Its been a long and strange year. Just when you think you have a handle on your existence. When you think you can handle the stasis into which things have fallen, then comes these strange new downpours of newness. Then comes these absurd, conglomerate happenings. One day you wake up and you’re like every body else: you’re all relationship’d up and you walk funny and you all talk about the same things. its dull.
Some time goes by. It gets colder. You get colder. And then, like no time has elapsed, you wake up and you’re different from everyone you know. Now you’ve got heaps of solitude on either side of you and you’re a bit strange at all the parties because you talk about singular things. And that’s not too bad but then, without warning – and just as you’re starting to make ground as the one who is always slightly askew – those friends start getting married. Seems like one here. One there. But then, again without your noticing (maybe you should be more observant, dear reader!) they’re all wedding packed up on top of one another. Suddenly, everyone’s getting married: it’s the hip thing to do! And you’re showing up with flared jeans and a discman and asking who wants to go hang out at the “record store” today? [ans: no one.]
Well, I admit, its not a grave as all that. But part of the profession of musicking is spending a good deal of the spring and summer as background noise to people getting hitched. This already predisposes one to an odd appreciation of marriage. one is there, but not there. Integral but minor. And you do 20-30-40 of them a year in some capacity or another. So you get to be an old-hand at marriage. The excitement of the day is not so over-powering. The details are not so overwhelming. As one of the groomsmen said yesterday – speaking of something wholly different: the surgeon feels no pain.
And yet, if there was one way to break this thick impasse, it would be by taking one young in the game and slamming that one with a heightening dance-card of weddings in a single year. And indeed, it would appear fate has done just that. And today I am at the wedding of my good friend from Junior High School. In fact, one of the first people I met in HomeRoom on the first day. A cat that, as it turned out, lived just about a block from me. I’m in the groom’s party and with the rolling events of the year, I feel myself stirring at least with genuine excitement, anticipation, and dismay (which, from my experience as an observer, is the usual cocktail for most folks close to the couple at a wedding). So that, plus coming to this wedding off of an on-going tour that I will be jetting right back to shortly and the perpetual lack of sleep, and the overlapping cataracts of memory – they have me feeling that sweet disorientation. It is like a drunkenness. Unlike the weddings I work on, I am not in full control of myself. I am part of the greater event. And the moments are not known and I don’t know where to start and stop. And I’m a little confused. This has happened a couple of times this year.
I enjoy it. It is different than what happens ever day. I think you might call it: special. So long as I don’t screw up my minimal part of the proceedings, everything seems like it will go towards happily ever after.
The key, for me, is to remember where to stand.