Of wedding gowns and old wives tales...

First let me say that there will be no photos... because I inadvertantly erased the ones in the camera that I made last night...  Which is a really weird thing because I've never had that problem before... and as I intended to sit here and write about an old wives tale associated with wedding gowns and the photos were of my daughter... wearing my wedding gown.   It is just as well...

In 1983, I got married and while some of my aunts and uncles who raised me wholeheartedly approved of my marriage, a few of them balked.  As I was hard headed and very independent their objections did not prevent my wedding, and time, itself has proven our steadfast love and devotion to one another.  With 100% surety, the old ladies in the family explained to me, that though I would be fine sewing every stitch that everyone else in the wedding wore, folk lore held that for every stitch I would sew on my own wedding gown, I would cry a thousand tears.  I was not allowed... it would be 'wrong'... and though most of them sewed, no one stepped forward to tackle the task, so one day, a few months before the wedding, I simply went to the mall and bought a dress.

Now, let me say that weddings are NOT about dresses... or any of the other assorted things that now seem to be 'the thing to do'.  Weddings are about the commitment, stated, before God, in public of the intent of the bride and groom, and witnessed by those who love and support the couple.  Plainly and simply, at the end of the day, you will be married regardless of the pomp and circumstance or lack thereof.

I liked my dress.  It was a LOT of lace and ruffles, sequins and beads.  High necked and long sleeved, with a long train, I wore it without a veil.  The symbolism of veils held little meaning to us, as a couple... I wore flowers instead.

Yesterday, the occasion arose that my daughter was home for a few hours without her beloved.
It gave us the opportunity to for her to try on my gown.
We giggled as we opened it's sealed package... we laughed about a blast of air from the 80's when we cut into the sealed case.  We opened the box and slipped the gown over her head and let it fall.
It could not have fit her more perfectly, if it were made for her.

And I had a very strange moment...  My daughter... myself, in a mirror... two very different women, though she comes from me... she is very much her own...

This is not a woman for ruffles and lace... nor should she wear an heirloom...
... with luck, she will wear a dress made by my hands... but in her likeness...
...elegant, sophisticated and modern... but not a dress to 'steal the show'...
a dress that will flow with the day and the moment...
and be a minor backdrop in the exchange of sacred vows.

On the day that she was born, I dressed her in a gown that I had made.
On that gown, was tatted lace, made by her 'nanny'...
her great, great aunt who delighted in her more than words could ever say.
On the day that she was born, lace was made expressly for her wedding day
and laid away, to bless her union, to connect her to more than a hundred years of
tradition in a family of strong-willed women who would all wish for her never to cry a tear,
but who would be very proud of her faith and her spiritual commitment to Christian marriage.

Here's to a journey filled with love and happiness, deep and abiding faith...
... and a little bit of lace...