Day 30--An evening with Mom

A salmon Caesar salad with a bowl of curried zucchini soup began our long evening of dinner and addressing invitations. Funny how when you live in the same town, you never seem to see each other except for scheduled events.Dinner out was a chance to catch up and also refresh ourselves for the task ahead.

My mother, like her mother before her, encouraged hand-written notes. Vacations, thank you notes, birthdays, and funerals were all occasions to take time to write something personal. Using our best penmanship (yes, even winning ribbons at the state fair for this trait), we have written many personalized greetings. With daft measures, we properly affix our stamps, equidistant from both edges of the envelope, and drop them in the post.

For the wedding invitations, it only seemed appropriate to have her join in the compilation and sending of the notes.

We drank French-roasted coffee, ate melt-in-your mouth French truffles and talked about our loved ones as each note was folded, inserted, and addressed. With fondness, we noted those who had passed on, those who had moved on, and those who were, despite our best attempts, missing from the address book.

Talking through the names brought up both good and sad memories. Addressing the envelopes brought joy and expectation of who would be at the wedding to share in the joy.

We stacked the last of the invites in a box and I drove her home at a little past eleven. I realized then that I was experiencing a fading trend in American life. I am living and working and now marrying in my home town. I am equal parts excited and anxious!