to be aghast. It's a different world up there in The Big Smoke. And then the Robbie Williams lookalike.
Food, wine, more food, they met on Facebook. My first Facebook wedding, my first wedding with my love, my first wedding with two boys doing the wedding-ing. And all so fabulous.
Then there was 'gift time', when each guest got a feather boa, and the dancing began with the following announcement: "The first dance is for everyone." Brilliant. And even brillianter (poetic licence - my blog, my vocabulary) music. The dance floor was full. Every. Single. Person. Was on it.
My highlight? When the groom (A) stood up and said his speech, a beautiful, heartfelt declaration of love. He had been nervous of his Dad's reaction you see. His Dad had accepted that his son was marrying a man, and come to the wedding, but I think he was still worried. It's one thing to be accepting of your child's sexual preference, but quite another to be fully exposed to him kissing a man, in front of you. And fifty other people. Well, mid-speech, he spoke about just such things, and of his Dad, and his Dad stood up, walked over to him, and hugged him. Awe-inspiringly beautiful moment.
It was just the kind of wedding that inspires faith in humanity. And reinforced my belief that love doesn't see gender. Or race. Or religion. Or any of those other things that people use to try and quell it. It just doesn't have any boundaries. Or stipulations. Or rules. And we should just be so grateful if we are the lucky creatures who have it. It is SO precious.
Which brings me to my revelation, finally. Seeing the openness, and joy, and beauty of their love has brought me to this, exact point. Where I feel like I can say it.
My love is a girl. A wonderous, beautiful, amazing woman. I am, quite possibly, the luckiest girl in the world, to be loved by her. There is more to all of this, of course, which I may (or may not) bring up. It is not a lifestyle either of us has openly embraced before, and not really something we have chosen (honestly). There is a lot of angst and uncertainty and complication involved, but we both believe you fall in love with a person, and not a gender. And we did.
Phew.
Showing posts with label The Blurt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Blurt. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Blurt, Part 4
For those who want the story from the beginning (I know, I know, it's been terribly drawn out):
Blurt Part 1
Blurt Part 2
Blurt Part 3
Where was I in my love story? Ah, yes, there I was, safely ensconsed in my parent's warm bosom while my house was renovated, living in the bedroom next to theirs, calling 'Night, John Boy" before going to sleep. Okay, I admit, that might be pushing it a bit, we really aren't anything like The Waltons, but you get the idea. And at the same time romance was blooming, surreptiously, like teenagers. It was exhiliratingly fun. Some plans were made - dinners and such, with friends, nothing one-to-one, but the more I learnt, the more I got to know, the more I liked.
A common sense of humour (yes, the 11-year old boy one), a common outlook on love and all the wonderful shiny bits and the tangles associated with it (come on, we're in our 30's, baggage is part of the deal). A kindred spirit, as Anne of Green Gables would say. It happened at one of the dinners where old friends of each of us were met, another thing that attracted me... I like people who have old, comfortable friends. I always think it's a good sign. It was at one of those dinners where 'air was needed', a walk outside, despite the rain. We left our respective friends to chew the fat amongst themselves (who were getting on fabulously - another good sign). I wrote this the next day:
It was a completely unremarkable setting – an alley, protected from the rain, where the restaurant’s kitchen door was closed. Big drops of rain dripped from the eaves. A cigarette, and then a perfectly fluid movement to bend and kiss me and it felt like a movie kiss, with a swelling soundtrack. Melting into each other, inspiring Mills & Boon-esque, frilly descriptions. Then the door opened, and a pool of light fell on us. One of the klitchen staff. We directed him to the broom and the cloth, behind the door, and skipped off, giggling like naughty schoolchildren, translucent in the light of it, electrified, wanting much more.
I don't think I can explain it better now. It was that electricity thing, the kiss that takes your breath away and makes you reach for more. See? I told you, I'm getting all Sweet Valley High about it. Really, I'm such a girly girl. But it was, just that.
It was also at one of the lunches that a bunch of us spoke about a weekend away to a beautiful valley outside The City Beneath the Mountain. A paradise-like place and... we were ALL going. Shivers of delight, tummy twirlings of anticipation, the occassional twinge of anxiety...
You know what I'm talking about: all the good stuff that comes with the beginnings of something beautiful, don't you?
Blurt Part 1
Blurt Part 2
Blurt Part 3
Where was I in my love story? Ah, yes, there I was, safely ensconsed in my parent's warm bosom while my house was renovated, living in the bedroom next to theirs, calling 'Night, John Boy" before going to sleep. Okay, I admit, that might be pushing it a bit, we really aren't anything like The Waltons, but you get the idea. And at the same time romance was blooming, surreptiously, like teenagers. It was exhiliratingly fun. Some plans were made - dinners and such, with friends, nothing one-to-one, but the more I learnt, the more I got to know, the more I liked.
A common sense of humour (yes, the 11-year old boy one), a common outlook on love and all the wonderful shiny bits and the tangles associated with it (come on, we're in our 30's, baggage is part of the deal). A kindred spirit, as Anne of Green Gables would say. It happened at one of the dinners where old friends of each of us were met, another thing that attracted me... I like people who have old, comfortable friends. I always think it's a good sign. It was at one of those dinners where 'air was needed', a walk outside, despite the rain. We left our respective friends to chew the fat amongst themselves (who were getting on fabulously - another good sign). I wrote this the next day:
It was a completely unremarkable setting – an alley, protected from the rain, where the restaurant’s kitchen door was closed. Big drops of rain dripped from the eaves. A cigarette, and then a perfectly fluid movement to bend and kiss me and it felt like a movie kiss, with a swelling soundtrack. Melting into each other, inspiring Mills & Boon-esque, frilly descriptions. Then the door opened, and a pool of light fell on us. One of the klitchen staff. We directed him to the broom and the cloth, behind the door, and skipped off, giggling like naughty schoolchildren, translucent in the light of it, electrified, wanting much more.
I don't think I can explain it better now. It was that electricity thing, the kiss that takes your breath away and makes you reach for more. See? I told you, I'm getting all Sweet Valley High about it. Really, I'm such a girly girl. But it was, just that.
It was also at one of the lunches that a bunch of us spoke about a weekend away to a beautiful valley outside The City Beneath the Mountain. A paradise-like place and... we were ALL going. Shivers of delight, tummy twirlings of anticipation, the occassional twinge of anxiety...
You know what I'm talking about: all the good stuff that comes with the beginnings of something beautiful, don't you?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Blurt, Part 3
Okay, time to move this story on. Part 1 and Part 2 are getting lost in the mists of time. It's just that, well, you'll see, when I eventually get to the end (and, sorry, that won't be today, it's a long story, this is just the next installment.)
It was not too long after the drinks with friends that I had a couple of those lovely, long, lazy lunches around my kitchen table, in the orange kitchen. It was Heritage Day, September 24th, and it just seemed right to extend an invitation to The Person Who Seemed to Click (TPWSTC). It was a large-ish lunch, with Pop and various others in the initial plan but then Pop cancelled, as did a few others, and I thought, perhaps, this particular day would not be our next meeting. I was wrong, it was.
Unperturbed by being the only 'unknown' at a table filled with old friends, TPWSTC came, and sat with us, and slotted in like a comfortable cushion on an old couch. I wrote about it, actually. A little cryptically, as I am wanton to do.
And then some gentle SMS-ing, another comfortable lunch, and then a flurry of SMSes. All, of course, coinciding with my moving in with my parents, for the great floor overhaul of The House in the Middle of the Street. Inconvenient timing, indeed. It was that stage of nothing's-happened-yet-but-I'm-pretty-sure-it-will-but-maybe-I'm-wrong, heart fluttering every time my phone bleeped... the time when everything seems a little brighter and Mills and Booney.
Living back with parents, going through the motions of a new flirtation, a surreptitious affair, the Maybe Stages, set upon a backdrop of my parent's house, I felt like I was fifteen again. Maybe that had nothing to do with being at my parents, though. Maybe that was just love blooming. Deliciously.
More to come, it is so hot I can't type anymore. Since when was 38 degrees celcius an acceptable late Summer temperature?
It was not too long after the drinks with friends that I had a couple of those lovely, long, lazy lunches around my kitchen table, in the orange kitchen. It was Heritage Day, September 24th, and it just seemed right to extend an invitation to The Person Who Seemed to Click (TPWSTC). It was a large-ish lunch, with Pop and various others in the initial plan but then Pop cancelled, as did a few others, and I thought, perhaps, this particular day would not be our next meeting. I was wrong, it was.
Unperturbed by being the only 'unknown' at a table filled with old friends, TPWSTC came, and sat with us, and slotted in like a comfortable cushion on an old couch. I wrote about it, actually. A little cryptically, as I am wanton to do.
And then some gentle SMS-ing, another comfortable lunch, and then a flurry of SMSes. All, of course, coinciding with my moving in with my parents, for the great floor overhaul of The House in the Middle of the Street. Inconvenient timing, indeed. It was that stage of nothing's-happened-yet-but-I'm-pretty-sure-it-will-but-maybe-I'm-wrong, heart fluttering every time my phone bleeped... the time when everything seems a little brighter and Mills and Booney.
Living back with parents, going through the motions of a new flirtation, a surreptitious affair, the Maybe Stages, set upon a backdrop of my parent's house, I felt like I was fifteen again. Maybe that had nothing to do with being at my parents, though. Maybe that was just love blooming. Deliciously.
More to come, it is so hot I can't type anymore. Since when was 38 degrees celcius an acceptable late Summer temperature?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Blurt, Part 2
I'm afraid this is going to be very drawn out... I am experimenting with writing stories... from beginning to end.
You’ve got to love Stalkbook, I mean Facebook. Of course, as in any modern day romance, the next step was to become Facebook friends. I can’t remember now who made the first move, but it was made, and we became Firm Facebook Friends (there is such a thing, surely?) with the clickety-click of a mouse. Easy. Allowing sneaky visits into people's profiles. I swear, Facebook's by-line should be: 'Facebook: making voyeurism socially acceptable'.
A week or two later, on popping into Facebook for a browse (read: voyeur session, and some Scrabble moves - I'm addicted), there it was... a message. Light-hearted, bringing up the theatre idea again, and possibly another picnic. And written well. Ten Shiny points. I have a thing about words, and writing. Send me a message that has ‘2’ for ‘to’ or ‘da’ for ‘the’ and you will find yourself struck off my Christmas card list. Well, you would be, if I had one.
I was pleased. Until I discovered the play we had discussed and were both keen to see was not on in The City Beneath the Mountain, but only in The Big Smoke. Damn. It was too soon, however, to suggest a weekend away, of course, snigger. For the next two weeks, there was some banter back and forth on Stalkbook, and vague suggestions of meeting up, but no concrete plan was made.
Then a ‘meet for drinks after work’-type plan was made with Pop (of the birthday in the park). A bunch of us were meeting, but I couldn’t quite keep the little twinge of excitement out of my tummy that The Person was coming along too. Remember, at this point, we’d only met once and it was just a maybe-we’ll-be-friends thing.
It was a fun night.
You’ve got to love Stalkbook, I mean Facebook. Of course, as in any modern day romance, the next step was to become Facebook friends. I can’t remember now who made the first move, but it was made, and we became Firm Facebook Friends (there is such a thing, surely?) with the clickety-click of a mouse. Easy. Allowing sneaky visits into people's profiles. I swear, Facebook's by-line should be: 'Facebook: making voyeurism socially acceptable'.
A week or two later, on popping into Facebook for a browse (read: voyeur session, and some Scrabble moves - I'm addicted), there it was... a message. Light-hearted, bringing up the theatre idea again, and possibly another picnic. And written well. Ten Shiny points. I have a thing about words, and writing. Send me a message that has ‘2’ for ‘to’ or ‘da’ for ‘the’ and you will find yourself struck off my Christmas card list. Well, you would be, if I had one.
I was pleased. Until I discovered the play we had discussed and were both keen to see was not on in The City Beneath the Mountain, but only in The Big Smoke. Damn. It was too soon, however, to suggest a weekend away, of course, snigger. For the next two weeks, there was some banter back and forth on Stalkbook, and vague suggestions of meeting up, but no concrete plan was made.
Then a ‘meet for drinks after work’-type plan was made with Pop (of the birthday in the park). A bunch of us were meeting, but I couldn’t quite keep the little twinge of excitement out of my tummy that The Person was coming along too. Remember, at this point, we’d only met once and it was just a maybe-we’ll-be-friends thing.
It was a fun night.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The blurt begins
Okay, okay, the time has come. The Story needs to be written. I think it may take a couple of posts, probably over a fairly long time, so bear (bare?) with me, okay? Also, I fear that writing it so far past the events may cause me to romanticise it. A bit. It is terribly lovely anyway, and really rather romantic.
Here goes:
The story begins, as all good stories do, a long, long time ago, in an enchanted forest in the grounds of a beautiful castle. Okay, maybe not that long. It was last August. The 16th, to be precise. I’m not normally that good with dates, but this happened to be one of my best friend’s (Pop) birthday, so it’s an easy one to remember.
And, well, it was more like a park. A lovely park, but not an enchanted forest as such. It felt enchanted that day, and does even more so now, at this present-day stage of the story. And, bugger it, I lied about the castle too. There are various lovely Victorian houses around the park, and some tennis courts, but no castle. The park is, however, watched over by the spectacular mountain of The City Beneath the Mountain fame.
It was a warm Sunday and we were all gathered to celebrate Pop’s birthday. The kind of August day that hints at Spring. The park was full of picnickers like us, and Pop had told me that a friend of hers that she had been speaking about for ages was coming along. She thought we’d get on like a house on fire.
So there we were sat, picnic spread like you’ve never seen, champagne with strawberries, sunshine, chatter, and I looked up at a particular moment and saw a person coming towards us. It may, well, have been the champagne, but I felt a warmth, one that was magnified on introduction.
It was a jolly party with lots of chatter between everyone and I, as predicted by Pop, got on very well with the person, making plans to meet up for a theatre expedition at a later date. Easy conversation, no innuendo, good company.
The sun moved off, away over the other little hill (the one resembling a lion, next to the one that signals) and off into the sea. It got cold, and we all headed off to our warm homes, having been reminded that Spring was not quite here yet.
It would be a couple of weeks until our next contact.
Here goes:
The story begins, as all good stories do, a long, long time ago, in an enchanted forest in the grounds of a beautiful castle. Okay, maybe not that long. It was last August. The 16th, to be precise. I’m not normally that good with dates, but this happened to be one of my best friend’s (Pop) birthday, so it’s an easy one to remember.
And, well, it was more like a park. A lovely park, but not an enchanted forest as such. It felt enchanted that day, and does even more so now, at this present-day stage of the story. And, bugger it, I lied about the castle too. There are various lovely Victorian houses around the park, and some tennis courts, but no castle. The park is, however, watched over by the spectacular mountain of The City Beneath the Mountain fame.
It was a warm Sunday and we were all gathered to celebrate Pop’s birthday. The kind of August day that hints at Spring. The park was full of picnickers like us, and Pop had told me that a friend of hers that she had been speaking about for ages was coming along. She thought we’d get on like a house on fire.
So there we were sat, picnic spread like you’ve never seen, champagne with strawberries, sunshine, chatter, and I looked up at a particular moment and saw a person coming towards us. It may, well, have been the champagne, but I felt a warmth, one that was magnified on introduction.
It was a jolly party with lots of chatter between everyone and I, as predicted by Pop, got on very well with the person, making plans to meet up for a theatre expedition at a later date. Easy conversation, no innuendo, good company.
The sun moved off, away over the other little hill (the one resembling a lion, next to the one that signals) and off into the sea. It got cold, and we all headed off to our warm homes, having been reminded that Spring was not quite here yet.
It would be a couple of weeks until our next contact.
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