On a brighter note, the calender may say it's still summer, but the weather knows better. On what really should be the 1st march, the first of Autumn, the mountains have laid on a spectacular Autumn day.
The air is crisp and cool, the light has taken on the curious gentleness that comes with the dying seasons and a light breeze plays in the treetops. If it weren't for a fairly major stress attack, I would be a very happy girl indeed.
Of course, it is expectations that are making me stressed. I have a perfectly jolly alternative to a minister. My gorgeous uncle is also a celebrant.
He is happy to officiate at my wedding, but Mr is petrified of breaking that particular piece of news to his fundamental pentecostal parents. My uncle is a very dignified, erudite, literary man with more than a little experience in inter-religious dialogue and spirituality, particularly for those of us that were raised in the conventional church but found it somehow 'wanting'.
He is, actually, the perfect choice. There probably isn't another celebrant out there who would understand my particular brand of spirituality as well as my uncle. To boot, he is an animal lover and a vegan.
The problem with Mr's parents is that my uncle was recently married himself....to a man. (Overseas of course, he had the good sense to move to a country that actually thinks).
I'm sure this will resolve itself in some manner, but meanwhile I'm just a little bit beside myself. We do know a few people high up in the Navy, but apparently standing in buckets of water doesn't count as 'at sea'.
Why are people so damned difficult? Why do I care? I should just embrace my inner bridezilla and do exactly as I please. What would please me is a simple ceremony packed with wonderful poetry, a hint of medieval wedding ceremony (complete with beautiful words like 'troth') and a relaxed picnic in the glades.
I am dreading tonight. I rather suspect that this will turn into an 'incident' of the Family variety.
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