Allora, Aspetta!

That Day In Indianapolis...

First Dance

I understand that when you love, you must either, in your reasonings about that love, start from what is highest, from what is more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their accepted meaning, or you must not reason at all -Anton Checkov, "About Love"

I really hoped to write a heart-warming, lovely blog entry about Antonello and me, a long play-by-play account of our religious ceremony back home in Indianapolis one year ago, remembering all of the details like the uncut wedding dvd that Antonello's brother made for us--angles jutting out, moments that seemed so tiny then magnified into the true story, the details becoming larger than the actual event. But this entry isn't going to be that. In fact, I don't know how to do it: I have an empty scrapbook that needs pictures, invitations, speeches from the rehearsal dinner, and left-over bows from the bridal shower presents to round out one of the biggest and most important days of my life.

Who knows what makes it so hard to go back and write everything out. Taking the time out to do it is the problem, and there is so much to write about--all of us family and friends gathering together for what was more like a destination wedding, a week-long event with parties and canoe trips and late night dinners, yet it all boils down to just one moment, there on the steps before the cathedral altar, reciting my vows in Italian, looking into Antonello's eyes, grinning and blushing. I can put myself right back there, my feet achy from those high-heeled shoes but knowing that it's all worth it as my already-husband makes a promise, in English, to God and the church that he takes me as his bride.

And with a kiss, it's over. We hurry out, shake people's hands, share hugs, have penne pasta thrown all over us like a wedding somehow trapped between Italy and America, go through the reception, listen to speeches, dance with friends and family. A wonderful, filled-to-the-brim day, never to be repeated.




Antonello and I loved our state-side wedding, and we're learning how to celebrate all of these anniversaries. It's becoming normal--two weddings, one that happened a year and a few months before the other, both celebrated like they are the real day, the real thing. Because they both were, isn't that so? And honestly, why can't you honor and celebrate all of those moments of being married, being pronounced husband and wife, moglie e marito, either in front of the Italian city hall, or at the steps of your hometown church's altar?

And so a year has passed, the scrapbook ideas are coming, and sooner or later I'll get started on writing out every detail, each dance, each meal we ate in that week-long celebration. But most importantly, I'll always recall that moment, with the light above us almost golden, the priest fumbling in Italian yet getting it right nonetheless, proving to us that love is language-less and intercontinental.

But, of course, we already knew that.

Happy Anniversary to you, amore mio. Sono ancora, e per sempre, innamorata di te.

-Jackie

posted by Corrie @ 10:54:00 AM