The tablecloths are done, save a bit of pressing, but they really look beautiful...an unbleached natural fabric, full of character.
When we arrived, my mom was busy working on her lesson plan, Norma busily buzzing away on the tablecloths, and my Pop cutting, processing and making more of his soon-to-be famous hot sauce (this batch had his homegrown Serrano and cayenne). Norma took a break from the tablecloths, and whisked Esther away for some covert wedding gown tinkering at the other end of the house.
So, I took my usual stroll around the garden, checking the status of various trees, shrubs and perennials I had planted years ago. The Asian pears I transplanted from my city garden plot are heavy with fruit, and the pee gee hydrangea that we'll be cutting for the wedding are looking beautiful, a pure ivory color, somehow unfazed by the tropical heat and haze over the last week. They are heavy, soaked with last nights rain...almost fully opened now, just two weeks away from being taken to our florist who will add them as a personal addition to the arrangements.
Sitting around chatting about the wedding to-do list, Pop disappeared to the storage closet upstairs. He soon returned with a not-new looking gift box, and a plastic comforter bag, with something carefully packed with tissue paper inside. As he wiped the dust away from the box, he explained that Grandmaman, shortly before her death, had made me and my as yet unknown bride embroidered table cloths with matching napkins and quilt with matching pillow shams.
I felt humbled, solemn and very close to her all at once...I was pretty quiet, snapping pictures, wanting to be sure that I could remember those feelings, hoping that these pictures could help.
Then I looked around at my family, smiling back at me, and had a sense of ...just, well, just like I was at Home, surrounded by true family, people who, without a second thought, see it as a family right, a privilege to make these truly meaningful contributions to our wedding with their own skills, talents and efforts.
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