Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
June 30, 2005 - The Story of Love
As I mentioned in yesterday's musing, I read something at my sister's wedding that I'd written for her and her husband. I'll share it here, along with a few more wedding pics.
When I think about love, I think about my Great Aunt Elsie and my Great Uncle Paul. When they were here with us, there was one word to describe them: affectionate. They had his and her armchairs, and when we visited, as we sat with bowls of peppermint ice cream, they finished each other's stories, gently joking as they corrected each other about how things had happened.
After awhile, it became clear the story itself didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that they were telling it together.
To tell my sister's story, I'd have to admit I wasn't always a very good big sister. When I tried to hold her, as a baby, she'd get red-faced and cry. Later, I was sometimes hardhearted and didn't let her come with me when I played with my friends. I even occasionally teased her, but only when Mom wasn't watching.
And yet, she loved me anyway. She understood, she forgave, before I was even old enough to realize I had any reason to apologize. Nothing, it seems, could keep her down for long, and if you look at our family pictures, you'll see her, bright-haired with sparkling smile, dancing around in front.
This was the little sister I left behind when I entered Penn State. When I returned, she had grown from girl to woman. But as I soon discovered, that same bright light sparkled in her, and our friendship deepened. She can still be silly, yes, but also so wise and thoughtful I sometimes forget which one of us is older.
When I first saw her fiancé at a Halloween party, he was leaning against a wall, wearing a sharp suit and a huge, ridiculous wig. I should have known right then he was perfect for my sister.
Their friendship, and their love, blossomed together, and the more I learned about the two of them, the more I realized they were a perfect fit. Like, for example, the time I accompanied them to a used book sale, and they piled all their books together into the same box. Later, they went through them, separating them into their own piles. For the life of me, I could not have guessed which book went to which person, they were so similar.
Of course, they differ in some ways, too. But they also enjoy introducing each other to new interests, or finding new ones together. For example, the pottery class they enrolled in this winter, a mutual interest made manifest in the many bowls, cups and other pieces that now line their shelves.
In fact, a tour through their house tells you a lot about their relationship together, about their joy, humor, creativity, love of animals, love of art and more. With that in mind, I've written them a poem:
Your Love, Your House
Space here for you both.
His, of computer wire.
Hers, of ruby scarves.Some space you share:
an emerald loveseat,
a kitchen in robin's egg blue.
A garden to coax greenness
and court sun.Wind wafts up the red stair
gusts of mirth, padding pets.On wall and window,
multihued splashes:
canvas and silk,
glass, gold and leaves.
This, the true home
you carry with you.
This symphonic spectrum,
your hearts' hymn.
(to couple) I had to write you this poem, because no poems say what I would sing to you, of bee songs and gold and warmth, green gardens, companionship.
No poem speaks about the love I see between you, a solid and a joyful love, growing like a tree, both sinking down its roots and reaching for sky.
No poem
describes the world I see in your home, the world you create together,
of color and art, of growth and goodness, of joy and love, always love.
That is what I see and what I wish for you, as you tell your own stories
together, today and always.
More from the wedding weekend:
June 28, 2005 - Finishing Touches
July 1, 2005 - More Wedding Pics
July 6, 2005 - Browsing Bellefonte
Moral:
The joy of the story of love is in the telling.
Copyright
2005 by Alyce Wilson
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