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in this winter.


he dusted the snow off his car with a jacket sleeve. 
I watched from the window.  I think he knew I was
watching.  our muddied and pebbled yard was gracefully
powdered to a more cosmetic white this morning.


the dishes were cleared from the little party on the
living room floor that we call breakfast.  the
floorboards were swept.  I twisted the rods of the
blinds, widened the eyes of the windows and light
spilled in.  and warmth.  
     the christmas tree is about our only furniture
besides two picnic chairs, a breakfast tray/table and
the bar in the corner.  I created it out of a
cardboard packing box with a board placed on top.  I
hid its beauty with one of my scarves.  there is the
toaster oven and the coffee maker.
   this is about as close as I may get to a kitchen. 
the construction is slow.  you may be surprised at
what creations I've compiled in a toaster oven.

and we're married.

patience is a virtue and patience keeps me company and
patience filled the silence while I prayed and swept
that floor.  patience in the eyes at the broken glass.
 patience in the eyes at the dusty stairwell. 
patience in the eyes after long hours of painting and
priming when morning is very near and early is the
hour that we rise.

patience.

Karin sang about patience in the eyes while I sorted
through the wedding photographs.  my mother had sent
them in the mail only the other day.  with new eyes I
saw myself in the veil, saw myself walk down that
aisle with my father, saw myself promise to Jay my
always.

the photographs made it something other than memory
and imagination.

and we were married.

its funny that an event you plan and discuss and
articulate to the tilt and tildale is something you
scarecly experience yourself.

I did not remember much, until I saw the photographs.
I remember it well now.

it becomes a little less surreal that I am now a
married lady, now live away from my family.


we planned the wedding to be rather small, and the
guests were fewer than I'd anticipated, and yet a very
comfortable amount.  fourty or so.
        including our own dear JG and Monica
        (thank you so much for coming--I am very glad 
         you were there)

a warm winter evening.

my recollections of the day are different from what
the others got to see.  I remember seeing my white
face in the vanity mirror, clutching my bare arms and
wondering.  wondering where Jay was, wondering that
would exchange vows, wondering where on earth my
mother was with my dress.

my friends filed into the dressing room while the gown
was foldes, the veil arranged, the pins and flowers
tucked.  I saw the faces of my maiden confidants. 
they would take my hands and we would pray.
    my best friend since childhood came through the
door.  I have't seen her in two years and I felt
delight and relief at hugging her again.

tulle and faces and embraces and prayers and red
carpet and my nervous fingers.

everyone left slowly, to find their seats in the
chapel.   I would crack open the door and watch my
familiars file into the dark stone sanctuary.  into
the high ceilinged room of dark pews and red
poinsettias.  linford detweiler's piano was playing
somewhere.

Jay's father, our officiant, found me and grasped my
hands and prayed with me.

then there was more waiting.

then there was me, joining my father in that grey and
blue dim in the cool foyer.  my friend ty and my
brother ross had closed the heavy wooden doors, there
hands clutched on the knobs.  they had eager grins.

I took my father's arm.
he told me he approved of Jay.
I joked that this was a good thing.

the doors swung wide.

I always knew the chapel aisle was long, but seeing
the empty rows and the flickering candles and the
alter so far away...I knew each walk was measured, but
not with regret.  I murmered thoughts to my father,
and the closer I came to the ornate wood of the
pulpit, the bodies of friends, turned and smiling.  my
college companions.  some childhood friends.  my
family.  some others.

and there was Jay.
I cried right then, because his eyes were wide and he
was heaving with tears and I knew very shortly I would
be his wife.

during this time, Chris, the best man, was playing a
traditional scottish ballad on his pipes.  mist
covered mountains.
   to me, all memory is a hushed and sacred and
ethereal recollection.  words are hazy, images
blurred.  I see Jay's face and I see our hands and I
see his eyes and I remember joy.

when we were proclaimed man and wife, he cupped my
face in wild joy and kissed me wildly and repeatedly. 
for a long time.

everyone laughed at us.
the photographer took about five pictures of the
event.


there is more.
I will try to tell over time, but right now I must go.

much love.
lindsey renee' harnish.
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