Clump #64: Iron wedding costumes for Fall Festival.
Oh yes, it’s that time of year again. Even though the weather has been a bit of Endless Summer lately, I have to face facts. Time to get ready for the Fall Festival at our Quaker Meeting …
Which is like a mini-rehearsal for Christmas in that: it’s the same day/time of the year every year (no surprises there); I tend to (trying not to use the word always) put everything off until the last minute; and I end up tired and frazzled by the time the big day arrives.
I was having a conversation last year on the day of the festival with a couple of friends, along the lines of, “Next year I will do better!” In a having-been-put-through-a meat-grinder-feeling haze, I said, “What if I try to make the whole experience easy for myself, first and foremost?” One very wise friend retorted (sarcastically) “Then no one would love you!” Ha! Where would the badge of courage be? The martyr to the cause? I’ve been thinking about that ever since. I’m sure it’s a malady especially common to women. (I just noticed the word malady has the word lady in it!)
So here is my first stab at making festival prep easier for myself (sorry for the fuzzy photo):
Every year I have costumes to iron for a reenactment of the first wedding held in our meeting house over 200 years ago. People often wonder how Quakers get married, without priests, ministers, or rabbis. In the same way Quakers believe everyone has a direct connection to God, the wedding couple believe they are married by God.
Within a silent worship, the bride and groom take turns saying aloud, “In the presence of God and before these our family and friends, I take thee (bride/groom’s name) to be my wife/husband, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband/wife so long as we both shall live.”
My younger daughter is pitching in to play a young man in the wedding party (not enough male volunteers). I could make a joke here having to do with trans-vest-ite, but that would be highly improper.
Every year I procrastinate the ironing of the costumes until, often, the morning of the festival. Today, roughly a week early, I ironed them at a leisurely pace! Incredible. I always forget how time-consuming the fabrics are to de-wrinkle. And look what I found, the fastener of the knickers was missing a safety pin. It’s something I’d likely overlook in my usual rush … a tiny, crazy-making detail.
I was able to remember to pack bags of safety pins and bobby pins (can never have too many of these), and stockings in my wear-them-to-the-wedding shoes. How old are these shoes? Really, don’t ask.
This seems like a small, ordinary thing, the accomplishment of a task early and with so much foresight. But in my world, it’s big enough to make me very, very happy.