So we went to get Max into some dresses yesterday. It’s only after the fact that I realize I could have been snapping away in the dressing room at the gowns she was trying on… but it didn’t dawn on me to multitask that way. She was stunning, though, in the 2 gowns she loved best. But she said she didn’t have “that feeling”. Understandable. During this time more than any other, we look for “that feeling”: this tingly something that shivers down our shoulders and makes our head swim at the sight, thought or notion of the perfect article for this unforgettable day that we’re making up as we go along. It’s tough, though. I can’t remember when the last time I had “that feeling” upon looking at or visiting or meeting someone or something. I didn’t get “that feeling” about Earl when I met him… but I sure did get it further down the line. It was gradual. I know that I’ve felt it in an instant before… but I was younger. Does that not happen to older folks? Is everything so sensible and cynical that our heart no longer leaps at the sight of something? I feel desensitized sometimes. Just numb to it all. “It’s nice enough.” “Yeah… that’ll do.” When Earl and I visited our hall, it wasn’t an immediate love… but more and more as the days wear on… I find more to love about it. More things I can see myself doing with it to make it ours for that time we’ll be there. The notion of having my wedding there excites me more today than it did when we first saw it. I like that feeling.
One thing that bummed me out yesterday and was a bit on the side of coveting was how easy it was for Max’s mom to come join us and walk around the place with us and just be in the space that we were in, helping with the order of the day. Unfortunately, my mom isn’t independantly mobile anymore, and she’s too proud to get in a wheelchair (yet)… so she sees the outdoors 2 or 3 times a month these days and it’s incredibly hard on her system. I’ll tell you, there is NO ONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD I’d like to shop more with than my mommy and ESPECIALLY for this dress. I try to take pictures when I can and show her upon my return… but it’s really not the same. She bought her little white dress on a Gimbles clearance rack… took a veil off of one of her porcelain dolls from home… and voila! her wedding dress. Granny was back in Haiti and all she had was her best friend, my Godmother (and my dad, of course). History is funny that way. Maybe she’ll come out just once. We’ll see.