My weekend. For 10 hours last Thursday night I drove to discover that you can go home again. As the rising sun shined (shone?) on mountain ridges capped in blue, I let out a deep sigh on 385 rolling into familiar environs, finding the tunings on the radio to be almost just like I'd left them.
Dreadfully sleepy, I lounged in my uncle's recliner and found myself growing anxious thinking about all the people I had to see, and all the things I wanted and planned to do over the weekend. It’s a funny thing – visiting home. Just that in itself sounds weird – the fact that you visit where your roots rest. Is it that a part of you never leaves, or rather, a part of home never leaves you?
I love going home and driving around to see what has changed and what is still the same. The downtown buildings in Greenville are still trimmed with the same lights; Main Street felt warm and rejuvenated, and I felt so proud looking at all the hustle and bustle. I remember when it was just that Ayers’ Leather Shop and Woolworth’s downtown. Having driven through Durham and finding that construction fuheva persists, it was nice to see progress completed on 385 as I rolled upon the Bi-Lo Center, still a booming presence on the corner.
Anyway, I was there for my uncle’s wedding, which took place on Saturday in a fairly large home. It was nice, and I was going to say that it went off without a hitch, but they got hitched and that’s not to say that the time leading up to the actual I-Dos wasn’t complete with several hitches, or hiccups.
Kids. When the time comes for me to marry, I’m seriously thinking that they won’t even be present for the ceremony. They’re cute and disruptive. They’re also kids, and you know – you absolutely know – what comes with kids so why you think it’d be just darlin’ to have little Mimi sprinkle rose petals on the carpet leading to the altar/fireplace is beyond me. A year-old ringbearer is stupid, as he’s just mastered walking and you know he’d rather sling the pillow or bite it than carry it. Besides, seeing as he is a toddler he’s not even bearing the rings, so what is his purpose really?
I’ll tell you what his purpose is. His purpose is to pick up the rose petals that have been thrown down for the bride and hand them to the preacher and about 7 other people who are waving c’mere at the child.
Don’t let me get started listing out all the little idiosyncrasies that could’ve been better managed. The point is we gathered to witness and “I Do,” that happened sweetly and for which I am glad.
Still, I can’t resist saying that my PR training has served me well. I have no passion to be a wedding planner. And nevermind that I was peeved with the shuttle service that most certainly could’ve used a revamping of sorts, but does it not make sense to have a designated shuttle driver – someone who is not the groom who in the hour leading up to his nuptials had to drive people to and fro? Crazy.
Still, they’s married now and delightfully, happily so. I’m happy for them. They laugh a lot – at each other, at their grandbabies, at the rest of us -- and I think that is a great good sign.
Post-wedding recap: feeling delightfully impetuous and aflight in my own fancies, I swatted away the tossed bouquet and sipped punch that should've been spiked. My 56-year-old aunt however, made it a mission to get her hands on that bouquet. In short, she leapt over it and just fell flat on the ground, causing my uncle and I to collapse in raucous laughter. My 20-year-old cousin snatches up the flowers and starts twirling like a 7-year-old in a daisy field only to have my aunt snatch the flowers right back saying they were hers damnit, it was her turn to be happy and young girls don’t know nothing about lovin’ nobody.
Classic.
I spent the remainder of Saturday evening and the wee hours of Sunday morning in the great comfort of my greatest chums, pacified by sweet tea and homemade fudge. We caught up on nearly everyone we could think of from the good ol’ days, and pondered the too-soon-approaching 10-year reunion. Mercy me, I feel ancient, but it’s always so very good and fun to know what people are doing, to hear where they are and who they’re with … and so many people are with, chile. Good grief. I’m beginning to think I’ll attend the event as Eleanor Rigby.
The weather was a welcome delight for someone who is not a winter bird at heart. As much as I loves me some scarves and bundlin’, I am at my best in a crisp, light breeze on a porch swing, twirlin’ some honeysuckle, strollin’ with my toes in the grass, sippin’ on some lemonade (maybe mixed with a li’l sumpin’ sumpin’).
It was an away message that now, this far away, carries me away in my mind: Clear blue skies and the crispnesss of a Carolina breeze, it's the joy of being home again that puts my mind at ease.
Now if only it was as easy as clickin’ my heels three times. Oh, how I’d be home all over again, nestled in the foothills of sweet Caroline.